Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories

Naomi and Rachael

by Julien Sorel

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© Copyright 2018 - Julien Sorel - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-F; farm; captive; naked; F/f; stable; lactate; milking; teats; hucow; insert; mast; climax; cons/nc; X


Just out of college, Naomi Smith accepted the most difficult of teaching jobs, moving to a remote part of the Appalachians to teach children of all ages, many of whom had had no previous education at all, in a one-room schoolhouse. But Naomi was young and energetic enough to take on the arduous job with optimism.

Naomi was a vivacious blonde from a small town in Kansas, slender and confident despite her inexperience. She had a fresh-faced, good-girl, clean-scrubbed beauty that had made more than one of the boys she had known think about marrying her. But she was idealistic and determined to do some good in the world. Though she wasn't quite the virgin that her wholesome looks suggested, she didn't flinch from leaving her social life behind for a world of poverty and hardship. Love and marriage would come in due time.

Naomi had a special affinity for one of her students, a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl named Rachael with tousled black hair cascading down to the small of her back, who walked three miles to and from school each day. Rachael was as poor as the rest of the students and none too articulate, but Naomi was drawn to the girl's opaque gray eyes and quizzical expression. Rachael often stayed late to help Naomi with the classroom chores, and Naomi enjoyed taking the girl aside and trying to draw her out about her difficult rural life.

One day after school, Naomi and Rachael were clapping the blackboard erasers on the back porch of the school building, which looked out into the dark, endless Appalachian woods.

"What time do you get up in the morning, Rachael?" asked Naomi.

"Four o'clock, ma'am."

"Four o'clock? Every morning?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Naomi looked down at Rachael's bare feet - almost none of her students wore shoes - and admired the girl's long, slender toes. Playfully, Naomi slipped off one of her shoes and put her bare foot next to Rachael's.

"You know, I think you'd look pretty with toenail polish like mine, Rachael."

Rachael blushed a little at Naomi's proximity but said nothing.

"Your skin is so beautiful and dark. Don't you think red polish would set it off nicely?"

Naomi put her foot on Rachael's for a second as if to show her the effect, then slid her foot away, lightly rippling her toes over Rachael's. The girl's blush deepened.

"We don't use things like that around here, ma'am," she said breathily.

Naomi smiled to herself. She had a harmless crush on beautiful little Rachael, the sort of crush she and her friends used to amuse themselves with before boys came into their lives. If she and Rachael were in seventh grade together, she would love to befriend the girl, take long walks in the fields with her after school, give her little presents, hold her in her arms as they lay in the grass watching the clouds.... Naomi shook her head a little as she clapped the erasers. She knew that she had perfect self-control and could afford to indulge these little fantasies. Maybe it's time for me to find a man to date, she said to herself.

"Why do you get up so early?" Naomi said.

"Chores, ma'am."

"What kind of chores?"

"Milking in the morning, and getting the eggs."

"Do you have cows?"

"No ma'am, not any more."

"What do you milk, then? Goats?"

"No, ma'am. It's...."

Rachael looked a little uncomfortable.


"Ladies, ma'am."

"What about ladies?"

"That's what I milk."

Naomi was quite confused.

"You mean human women?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Women with babies?"

"No, ma'am. We keep them in the stables, and we milk them."

Naomi couldn't believe her ears.

"Women from around here are - are used as milking animals?"

"They aren't from here, ma'am."

"Where are they from?"


"Do they do this willingly? Do they want to be here?"

"No, ma'am, not to start with. After a bit they get used to it, I guess."

"But this can't be, Rachael! Are you playing a joke on me? Women don't give milk just like that."

"Oh, they know how to make them milky."

"Who are 'they'?"

"My daddy, and my brothers."

"But, Rachael - doesn't anyone know about these women? Don't the police do anything?"

"The law leaves my daddy alone, and he leaves them alone, I guess. Nobody wants trouble, ma'am."

This preposterous news seemed matter-of-fact to Rachael. Naomi sent the sixteen-year-old home and paced the floor of the schoolroom anxiously, smoking a cigarette. What should she do? Calling the local police seemed futile, and possibly dangerous for her, if there was some kind of cover-up. She could try to alert federal authorities. But the story sounded so absurd - what if it wasn't true? She was scared to venture onto the property of Rachael's family to check for herself; but she couldn't think of anyone else she could trust to look into the matter and not betray the confidence.

Putting out her cigarette, she ran to the porch and looked down the path: Rachael was still visible in the distance, walking home. Naomi gathered up her courage and decided to act; she had never permitted fear to stop her before. If she found any evidence, she would return home immediately and contact the state police or the FBI. Throwing on a coat, she ran down the path, trying to keep Rachael in sight.


A month later, Rachael rose at four o'clock and pulled on her overalls. The town had finally found a new teacher this week, and she was obliged to go to school again.

