ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part without author's permission.
This story is a fictitious product of my imagination and should not be read if the reader has a hatred of gay/bi people, gay sex, etc., or sex-oriented writing in general. Any semblance to real life within this story is purely coincidental. This story uses components of abstract sexual fantasies and may not be for you. A few involving mpreg, muscle growth, lactation, vore, and acts of homosexual intercourse. If you are not 18 years of age, I recommend you click off your browser because it is likely this content is illegal for your reading.
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Author's note: Hi everyone I'm fine. I'm doing good. I want to give an explanation as to why this chapter took so long to come out. My kind and gracious beta reader's computer crashed during all this 2020 craziness. I had a few other personal projects I had to do so I wasn't going to rush them. Let's hope I can bring the next chapter to you all much quicker.
Final thought: I feel like I keep dropping hints.
Anyways shoot me an email at the end of the story if you enjoy it and we can talk about it!
CH 15
"When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell," Heather sang along to the radio, making deadeye contact with Marc. "When you see my face, hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell."
Marc tried to ignore her; he even took interest with the whistling wind outside. However, he refused to let her ruin a classic, "It's when you walk my way. When-You-Walk-My-Way."
"I HOPE IT GIVES YOU HELL," she screamed back. Marc noted the frazzled energy behind her eyes. He'd long realized that Heather showed her emotions through them, if nowhere else.
Marc touched the expanse between them and lowered the music, "I get it Heather. You don't want to do this. But don't ever for a moment think I don't appreciate you for this."
Heather's jaw relaxed and her eyes widened. She looked away before turning the music up, "Let's get one thing straight. This is my car; I control the music." She sighed but didn't resume her singing.
"So, awkward silence then?" Marc asked after a few tense minutes. "Awkward silence it is, got it," he stated before fingering the outline of a notepad in his pocket. It held all the possible questions he would ask anyone at Milkem capable of answering.
"Thank you for that apology-lacking apology," she said with a smile. "How did you get your uncle to agree to this?"
"Who said I did?"
Heather looked at Marc, shock widening her eyes. "Isn't this like, Cowman treason?"
"That's not a thing, Heather."
"How would you know? You're going to the root of all evil to get some mysterious questions answered," she trivialized with a wiggle of her fingers.
"I have my reasons." Marc remained tightlipped.
"And you don't feel comfortable enough to tell me yet?" she let loose a wry sound. "You weren't too uncomfortable to get cozy with Bret."
Marc gasped. His eyes were wide with shock and smile curled at the edge of his mouth. `This bitch,' he mouthed.
"So you're really just going to marinate in your idiot stew and not tell me what's so important it's got you betraying family and friend?"
"Friend?" Marc inquired.
"I seem to be your only one. The Cowmen don't count; they live with you."
"They're my friends too," Marc whined. "But, fair enough. I didn't tell him because it's just complicated. I don't get along with the other workers on the farm."
"So, you're basically like Ken and Trevor?"
"No," Marc replied, fingering the notepad again. "It's different."
"Okay, we'll get to that later. But back to the original topic, he didn't ask you where you were going... at all?"
"He did, but I left stuff out. I told him we'd be hanging out. That you'd be showing me around again."
"I guess it's an okay enough lie." Heather studied him for a moment, biting her lip to keep the question from flowing out. She paused and kept her focus on the road, hoping the tension would dissipate with time.
"How well did you know Princeton from the Howard farm?" Marc asked breaking the silence.
"Well, my dad was friends with Farmer Randall, like your Uncle, so I met Princeton a few times. But I never tried his milk, if that's what you're asking. I don't think people would give Bullmen milk away so easily."
Marc felt his face grow hot, "That's not what I was asking at all! I was asking because Uncle T is going to visit Princeton again."
"Wait, didn't he see Princeton after Ken shifted? Why does he want to see him again?"
"I dunno, farmer business I suppose." Marc shifted uncomfortably and swallowed with a very dry throat. "Since you mentioned Ken, I have something to tell you."
"Oh did, you two finally make out?" Heather chuckled, "Did he smell Bret on you and ravish you?"
Marc cocked an eyebrow at her, "No, you ...we did it."
"Kissed?" Heather's eyes narrowed, but her eyebrows rose.
"No, Heather. You know," Marc gestured with his neck. "IT."
The car screeched to halt, bracing the seatbelt against his chest, leaving him an asphyxiating mess. He gurgled for air as Heather's fist curled around the steering wheel. He attempted to identify the unreadable expression that passed through her features as she pulled the car off the road and the mad pace she did around the vehicle before jumping back into her seat. "What?"
Marc looked at her for a moment, he guessed she was confused with the strained furrow of her brows, "Remember, you said to let Brett rearrange my colon... Ken had already beat him to it, when he shifted."
Heather nodded, mouth agape, "I actually said `reshape', but okay." She started back on the road again. "You know I didn't think you'd dive straight into the deep end. Who made the first move? Was it you? Or is Ken bold now?"
Marc squeezed his eyes feeling the humiliation buildup. Ken certainly became something that night. "It happened during his shift."
"Wait, so?" Heather arched an eyebrow.
"It was completely consensual; I gave him permission before he got lost in it."
"Good to hear, but if you need me to cut his dick off. All you have to do is signal," she stated making snipping motions with her fingers.
Marc continued on, "That's not all. The whole farm knows."
A laugh escaped Heather's lips before she reigned it in.
"Stupid Ken and Stupid Trevor decided that they just had to fight over my safety. Now everyone, and I mean EVERYONE thinks we're in some fuckin' love triangle."
"Aren't you though?" Heather asked.
"We're not. I'm with Ken. You know this!"
"Mmhmm, if you say so." Heather said with an unconvinced tone in her voice. "I can't believe they fought though. I thought Cowmen were usually passive unless they were truly angry."
