So like, are trans girls allowed on the farm too? I've always thought it would be so hot to have someone medically force me into lactation, despite not originally having breasts, and this feels like the right place to ask. I feel like it's the perfect spit of gender affirmation and body-mod based humilation. It would be a dream to be a dearly loved cow with soft tits and a cute little cock, maybe even with a bow around the base. I've always thought the name Bess was cute, and Highland cows are the sweetest looking things 💕
Hello friend! I loved your ask and had a little fun with it. I hope you feel at home in your new pen, since the other one wasn't quite the right fit.
Hadassah's Birthday Gift
CW: Hucow, human livestock (humane), farm dogs, force feminization, con/noncon, drugging, t4t, trans/cis, lesbians ♡, body modifications
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Hadassah!
Happy birthday to you
It was sung off key and in many cases in Yiddish rather than English; Hadassah's family gathered around her and a humble little chocolate cake to sing her happy birthday. They cheered and clapped as she blew out the smattering of candles, marking her officially thirty-six years old. She had spent those last thirty-six years on her families small farm, originally only knowing the normal farm her family operated throughout her childhood. Just your everyday cow and goat farm; maybe a sheep if they got lucky and wanted the work. When she was exceptionally small it was how her Baba made all their clothes; from start to finish each piece made. Once she got older, well…it was just easier and more fashionable to go shopping. But still, it was nothing to call home about. Every morning she'd do her normal morning chores such as collecting eggs and feeding cows before going off to do school work; until she grew up.
Once she got older and seemed to show the same penchant for fetishistic behavior, oh, around the age of twenty-five or so, her step-father Seamus took her down to the real farm about an hour deeper into their property. She'd never been there before and was absolutely shocked to see all the buildings that her dad had kept secret from her for so long. She'd known Seamus to be a quiet and reserved man but she never could've guessed that he was keeping a people farm deep in the woods. Nor could she guess exactly how excited it would make her.
It empassioned and emboldened her in ways she had never experienced; suddenly her knowledge as a farmhand and her perverse education on biology could be used for something good.
Something really really good.
There she spent the better part of the last decade honing her craft, entirely separate from whatever it is her parents were up to. Hadassah had read every medical and non-medical text book their family kept in their personal library; a fact she found was all that was necessary in keeping her animals happy and healthy. She hardly ever needed to cross paths with them except at the dinner table and it seemed they all liked to keep it that way.
Now here she sat, wishing mindlessly away over frosting smeared candles and laughing at raunchy jokes in birthday cards. The day went by in a comfortable blur, warmed at the edges by familial glee and the celebration of passing time. The best part about her family and friends was how short and sweet they kept everything; once cake and gifts had been had they all pretty much dispersed to let her enjoy her day. They'd see her casually around the farm anyway.
As the sun started to set, creeping its way to sleep, Seamus busied her away from the front porch and a cup of tea she was nursing. So much for a porch swing sunset…
She rolled her eyes in a way only a daughter could and he exasperatedly urged her to just listen and come with him in a way only a father could. Hadassah relented and followed after him, taking the painted steps down to the dirt worn path through the yard. They were quick to climb into Seamus's old beater truck, taking the relatively long drive out to the barns. The sun tucked itself away, subjecting them to night as the barns came into view; lit up only by a few street lamps and the truck headlights.
A few dogs lifted their heads lazily up from their paws, laying out in front of the large barn doors to the cattle pens. As they sat up and stretched, some fully getting up and making their way over to where Seamus parked the truck, the telltale signs of these not being normal dogs became apparent. Limbs too long and face too hairless, the signs of werewolf transformation were riddled across their happy, wiggling bodies; their tails whipped through the air as they realized who was coming. Seamus! Hadassah! Some of the farm dogs favorite people.
Hadassah fanned her hand out, an offer that was quickly taken up by the flat forehead of one of the dogs. When she looked down her gaze was met by the big, weepy hazel eyes of Pitch, one of their older werewolves. Her coat was full of thick, black ringlets; the only bare skin on her body were where she friction rubbed them or her tits and cunt. Her bare little snoot pressed up against Hadassahs hand, teeth cobbing away at the hair on her wrist as she mindlessly petted away at her.
“Come on, I got something to show you,” Seamus broke the cacophony of werewolf yips and whines, beckoning Hadassah into the barn through the cracked doors. Inside it was set up for bedtime, the only lights on were oil lamps every few beams, setting the room into a comfortable shadow. Lots of the cattle and bulls were asleep but many more weren't, keeping themselves idle in their pens before bedtime. Sleeping wasn't enforced; hardly anything ever was. It was all consensual. That was the best part.
Pitch had thoroughly pressed herself up against Hadassahs hip, following in time with her footsteps. The cattle barn was pretty big, holding about thirty heads with fifteen on each side; only about ten in her specific care.
“There she is.” Seamus stopped, gesturing to one of the empty pens- well, usually empty. It'd been empty for a while. But instead of an unlabeled door, a small sign hung by a nail with dainty script painted on it in white; Bess ♡.
“She's been here a while,” Seamus continued, stepping up to the pen to lean against the half wall and peer inside where Bess lay. “Y'see, I thought she was a steer. Got'er to fill out m'team for this falls competition.”
