FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Bull Milk

Boots clomped on the granite floor as the tiger was lead to the standing-seat. Bowed forward by the woman leading him, he inhaled sharply as he was pulled back and down.

This was not the first time the feline had been subjected to this, but the fourth. The woman, who in this room was his handler; the only one allowed to handle a subject, adored showing off her work. Dressed in the solid gray uniform, apart from the black belt and wellingtons, today would be a bittersweet moment. She knew she would be the Ace when she and her stock was finished, promoted to a position of high respect, and with it wealth. No longer to be known as a Proficient, but that same fate meant Isidora would no longer be able to take the same liberties that had let her develop her stock to its now prime condition.

The stock itself was a Siberian tiger hybrid, reclaimed from an owner that let his ego get the best of him. The stock's tail had been severed at the base and had to be removed, but she used that to her advantage when creating his outfit. Two black leather thigh-high boots with red laces all the way up the front kept him clean in case of any mishaps, and had two-inch thick out-soles with thick lugs, raised by two inch heels. They provided just enough lift to accentuate his movements while walking, as his now plump buttocks and widened hips were covered by a form fitting short-skirt, silver with burgundy stitching around the edges. It came to a lower point in the front to keep his reason-for-being-here hidden until show-time. The top ended just under the bottom of a black, tight-laced corset vest that gave him an hourglass figure as well as enhancing the surrounding curves. Dark, reflective sunglasses wrapped around his head, obscuring his eyes. Like a bridle, a black leather strap wrapped around his muzzle, though in this case connected to a ball gag instead of a bit. Finally, the arms were left exposed, except for a double-layer cuff on each hand, consisting of a silver lower and black upper, with a nickel clasp and two D-shaped rings for securing.

As he was tugged by these cuffs, backwards onto the seat, a stiff but squishy silicone likeness of a mythological creature's shaft quickly entered him, spreading his rear. It was up to handlers to decide how to secure their stock, and these sorts of devices were popular; this particular item, though, was one Isidora greatly enjoyed using. With one firm tug from her, the wide knot slipped into him with a quickness that surprised most of the audience, eliciting several gasps and murmurs. Shuddering as it happened, his hands, already cuffed behind him, were deftly locked to the back of the seat via the second set of rings and a short chain.

The front of the skirt started lifting. Isidora walked around and inserted the single snap on the skirt's tip onto its corresponding half on the corset to give the onlookers a clear view. The stock's penis, with a rubber ring around the base, pulsed as it slowly grew erect; itself nothing noteworthy. But as it lifted, gazes moved to the taut sack that appeared to be struggling to contain two enormous testicles. Words like "grapefruit" and "soccer balls" drifted through crowd. With the fur on them buzzed extremely short, two bulging tendril-like veins could be seen wrapping around them, pulsing in time with the shaft.

Reaching up, she then pulled the machine down to the right height: insertion position. Perhaps the second star of the show, the milker was designed to show exactly what was happening, letting the audience see the travels of every drop on its way to the large, clear tank. The pump mechanicals were also visible for those watching that enjoyed such things, but were set behind the tubes and tank. With a practiced hand, she held the penis horizontally while simultaneously sliding the milking sleeve over it. With a /shk/, the three inch wide sleeve sealed against the rubber ring.

Shuddering as the machine slowly ramped up in force, the tiger's eyes darted about the room. The audience itself was too dark to see, and with every two dozen or so regular pulses of the milker a single, intense pulse occurred, breaking his concentration. In his life, he had seen only three faces: those of his two owners, and of the lab technician that performed what they called activation. At any other time he would be depressed; lonely not knowing anyone else, but here he felt proud. The tiger settled into the routine that seemed to occur naturally during the previous three episodes: struggling to understand his feelings or trying to make out faces in the crowd, whichever his mind settled on doing after each thought-blanking pulse.