Marc slapped the sides of his face, "It worried me that they got so upset. I'm really not worth fighting over. I mean, my safety is one thing, but to come to blows?"
Heather sucked her teeth. "I know you didn't mean to say that, but... `come to blows?' I know you aren't silently thirsting over there as we're trying to discuss cowmen sociology."
"Oh my God, shut up. You know what I mean!"
"I do, but it doesn't change what I don't know. What it does change however, is my understanding of why we're in enemy territory."
Heather pulled into the parking lot filled with various cars and trucks. She settled the engine beside a station wagon a similar shade of red as hers. Marc gasped at the grandeur of the structure. Dorothy wasn't in Kansas anymore and the farm this place used to be was long gone. The grounds held an elegantly crafted but large mansion with two cylindrical wings on either side; equally as massive as the mansion if not larger.
"They're so big," Marc gasped.
"I know, it's like it's wearing a jetpack," Heath Heather remarked.
"Oh shit. I see that!" Marc was startled at how urban the whole structure looked as if they'd been living in a deep rural area and civilization had fallen out of the sky and blessed them.
Walking along the cobbled path to the main entrance they could, despite the nasty glare, see workers through the glass that lined the upper levels of the cylindrical buildings.
The main entrance held a horde of people, Marc spotted journalists, camera men, students and other folks who were probably looking for a good time. The steps of the entrance were decorated but clearly lacked the main attraction to bring it off.
"Wow, they certainly work fast," Heather stated, still staring at the twin buildings behind the mansion.
"Heather, Heather is that you?" A female voice called.
"Oh jeez," Heather rolled her eyes and turned with a bright smile.
"Oh my god, Michelle what are you doing here?" Heather said with fake enthusiasm, as she put a hand on the shoulder of a tiny Asian girl with long and shiny black hair.
"I'm scoping out the competition." Michelle crossed her arms looking around.
"Competition? You mean?" Marc asked.
"Heather who's your friend?" Michelle asked.
"Marc meet Michelle Phang. Her family runs a Cowmen farm too." Heather gave an uninterested introduction, but Michelle didn't seem to care.
"Michelle Phang? I feel like I've seen that somewhere before." Marc searched his mind for a record of the name. He recognized the name as Korean, but that was it.
"She goes to our school, so you probably have seen it," Heather said, crossing her arms. "Maybe near the notice board or something."
"Lovely to meet you Michelle." Marc shook her hand. "One moment," Marc pulled Heather off and whispered. "If you knew another kid that lived on a farm why didn't you tell me? We probably didn't have to come here."
Heather shook her head, "Oh no, you do not want advice from Michelle. She's a sweet girl, but no."
"Why what's wrong?"
Heather leaned in closer to Marc, "Did-you-not-hear-me? Notice. Board."
Marc nodded his head.
"You don't understand me, do you?"
"Marc nodded again."
"The flyers about the missing people and stuff. This is her. A sweet girl, truly, but no."
"Oh. That was her?"
"Yes. Three of those missing pets? Her. The missing persons' reports. Milo, a cowman, has a habit of taking her dad's credit card. I'm sure he's flown off to Dubai or something again."
Marc raised an eyebrow, "Again?"
"It was Cancun, not Dubai," Michelle said suddenly, appearing from behind Heather. Marc's hand flung to his chest and Heather had dug her nails into his shoulder. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST MICHELLE!" She yelled.
"Milo doesn't have my dad's card. He's just missing," she pouted.
"How long was he gone last time?" Heather asked dryly, She clearly already knew the answer.
"Just a few months! Heather, it's not that serious," Michelle gasped.
"A few months in Cancun isn't that serious?" Heather scoffed before folding her arms. "Lemme be your stepmom, I could use 4 months in Cancun."
"You don't have to be such a... witch," she said looking away.
"I forgot that you don't curse," Heather laughed.
"Ignore her Michelle, Lindsay Lohan here," he pointed. "Clearly forgot that `Mean Girls' was like 15 years ago and she's being the worst." He smiled at the blushing girl.
"Maybe you're right, but how do you know he hasn't found some other way to access your money like steal your identities?" Heather countered.
"I can't—I don't...Hmm. I need to make a call," she said before turning around and pulling her phone from a pocket.
Marc stood there dumbfounded by the scene, "Cowmen have gone missing?"
"You picked that up, uh."
"Sparingly," Michelle added, pocketing her phone.
Heather continued, "I forgot to mention Marc is Farmer Tyrone's nephew. He's living at Watkins' Farm for the time being."
Michelle looked at Marc, "Your uncle hasn't said anything?"
"No, if we had Cowmen missing, he'd tell me."
Michelle nodded her head, "Milo's the only one missing from my farm and given his past we can't say he isn't just skipping town. But other farms in the area have had three, or four Cowmen disappear."
"No one's called the police?" Marc asked surprised.
"Everyone's tried," Heather added, "but it's not like they all went missing at once. And there's no proof they were taken. It's been happening over years, since we were kids. But this is the country. It's not uncommon for people to go missing. Only it's been less humans and more Cowmen. If you check some of those missing posters back at school, you can probably find one 10 years old."
The door to the mansion flung open, flooding the crowd in silence as Mr. Karter, in a stark white suit, stepped through the doors and down the stone steps. Marc couldn't help remarking how he looked like a swan crafting its way across a pond.
"Come in, come in." He flourished a wing, ushering the rushing crowd inside.
The three teenagers breathlessly took in the interior; the giant main hall had become a café of sorts. The room had an immense circular skylight that created a halo in the room. It immediately drew their attention to the giant windows that lined the back of the mansion giving a view of the verdant fields behind it. The room certainly seemed out of the ordinary with its browns and various shades of blue reflecting the natural light.