“I remember,” Hadassah nodded, finally finding the courage to walk up to the gate and look inside. It was always so nerve wracking meeting a new heifer, no matter how many times she'd done it; there's so much potential at the beginning of a relationship like this.
“Yeah well, she's a shit steer. Can't do much for nothin’ but seems to take a likin’ to just about anything involving the teats.” He looked to Hadassah at that, shrugging his shoulders as if nature was doing what nature does and he was passing that burden off to her. Oh, a burden she craved to bare.
“I think I get it.” Hadassah breathed, excitement stealing the air in her throat as she peered down at the little figure asleep in her bed. Newly a heifer from a steer, not yet bred through with feminizing hormones; a naive little highland cow.
“Well I'll trust you with ‘er. She's a good one, whatever she is.” And with that Seamus gave Hadassah a loving hug and left her to get to know her new little cow.
It took her a moment to move, eyes fixed on the sleeping figure. She could see small licks of curls framing her face, the start of the animalizing therapy some individuals chose to partake in. Hadassah could see that Bess had gone so far to even have the soft little nose of a cow, glistening in the candle light; pink with little brown splotches.
It took Pitch rolling her weight against Hadassah's hip to bring her back into her body. She looked down at her where she was curled up in a weird ball against her side, mouth open and tongue flopped out as she panted violently; eye contact whole and unblinking.
“You're a crackhead.” Hadassah laughed softly, voice low to not bother the other bovine, and made her way into Bess's pen. She wasn't worried about her waking up, if she had eaten dinner then she wouldn't. No one here would.
It was something they signed off on in the beginning; the consistent practice of drugging them without their knowledge at random intervals. It kept things fresh and fun.
So Hadassah didn't hesitate, beside her own excitement shooting her back into her thoughts, to lift Bess's blanket to get a look at her naked body.
The curls didn't stop at her hairline and face, no, they traveled the whole line of her body. The only places she was bare were her tummy and buttocks, her little cock nestled deep in the fur amongst her thighs.
She had no tits to speak of, just the soft beginnings of nipples that don't know their job. Mammary glands just for the sake of being born- the thought made her mind burn. Oh, how she wanted to take this body and show it what it could do with just a little help.
Her fingers found the softness of Bess's belly, hand guiding its way up her abdomen to feel at her potential udders. Her nipples were like clouds, a softness that made Hadassah's breath catch; one of those momentary heavenly feelings that leaves fast with her body's quick response. Her nipples pebbled under her touch, unsurprising with what she'd been told about her.
“You want to be milked so bad.” Hadassah whispered, hands still ghosting around her body like they were good friends. “Good girl.”
—------------------------------------
Bess shifted her weight, getting comfortable as Hadassah hooked her into the stocks. Four wooden poles with leather restraints, all of which were currently occupied by the thick furry limbs of Hadassah's prized cow; and a little stool that kept her hips propped and cozy. She'd be here for a moment as Hadassah was going to milk her dry; just as they do every day.
“Good girl, Bessie baby,” Hadassah cooed, sitting herself down on her own stool and pulling over a small bucket of steaming water. She busied herself with their usual chores, dipping a fresh, clean wash cloth into the soapy water and washing at Bess's belly and tits. Over the last few months they had come in beautifully, dangling down from her body, begging to be relieved.
She had been put on a strict regimen of hormone therapy and false pregnancies, something they did often to quickly transition finicky livestock. Sometimes critters don't know what was best for them and it took a real large animal veterinarian to make the call. The false pregnancies were something they induced within a week and only needed about a three day recess; no babies were created yet the milk yield was insane.
By month three, Bess's body was no longer something anyone could consider a heifer despite her never actually calving; not that she could, cock and balls dangling useless and pretty between her legs. She had gained substantial weight, a point of pride for Hadassah. She washed away at her bodies softness with deep affection, watching the soap bubbles run rivulets down her belly and hips. The sun from the milking pens window cascaded light down her sides, accentuating where the folds building along her hipline were; catching the glints of light along her wet skin. Drying her off was its own treat, towel jiggling her in all the right places as her fingers dipped into folds and curves.
Hadassah moved the washing bucket away, patting Bess's flank as she readied the fresh and empty bucket under her udders. Bess shifted against her restraints, eyes catching the glint of her milk bucket, a kind of excitement filling her that had been thoroughly trained in. If their cattle didn't like being milked, well then how would this farm get along at all.
“Alright, now you hold still.” She breathed, gripping her fingers around her teats and beginning the rocking motion. It was muscle memory by this point, for the both of them, as in tandem they let out a moan of relief. The first splash of white against the bottom of the bucket made Hadassah's clit pulse, a feeling that didn't wane as it filled. Her eyes tracked to the right, moving down Bess's soft body to where her cock nestled between her legs. There it sat, untouched in the moment but straining against a lilac satin ribbon tied fancifully around the base of her little bovine clit, framed by the softness of her balls. The bow had been put there by Hadassah herself after she had washed Bess down and lotioned her from head to toe earlier; the ribbon matched the color of her little milking pail. Bess's clit weeped for her, flicking at the air to press against her belly as Hadassah's hands continued their task.
Hadassah clicked her tongue, loudly four times before looking to the pens gate where she knew she'd see a dog waiting. Pitch, sitting at attention, tail kicking up dust as it wagged on the floor. She clicked her tongue again and nodded her head towards Bess's crotch; it was the only signal Pitch needed before she buried her face in Bess's cunt, lapping away at her hole and the back of her balls.
