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"So... uh... how long will I be living here?"

"Oh, for a short while - prime stock doesn't tend to last much longer than a month, tops. Not unless you've really got it in you." The Siamese cat gave Ollie a wink before he sashayed out of the room, letting the door close behind him. It left the bull stuck in the cramped waiting room, being its only occupant, to mull over his thoughts. A grand a day to just sit around being a test subject for these people was a dream come true for a guy like him. He was in dire need of some cash to fix up his motorcycle which had packed in just last week. Staying a while out at this farm where he'd sign over his body for 'commercial purposes' was a fantastic deal, and it'd cover the expenses he'd have to fork out to get his baby up and running again.

Granted, it wasn't the wisest decision to bull had made. It sounded downright creepy just going over the bare details in his head. Here he was, sitting and waiting for a guy in charge to come oversee the paperwork that would sign him over for Kaiser Products. He hadn't really heard of them before, but he assumed they were some foreign company working on their own brands not for sale on the continent. Who cares? He was getting paid to just loaf about.

The door opened again to reveal the representative who had taken down Ollie's details, the cat whose name eluded the bull. Andre? Andy? Something like that... A stallion followed behind him, from the looks of it he was a Percheron draft, most likely the guy who'd be overseeing his time at the farm. He looked like a nice dude, with a firm jaw, strong face, and an impressive build. It always got Ollie's motor purring when he got to gawp at men who rivalled him in size. A whole month with this horse just sweetened the deal to near diabetic levels.

"Mr Campbell, this is Mr Lee; he's the current overseer for all men residing here at The Farm." The cat inclined his to the stallion, giving a polite smile. Stepping forwards, the horse outstretched his paw for Ollie to shake,

"Just call me Shawn; I don't like formalities, particularly when I'm responsible for your... leisure."

Ollie took the man's paw and gave it a firm squeeze. He nodded, if only in politeness, but the guy seemed genuine enough. He had a lovely thick accent, just going to show that he was most likely a local, possibly even the former owner of the land before the company snapped it up. The bull would certainly look forward to getting to know Shawn a little better - heck, he might even be able to persuade the man to let him sneak a paw down his pants.

"Pleasure to meet you."

"Mr Lee is here to bear witness to you signing your contract," with a flourish, the feline pulled a sheet of paper from his clipboard, passing it for Ollie to peruse through the tiny writing that littered its face. Just terms of conditions and some shit... Whoever reads stuff like this? Ollie dismissed it with a plain snort,

"Where do I sign?"

"On the dotted line; where else?" The cat giggled, tossing the bull a pen. He gave a blank shrug of his soldiers and scribbled out his signature in scraggly black ink. It was done. He passed back the form for the feline to file away somewhere. Shawn clapped his paws together, and flashed the bull a beaming grin,

"Great. Well, we'd best get right down to it. I'll take you to the stables, just follow me."

Ollie gave yet another shrug of his shoulders and rose to his hooves, slipping past the smirking Siamese as he was led out into the yard by the horse. The entire 'facility' looked like a bizarre hybrid between modernity and old fashioned agriculture. Sure, it kept its aesthetics of a true farm, but the supposed clinic had revamped a lot of the older wooden buildings. A barn on the other side of the land had been refurbished with steel girders and repainted to mimic its former self, whilst the building Ollie had just left would have been the farmhouse, where whoever from eons ago had lived out their simple lives.

"What's the barn for?" He asked, making for idle chit chat as he was taken across the dusty yard to the rows of stables. Shawn just chuckled. It wasn't something funny he'd said, or the kind of chuckle that was between friends, but one that stank of mockery, that Ollie had just blundered into a mess of naïve secrets.

"Oh... you don't really want to know. That's for misbehaving cattle."

Cattle...

Such an odd choice of words for a supposed commercial experiment; Ollie let it slide though - he had little intention of causing the company any trouble, not when they were the ones writing him the cheque at the end of the month. He'd have his baby up and running in no time with that kind of dough.