The crowd gathered in a large circle, while Mr. Karter talked in the center. "As you can see for the design, we went a splash of color to liven the place up, but we did keep a bit of the original white. Studies have shown that too much white can make a place seem sterile and be disorienting to the senses."
"Look at the pot calling the kettle white," Heather muttered.
"Huh?" Marc questioned.
"He's literally wearing all white..." Heather pointed out.
"Oh, yeah. I see that."
"Shush!" Michelle held a finger over her lips.
Mr. Karter fluttered about the room and continued his speech, "This event serves as precursor to the much bigger and grander opening we have planned later in the year." Marc was certain he was speaking to the journalists and everyone else was just free publicity. "You're our test batch, for lack of a better word, haha."
Heather sneered before whispering out the side of her mouth, "It seems Karter expected a bigger turnout. He didn't realize that the folks around these parts believe in solidarity."
"If my non-members of the press don't mind, I would love to let you all explore the main building, while I give my dry spiel." People in the crowd laughed. "But I won't let you go empty handed."
Mr. Karter clapped his hands and a pair of double doors behind a serving station flew open. Out poured a pageant of beautiful men and women dressed black and white servers gear. Marc noted that the men's vests held no sleeves to shield their bulging muscles, and the women wore spaghetti straps and thigh high frilly skirts. Marc didn't know whether they were selling softcore porn or the trays of milk they all seemed to have in hand.
"Try some of our Cowmen milk served by our very own Cowmen!" Mr. Karter walked further into the room, carrying the press along with him as he continued to speak. Meanwhile many people in the crowd sat down at tables while servers placed a cup of milk in front of them.
Marc, Heather, and Michelle hadn't moved from where they stood. Though Michelle pouted and longingly stared at a seat, Heather's countenance kept her silent. Soon the Cowmen had given them cups to try and Marc studied his.
"Marc are you okay?" Michelle asked looking at him worriedly.
"I'm fine, I just never had Cowmen Milk before. It doesn't look. or smell different from cow's milk."
"Wow, you're stubborn. All this time and you still haven't tasted the milk yet?" Heather exclaimed.
"Don't you live on a farm?" Michelle cocked her head to the side.
"Um." Marc looked away for a moment.
"Oh," Heather gasped.
"What is it?" asked an uninformed Michelle.
"His charges, they recently shifted. I think he wanted to try theirs first," she said softly, giving him a sympathetic nod. "Right?"
"Right."
Michelle was about to say something else, but Heather cut her off, tapping Marc's glass "Drink it, wimp." Marc smirked and held it to his lips before swallowing Milkem's product. Michelle and Heather chanted `Chug!' until half of his drink was gone. When he was done, he licked his lips.
"Not bad, is it supposed to taste like that?"
Heather and Michelle both took sips of theirs.
"It's alright." Heather said.
"Maybe they are good at this then?"
"Nah, my Cowmen make better milk," Michelle admitted. "It's the best I've ever had," Marc shrugged.
"For now," Michelle challenged.
A server came by and took their empty glasses.
"I'm going to ask the questions," Marc said pulling out his pocketbook.
"I'll go get some more of that mediocre milk." Heather walked away, refusing to stand there with Michelle.
Marc soon realized that Michelle trailed behind him, "What is Heather's issue with you?"
Michelle flipped her hair, "It may have something to do with me losing her beloved pet gerbil in the 3rd grade." She stared at the floor.
Marc nodded his head and walked away. If Heather and Michelle were going to make up that was up to them, he was here on his own mission. He grabbed the attention of a waiter standing off to the side.
Marc smiled, "Hi I'm raising two Cowmen that recently shifted, but I'm having a bit of trouble connecting with them. Could I possibly talk to you and get your feedback?"
"Here at Milkem we're happy to help!" The cowman led Marc to a table. "What' seems to be the issue?" He asked, straightening his uniform.
"What was your Shift like for you?" Marc opened his pocketbook and pulled out a pen ready to record.
The cowman rubbed the back of his head, "I guess it was the same as it was for everybody. I got the sudden urge to grow bigger than my body? No... the urge to grow out of it. To expand, I guess. I could hear thoughts chanting `Grow'. And I wanted to have so much sex—wait how old are you?—Anyway I wanted to be with others sexually."
"Do all Cowmen hear that?"
"Yes. Grow, and sex. I wanted to fuck anything with a hole and let anyone go at my ass. I'm sorry, I'm not used to talking with kids. Am I being too honest?"
"No, this is great," Marc shook his head. "Plus, I'm old enough to know about sex. Anyways, how did other people handle your shift?"
"The workers were well trained, so I turned out fine."
Marc nodded, "It would make sense that Milkem hires qualified people."
The cowman laughed. "I didn't grow up under Milkem per say. The farm I live on is its own separate entity, but Milkem works with them."
Marc carried on, "Do you have any advice for me, being new to this?"
The Cowman gave a knowing smile. "You like them, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"It's fine you don't have to answer." The cowman raised his hands, "I was just making an observation . However, I think it's important you need to be understanding. Don't try to hold a cowman back, there's probably going to be lots they want to try."
Marc wrote down everything the male cowman had said. Marc thanked him and questioned a few other Cowmen standing around, but the replies were mostly the same. Marc needed to be supportive of both Ken and Trevor. He needed to step out of their way.
Marc strolled over to a table where Heather and Michelle were sitting. Heather hadn't ripped Michelle's head off. A good sign.
Mr. Karter walked into the center of the hall, finished with his small press conference. "If everyone can gather up. We're ready to begin the tour. Which I'll be leading of course."
"We'll be doing a tour of the East building, that's milking stations and other offices. West building has offices and breeding stations, but we're not quite ready to show that off," he chuckled.
The East building connected to the mansion via a small glass walkway; it was a 2-minute walk. Marc was not prepared to be in the presence of the towering building, much less the giant `M' above the entrance.