Bess tensed, letting out a long, low rolling moo before leaning back into Pitch’s persistence. From Hadassah's perspective, she could see a little pink tongue peaking out every so often from the underside of Bess's balls, catching just the base of her cock where the ribbon didn't cover.
Besides keeping the livestock safe and practicing for event shows, the farms dog population had another job; hole service. And Pitch loved her job, the little lesbian that she was.
Her tail made a whapping sound as it smacked into the cedar wall, announcing to the barn that her tongue was massaging away at cow cunt. Slow, methodical tongue drags along the softness of Bess's hole, forcing its way in as she did the same cobbing motion she did often to other fuzzy body parts. Bess's cock bucked uselessly against her belly, all of the inches that could escape her ringlets anyway; weeping onto the floor as if to express to Hadassah See? Don't you see how hard this is for me? And for all it was worth, Hadassah did pity her little highland.
But nature was what nature is and Hadassah was a scientist of sorts; she always just let time take its course. Her fingers worked over Bess's teats- actually, udders by all definition now. Her nipples, which just a few months prior sat tight and taught against her chest, were now standing at attention; the same thickness and length as Hadassah's thumb. Flush and pink, they strained at the air, little dots of white decorating their tips before Hadassah squeezed in a downward motion and relieved them. Her udders themselves could sway in a stiff wind; heavy and always producing. It felt good to do well on the farm so Bess was always happily eating and taking her medications, pressing her soft nose to Hadassah's palm to lap them up just on the off chance that her aching tits could ache more. She did this every day and it had finally paid off in the last month or so; she was getting milked daily.
Hadassah could just see the relief on Bess's face as her body could finally do what it had wanted for so long. Her eyes had rolled back to look up at the ceiling, though there were no thoughts behind those eyes, mouth open to let out little pants of steaming air. She was completely checked out as Hadassah rolled her wrist, flexing and pulling her grip on Bess's teats to get her milk into the pail. She could feel the strain on her skin relaxing, udders emptying after a long night of being left to fill.
The bucket was almost entirely full, teats almost empty, by the time Bess let herself go. It was a weak stream, rivulets falling from the tip of her cock and onto the floor which Pitch alternated between licking up and going back up to lap at her tip; all the while tail wagging away happily.
It was fun to get milked; for everyone.
“Good girl, Bessie. Good girl.” Hadassah soothed, hands moving from her udders to simultaneously move the bucket to the far wall and grip Pitch by the collar. She pulled Pitch back, clicking her teeth so that she'd sit next to her stool, which she did so immediately. Bess's body relaxed in her restraints, back curving where the stool didn't support it so much so, that her sweet little udders tapped the floor; smooshing like the empty bags they were, likely already filling up all over again as Hadassah got her out of the stocks. The leather restraints were undone around Bess's wrists and ankles, the cool air of the barn hitting those points and bringing her back to her body a bit. She mooed softly, a sleepy and pitiful thing that made Hadassah pout her lip at her and scritch at the curly-q's on her jaw. Hadassah stopped petting her sweet highland long enough to unhook her lead from the wall where it hung. Just a simple bit of colored rope, lilac just like the rest of it, with a little band of golden ribbon throughout the curve; it suited Bessie nicely. She slipped the lead around her neck and pet down her flank, giving her a soft pap on the side before tugging the rope to lead her out.
They had a whole day ahead ahead them, milking was just the start.
I’m so happy you exist cause I come back to use your content like an air freshener when I see people kink shame. Pls keep being disgusting I love you 💞
What an incredible compliment, damn.
I really appreciate you saying this. Motivation is scarce these days but knowing that my work is a breath of fresh air in this pathetic ass, kink shaming, purity cultured wasteland? That's enough to keep a man drawing porn.
I love you too, brother. Keep being disgusting. In fact? Get worse.
Kinda a follower check in. I have a long form fleshcraft explanation comic in the works as well as every intent to illustrate the chapters and asks from @sinfulanddisgusting's Farm.
Is there anything yall would care to see? It really meant something to me how drawn to and impacted by my work some of you were, and I'd love to make someone's day legitimately better through my degeneracy.
You answered an ad in a dirty magazine about becoming some homosexual man's milking goat. You're trans and it's the 1980s so you're out of options. He takes you in and now there's no radio or phone reception for miles. Good thing you get exactly what your tranny heart desires; to join his farm ♡.
CW: Hucow but goats, human livestock (humane), con/noncon, drugging, t4t, trans/cis
"Welcome to the farm" a rustic, hand painted sign proclaimed as your truck drove by. It was a red beater truck, something only a farmhand would drive around given that it wasn't much to brag at; beaten and smelling like horses like it was... yet it took the dirt road just fine... and you had climbed in it eagerly no more than 3 hours prior. You sat in the passenger seat right now, in fact, as a large man drove you both quietly past the signs border and into private property.
"Are we almost there then?" You finally asked, voice breaking the silence sharper than you expected. The radio hadn't even been on, not a lick of static to buzz between you two so your voice made even you jump. It was no surprise that his eyes cut over to you quickly, almost irritated but no...no it melted into something more akin to surprise. It really had just been quiet.