She carried a pail out to the stables and opened the door to the first stall. There, in the gray light before dawn, Naomi was suspended naked across a wooden framework. She was badly in need of milking.

Naomi turned her head, visibly less blonde from the stable dirt, and looked pleadingly toward Rachael as she approached. Her dirty face was streaked with tears; the pain from her milk-filled breasts was excruciating. Her mouth was covered by a feed bag that she had emptied overnight, but she made no sound even after Rachael removed the bag. Something had been injected into her throat a month ago, and she could no longer use her vocal cords or control her tongue and lips properly.

Naomi stood like a horse, supported by the wooden frame. Her arms were propped on a wooden block to make her back horizontal, and both arms and legs were held still with ropes tied to the frame. Beneath her hung two giant breasts, many times bigger than she had formerly owned, tipped by massive nipples as long and thick as thumbs. Around her neck hung a large, unneeded cowbell that tinkled whenever she moved: a bit of mountain humor.

Rachael sat on a stool next to Naomi and slid the pail beneath her former teacher's turgid breasts, saying softly,"There, there, girl." She poked a breast gently to see how full of milk it was; it bounced hard off her finger and bumped into its companion, setting off a series of elastic collisions. Naomi's open mouth worked in silent agony as she stared at Rachael. She was yielding an inordinate quantity of milk; droplets were forming on her nipple tips and falling into the dirt.

With the confidence of long practice, Rachael felt for a grip at the base of Naomi's teats, pointed Naomi into the pail, and pulled hard, squeezing and sliding her long, dark fingers down the thick nipple. Naomi screamed silently with the unbearable jolt of pain; as if from a distance, she heard the now-familiar sound of her milk splattering hard against the bottom of the pail for what seemed like seconds. Rachael instantly pushed the first breast up into Naomi's rib cage and found a new grip while simultaneously yanking Naomi's other nipple down into the pail. The cowbell clanked as Naomi jerked violently and uselessly against the frame. Her naked body was covered in sweat within seconds.

After the first few pulls, the agonizing pain in Naomi's milky breasts began to subside a little, and to combine with an erotic tingle that was almost indistinguishable from the pain, and just as hard to endure. Naomi's teats and Rachael's fingers had become slippery with Naomi's milk, and the expert sixteen-year-old used the slickness to develop a steady milking rhythm, squeezing Naomi just tightly enough to pull a spurt of milk out of her before her hand slid off the wet nipple, then letting Naomi bounce back and bobble for a second before finding the teat again. Helpless with pain and longing as the milk was drawn from her ever-lightening chest, Naomi looked over at the beautiful little girl who held her whole being in her slender hands.

Rachael's lovely face held no expression as she worked mechanically at Naomi's teats; Naomi could see the edges of Rachael's young, perfect breasts behind the scoop of her overalls. The girl's bare feet were planted on each side of the pail; they were spattered with the dirt and dung of the stable, some of it Naomi's, and with drops of Naomi's milk that had splashed out of the pail. Rachael saw Naomi looking over at her; the arousing ache in Naomi's bulging nipples suddenly seemed unbearable, and she shook pathetically against her bonds, trying in vain to pull her teats out of Rachael's constricting, caressing grip. Rachael looked up and said, "There now, girl" in a calming but emotionless voice. Soon Naomi subsided again into a state of miserable arousal.

Finally Naomi was milked nearly dry; she had filled an entire pail, and her breasts had gone a little wrinkled and slack, though they still dangled more than a foot below her ribs. Rachael stood up and petted Naomi's back, the sweat puddling on her bare skin. Naomi's face was swollen and pleading as she caught her student's eye. "There, girl," Rachael said as she walked around to Naomi's ass, pushed into the air by the crossbar of the framework. Without the least shyness, Rachael slid the palm of her hand into Naomi's wet sex and worked it back and forth vigorously against her clitoris with broad, rough strokes. Naomi's eyes rolled back into her head, and her sopping wet body immediately convulsed in a long, agonizing orgasm.

Rachael continued her businesslike masturbation of Naomi until the cowbell had nearly stopped clanking. Naomi hung exhausted from the wooden frame, staring at the ground and panting. Rachael took a dirty towel from the wall, cleaned her hand with it, then wiped Naomi down: the sweat still running off her now-slack body, the sex juices trickling down her thighs, the milk dribbling from her well-handled teats, the spit dripping from her open mouth, the tears running down her cheeks.

When Rachael was done drying Naomi, she filled the feed bag with a mixture from a barrel outside the door, then strapped the bag over Naomi's mouth; Rachael pushed the bag gently into Naomi's face, and Naomi obediently began chewing, still looking at the ground. Then Rachael picked up the pail and closed the door behind her, leaving Naomi hanging from the wooden frame, chewing mechanically. Her chest was already beginning to swell; by sunset she would be ready for another milking.

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