"From here on out I'll be continually making stops. Any questions, please raise your hand." Mr. Karter scanned his card against the door. Marc left the light of day and stepped into a warehouse with artificial light all around.
Mr. Karter made them walk to the uppermost floors and started the tour there. Marc wasn't interested. It was basically what his uncle had told him before. Heather was texting furiously, while Michelle studied all the machines around them. They passed by a lounge and a few snack and soda machines that made him hungry, but he knew Heather would disapprove of putting money into the hands of their enemy. Mr. Karter pointed out a conference room for important meetings, Marc tried his best to peek inside, but the shuffling crowd around him had already moved him to the next destination.
At their first stop Michelle asked, "What are those?" They gaped at two huge industrial-sized containers that stretched from the ground floor up.
"These are our milk storage unit; we store all of our cowmen milk in here." Mr. Karter lead the crowd away, "It's far more economical that way. Lesser breeders will t—"
"That's probably why it taste so bad, ugh," Michelle began. "Any good farmer knows that you store Cowmen milk according to the grading system. You separate the good from the great, not mix it and hope it tastes better."
More questions flew as the crowd descended to the second floor, which held a giant lunchroom. Workers in the room ate, ignoring the on looking crowd. Mr. Karter had an answer for everything. Did they like the area? How much was the cost? Did the pros out way the cons? Where their Cowmen happy here?
Marc raised his own hand after that last question was asked, "A cowman told me he wasn't raised by Milkem, what does that mean?"
Mr. Karter smiled as if he had been waiting for the question, "Milkem does not raise our own supply of Cowmen. We entrust others to do that. We provide them with the necessary resources, but ultimately, they oversee making sure our Cowmen reach their full potential. Then, our Cowmen will go to their local Milkem facilities and breed and/or be milked there."
A male reporter raised his hand, "So the Cowmen who served us earlier, they don't live here?"
"That is correct. We asked them to fill in today and they graciously obliged us." Mr. Karter resumed the tour. "This farm is dedicated solely to business. We wouldn't want to get Cowmen mixed up in our daily dealings. That said, when we do our full opening, workers will be here all the time. You may have had no trouble getting on the compound now, but in the future, it will meet Grade A security standards. And even more so, we don't use firearms, we currently have none on the compound."
Heather whispered to Marc and Michelle, "I bet they have like 3000 tasers waiting though."
Michelle whispered back, "What about all the houses that were previously on the farm, are they going to remain empty, or will they tear them down?"
Marc turned to the two girls, "I have to go to the bathroom could you two cover for me?" The girls nodded as Marc quietly slipped away. The last restroom he saw was on the third floor, so he had to retrace the tour's steps.
When Marc exited the bathroom, he got a familiar itch. The same one that led him into his uncle's farm's breeding station before. He was curious to go explore without the group. He took a few steps before pausing; the same curiosity that led him to Trevor's shift. Marc tapped his foot. What to do? Marc took a deep breath and wondered into the facility.
He decided he wouldn't do anything too outrageous, but he wanted to explore the employee's lounge the group had passed by earlier. So, that's where he headed. He turned the knob to the room and walked inside.
No people anywhere. Only a huge table surrounded by chairs, a microwave, counters, a huge white board with the words "Good Luck Today!" written across in marker. Marc walked up to it there were about 20 pictures taped to the side of the board ten on the right and left.
What immediately caught his attention was a photo of Mr. Karter in a pair of white briefs. Was it a company party? All Marc noticed was how tight the briefs were, and how cold it must've been for the front to be so flat. He whipped out his phone to snap a pic, Heather would love this. Not to mention Mr. Karter was hiding some nice muscles under that pearly white business suit he was wearing. Marc looked around at some other pictures. There was one with a lady that had pie slammed in her face. Another one where the guy looked displeased at the photographer. Marc chuckled; the guy looked like Trevor. Marc laughed snapping more photos. He'd have to show Trevor later. Marc snapped a few more, a guy falling, and a lady dancing.
Marc walked around the room. He opened a few of the counters only to find pens, pencils, even utensils. Marc spotted a cabinet over in the corner and walked to it.
A filing cabinet no doubt. Three drawers with the numbers 100, 200, and 300, written in descending order. Each draw had a keyhole right above the number plate and handle. Marc tried to wiggle the drawers open to no avail.
"Worth a shot", he muttered. Marc didn't want to be caught snooping. He wasted too much time fiddling with it. He bolted back to the restroom.
Marc sent a text to Heather, "Where r u guys?"
"What are you doing young man?" A voice called out. A blonde woman with her hair in a bun came walking up to Marc. Fully decked out in a lab coat, she marched over. She had a small cut on her left eyebrow and piercing gray eyes that shot through Marc.
"I—had to go to the restroom badly. But I don't know where the group is."
The lady snatched the phone from Marc's hands and read it. "You appear to be telling me truth. Very well." She handed the phone back walking off.
Marc stuck his tongue out at her as she left. A text message from Heather came saying they were heading for the entrance preparing to go back to the main hall.
Marc raced to the first floor and rejoined with the group. Only Heather and Michelle acknowledged his absence. Everyone else was focused on Mr. Karter. They were all holding glasses.
"How was the tour?" Marc asked. The group walked back into the main hall.
"Absolutely nothing different. The first floor was the milking stations," Michelle said, "Maybe a bit more expensive, but it all does the same stuff."
"For our final topic of the evening I'd love to leave you with one special gift. You may have noticed that our Cowmen milk was lacking earlier. That's because we've been working on a new flavor and all of you get to try it." Mr. Karter waited for the cheers to die down. "Now this isn't some, almond or white chocolate taste. This is Bullmen milk."
The Cowmen servers began pouring milk into their glasses. However, they only filled it a quarter of the way.
Michelle raised her hand without missing a beat. "But to have that as a flavor for an entire brand you'd have to produce a lot. And Bullmen are so rare, no one can support that."