"No, not quite." He finally hummed out, a southern drawl that made your skin buzz. That voice was what made you say yes to getting into his car; suddenly it wasn't too scary to join this man's cult.
"We have about another hour or so," he kept on, fingers flexing themselves against the old stained cover of his steering wheel, "You'll get to see a few of the other buildings along the way though, before we get to yours."
Before we get to yours...Oh that's right, the barn you'd get to live in for the rest of your life. Your stomach rolled, a hot clenching feeling that worked its way downward to your cunt. The other reason you'd got in this man's truck; the promise he made to you in a dirty magazine ad that he seemed to be able to make good on. He was going to make you livestock.
You were going to be his little goat boy.
Your pussy clenched again, your eyes traveling around the cab of the car to focus on anything at all other than the heat burning through your extremities. It's probably the last time you'll be in the human part of a car ever again, your thoughts pulled at the nerves in your clit because they were right; soon your human experience would be over.
You leaned forward, making a daring display of human conscience as you turned the radio dials to play just about anything. The silence was broken by soft erratic buzzing of the radio searching stations; it went through about 10 before settling on some country music playing through static.
"We don't get much round here," the man spoke up finally, looking amused at your antics. He had waited for the world of visual storytelling to inform you of what you should've already known: no one comes out here. Ever. "I just don't feel comfortable lettin' men like them come up here and install things on my mountain. If I don't get some music...well then so be it- oh, a buildings comin up on the right."
And sure enough it was. The dirt road they had been driving on had went from city to town to highway to dirt road surrounded by fields; when they made it to the welcome sign they were engulfed by trees with just the idea of a mountain in the distance. For twenty minutes they had been driving through blank unyielding forest; now a small clearing dotted with buildings came into view.
The man didn't slow down, just drove on past what looked like normal livestock buildings surrounded by fenced in grazing fields.
"Those're just normal coops n stalls." And for what he said, they did just look normal. Cattle and goats seemed to be wandering around, munching away at the ground. A long building with what looked like 20 fans along its length sat back further and had no fences surrounding them; a chicken coop. "Gotta feed everyone somehow." He pondered aloud to you, kindly continuing to inform you of the simple nature of your new life. The world thinks this is a normal farm.
The buildings quickly left your view and you were once again swallowed up by trees and greenery. Your thoughts wandered, buzzing away like the static on the radio or some insect insatiable for a light bulb. You were insatiable for the mere concepts this man had thrown out at you and the not knowing was killing you.
It ate up at your guts gash first, pussy clenching inwardly to suck at nothing. Your new home would look like one of those barns and you'd soon be bleating away in an open field with your tits out; like the animal you knew you were. You'd maybe even get to press your face up into some farmhands crotch and feel the worn side of his hand press your head firmly down, reiterating that yeah, that was the right thing to do. And you'd inhale, nice and deep, to get just a taste of his musk and he'd chuckle and let you go. Maybe make a comment about how engorged you looked and to come into the barn for a second so he could help-
The truck stopped and you let out a little gasp as the seat belt pushed into your skin. You hadn't been paying attention at all.
"Gimme just a moment," the man nodded to you as he stepped out of the truck and walked towards a building. As your eyes tracked him, all 6 foot nothin of him, you realized he had parked at a gas station. Or, moreso, a building parading as a gas station. It had the pumps, one of which the man had parked the truck at, and all the signage to look like a legit gas station but something about it just didn't look right. It looked to handmade to be legal. It was an hour into private property.
Yet, as the man walked towards the entrance, an older looking man came out and embraced him, slapping him on the back repeatedly before letting him go. Seamus, good to see you! What can I... the windows were up and the men walked away before you could hear anymore. But you learned his name and that made you feel some kind if way.
The soft southern man that was taking you away from reality, your new owner and master, was named Seamus.
He soon returned to the car, holding up two popped open glass bottles of coca cola. Branded, how fancy. The car wasn't hot by any means but Seamus sure hadn't been turning on the air either so the coldness of the drink was welcomed. You were half a sip in before you heard him tisk at you, a sucking sound from his teeth, and felt the bottle get just oh-so-gently tugged down away from your lips.
"Not yet," Seamus replied to your stunned silence, soda still in the pockets of your cheeks. "Now that's just rude, ain't it? Pavel's gone n given you a soda and you haven't paid him up yet." Seamus let go of the bottom of the bottle, leaning back to stand in the doorway of the drivers side.
Supposedly, the man named Pavel, stood more upright from where he had been leaning bent against the back half of the truck, filling it with gas from the pump.
"Wh...what am I supposed to do?" You asked, finally, as they both stood there expecting you to do something. To pay Pavel.
"That's fair, you're new." Seamus nodded at your blunder, almost conversing inwardly with himself about how he was going to explain this to you simply. He seemed patient but repetition seemed lost on him. His face split into a smile and he looked over to Pavel like there was some inside joke, "why don't you just open your door and let him get to know ya."
So you did what you were told, turning and opening the door with your free hand and holding your soda in the other. Pavel was there before you knew it, smelling like gasoline and car parts, sidled up between your legs with your back to Seamus.
"You just let him do what he wants now, yeah?" You heard Seamus drawl, along with a few clicks of a lighter and the smell of a spliff. Apparently Pavel didn't need any permission, as his fingers ran their way up your spread thighs to your hips, working your shirt up and over- you raise your arms to help him take your shirt off but he just laughs at you and says something you don't understand in polish.