There was an intermission for the onlookers, but handler and stock received no such break. For the next hour, Isidora stroked his head, arms, and chest, whispering praise and reinforcing words as the pressure in his body continued to rise. Time ticked on, but he knew it was getting close to the point where the machine was going to be turned up to the proverbial 11, as his shaft had swollen enough that it was now dragging along the bottom of the sleeve each time the force of the vacuum let up. Abruptly, his handler disappeared from sight, and despite what was next, his heart sunk as felt so alone. Three agonizing minutes later, he perked up as she whispered into his ear "It's time."

His spirit lifted, and as people started filling their seats, the tiger became excited, though it wasn't visible through his gear. Lights came up on the machine and cameras whirred, zooming in. As the crowd quieted, Isidora gave her stock one last stroke on the head before moving over to the control panel. She pushed a slider up until it locked at its highest setting. The tiger stifled an otherwise muffled yelp as the machine groaned and sped into a furious pace. Holding back against the pressure building, something was throwing him off; it was different than before.

That's when he realized that all sides of his shaft were now rubbing against the sleeve. Thoughts raced through his head at how much he must have swollen; he even tried humping at it, but what little distance he could move, the sleeve moved with it. Making him even more excited was the phallus inside of him tugging back, in lock step with his rolling sack slapping against his legs.

It would happen shortly. He was twitching all over, aching for release. But he had to hold on; had to let it build up, each second more pleasure-filled. It was what they wanted, of course, but he wanted it too. The tiger squeezed everything as hard as he could, which just shoved the silicone shaft deeper into him. He was in pain, everything aching so much his eyes started tearing up, but it was too good. Pre had oozed so much, even to start filling the tank, that his cock was completely lubed. But even with that the tube felt tight, and he could swear that it felt like it was stretching.

The pulsing, the pressure both inside and out... he was hanging on by a thread. But then, it snapped. He felt the cum shooting from his pounding sack, through his penis, and as it burst out from the tip it felt screaming hot. Long, sticky streams shot out filling up the little space left at the end of the tube before being sucked away through the hoses and splashing into the tank. Each time, he tried clamping down, but it forced through. Spurt after squeeze; it just wouldn't stop. He tried counting how often it happened, but lost track. When he felt like he had spent enough that he could hold back, his balls tensed and another jet ripped forth.

In five minutes, he had filled the main tank. A short round of applause broke out from the audience, and the hidden overflow tank installed years ago for a just-in-case situation now got its first use. The filling slowed, but didn't stop.

Every time a stock is showcased in front of such an audience, it goes for one straight hour. He didn't know if he'd be able to mentally last that long, though.

Then, something else he'd never experienced before at this event, the pumping stopped. His penis had reached the end of the tube, leaving no room for air to go. "Shh, ssh..." Isidora cooed into his ear. She slid the sleeve off, sticky strings of liquid still attaching the two. He started feeling light as his head slumped. For the first time he felt fear in the presence of his handler. His twitching penis knocked into something, setting off an adrenaline rush, though he wasn't quite sure why. Quickly, he felt his bobbing member being put into something. Regaining focus, the tiger looked down and saw an even larger sleeve go around him. When it sealed, he calmed. "Five inches," she whispered happily but soothingly, "I think we broke two records today."

The next 49 minutes went smoothly, the tiger occasionally bucking as another shot burst forth. Then, with three minutes to go, the something-strange happened again. He was now rubbing against the edges of the cylinder. The moment was caught in high definition as a few cheers broke out. In an instant, that feeling drove him mad. He humped and came more frequently for those last three minutes than he had ever done, pounding at the pointed shaft in his rear that was massaging his prostate with each stroke. Isidora was as giddy as he was enthralled. But as the time ended, the pump slowed down. "No" he shouted in his mind. "Don't let it end." He teared as he panted, gnawing on the gag. It was too good, but the sleeve was removed. He twitched for a minute, then started to droop. She hugged the tiger, and he passed out in her arms, with as much of a smile as his bridle permitted. "Good work, my love," she said proudly, caressing his head until he awoke.

Webster Leone, 27 February 2010