Mr. Karter nodded along with her. "That is all true, but trust me, we have more than enough."
Marc looked on as everyone, but him was given a serving.
"I know you guys are thinking, `He's being pretty frugal with the milk' but let me tell you. This is a very personal and orgasmic experience for every individual that's why I've only provided a little. Now please take a sip."
"You want mine, Marc?" Heather offered. "You're looking a little upset being left out."
"No, go ahead you drink it." Marc was upset, but he only had himself to blame. If he hadn't gone and snooped around, he could have been tasting Bullmen milk. He watched as Heather and Michelle both drunk from the cups.
"Holy shit! That's good" Heather said. Her eyes were wide and earnest. She grabbed his arm. "Marc, it's like really good."
"I've never tasted anything like that." Michelle muttered. "Not even my family's most top tier Cowmen."
"What does it taste like?" Marc asked.
Heather shook her head. "I don't know. It's like my taste buds are dancing. It's not a flavor like chocolate, or vanilla it's more like... a feeling."
"What are you talking about?" Marc asked. He looked to Michelle to get some clarity.
Michelle looked at them both, "I don't know about that, but my skin is tingling and there's this picture in my head."
Marc was confused. What was the taste? Heather and Michelle were describing two different experiences. He looked around the room to gauge opinions, but as he read everyone's face, he saw shock and awe take root. No one was having the same experience.
Mr. Karter clapped his hands catching everyone's attention. " I hope by now you've all realized that, Bullmen milk even within itself captures a variety of flavors. To be more direct, none of you received Bullmen milk from the same bullman."
A female reporter spoke up, "There are over 50 people here. Are you saying you found more than 50 Bullmen?"
Shaking his head Mr. Karter sighed, "Did you not believe me earlier when I said we would be rolling this out? Why is it so hard to believe we could scour the world for Bullmen?"
Marc knew the answer, everyone did, and that's what left them all speechless. It's not that the situation was impossible only improbable. But if Milkem did have the resources it was only evitable they'd try to gain an edge against the competition.
"I do have a deal for you all however, you can now preorder a year's supply of our Bullmen milk for a reduced cost."
Immediately the crowd started to push and prod, but the Cowmen servers pushed them back only letting them through one at a time. Marc stood in the back with Heather and Michelle watching the fiasco.
"See, what did I tell you?" Heather said, "You walk in here and they'll try to sell you milk."
"What about the `20 other things'?" Marc asked.
"It's a year's supply. That's at least 52 cartons!" Heather added
"You guys aren't going to go?" Michelle asked.
"Please as if I'd give him any of my money," Heather huffed heading for the door. Marc noticed her legs were wobbling a bit.
Michelle laughed sitting down at a nearby table. "My dad doesn't trust me with a card, so."
Marc ran after Heather hopping into the red station wagon. The two pulled off leaving the Milkem Farm behind in the dust.
"You know," Heather turned off her radio. "I never thought of it much, but Princeton used to always smell like the beach. I always thought it was because him and Farmer Randall were sneaking off every weekend, but that may not have been it at all. What if he just naturally smelled like that."
"What are you talking about?" Marc said reclining his chair back.
"His milk might taste like..." Heather licked her lips. "I wish I had tasted it."
"Um, are you feeling okay?"
Heather glanced at Marc; her face turned red. She lightly tapped her forehead. "Wow, I don't even want to know where I was going with that," She shook her head. "That Bullmen milk was powerful stuff."
By the time they got back to Marc's house it was already well into the evening. Marc said goodbye to Heather, watched as she drove of before walking into the house. Before the door closed behind him, he heard screaming. He turned to see Weston and Javier playing a card game against Dru and Sheila.
"Hey Marc!" Dru said waving excitedly. "Wanna' come watch these losers get owned by me?"
"What game are you guys playing?"
"We're doing some good old fashion gambling." Weston said.
"Poker?" Marc inquired looking down at their makeshift circle.
Javier nodded.
"Why are you guys on the ground? In the main hall?" he gestured to the room.
"No reason?" Dru responded, to which Sheila added a shrug
"Well, I'm not interested. I'm too broke for that?" Marc joked.
"No, no you got it all wrong this isn't about money, we can trade with other things."
"Like what?"
"Chores for one," Sheila threw in.
"Milk for two," Dru added.
"Uh-huh," Marc nodded along.
"If they lose, they have to do our chores. If we lose, we have to do theirs, that or give them milk to trade it off," Dru stated.
Marc arched an eyebrow, "Doesn't your milk belong to the farm?"
"What, are you going to tattletale?" Dru mocked, balling his fists and pretending to cry.
Sheila rolled her eyes at Dru's crude behavior, "It's fine if we take one or two bottles. We just have to ask so the workers know where they went."
Marc looked around the room, "Is Lyla not with you guys?"
"You didn't get the memo? Lyla is getting cozy with Xander ever since Ayden gave her the cold shoulder."
Dru narrowed his eyes, "Is that what happened, or did the other females just crowd Ayden too much?"
"Semantics," Sheila huffed.
"Okay," Marc inched away from the card game. "I'm going to go." He dashed to the kitchen before anyone could say anything. He didn't need to hear any jokes about how jealous Ken would be. No matter how many times he said it, no one believed that he, Ken and Trevor weren't in a love triangle.
Once in the kitchen Marc made a few sandwiches. He packed them away into little baggies. He grabbed two water bottles out of the refrigerator. He spotted some grapes and grabbed those too. He stuffed everything into his lunch box since there wasn't a basket he could use.
He walked outside with his fully packed lunch box in hand. Once he stepped onto the stone patio, He spotted Deborah and Isabella sitting to his left. They were at a small table with four chairs around it. Deborah had her notepad in her lap and was writing excitedly. Isabella waved him over and Marc obliged.