He doesn't pull your arms down but he may as well with how he just grabs your binder and pulls everything just over your tits. Oh, right, that's all that matters anymore. Your tits. Which now sat prominently on display in front of you both, nipples tentatively erect from being pulled out so unceremoniously.
Pavel exhaled hard, looking satisfied at your body as he placed his hands each under one of your teats and jiggled them. It was obscene and it made you squirm, trying hard to sit still against the leather of the truck cab. He laughed at you, genuine and full of pity as he let them drop with the weight of gravity and watched physics run its course.
Something in you wanted to be a good boy so you arched your back and presented yourself well, your tits warmed by the sun breaking through the trees above you. Pavel smiled warmly at you, saying nothing as he took the drink from your waiting hand and seemed to debate it. He very carefully lined the side of the bottle up with the tip of your teat and pressed it slowly down onto your flesh.
The sharpness of the cold made you tense right the fuck up, breath catching several times over as the bottle stood unyielding. He held it for an excruciatingly long time, enough for your other nipple to go soft and the current one to start burning against the glass. Only when you started to look over your shoulder in panic at Seamus did Pavel recind the bottle.
Just to promptly place it just as firmly against your other teat, except now he was massaging your hard, desperately cold tit like a pill between his thumb and finger. Your eyes met Seamus's as they finally rolled far enough over in your skull and everything in his face said to let him keep touching you however the fuck he wanted. It made your blood go cold and your pussy run hot and wet between your legs.
It felt like an eternity as Pavel alternated between icing your tits and massaging them gruelingly back to life. So much so that your soda stopped dripping icy perspiration down on your thighs and fell to room temperature, only then did Pavel hand it back to you with a smile and a nod.
"Seems you paid Pavel." Seamus finally said, climbing into the cab of his truck and closing the door. "Why don't you get buckled back up and enjoy your drink."
The rest of the drive was intoxicatingly long, alternating between idle chit chat with Seamus and sipping away at your coke. It was cool enough that you enjoyed it but just warm enough that it was a little too sweet to want to drink it quickly. Seamus encouraged you a few times not to waste it, since you'd paid Pavel so in full it'd be a shame. He kind of had a point.
You passed a few more buildings on the way in, just some cabins where people live, Seamus had said, offhandedly insinuating once again that you were in a different class now. You were his livestock, special and expensive; off market and nonexpendable. This whole operation ran off the back of your consent.
"You know, I'm curious" you speak up, finding it a little hard to project your voice but finding it nonetheless. "Are you ever worried someone won't respond to your ad?" The question had kind of dug at you in the last 30 minutes, as the two of you passed all of this infrastructure. Surely not more than just the two of them were degenerative enough to want a life like this, right?....right? Obviously not, as Pavel existed and the two of them aren't eating all of the grain silos and barns full of animals all on their own. So...how many people had actually answered the ad?
"Not really, no," Seamus responded smoothly, looking over at you briefly before looking back at the road. "We put it up where we knew people could find it and...well, the world bein the way that it is, people always want somewhere else to be." He said it so simply and honestly; and he was right. No one was nice to trans people, especially not those with any of the mental health issues you obviously had if you were willing to do something like this. But at the same time the way he presented it was so kind...of course you'd want to be here. Of course you'd want to be milked by a man that respected you enough to treat you like an animal. To expect nothing of you besides your base nature; to be yourself and to be used lovingly.
It was the same way it was presented in the ad...you could see it now in the raunchy porno mag you'd snagged from the video store a few weeks ago. The ad you laughed at the first time you read it...then couldn't stop reading incredulously after every time you touched your aching pussy to pictures on paper... then couldn't stop just straight up touching yourself to in general. You'd read the text Tired of living? Of being a person when it's all just too much? Become livestock today! Cows, Goats and more! It was accompanied by a PO box number and a tear out fill in form with your own contact information so they could call you directly. It gave very little information on anything else. It haunted you for weeks until all you could dream about was being here.
And here you are.
Seamus had still been talking to you and you promise you were listening but the headrest of your seat was getting so comfortable. It supported your head so well. And the sky, oh the sky that filtered through the treeline was so beautiful. It was turning a dusky grey with little specs of pink sunset throughout. It whooshed past as the truck kept on jostling the two of you forward, endlessly down this dirt road and forever away from civilization.
Time passed seamlessly, you almost didn't realize anything happened at all until you were absolutely positive you were being carried. Thrown up and over the strong toned shoulder of Seamus, you could tell by the pattern of his shirt. He had been wearing a soft and worn flannel, almost matching the same tones of the rust patches on his truck. Now your face was pressed up against the lower part of his shoulder blade and you could smell his cologne.
He jostled you about, your nose bopping the middle of his back, but only as an inevitable consequence of walking; you get the idea he wasn't trying to rough you up or treat you badly. Through the fog in your brain you could tell Seamus had stopped walking, the vibrations of his voice traveling along your jaw and through your throat. Just bringin my new goat to his pen, Seamus said, you'd hope in adoration but could only wonder as your eyes felt too heavy to open. The man he talked to joked about him drugging you, I thought this was a consent place, and Seamus just laughed back.
