Odd Jobs around the Farm
Story by Muskwalker on SoFurry
Imported from SF2 with no description provided.
For once, my life had finally started to turn up. If you've ever lost everything, down to the friend's couch you'd been sleeping on, you know how bleak going through the day-to-day can be. But I'd managed to claw my way back up the ladder, and I'd just gotten to the point where I could afford to split an apartment with a couple of buddies when I got word that one of my longshot job applications had been accepted. If I could just move two states over, I could triple my income and maybe someday even hit six figures.
So naturally, I got packing.
Today was the big moving day. It would've been bigger if I'd managed to acquire any real furniture, but on the bright side squeezing everything into an ultra-small trailer saved me a lot more than renting a big truck would have.
I loaded up, said goodbye to my friends, and set off across the plains.
I made it about halfway by the time night fell, stayed the night in a dingy roadside motel, and had only made it a couple miles further down the highway before my car started to fill with smoke.
(Living paycheck to paycheck doesn't really give one a lot of funds for a reliable car… or regular auto maintenance.)
I pulled over, popped the hood, realized I didn't know the first thing about cars, pulled out my phone, realized I didn't have any signal, and just started cursing for a bit.
By the time I'd recovered my temper, I realized there was at least one farmhouse in sight—maybe someone would be home who could help.
The door was answered by one of the largest men I'd ever seen. When you think of your stereotypical farmer you might think flannel and overalls—well, there was flannel here in abundance but clearly he thought overalls would be a bit cumbersome when hauling around a massive round gut that hung to his knees.
And he wasn't just round—my eyes were basically level with his chest. Unruly silver hair and beard trimmed to a medium length, tanned face and arms, stern expression—I tried to remember why I'd come but I was so caught up in gazing at the man. It felt nice to look at him.
“You here about the job?"
“Yes— I mean— n-no—" I wanted to say yes to him. “My car broke down actually… was wondering if you could help or at least let me use your phone? I'm Luis."
The big man frowned. “I didn't get to where I am today by giving out help for free, kid. Now, if I could get you to do a few odd jobs around the farm, I could probably give you a hand."
“Yes," I said. “Anything you need, sir." Man, that felt good to say.
“Probably start ya with milking. Ever been milked, kid?"
It seemed like a weird slip of the tongue, but it would have been rude to call him out. “I… have no milking experience, sir."
He lifted his shirt to scratch his belly, and I couldn't help but stare. His navel looked deep enough to get lost in and I'm sure I should've wanted to look away, even if only to not seem rude for staring, but I just couldn't.
And of course he noticed.
“Oh… you're a bit susceptible to Uncle Boyce's charms, aren't you?" He smirked and pointed to the ground, and I immediately got on all fours, looking up at his massive gut. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
“Mmm, now what was I saying? Oh yes—never been milked, you said. How terrible. Your udder must be aching for release about now, no?"
“I don't have—"
“Off with your shirt, kid."
I obeyed. Obeying felt really good, even though my stomach was starting to hurt.
“As you were saying?"
“I don't have an udder, sir?"
“Don't lie to me, kid." He bent down and tweaked one of my lower nipples, making milk spurt out over his hand.
One of my lower nipples? I looked down to see two rows of thick, stiff teats down my belly, which was hanging considerably heavier than I'd ever seen it before. “I—"
“It's lucky you came here, isn't it?"
I panicked. This isn't right…
Boyce lifted his shirt again, and the sight of his hefty gut once again shut down all resisting thoughts.
“I'm lucky I came here, sir," I said, stroking my now-enormous belly—my full and leaking udder—with some distress. “I can't… I can't remember the last time I was milked…"
And I honestly couldn't. I mean, I know my friends never had, when I lived with them… I didn't do it myself, that would've been weird… how could I have gone my whole life without a milking? No wonder I was here begging at the first farmhouse I came across: “Please milk me, sir…"
Uncle Boyce led me back to his stable, showing me an empty stall and advising me to strip and get comfortable. I was only too happy to comply as he started hooking up a milking apparatus to my stiff and needy teats.
I let out a deep low of relief as the milking machine was activated and the pressure that had been building started to ease up.
I don't know how long I stayed there on all fours in an idle bliss, listening to my milk fill the tank as the steady pressure on my nipples continued to drain me, but I do know it was starting to be dark by the time Uncle Boyce came around again.
“Don't get too comfortable, kid. There's still a lot of work I need done around here. How are your eggs coming?"
“My… eggs?" It felt weird to talk, somehow. Like… like I wasn't supposed to question him.
“Can't be holding up production," he said. “Surely you're not planning on keeping them inside forever, are you?"
“What? I never—"
I let out a squawk of surprise as I heard a crack from behind me—an egg had landed between my legs.
