Bull semen, specifically Minotaur semen, was a major component in giving the pills theoomphtheir devotees needed . . . and she, in her new role, if she decided to take the job, would be responsible for collecting it.
She needed to decide by that evening, a decision that seemed as daunting as it had in the hours after she’d left the farm in a daze as it did now. She’d spent the rest of the previous evening slumped over her laptop, watching slack-jawed as the beaming fox-woman in the video jerked off minotaur after minotaur; huge, hulking bullmen resting comfortably against the padded breeding stocks, their thick members prominently displayed for the technician who stood a level below them. Her dreams that night had been a twisted tangle of sharp-smiling teeth and the silhouette of huge men, the shadows of their horns completely engulfing her as she was pushed to stand beneath them until she’d woken gasping in a sweaty tangle, unsure of where she was or what she was contemplating.
Now that she’d watched the video repeatedly, small details she might have overlooked otherwise jumped out at her: the minotaur’s girthy members vaguely resembled their human counterparts, but there was no comparing thesize. Commensurate with the heft of the hulking bullmen, their cocks were long and impossibly thick, riddled in veins with prominent, dome-like heads. Some bore the same coloration of their owner’s varied hides, while others were bubblegum pink or deep red, flushed with the blood that engorged them. She wondered, watching as the technician moved her oiled hands in a continuous twist down the rigid shaft, if the men in the video had been specifically chosen as displays of the finest minotaur meat available, and considered that reality might not match up with the glossy media, the same as it rarely did with human men.
“It’s up to you to decide when the use of mechanical stimulation is necessary,” the chipper woman said seriously into the camera. The implication was clear: if the men were taking too long, apply the cylinders of the milking machine to speed things along. Despite the fact she knew exactly what was coming, Violet began to breathe hard when the technician released her hands, letting the oiled cock bob as she took up one of the silver nozzles. The hum of the machine’s air compressor was a steady white noise in the video, the mechanical arms within already pistoning, creating the rhythmic suction the minotaur was about to experience. Sure enough, the big bull grunted and jerked as the cylinder was eased down his straining cock, lowing deeply as the machine did its work.
“I like to continue providing manual stimulation at this point,” the technician advised, and Violet whimpered, the same reaction she’d had each time she’d replayed this section numerous times the night before, when the woman on the video began to rub at the huge, swollen testicles, pulling and squeezing as the minotaur bucked against the table. “Remember—the aim is a plentiful, speedy collection!”
A green light flicked to life on the machine, indicating the collection had commenced as the minotaur lowed again, his generous hips shaking the stocks above the chipper technician’s head as he slammed against them. Violet’s eyes didn’t know where to dart on the screen: the rutting hips of the bullman, the cylinder sucking on the massive cock that jutted from the opening in the bench, or the twee, old-fashioned milk bottle at the base of the collection unit that was steadily being filled with white. In the end, she had dragged the video’s progress indicator back repeatedly, the dozenth time she’d done so, giving each point of interest her absolute focus. The bottle was nearly full when the minotaur finally sagged in satisfaction, completely spent, and Violet did the same at her desk chair.This is insane, she told herself.You can’t do something like this, it’s completely . . . lewd and vulgar and inappropriate! Just get a job at the coffee place on the corner.
Is it though?A traitorous little voice piped up as she opened the small pantry cabinet, seeking something for breakfast.It’s a pharmaceutical company, a major multinational. It’s not like you’re working in some random guy’s basement.She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find in the cupboard, knowing full well she hadn’t gone shopping in over a week.It’s not like you’d have to do it forever,the voice continued as she walked up the sidewalk a short while later, heading to the discount grocery store several blocks away.Just until you can get on your feet and pay down some bills; until you can find something in your field that actually pays a living wage.She didn’t know how long that would take, didn’t know if there would ever be jobs in her field that paid more than a pittance . . .
The smell of the chain coffee shop on the corner caught her nose then, a waft of dark beans and sugary pastries, and Violet stopped in her tracks, heedless of the couple behind her, who was obliged to step into the street to move around her frozen form.What the hell are you doing? You’re almost twenty-six years old, and you can barely pay your rent. You’re on your way to buy day-old bread and generic orange juice. Really, you’re going to get a second job at this coffee shop? You’ll need to because at this rate that’s the only way you’ll ever be able to afford to have anything there. This job could be a lifeline, remember? Stop being so stupid!
She imagined the curl of the overpriced coffee leading her by the nose like an old-fashioned cartoon character as she crossed the street, pausing for only a moment before the shop’s heavy doors. She was down to the last crumpled twenty-dollar bill at the bottom of her shoulder bag, and she actuallydidneed to buy that no-brand orange juice, but she wanted breakfast, a proper breakfast. The coffee was burnt and bitter-tasting, doctored with overly-sweet syrups, and it and the honey-glazed challah braid had cost nearly half of that crumpled twenty, but it didn’t matter, she thought, back in her apartment and in front of her laptop once more. Violet paused, closing her eyes as she bit into the still-warm bread, honey sticky on her lips, before clicking on the link that would take her to the schedule input screen.Welcome to Morning Glory Farm!It was going to be okay, she breathed.You’ll be on the schedule next week, and pretty soon you can drink all the over-priced burnt coffee you want.
She queued up the video one last time before bed that night, after she’d received the confirmation email welcoming her to the farm and outlining what she’d be doing the following week.Hands-on training will be provided.
She was going to be good at this, Violet decided, dragging the cursor back to zoom in on the technician’s hands, memorizing the way she gripped the slippery cock, the way her hands twisted. She’d always applied herself, given schoolwork and her part-time jobs her all, and this would be no exception. When the green light clicked on, she noted the way the minotaur’s hips bucked against the breeding bench, his movement matching the rhythmic spatters against the inside of the bottle. His deep bellow of pleasure seemed to rattle in her brain as she settled in her bed, wondering if they would all make the same sort of noises; if they’d all buck and thrust wildly when they came, as the minotaurs in the video had.
Hands-on training, starting next week. You’ll be finding out soon,she thought, ignoring the tingle between her thighs as she turned out the light.