As they neared the stables, Ollie swore he could hear a low drone of moans and grunts. He wondered, just for a moment, whether this Farm genuinely side-lined itself as an actual farm, with real livestock - it would certainly go a long way to explain Shawn's passing comment on disobedient cattle. Would he be housed near them though? As much as the bull liked being close to his ancestors, he wasn't a fan of rooming with them.

"Where will I be sleeping?"

Another knowing laugh from the horse had Ollie doubting whether this was as good a deal as he had first though. It wasn't a chuckle laced with malice or evil intent, but it was hiding something, holding some tiny piece of information back that would have changed the bull's whole perspective on everything. Shawn gave him mirth-filled sigh,

"Oh, I don't think you'll be doing much of that."

Nervously, the bull willed himself forward, making the last few yards to the stables. It was undeniable now that the groans were coming from inside the stables, the sound only getting louder as the stallion pushed open the door for him, letting him into some small hut that was attached just to the side of the stables themselves, like a tumour. He stepped up inside, swallowing back the apprehension as he glanced about. Nothing seemed to be out of place... it was all relatively normal - just your run-of-the-mill farm equipment and tools. But he couldn't shake the feeling like he was walking into some kind of trap. He had signed a contract though, so even if he wanted to back out now, that would mean terminating that document, not getting paid, and ultimately wasting everyone's time, including his own. There was nowhere left to go but forwards still.

Behind him came a resounding clink as Shawn locked the door. When Ollie whirled his head around, horns tapping against the ceiling, the horse just gave him a waiving smile, "It's just to make sure no one else intrudes. I don't like strangers disturbing the cattle; it affects their outputs because they get all moody and stroppy."

It was a reasonable enough argument, but it did little to quell the fear sitting quietly in the pit of Ollie's stomach. Once more though he had to let it go, forcing himself to remember that it was just some research or something. Nothing bad would happen. Though nobody knew where he was... One of the downsides to living alone was that there was no one around to relay your activities to. If you were out at a bar and got date-raped, then there was no one at home to worry as to where you are. Much like now, if the stallion closing the gap between them suddenly turned out to be some fucked up cannibal and he'd just willingly waltzed right into his abattoir, it'd be days before anyone would realise he was missing... Fuck, it'd be a month before anyone knew, let alone less than a week. He'd given his landlord a note that he'd be taking a lengthy vacation and he'd used up all his holiday leave from work. Ollie was pretty much stranded and at the whim of his handler.

"So... uh... Ollie, was it? If you'd just like to strip off and put your clothes on the table, I'll get you settled in your room." Strip off?

"Woah... this is some kind of nudist farm?" Ollie hadn't really signed up for that kind of shit. He wasn't embarrassed or prudish, but he wasn't the kind of bull who was into parading it all around for everyone to see.

"No, it's just in your room you won't need clothes, and most guys prefer to be naked because of the mess..." Shawn was being purposefully vague, avoiding something yet again, but Ollie knew if he pushed the issue he wouldn't get much more out of him. He sighed. At least it gave him a chance to show off to the stallion, he concluded to himself with a lewd inward smile.

He'd only come dressed as plainly as possible. The fact that the pamphlet he'd picked up from his local gym looking for men such as himself has stated he wouldn't need to bring any kind of luggage or belongings with him had struck him as odd, but this fitted the bill. Maybe they'd provide him with some kind of uniform or something, to maintain the integrity of the research perhaps by not having external branded clothing. He didn't know, it was all just a load of pretty looking pictures of grinning beefcakes and long worded jargon-filled paragraphs. At this point he was just picking out assumptions that settled his gut from its nervous knots.

Pulling off his white polo shirt, he made the effort to ripple his chest and arms, which did earn him an approving leer from the stallion who stood otherwise neutrally, content to just observe the bull as he undressed. Unlike some of his fellow species, he ignored most traditions, leaving his torso pristine and untouched by any modification. He found guys were more into those who hadn't gone to the extreme lengths some of the faithful do.