"Hey what's going on you two?" Marc walked over. A sweet smell danced into the air and in Marc's nose. Marc took a long sniff savoring the sent.
"I'm taking down some notes. Isabella has been very insightful on the whole Cowmen experience." Deborah stopped writing in her pad and took a deep breath, "I can't believe there's so much to know. This is my first job working with Cowmen and all but still."
Isabella crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. "Marc are you listening." She waved at him.
Marc snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry. But one of you is wearing some really good perfume. Smells like..." Marc took a moment to think it over. "Birthday cakes."
Isabella and Deborah exchanged glances. "You know how to make a girl feel special don't you?" Deborah said.
"What did I say?" Marc looked between them.
Deborah sighed; "No girl wants to be told they smell like birthday cake." She nodded towards Isabella, who was putting her attention elsewhere.
"N-no I didn't mean to insult anyone, it's just that, something smells like happiness. It's like the feeling of birthday cake!" He hoped they understood him, he barely understood himself.
"It's fine," Isabella held up a hand cutting him off. "You don't have to apologize. One of us already put their foot in their mouth." Isabella smiled, got up and walked away.
"Aw, I really wanted to talk to her some more," Deborah whined.
"I'm surprised you were with her. Did you not want to play poker?"
"Poker?"
"That's what Weston and Javier are playing in the main hall. Or some gambling game. I really don't know which one."
"What? They didn't invite me?" She dropped her notepad onto the chair next to her.
"They're in the main hall if you want to—
Deborah had already taken off. Marc didn't even get a chance to thank her. He got the idea to take his pocketbook to the tour after watching her scribble things down.
Marc walked along the backyard up to Ken and Trevor's house. He knocked on the door and waited. The door inched open and Trevor poked his head out. "Ken's not here." Before he could shut the door, Marc blocked it with his hand.
"I'm here to see you."
Trevor opened the door and pointed to himself. "Me?" Marc realized he'd been inside all day, he smelled like it; dressed in a white t-shirt, a revealing pair of tight white boxers and matching socks. The girls weren't breaking down the door as much anymore since the fight.
"Yep." Marc held up his lunchbox, "Let's go on a picnic."
Trevor hid a smirk before putting his hands up and strutting off to change. "Fine, let's do this." Trevor returned, with a tight pair of jeans and slowly dressed himself much to Marc's chagrin. There was no doubt in his mind that Trevor relished in teasing him, but also that he was excited to go somewhere.
Marc led him to the oak tree where they shared their first apology. He didn't deny Trevor when his hand kept bouncing against his. Marc realized the big softie was still under all the muscle and gladly held the calloused hand.
"Is there a blanket in your lunchbox, by chance?" Trevor inquired.
"What do you... oh." Marc scratched his head absently. "Sorry, this was so spur of the moment, I forgot it."
Trevor smiled, giving Marc one of his favorite things to look at. "It's fine, come here."
"What are you doing?" Marc questioned as Trevor sank to his knees in front him.
"I said to come here," Marc felt his cheeks growing hot as he moved towards the kneeling cowman. "You're going to be my blanket then."
"Ho-?" Marc started as Trevor pulled him to ground and laid on top of him.
"See? Comfy," Trevor moaned as he covered Marc's body.
"Am I supposed to be breathing? I think I'm supposed to be breathing Trevor!"
"Blah, you're no fun!" Trevor groaned as Marc adjusted himself against the tree and pulled Trevor's head into his lap. "I guess this is fine."
"How was your day?" He smiled down at Trevor.
"I was gonna edge all day, but then decided to work out instead. You?"
"I did a bad thing, kind of, but for a good reason," he started. Marc brought his left hand up and used it to run through Trevor's silky black hair.
Trevor looked at him curiously. "Do you want me to use you as my blanket again, or do I have to tickle it out of you?"
"I haven't been the best with the whole Shift, and I know I dropped the ball especially when it comes to you. So, I went to the Milkem opening today to go ask some Cowmen about their lives."
"Why?" Trevor looked into Marc's eyes.
"I want to be better for you guys," Marc whispered, leaning down to place a kiss against Trevor's forehead.
"For me... and Ken?"
Marc nodded proudly.
"Well, what did they say?"
"I asked about their Shifts first. They told me how jarring it was. I think it's cool that you guys hear voices."
"It's my voice, but not me. It's startling at first, but it felt right." Trevor closed his eyes, "What else?"
Marc continued to stroke Trevor's hair with his left hand and read from his pocketbook with his other hand. "You guys hear grow' and sex' repeatedly until your shift is done."
Trevor shook his head softly in Marc's lap, "Not me."
Marc chuckled, "What do you mean?"
"Ayden tried to tell me that. But I think it's some elaborate joke. They don't tell you, that you're gonna talk to yourself and they make up words, or leave possible words out."
"Um, explain?" Marc asked before running his fingers through Trevor's hair again.
"Sex. I didn't hear the word sex', I heard dominate'. Ayden said he wanted fuck and get fucked, but that's not how I felt. When I was shifting, I wanted to my dick in everyone and everything."
Marc flipped through his notes, "I don't think they'd lie to me. I'm not a cowman."
"Don't feel too bad, I was a little miffed when Ayden had kept the voice thing a secret too. I think this is just another initiation into being a fully shifted cowman."
Marc sighed and set his book in the grass, "Well that sucks, these notes are probably useless."
"Maybe not," Trevor stated, putting the book back in Marc's hand.
"Thanks," Marc smirked, reaching into the lunchbox and pulling out the grapes. "Open your mouth."
"Y'know, I love grapes," Trevor said before sticking out his tongue to pull a grape into his mouth. "But why do you have to do anything?"
Still holding the grapes above Trevor's face, he responded, "Heather said we might be growing apart. She also implied that I have Ken on a leash."