“Now you're just letting them go to waste. Can't be having that."
“But that's not— how could I—?"
The farmer only looked down at me, raising his shirt again. It really was a calming sight, somehow. Had I noticed how furry that massive gut was? That navel, so deep, swallowed up my attention beyond any hope of escape. Of course Uncle Boyce is right.
I already knew what I had to do, squatting over a pile of hay as I felt the pressure building at my hindquarters. (I've always done it like this, haven't I? Yeah, I've always laid my eggs here while Uncle Boyce is milking me. I mean, I do know I've never done it any other way…)
I shook out my tailfeathers and bore down as the eggs started to come out. Smooth, round, heavy… they were big, and I could feel them stretching me open… one after another…
The almost sexual reverie of laying and being milked lasted for most of the night—by the time the sun came up, my pile of eggs had filled half the stall and I could tell by the resonance of its steady dripping that the tank of milk was nearly full as well.
And the farmer returned.
“You're doing well, kid," he said. The glow of pride that came from Uncle Boyce's praise brought shivers to my bones. Just to be appreciated, after—after so many years of being a freak, ostracized for my udder, ostracized for my eggs—
It was really hard to remember those times, really. The mind can so easily suppress the things that seem wrong— and those memories definitely felt wrong— well, of course it was wrong to have been treated that way, wasn't it? And I was very, very sure that no one had ever told me my udder didn't bother them…
I felt anxiety welling up, for some reason. “Uncle Boyce," I said, getting the farmer's attention as he was carrying out a wheelbarrowful of my eggs. “I need… I need…"
I wasn't brave enough to say how calming, how soothing the sight of his belly was. I didn't have it in me to dare to ask to see it again. But Uncle Boyce is a good farmer and he can tell what his animals need.
He drew closer—close enough that my nose brushed against his shirt—and exposed his belly for me again. I faced that navel at point blank range, the whorls of fuzz around it tracing its rim like a hypnotic spiral.
I pressed my nose deep into that navel, deeply inhaled his manly, human scent, and felt immensely better.
“I can see what you need, kid. Your heat's coming on you. If you don't start getting bred, it'll only drive you crazy."
That seemed…so right. I whimpered as need washed over me, a heat rushing over my hindquarters with an urgent need to be filled.
How could a creature of so many needs like myself have made it so long in this world without a caretaker like Uncle Boyce? I needed to be milked, I needed to lay, I needed… to be bred…
The farmer left the stall, leaving me grinding my rump against the newly-emptied milk tank in open desperation. Fortunately it wasn't so long before he returned, leading an enormous stallion behind him.
“Come on," he said. “Best be getting into position, kid. Can't keep ol' Turbo waiting." He nodded to a stand in the corner and I made my way to it, careful not to trip over my milking apparatus as I bent over it and raised my tailfeathers.
Uncle Boyce led the horse to me, and I felt its fur on my back as it stood over me. Turbo's rank scent balanced my own, beastly and sexual, and I soon felt the end of his cock, sliding against my rump, trying to find my entrance.
I was still pretty loose from constant laying, and as soon as the horse's girth was resting against my open hole I knew I was more than ready. Turbo's juices mixed with my own for just a brief moment before he pierced me with one powerful thrust.
The horse's cock must have been at least a foot and a half long, but my needy sex swallowed the whole thing hungrily, sending my heat into overdrive.
The stimulation of the stallion's shaft along every inch of my insides, coupled with the relentless attention the milker was giving my nipples, soon had me locked in a cycle of sudden and intense orgasm, a near-constant gush of fluid rushing from my hole as my inner walls rippled over the length of the cock inside me.
This was absolutely my duty.
I was so wracked with my own ongoing climax that I barely noted Turbo's thrusts increasing, the big beast's cock flaring inside me, until his hot seed began to blast into my womb. The feel of it filling me fired my imagination, and I could only think of carrying the horse's foals as they grew inside me.
It shouldn't have been possible, but I'm almost sure I felt a kicking in my belly even as the horse pulled out.
Uncle Boyce led Turbo away, and I was left to stroke my growing udder-belly as the milker relentlessly continued to pump my teats.
I woke up to morning sunlight coming in through the barn door. My stomach was immense, and the feel of the life inside it was already unmistakable.
The farmer came to my stall, fully shirtless and hauling a bucket. My conscious mind shut down in the presence of his perfect body and that deep hypnotic navel. He owned me fully. He always had. He always would.
“Look at how you've rounded out, kid. Forget the breeding, I bet it wouldn't take too much effort to get some prize bacon out of you."
Some part of me wanted to protest as he dumped out the slop bucket into my feed trough, but I tried to suppress it. He wants me to be part of that wonderful belly forever.
I buried my snout in the delicious muck and never looked back.