Next he unbuckled his belt, seeing no point to delay much longer. Whilst he might have preferred time to dawdle, it wasn't worth it. Anxiety was not better than immediate relief. He unlatched the strap and then went to his fly, unzipping his cargo shorts and letting them all drop to the floor. Watching the horse's gaze drop to his crotch was a generous compliment, and affirmed the bull's suspicions that Shawn dabbled in that kind of things, but when the stallion's stare fixated upon his junk, it became something more than just a fleeting glance to check out what he was packing. It was as though the male wasn't just taking in the view but rather... critiquing it - as though he were assessing what Ollie had been endowed with and musing to himself over its worth. It was unnerving, even as he realised that Shawn wasn't displaying much arousal, maintaining the air of indifference he'd entered in with.

Only his jockstrap remained, and obligingly Ollie tugged at the waistband and let free his bulge. The Percheron's stare didn't falter or shift, but kept on looking at his groin as his cock sprung free and his balls sagged down from the hot confines. He stooped to remove his hooves from each leg hole, gathering up his stuff and putting into some semblance of a pile in his arms. Just as he'd been told, he placed his only belongings, frankly the only things he had that would have let him walk freely from this place, onto the table and stood in the warm air, waiting for whatever was to follow. He tried not to look Shawn directly in the eye. Not out of shame, but rather he could feel blood gently surging its way into his dick, and he didn't want to just sport wood right in front of him. It was impolite.

"Not bad..." The stallion mumbled, if not to Ollie then to himself, "We've had bigger members, but those nuts are certainly contenders..."

Ollie's muzzle flushed a dark crimson, unaccustomed to having someone openly comment on his junk. It only served to stroke his ego - and pump his cock just a little harder. Willing his dick to obey was difficult, begging his subconscious to just calm down so he wouldn't look like a pervert in front of the man.

"Er... thanks?"

"Sorry, just thinking aloud," Shawn sidestepped past him, reaching across to the other door and opening it. The sounds of grunts and moans were now thick in the air... and the smell... The smell was unlike anything Ollie had ever bared witness to. It wasn't rank, but it was swimming with musk, sweat, and an unmistakable aroma that a gay male such as himself could easily identify. Cum. Spooge. Jizz. Seed. Even as he took a slow, casual breath, it flooded his lungs and coated his tongue, as though the very air was teeming with the stuff. It was hard to overcome the scent as it hit him like a tonne of bricks, smacking down upon his senses and refusing to let up. He actually had to blink away tears as he tried to adjust to the foreign air. Not quite stale, but stinging with fumes of dirty sex and heady arousal. It was as though he'd strode right on into a harem.

Shawn seemed unfazed as he walked up into the narrow corridor lined with locked doors. Much to Ollie's discomfort, it didn't look much like a stable, but instead it had the awful impression it was a prison, and he was about to descend into its bowels. The stallion urged him forwards, giving him an encouraging smile. There was nothing for the bull to do but have some faith and hope that the whole thing didn't turn out to be a headline in the future for a news crew unearthing a fucked up company's secrets.

As he tentatively made his way down the corridor, Ollie was given just moments to glance to either side of him. Each door had a small slat at its top, where the head might be for an average man, that would almost certainly slide to the side and permit one to look inside. Most were closed, sounds of grunts, whirring mechanics, and slick wet slurps bleeding through the cracks of the frame. But every so often, he'd catch just a glimpse through just such a slat would be open, if only a fraction. He would do his best to stop and look through, but Shawn was quickly striding off further down, giving him no time to stare. But what he saw was... beyond words.

Flashings scenes of men, strapped down and hooked up to machines filled his head. He couldn't have been certain what they were doing, if they were in pain, or where any of the sounds were coming from, but it screamed of something sinister. Ollie would have backed down at this point, but he looked back the way he had come; the door was closed, locked on the other side by the horse who now carried away the key to his freedom. He could only follow and beg some god that he didn't end up getting shit prodded into him and having his body scarred for life.

Ollie caught up with the Percheron who had come to just such a door that was open. Surrounding him were other identical doors, all closed, all with rapturous groans shaking from behind them, clangs of metal joining the cacophonous sound. The din was low, but impossible to ignore. Ollie had a wild glare to his eyes, his face fixed in abhorrent shock. What kind of place was this Farm?