"How does having Ken on a leash relate?" he asked before plucking another grape into his mouth.
"What do you mean? I need to know how to be a good boyfr—handler."
"Marc, we're cowmen. We just need love and adoration, your uncle said so."
Marc sighed, "I only want my boyfriend to get love and adoration from me."
Trevor rattled his head in Marc's lap, "Do you want a boyfriend?"
Marc nodded.
"Are you sure?"
Marc cocked an eyebrow, "Yes."
"Hear me out," Trevor said defensively, taking the grapes from Marc. "I don't think you're being honest."
"I AM BEING HONEST!" Marc huffed.
"See what I mean," Trevor said in a slow voice. "You won't let me finish."
"I... I'm sorry, go ahead." Marc crossed his arms and looked off in the distance.
"Before we shifted and grew up some, Ken followed you everywhere, slept with you... you guys were inseparable. It's not impossible to think that you still infantilize him like that. He's your boyfriend now, but you also fucked me too."
"Am I keeping you on a leash too?" Marc questioned, making direct eye contact with Trevor. "Am I?"
"Please, calm down. Let me finish," Trevor said before kissing a grape and putting it, albeit with a fight, into Marc's mouth. "You're not leashing me or anyone. I think it's possible that you still see Ken the way you did before. Cowmen growth takes a bit of getting used to, and we're your firsts."
"You're not wrong." Marc said relaxing his arms.
"I know I'm not wrong, but what about you opening up? You're always trying to fix everyone's problems and don't share your own. What are you running from?"
Marc internally screamed. He blinked himself back to consciousness, he was certain he may have lost consciousness for a few minutes, "I totally share!" he blurted out.
"Oh yeah?" Trevor cocked an eyebrow. "Then can I ask why your parents brought you here?"
Marc's mouth opened slightly, but he quickly shut it and sealed his lips.
"Okay, maybe that was a bit too personal," Trevor apologized. "Then how about this, what's your last name?"
"Huh?"
"Your last name."
"You don't know my last name, I'm sure I've said it."
"You haven't," Trevor replied. "Unless your dad took your mother's name. It's probably not Watkins."
"My last name is—"
"No," Trevor pressed a finger to Marc's lips, "You took too long. I'm hoping that you see what the problem might be though. You're so hesitant to open up, maybe if you do that'll keep your man."
"You think it'll be that easy?"
Trevor shrugged, "It's more than doing nothing."
Marc reflected on that while the two sat and ate the rest of the food he had packed. Trevor nuzzled into Marc's lap, his head produced sensations through the denim fabric, eliciting an erection.
"We've only been outside for 30 minutes and you already smell like dirt," Marc said rustling through Trevor's hair. He was trying to subtly change the subject from the little solider in his pants.
"How rude," Trevor reached up and playfully slapped Marc on the cheek. Then, he started to nibble on Marc's cock through his pants, making "nom" sounds all the while.
The earthy scent wafted on a breeze, sending shivers up Marc's spine. He leaned forward to sniff Trevor's hair. Marc couldn't describe it, but he was intoxicated by Trevor's aroma; compounded by the wet warmth that now caressed his manhood he groaned.
Despite the fog descending on him, he knew the scent. He inched down to Trevor's neck, he needed more. He wanted to remember it. He eyes flew open as he recalled how oppressive and suffocating it was. Marc leaned away. This was what Trevor smelt like during his Shift. The sex had stayed in the air, but the underling scent that had been lingering was this. Trevor's scent wasn't as intense now, Marc didn't feel as if his airways were being invaded; but his cock steadily grew harder.
Marc eyes trailed the nape of Trevor's neck, followed down the curve of his body t,ill his eyes settled on the thick mound trying to force its way through Trevor's jeans. Marc chuckled, before looking around to see how close any other cowmen were. With a good 40ft of distance, he admired how unbothered they were with public sexuality.
His eyes drifted back to Trevor's crotch. He contemplated whether to reach for it or not. Maybe he should work his way down, his eyes roved across the display of abdominal muscles beneath his pulled-up shirt to the—dark circles on Trevor's pecs? "Trevor, I think your chest is wet," Marc said.
"Very funny," Trevor said before intensifying his efforts on Marc's cock.
Marc reached down and began pulling and tugging at Trevor's shirt. Trevor didn't pay Marc any mind and let him raise it up past his pecs. Staring down at Trevor's chest, Marc bent forward, avoiding the light hair on Trevor's pecs and lapped at the white substance around the brown nipple.
Trevor jumped up, "What the hell!" He grabbed at his pecs. "That was way too sensitive."
Marc wasn't listening as he tongued the substance around his mouth. He wanted more, whatever it was had his skin tingling and his senses on high alert. His cock was hard.
"I-I better go find your uncle." Trevor stood up hiding his face and running away.
Marc was so lost in savoring the milk he didn't mention Uncle T was out visiting Princeton. Eventually he calmed down enough to clean up the rest of the picnic and walk back to the mansion. His cock throbbed in his pants all the way. Once Marc inside, he saw Ken standing in the kitchen wearing tight blue a-shirt with loose basketball shorts and black tennis shoes.
"Hey, Marc have you seen Isabella?" Ken asked. Marc put down the lunch box he was carrying.
"I don't give a fuck," Marc laughed. "But you are so fucking beautiful."
"I'm guessing that's is a no?" Ken's brows furrowed.
"I don't know why it's taken me so long to tell you how much I fucking appreciate you."
Ken laughed a bit awkwardly, "Are you feeling okay, Marc? You don't usually talk like that," as Marc braced him up against a counter and suckled his neck.
"Let me start over." Marc took Ken's hands and kissed them. "Hi my name is Marcquel Ellis. He kissed Ken's upper arms. "My favorite color is turquoise." He placed long kisses on Ken's biceps. He grabbed each of Ken's firm ass cheeks. "Put your arms around me."