You parsed out from their conversation that Pavel had drugged you. It kept new livestock calm as they were walked through the large barn doors and down the well kept corridor of pens. Sometimes the realization of their new reality was too much for new livestock...sometimes it was just easier to wake up in your pen and start the day.
So you let your head bob and sway as Seamus proudly walked you down the isle, the smell of fresh soap and clean wood filling the air. If you could use your brain for anything other than drifting listlessly, you'd be able to see your pen as Seamus laid you down on your new bed. You'll come to call it your nest, like most of the other livestock in your barn.
It was a small cedarwood paneled room with half walls between you and your neighbors. A small half gate made of the same heavy wood has your name engraved on a placard, welcoming you home every time you come back from a milking. It was a simple little space with a floor bed and a nest worth of blankets neatly folded at the foot. It had no other human furniture one would expect in a bedroom, just a bed with a large mirror across from it. Just open space with some food and water containers. Any adornments or toys would come with time; when the your true personality comes out through training and daily regimend.
Your blanket is green, you noted as Seamus laid you down. It was soft and quilted, the stitches looked hand done; something you could only notice because you literally couldn't focus your eyes anywhere else but right in front of you.
"It's all right, sweet thing." Seamus cooed at you, as if you were some frightened doe in front of him. His fingers were warm and knowing as they undressed you, pulling your clothes off like he'd done this before. Like he'd drugged people and took clothes off them before.
"You're gonna take a nice nap while I start milkin you," his voice broke through the fog again, all you could do was hear and feel him. "You'll get real used to this."
It was so matter of fact. Seamus went about busying himself, something you could only see if he walked in front of you or the mirror across from your bed caught him. He came over with a small stool and a taller looking stool with a shape that was hard for your drugged brain to understand.
Seamus knew what it was for though and easily slid your limp body over the stool and into place. The leather was supportive and easily warmed up to your body temperature; your mind quickly forgot he moved you at all. It resembled the top half of a massage table with a circular hole cut out for your face to rest in; yet the spot where your chest would normally rest was completely cut out so your tits just fell uselessly forward, pulled by gravity. There wasn't much else, maybe a few inches more to the stool before it ended. The rest of your body laid on your little bed, ragdolled there.
Seamus didn't waste any time, obviously empassioned by the process. Once he had you positioned, so kind as to make sure a small hand mirror under your face was placed so you could see what he was doing in the wall mirror, he began to wash your tits. One at a time, methodical and slowly with warm, soapy water and a wash cloth.
"Yknow, this time you won't give me nothin but I couldn't help myself." Seamus hummed, gently sudsing the area around your nipples. "Just didn't feel right leavin you here wonderin. Tomorrow we'll have the vet come in and get you squared up...get you producin."
Seamus tweaked your left teat when he said the word producin, his thumb twitching on the release. You think your breath caught, it wavered on your exhale; giving away just how awake you were.
"Oh, there you are. Pretty goat." He perked up a bit as your body responded to him. You could see in the mirror that he was moving the bucket of water away, discarding the cloth into it where it lazily sank to the bottom.
Your eyes shot open and you stopped breathing for a moment, the second that Seamus made the first true pulls at your teats. One after the other, in a time his hands knew by memory, Seamus began to work your tits. Your cunt sucked away at itself, pulling a knot into your stomach as you wished you could hear the sound of milk hitting metal. You wanted to give that to him.
But patience was a skill you'd learn here and would be rewarded for. Seamus groaned as he tugged, knuckles rocking upward and downward in a motion that genuinely worked your mammaries. It felt carnal and real, like something your body remembered but your mind was taught was wrong a long time ago.
You didn't realize until he stopped that you were groaning too. Like a bitch in heat.
Your teats were worked so much that the skin around your areola were just as pink and they stung a bit, especially at the tips. But as Seamus washed them again with the soapy water, now cooled from the rooms air, you couldn't help but feel satisfied.
Well, emotionally satisfied. Your cunt was still weeping between your legs, only calmed by the fact you were drugged and listless right now. You could do nothing as Seamus laid you back down onto your bed and tucked your naked and milked body under the covers. There was no light for him to turn off, as the barn shared large overhead ones that didn't direct any certain light into the pens. So it was easy for you to nod off, despite the gnawing feeling in your clit and dissatisfaction in your gash, because you were excited for tomorrow.
If it was anything like today, you could get used to this.
"Welcome to the farm." Seamus said softly as he latched the gate of your pen shut.
A nonlinear look into what goes on in the lighthouse, a building tucked away on an island off the coast of Nova Scotia. With only jagged rocks and choppy waves to greet you at its shores; the island would despair to let you go. The light of its tower always watching, pushing you towards the depravity of human pain and pleasure. There's residents of the island already and their home is warm and inviting; and forgiving.
CW: Amputation, Stockholm, noncon/con, forced transition, body modification, body horror, t4t, pissplay, catheter, light medfet, assault 4 fun, sex slavery
Help me, its lips formed the words and its throat made the sounds but the stump of its tongue wagged uselessly in the back of its mouth. The sounds it made were throaty moans, a weak attempt at speaking. Marcel told it often, with sweet sincerity, that how it begged made it sound retarded. It wasn't allowed to stop begging for help; the only expectation kept for it anymore… just be honest. Always honest.