"Your room." Shawn gestured in through the door, jutting his head to Ollie's confines. The bull peered inside; displeased as he finally got to see just what it was his fellow residents were currently enduring.

It was a moderately sized chamber, providing enough room for someone even bigger than Ollie himself to fit in comfortably. A reclining chair was attached at the centre - no beds or draws, just a plain chair and nothing else. Except perhaps the chair wasn't plain... As the bull inspected closer, he could see panels that would move away, hidden machinery lying just beyond them, and straps fitted to the legs and arms of the would-be furniture. It looked like a torture device, and he'd have nothing to do with it.

"I'm not sure I can do this..." he tried to pass off, a nervous laugh escaping his lips, though inside he was bordering upon terrified. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time..." The horse just gave him an exasperated huff,

"Newbies are always tetchy when they first come in, but you'll learn to love it, trust me. Just take a seat..."

"Look mate, I don't know what kind of operation you're running here, but I want no part in it." Shawn bore down on him with fierce eyes, but with a stern, stone face,

"You signed a contract, Mr Campbell. You've agreed to be cattle for Kaiser Studios. There's no backing out now."

"Cattle?!" Ollie snorted, appalled at what he was hearing and trying to back away, though to no avail. The compact hallway didn't give him anywhere to go. Turning around alone would be a hassle, "What the fuck? You sick bastard!"

Without warning, Shawn's paw snapped out and grabbed at Ollie's arm with surprising strength. Draft genetics shone through as the stallion easily overpowered the bull, pulling him towards him before near enough throwing him into the chair. Ollie barely had a second to react as the horse had already began to push his wrists into the restraints, buckling him down and holding him in position. He roared, furious and seething he was being treated like this, and did his best to try and tear out his arms. He even tried to kick his legs in rage as Shawn tied them down too, locking them in place with steel braces that left the bull strapped firmly to the chair; the whole contraption had clearly been built with someone such as himself in mind. Thinking carefully, the pamphlet had asked specifically for muscled, fit males, and he'd seen just that on his death walk through the corridor - men just like himself bound to chairs just like the one he sat in now. No matter how hard he struggled, there was no escape.

"Let me out, you twisted fuck!" Shawn didn't let him go. That would have been too easy, Ollie knew, but he needed to at least rage at the man. He couldn't just give in.

"If you keep yelling like that, I'll have to gag you, and honestly nobody wants that. You'll want to moan out loud and I'll want to hear you. It lets me know that everything's working like a charm and my cattle are enjoying their milking."

"What the fuck are you on about?" His nostrils flared as his anger rose, veins undoubtedly bulging from under his hide as he strained at the bindings. Still naked, tied down, with some messed up stallion now the only person capable of releasing him, Ollie felt his chances of making it out of this dwindling. Shawn looked at him, momentary confusion glancing across his face before it was replaced by a gleeful expression,

"Didn't you read the contract?" He laughed, "Why is it the bigger they are, the dumber they get? This place is a milking farm... you know, for milking cattle? You're the cattle." Shawn squatted down and swiped his paw over some hidden control, and the chair jolted, giving out a quiet clatter before the room began to buzz with motors churning away all around him.

"Milking...? I ain't a fucking cow. I'm a man. A male. You get that?"

"Oh, yes. I get that indeed. But we don't want milk per se. Take a guess, you're not entirely stupid." Ollie had to think, but it began to click into place. The stench of cum as he walked in, the groans, the wet sounds, that they'd been looking for men. _Specifically_men... Shawn could see the realisation dawn across the bull's mortified face, "There you go... Now just relax, I'm gonna need to fit the pump and if I don't get it right, it'll be very painful for you..."

As the stallion made a move to reach forward, Ollie pulled as much as he could away, spitting at the draft and swearing in every colourful word he could think of,

"Let me out of here you fucking psycho! This is bullshit! Get the fuck away from me!"