Ken could see where this was going, "Marc, I'm a little too big to—
"Trust me." Marc smiled. Ken wrapped his arm around Marc's neck and lifted his legs of the floor. Marc carried Ken until the muscle-bound stud was sitting firmly on the island. Marc lifted Ken's shirt, until Ken grabbed his wrist. Ken's head turned all around the room.
"Marc, what about your uncle."
"What about him?" Marc wiggled his eyebrows tugging at Ken's shirt.
"He doesn't want me to...nevermind," Ken let go of Marc's wrist looking downwards.
"Hey," Marc tilted his chin up "I don't know what my uncle said that's got you so twitchy but he's not here right now."
"He's not?"
"No," Marc said then pulled off Ken's shirt. Marc leaned in and began kissing Ken's neck. "I love how you look in these shorts. I love how you look better, with them off."
Marc kissed up Ken's neck to his face. He kissed along Ken's jaw line till he reached his lips, sucking on them till he and Ken were lost in it. He pulled away and looked up into Ken's eyes. He kissed down Ken's chest, even teasing both nipples. The scent of pine filled the room, it flooded Marc's senses and he recognized what it was. Just like Trevor earlier, he knew the scent of his shift. He pulled Ken off the island and led him to a nearby chair, stripping him along the way.
The air in Marc's lungs became heavier. He was finding it harder to breathe anything, but Ken's scent. Ken was filling up the house with his aroma. Marc didn't want to be separated from Ken for too long, he needed to touch him and placed kisses along every visible inch of him. Ken's own cock poked Marc in the stomach, throbbing for attention. Before Marc could address it, Ken let out a manly grunt that turned into a groan. Marc felt something warm on his chest and he curiously looked down. He looked up at Ken whose face was beat red.
"Did you just squirt milk on me?" Marc asked.
"I-I think I did." They looked at the wet spot on his shirt, it only took a second for Marc to pull it over his head and toss it aside. He dove for Ken's left pec sucking on it. Ken was surprised at Marc's eagerness, but at the moment of contact pressed Marc's head in further to get a good taste. Marc teased and prodded the nipple. He drank every drop, then when he was done moved to the next pec without missing a beat. Ken groaned and hand both hands on Marc's head pulling him in and running his fingers through his hair.
Once empty Marc pulled off, whimpering a bit. He leaned back on his knees, slipping a bit. He noticed a puddle, following the source he looked at Ken's cock. It was red, angry and twitching. Precum poured from it, thick and viscous reaching for the floor. He looked at Ken's face, noticing the sheer shock; he followed Ken's eyes to his body.
He had a beer gut. Marc was too far gone to panic, he moved and heard the stomach-sloshing full of milk. He tried to suck it in, but the pouch was too much to contain. As the milk settled, Marc felt an immense pressure build in his balls. He blinked, and he was standing in a forest. He felt the breeze rustle goose-pimples across his skin and the wild scent of pine tingle its way inside him. The pressure in his balls intensified and there was a twitch in his pelvis, he groaned as the pressure thundered up his spine and crashed into his brain.
Marc orgasmed.
Ken's hands pulled him back to reality as all his senses melded into one. He could taste and smell the forest as Ken's bare flesh braced against him. His body spasmed, muscles rapidly contracting and relaxing. He had had no time to remove his jeans, but the evidence demanded attention. Semen pumped its way through the thick material darkening it downwards as if he'd relieved himself.
Ken looked on in shock as cum flooded down Marc's pants leg. He watched the bulge twitch emptying everything, he wondered if his lover would ever go empty. Marc's full weight fell against him, trapping his cock between their bodies. He breathed slowly as Marc twitched against his slick cockhead. He breathed, holding his breath, pleading with his body not to cum. Marc needed him.
Marc was exhausted. His balls were aching, as if the Ken's milk had pushed all the cum out. He tried to stand, slipping in the puddle of precum and falling to a groaning Ken.
"Marc, yo—
"I'm tired. I'm going to lay down for a bit." He tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Had he really just cum without touching himself? He looked into Ken's eyes and pressed his lips against his before falling asleep.
Ken was flabbergasted. He looked down at the sleeping boy in his arms, smiled before lifting him and carrying him to his room. He deposited Marc under his sheets, his erection waving like an angry red flag. He left to go clean up the place before Marc's uncle returned.
Marc's milk heavy stomach pressed onto the sheets. While Marc slept his stomach gurgled away and digested all the milk Ken had given to him.
When Marc arose, he was surprised by the sunlight hitting his eyes. He checked his phone. It was 9:00 am Sunday morning. Marc shook his head. He couldn't have slept that long. But the evidence was there. Folded up on the nightstand beside him, were his jeans and t-shirt from the night before.
Stark naked and his body feeling heavier as if he'd just gotten out of a pool; Marc made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower letting the cold water wake him up before switching to hot. He let loose an ungodly long stream of pee before soaping up his body and washing off. His mind was still in a haze as he got out of the shower and made his way to the sink to brush his teeth.
Wiping the steam off the mirror, something was wrong. The body held his face, but the portions were all wrong. Marc looked at his body. He had never been a slouch, but now he looked like an athlete. He had abs! Six of them. Not to mention his pecs had grown. Marc panicked; someone had taken his head and placed it on the body of a jock. Looking down, Marc spotted his birthmark in the same place; he calmed down and recollected the night before.
Then like a gear lock sliding into place, it hit him. He thought about last night, he thought about the tour. He thought about his time on the farm, the things he had seen, the things he had learned, and everything he'd been told leading to him staring at himself. Marc burst out of the bathroom and bolted downstairs. He entered the dining room; water dripping from his head. Uncle T sat there alone eating breakfast with the morning Newspaper.
"Ken and Trevor are Bullmen!" Marc exclaimed.