Help me, It attempted again, feeling its breath bounce off of the face inches from its own; Dallas. The other set of holes that lived with it; Marcel's favorite. It was Marcel's least favorite…a hell of its own making. Dallas answered its plea with his tongue, tracking the wet pad of it along the clean-cut leather edge of its gimp mask. The dichotomy of the hotness of his tongue and the pressure of the leather against its flesh made it writhe against its restraints. The whole room filled with the music of chains, jingles bouncing off the stone walls of the basement. For what it knew, it was chained by multiple hooks attached securely to the ceiling; each limb with its own chain secured by some of the strongest leather it had ever experienced. If its handbags had been made out of such nice leather then maybe it wouldn't have bitched so much before… but no, that shit broke and these restraints held.
Help, it tried again, words cut off as Dallas's mouth tracked away from its mask to its own. It tasted him and moaned, lips falling limp as it let Dallas grip at its face; pulling its mouth open with a single hand grip on its jaw. His tongue licked at its teeth, making his way deeper to bully its mouth. Its useless nub wagged at the back of its throat, desperate to lick back; stifled only by the fact that its nose was plugged and it was starting to suffocate.
“Holes…” Dallas spoke into its mouth, letting it gasp and sputter against him, “You have to let me do it.” His voice was raspy and stern, point accentuated as he shook Holes jaw back and forth. It'd have to suffocate. He was quick to start again, locking lips as he forced his tongue into its mouth. It held in its moans as Dallas circled his tongue along its stump, kissing it in a way that borderlined affection. Its brain burned and tingled, lungs slowly joining suit until its body couldn't help but thrash. A natural response, Marcel had informed it so many many times as it freaked the fuck out.
It exhaled on instinct, air leaving its throat in a desperate moan that Dallas inhaled greedily. He pulled off its mouth, quickly slapping his hand over its mouth in an act of cruelness Holes was unfortunately used to. It kept its thrashing as Dallas exhaled its cry for help, inability to do anything absolutely accentuated by the fact its limbs were as useless as its tongue.
It got overwhelmed easily, Marcel would be the first to tell anyone, with all of its limbs to keep track of. It was quick to elope; to run away at a deficit to its own health. It often scratched its way out of restraints and was even caught once chewing through its own arm…so for an air of safety; it just didn't have limbs anymore.
Its stumps wagged in the air, suspended behind its back and into the air where it was hooked into the ceiling. Above a surgical table that Dallas was now laying comfortably on. Its arms, shortened down to the elbow, had multiple rings of leather fitted to its exact measurements. Its thighs were cut just above the knee, really just there for show because Marcel though they looked pretty. Actually, anything Holes still had left was just because Marcel thought it was pretty. Holes leg restraints were just to give the chains something to grip, most of the load bearing coming from a belt around its waist.
And there it stay, writhing in its suspension, body naked and quaking as Dallas held his hand up against its open and sucking mouth. His palm pulsed with its desperate suckling for air, eyes wide and searching behind its eye cover. Its lungs screamed, mind fogging with agony as it began to actually freak the fuck out; Dallas unrelenting. The plugs in its nose pushed, body desperate to force the blockages out to no avail.
Just as its body started to stop, Dallas pulled his hand away. Holes sucked in air, greedy and hungry its lungs immediately expelled it in a wrenching cough; only to repeat the process with another deep breath. On the third, it made a new choking sound as along with air, Dallas's fingers shot into the back of its throat. They stayed there, hooking themselves up and over to grip the little hole where its esophagus opened up. Marcel once said its epiglottis felt like a fish scale, so, nothing to worry about. If it kept calm it could breath around Dallas's fingers carefully; all of its spit went down with gravity so it didn't need to swallow.
With its mouth indisposed, Dallas began to wander his hand down Holes body. He fingered his way over leather restraints, grazing over sweating and heaving skin to get at its crotch. His efforts were met by his thumb bumping the catheter pulling Holes pisshole wide open. It choked on his fingers, mouth closing and swallowing around his hand out of instinct as the nerves in its abused cock woke up. Well…the closest thing it could call to a cock.
Dallas had rallied for Holes to get its cock back; a hard line Marcel refused to cross. Holes originally had a cock and balls, born and raised happily with them and the male gender that went with it fit just fine. It was after they moved to their new home that Marcel decided that men actually had pussies and since that day made sure it had one that was well attended to. What it called a cock now was actually its pulsing and engorged clit-cock; a disgustingly reddish thing that Dallas shoved into a pump multiple times a day to keep huge. Marcel in his infinite kindness and flesh craft made sure to reline its clit with its urethra; a fact embellished by Dallas that with a catheter would now constantly drool its bladder all over the table below it.
Dallas stroked it now, fingers wrapping around its girth to start jerking it off in painfully slow strokes. The gash between its legs, more of a flesh bucket than a cunt, was a wet enough mess to make this an easy affair. The open hole plug in its cunt kept it gaping, a thick sucking sound as its bucket grasped at nothing. The plugs that fit a cunt that size would make anyone raise a brow; what Marcel did to pussies felt almost cartoonish. Its cunt hiccuped as Dallas knocked its clit around, hips rocking down to fuck his hand. It'd do all the effort for kindness.