"The gag it is then... Ah well," Shawn sighed mournfully, as though it was actually a real shame he was about to shut off Ollie's only means of rousing help. The bull struggled and fought to get away from the horse, but the Percheron was unmoved. He just reached up towards the ceiling as a series of tubes fixed to a hood descended down, lowering into the male's paw when then fiddled with the mask until happy. Ollie tried his best to pull away his head, tossing it from side to side in the hopes that his horns, blunted as they were, might do some sort of lasting damage to his captor. But once more the man's strength outdid him - one hefty paw clamped to one of his horns, whilst the other pushed the hood over his head, until it peeled back to fit snugly over the rest of his skull. Ollie felt the air getting sucked out, leaving the whole thing to hug his face, snatching away his breath. An oddly shaped tube was forcing its way into his muzzle, and try as he might to spit it out and push it away, the vacuum drew it into his mouth. His tongue lathered against the smooth, unyielding surface as he tried to figure out just what it was. Bulbous head, thick length... it was a cock, or at the very least a fake one. A dildo gag... He squirmed and bellowed into the mouthpiece, but all that came out were muffled grunts, not unlike the grunts he'd heard himself only moments before. His vision was blotted out, sending him into absolute darkness. Even sound was dulled inside the hood, his nose smelling only that of stale spit and sweat from what must have been many men before him who'd been subjected to the same treatment. He was totally reliant upon every snippet of reality that affected him, whether that was a brush against his arm or a slight scuffle that made it through the dense rubber of the hood.

A sudden rush of air was jetted into Ollie's muzzle as his mask was switched on, connected to some pump that gave him the relief of breathing. He sucked in huge gulps, filling his lungs with the sour gas. It tasted odd to him. He didn't doubt that maybe it was saturated with drugs or some fucked up shit, but he had no choice else but to inhale the concoction they were feeding him. Even food, he suspected, would be fed to him through this same pipe... mushy and gloopy, cutting off his air and forcing him to swallow... It had him quite nearly retching into the hood, fear fuelling his distress.

He did feel more lucid though, his limbs heavy and sluggish as he tried to strain still at the bindings. Probably drugs, something to calm him down, if only physically so he was more manageable for the horse. Terror was still rocketing in his mind though, but as he felt his body become tired as it relaxed against the chair, there was nothing he could do.

"Hmm..." A sound mumbled through the hood, "Flaccid..."

The mood had left him. No longer were his thoughts occupied with the image of the horse submitting to him, or vice versa, but instead his mind was rampant with panic. The desire to fuck or be fucked had left him, leaving his throbbing cock to wilt and soften. Maybe if he resisted, made sure not to get hard, then he'd be released and allowed to leave, proving to be poor 'stock' as it were.

"We can fix that..."

Once more, Ollie didn't have a chance to even begin to wonder what that meant as he felt lips descend onto his cock. He jolted in his chair, still addled with relaxants, but stunned all the same. The draft held him down easily, one paw pushing at his stomach and pushing him back into the chair, whilst the other stroked up his inner thigh. The chair began to move apart, working on hinges and pivots that Ollie couldn't have seen, that spread his legs apart giving the stallion better access to guzzle down his member. The bull thought of other things, unsexy things, anything to distract him from the velvet lips that wrapped around his shaft, a warm tongue writhing against his head and swirling just at the tip. He thought of every cringe-worthy moment in his life, every disgusting thing he's ever seen, desperately trying not to get hard as Shawn sucked him. But the caressing mouth was too difficult to resist, feeling blood rush into his shaft, engorging it, as the horse expertly welcomed more and more. Bull meat swelled in his muzzle until Ollie could feel himself reach a painfully hard point, his cock thick with blood and throbbing for more. Spit was covering his dick; he could feel every wet strand as it slid over his inches. Moaning into the gag, he whimpered and bucked his hips in a delirious state of confusion, not wanting to be pleasured but receiving it regardless. He felt his cock get released, only for that eager mouth to suckle on his balls instead. Teeth gently nibbled at his sack and had him panting hard, hisses of air huffing through the hood. He tried to mumble for Shawn to stop, but the horse was listening, obviously. He just continued to lap at the bull's nuts, taking each one into his mouth to suck at them, as though that were the milking itself. It had his member bouncing pathetically in the air, thrust out from his body, begging for some more attention though he was declining to get away. The rebellious tongue returned to his shaft, sliding up and down the sensitive skin and licking away, making the bull groan even louder than before.

He could feel his climax rising. Not all at once as he was used to, as normally with his orgasms it was just a quick rush of that awesome fix he longed for. But this was much different; it rose up slowly, starting as just a spark in his abdomen, before it began to take. It was blossoming out across his crotch in languid tendrils which flicked beneath his hide, not quite taking to a real orgasm yet. As the mouth once more swallowed his shaft whole, almost certainly getting throated by the horse all in one, Ollie could feel it burn intensely, biding its time as though it too was working against his wants. If he were to cum, he wanted it to be over with, not drawn out like this. But just as he thought he'd be allowed sweet relief, Shawn pulled off his cock abruptly. It pulsed weakly, dripping with spit, as the orgasm that would have been crept back down, just as leisurely as it had crawled up, as if he'd been idly stroking it for hours on end. He let his displeasure be heard, whining into the hood as loudly as he could. Shawn didn't respond.

Instead what he felt next was something quite different to a warm pair of lips - something that didn't feel like a mouth at all. The horse took a firm grasp of his dick on one paw, whilst the other must have been directing the new object that glanced across his cock's head. He twitched in the chair each time it did, not comfortable with the situation, but he felt it... slowly... Shawn pushed down some kind of tube onto his cock, sliding it all the way down until the rubbery opening was flush with his crotch. Whilst this went on, a ring clamped around Ollie's sack and pulled taut, providing a gentle ache to his balls that were trapped against the ring, unable to escape and forced downwards to the floor. It was an alien feeling, having something fit his cock so perfectly as it did, yet feeling entirely false, greased up with lube and other such fluids. He didn't dare wonder what else might still be lingering in there, knowing now that it was coating his pecker, smothering it in foreign juices. No longer could he move his hips, even just to struggle, as he was held in place by the new contraptions.

A soft whir sounded above him, following by the same hiss as a vacuum sucked at the tube encasing his cock. Ollie gave a heavy grunt, as though someone had just punched him in the gut and winded him whilst the tube suddenly clung to his cock. It hugged every contour and curve, fitting the thick, meaty shaft with ease and pumping away at his shaft like any hole might. As the machine sucked, it lurched towards his body, fucking itself onto his cock, before the vacuum was released and the pump slid off again. The bull grunted and moaned as the machine worked away, pumping itself at a steady unceasing rhythm, showing no mercy as it pulled his body along with the sensations. It was strange, as it was both cold, yet warm, both sloppy yet tight, all at once. Ollie could only bite into the gag as the pump sucked his cock off like any mouth, ass, or pussy might. It worked over the throbbing flesh until he was bucking his hips again as best he could, his balls no longer just aching but moaning out with complaints of their own. He was only faintly aware of Shawn's presence when the horse spoke up again, just barely audible over the contraption's choir,

"Just something to help you along..."

Ollie panicked when it felt something slid away from the seat of the chair. Now just dangling by his restraints, he could feel motors grinding to push something upwards. A slick tip of something hard and thick moved around at his exposed rump, legs spread wide to force his cheeks apart; the cold head of whatever this thing was poked at his hole, spurting out a large glob of grease, before it began to push. He growled out at the sharp piercing discomfort, the object shoving itself unceremoniously into his rear, but he rode out the pain until he was adjusted. The object was cock-like, equine if he wasn't mistaken by the shape and blunt head, followed by a flare, but it felt too artificial to be real. For a moment, he had thought that Shawn had taken up a position behind him, ready to fuck the bull to orgasm, but why would he? The whole system was automated, it would seem, and the cock wasn't fleshy or hot. It was just as cold as the pump that stroked his own member off. The dildo thrust deep into his guts, making him let out a strained moan, working in time to the pump's movements. As the hiss of the vacuum sounded, so too did the pneumatics that pulled the dildo back; he was a victim to the machine, left to its orders and without any emotion. It was devoid of anything loving that Ollie might have been used to, but delivered just the same results...