It alternated between moaning like a bitch and sucking on Dallas's fingers, tongue stump flicking and swirling around them; raw from his fingernails. His hand on its cock stilled, making it visibly shake and wail in protest but it was quickly stilled as Dallas positioned his own hips. His gash was just as altered, cunt loose and prolapsed between his legs. Despite its eyes being covered, it could tell he had a sizeable amount of his cuntmeat sitting out on the cool steel of the table. It knew this because its pulsing cock pushed it back inside his body as he pressed his hips up against its own. It bellowed, hips not pausing a beat to start fucking violently down into Dallas's messy snatch.
“Fuck yeah that's right.” Dallas laughed, fingers matching the excitement in his voice by starting to finger fuck its throat in time with its hips. The wet sounds of Dallas's gaped pussy smacking against Holes leather chastity belt mirrored the sounds of its throat cunt being fucked. Dallas keened up from the table, pressing his tummy to theirs so their breaths imposed on each other. His skin was wet, a smearing of Holes own fluids brought down by gravity, pressed back up into it as he bucked. Dallas had always been gross since the day Holes met him; over a year ago in the hell of this basement. Dallas seemed to love the whole thing. He seemed to love when Holes fucked him so hard that the catheter tip on its hole smacked into his abused cervix, scratching and knocking it around. He let out little excited moans every time it did it; he was so predictable. It could feel the plug, an odd and oblong shape, buried deep in his ass. It felt large enough that pushing into his cunt should've been totally impossible; if this wasn't their normal it might've been. Instead it rubbed up against Holes own cock like bedfellows, making Dallas's pussy twitch and milk at its clit.
Neither of them would cum from this, so there really was no end to it until a bell rang at the bottom of the basement stairs; signaling that Marcel was back from his work chores and Dallas would have to go up there and spend time with him. It would be left, wet and raw and aching for the next time Dallas or Marcel would have some freedom from their schedules to spend time with it. Dallas rolled his eyes and groaned, fingers pulling out of its throat to reach down and grab its hips. It was the only way to get it to stop fucking.
The sound of his cunt sliding out from inside his gash was obscene; a succinct wet schlorp that fell against his bare thighs. It could hear his footsteps as he went upstairs and all it could think about with each one of his foot falls on those creaking wooden steps…. Was him kicking it in the cunt.
Been meaning to change my url for ages. This used to be wretchedgoingson. Basically illegible. So now it's fagworm. Hope that's better for everyone, I'm content.
hello mr. son,, i love your art so much <33 are the backgrounds also drawn or are they images?
Hey thank you! I can't tell you how much that means to me that people are honestly enjoying my work. The backgrounds are a mix of royalty free images and my own photos. I print them on a laser printer, fuck with the print a little by scratching, smudging, etc, then cut and glue my drawings on top.
Hey, so ages ago I got an ask about fleshcraft. I need you to know I saw it and I love you for asking. I'm just still working on my response. It... ended up kind of being a whole thing.
I am so happy to learn Saul and Petra's names because I had been thinking of them as Hot Bear Stalin and Sexy Chub Marx. I love them so much, your art makes me so happy.
Ha! That's great, super into that. I appreciate that so much! I've been getting back into the swing of drawing again so I'm happy to take some direction on the content. It means so much to know you like my art.
Just...can't keep this to myself in any way anymore.
Marcel is a bad man who does bad things, he deserves to be scared.
CW: noncon, intox kink, flesh crafters, bad people
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Warmth. Wet.
The first two feelings that came to the forefront of his mind as his eyes slowly opened. Lazily, painfully slow, his eyes peeled free of each other to take in a blurry ceiling. His vision felt thick and viscous, each blink barely clearing away the fog. But it was more than just his vision, his whole body felt completely stunned.
It was a balance, feeling his body or seeing; he had to choose which one he wanted to partake in on any moment. The void felt comforting, almost like flowing through a dream. It was easy to be inside himself; it took effort to look through his eyes and form thought on what he was actually seeing… white-ish panels…blurry white panels?
He felt a sharpness in the void that was his body, dragging deliberately along the length of his crotch. It was a cloth, he realized, as the knitted cotton expressed water along the slit of his cunt. Someone was sitting between his legs and washing his pussy. Obsessively.
Painfully slow. Marcel could hear the trickling of water as the man rinsed the cloth in some container. Then warm, damp pressure starting from his clit down between his ass. He didn't take any regard for his privacy, this man, using his free hand to pull Marcel's outer labia open. A different, softer cloth probed further, wiping him clean adamantly. The cloth would leave just long enough to be rinsed clean, just long enough for the room to go quiet, before going back to padding away at his pussy.
There was a third man in the room, Marcel could tell, and probably a fourth too because someone was making this third man moan like a sniveling bitch. Marcel, floating between his cunt being cleaned and the void of his drugged carapace, listened to him whine. He could hear his breath catching, shaking with the quaking of his chest; muscles no longer listening to a body who's nerves are on fire. Marcel could only wonder what was happening to him. He couldn't wonder too long.
It was quiet in the room, the water had stopped and the incessant washcloth had finally called it quits. Marcel tried, willed himself to open his eyes but they were far too heavy. He could just listen as footsteps moved across carpet and then hardwood…out the door… water poured into a sink basin and the man cleared his throat. Drank something from a cup and set it back down…
Instead, Marcel laid there like the good little ragdoll he was; eager and waiting for the man and his observation to return.
The amount of effort it took to listen to him work in the other room was almost unbearable. He'd complain if he could.
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