He could feel his orgasm rising again, quicker this time thankfully, as Shawn's attention before had left him desperate and on the edge. Unable to do anything else but let the machine work him past that edge, Ollie continued to grunt and roar into the hood, his sounds blotted out and muffled. He was becoming just like the men he'd seen before, subjected to the company's contract, and milked in such a sordid and kinky machine. His climax was building, right behind his crotch, and waited for the moment that Ollie could finally release. Biting hard into the cock in his mouth, his hole clenching down upon the toy filling his ass, ramming at his prostate and stroking him further and further along, he was nothing but a muddled mess of frayed nerves that were splintering from every fraught sensation. Why couldn't he just cum already? Why was he forced to endure the slow fucking, the suction against his flesh, the behemoth monster that ploughed into his guts, working away his insides into a smooth tunnel to be pummelled over and over? He would almost certainly have been crying from the unfairness of it all, not that he was afraid but that he just wanted relief. But the hood didn't permit that, instead only allowing him to let his mind focus upon the machine that serviced him and the drugged air which swelled in his lungs.

Giving a final bellow, he lost all control and moaned pathetically, loudly, and all at once. His lungs were failing him, his body was surrendering to the machine's pleasure, and all he wanted was to cum. He shook and lurched in his restraints, straining and contorting as much as it could until he could take no more. He felt the first surge of cum as though it were a pistol shot. It was far stronger than anything he'd ever released, thicker and fuller than any load he'd ever had, and immediately he felt it get sucked away. The tube just hugged him now, vacuumed to his member as he unloaded, screaming into the gag whilst his balls emptied themselves. He lost track of how many bursts there were, of how many orgasms he had, as it felt continuous, one rolling on into the other. Each shot was piped off, collected elsewhere most likely, and refused to let up until his cock was a dribbling, softening piece of meat. As he panted hard, breathing deeply as he tried to recover from the experience, hoping that it would be the last for a while, he heard Shawn speak again,

"The first one is always the worst to get through, but you'll get the hang of it." He heard hoofsteps leaving, moving out of the room and back through the door, "I'll check back in an hour to see how you're doing. When you hit the ten gallon mark, I'll let you take a ten minute break."

The door was slammed shut, then locked. Ollie whimpered frantically as he heard the machine start up again, the pump sucking at his cock as more gas was pumped into his gag. He breathed in the drugged air, his body disobeying him as inhalants poisoned his blood with chemicals to keep him going, to make him harder, to force him to produce more, to leave him wanting more... There was nothing he could do to resist as all the motors started up once more, the dildo again depositing a thick load of lube into his ass, and the pump surrounding his member sliding back down his flesh.

He gave another pitiful moan as his mind raced to comprehend how he'd last one month when one hour seemed like an impossible feat. There was only one way to find out, of course...

~ ~ ~

As Shawn settled down in his office, the sounds of men enduring such pleasured torture, his cell vibrated in his pocket. He let it buzz against his throbbing cock for just a moment before he relented, snatching it out and answering the call.

"How's production?" It was their employer, the guy who owned the whole shindig.

"It's going well. I've just signed on a new supplier. I'm certain he's going to be looking for an extension to his contract when the one month trial is over." Shawn leant back in his chair, kicking up his hooves and putting them against the edge of his desk so that he could recline back, "Fuck, I think he might even sign on full time if he hasn't got any other commitments."

"That's good news... So long as we keep the shelves stocked with Bukkake lube, nobody's going to be asking questions." Shawn smiled. He had a bottle on his desk right now. A fresh sample, taken right from the stud he'd just set up to be milked just now. He licked his lips as he wondered who else might know that the lube wasn't actually lube. His throat went dry as he pondered whether or not people might care if they knew the truth - that the lube itself was just seed, and nothing else.

He shrugged his shoulders. What did he care? He enjoyed his job nevertheless, and the perks that came with it were delightful. As he unscrewed the cap and opened his mouth wide, he emptied the bottles contents right into his muzzle, slurping down the lukewarm cum that dribbled onto his tongue,

"Fuck yeah... I love Bukkake lube..."