Kiss Nipple Farm Pt. 02

After Ron's third week at the Farm, he's lost weight and his health is excellent. She changes him on the floor while he keeps sleeping. He is not interested in sex any more, does not wake her up to at night except to nurse, which he does less frequently and in smaller amounts. She must be with him constantly.

In the business office, the legal team is analyzing reports of Senator Broward's disappearance in equatorial Africa. Soon they will put into play the will and codicil he signed that will transfer much of his wealth to a numbered corporation operated by the Farm. His wife will be puzzled by this, but still very well off. She will never learn what happened to her late husband, or where he was going to get his hair, face, and body worked on. It's one of life's little mysteries.

Ron is moved this week to a special nursery, where there are lots of other guys. He has fun playing with them, and everything is peaceful. They attend daily lectures together, sometimes as many as ten are in the comfy room with small chairs and cushions on the floor. The nice Mommies talk to them about the role women should have in society. This will help them in their future political careers.

Ron still enjoys kissing Marilee, although he doesn't do tongue kisses now. He loves kissing his Mommy, there's nothing like the lips of a little cow, the taste of her mouth, the aroma of their full, moist bodies. The Mommies all have soft lips that in speaking and kissing sweetly mirror the ripeness between their thighs. Mommies are shaped this way for a reason, they are shaped for fucking and sucking. They are shaped that way to intoxicate the brain. The boys love to watch the Mommies move and listen to them talk, they share such mysterious secrets.

As time goes on, young Ron needs a nap after every lecture. He's interested only in nursing and cuddling with Marilee, or any Mommy who's around. He is happy, and he's getting smarter about who women really are.

Six of the Mommy cows Ron had sex with are now pregnant. What red-blooded girl can pass up such a set of alpha-male genes? Soon his regression will be complete. When he is taken off Marilee's special breast milk, he will start growing up again. His sons will be born next year, and they will play together.

The growing boys are still interested in politics, and big business, but they are learning a way of bringing everyone's needs into the solution to a problem. They don't like backroom deals and pork-barrel politics so much, and will become quite effective leaders in the way they do that.

Impatient with herself, Constance Melanie Broward drives yet again past the green lawns and white fences that mark one of the largest, most modern farms in the state. Too jittery to turn in at the long gravel drive, Mrs. Broward, Connie to her friends, surveys the grassy front lawn before the business office. There, tall and well-muscled young men toss a football, running fast and laughing in their low voices. Their shirts are off, they are handsome and masculine. But these young men are not why she's here.

Disgusted with her cowardice, Constance floors it and drives her expensive roadster on down the road. It has taken her months to find this place, and she won't back out now. But she must make the perfect approach. Even with that, she knows she might easily be turned away.

Seven months ago her powerful husband, state Senator Ronald Broward, began coming here secretly for weekly visits, unknown to her. Later he was gone an entire month before vanishing altogether, supposedly on a political trip to northern Africa. Over the preceding weeks, Connie's husband had become younger, more handsome, more virile. Their sex life was as though he was twenty, but try as she might, Connie could not get him to divulge where he was having work done.

It was only through thousands of dollars spent on a private investigator that her husband's trail brought Connie here. And here that trail stops cold. It is up to her, with her new fake ID and a tip from one of Ron's senator friends, to find out more.

When Connie finally heads up the gravel drive and steps from her expensive car, she is a jittery mess. At age 52, she bears shadows of aging. Her once-proud breasts sag, but her hips are good and her face, though lined, is vibrant with life. In her chic Parisian pantsuit, she steps firmly toward the main entrance.

A woman exiting the doorway stops in surprise. She smiles warmly, blocking the path. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Arlene. How may I help you?" Arlene's eyes scan for anyone with the visitor, but see only the low-slung sports car.

"Good morning," Connie Broward says politely. "Excuse me for coming without an appointment. I do have a code."

Comprehension lights Arlene's eyes. "Ah. Will you follow me please? I'll get one of the nurses to see you."

As Arlene turns away, Connie takes in the woman's supple figure, her large, high breasts. Surely she's no younger than I, but so much tighter in the butt. What's her secret? Connie catches a glimpse of distant fields where small forms graze a bucolic hillside beyond tidy red barns.

Arlene leads through a business office where workers sit at desks. Some look up with friendly smiles. At a closed door, Arlene knocks and sticks her head in.

"We have a nice lady visitor. She has a code. I thought she could see you, if you're available."

The woman in her official white smock comes around her desk with a smile to shake Connie's hand.

"Thank you, Arlene. Hello, Miss, I am Nurse Reardon. Please sit."

Seated across the desk from the imposing nurse, Connie has time to take in the diplomas on the wall, and notices the nurse's generous breasts. Her face is quite lovely, for someone not much younger than Connie herself.

"Arlene says you have a code," Nurse Reardon says warily. She tries to hide her confusion. The customers who arrive here to say those words are always men. Up to now.

"I have a friend," Connie says quietly, "Senator Ronald Broward."

Understanding lights the nurse's eyes. "Ah. Then he's given you a code?"

Connie nods confidently.

The nurse thumbs through file folders in her desk. With a smile she says, "I'm sorry, I do not have a referral for you, miss. Can you give me the code please?" Nurse Reardon's eye flickers to the security call button on the edge of her desk. This is most unusual.

"NV 7358," Connie replies, hoping an easy smile masks her terror of being found out.

Nurse Reardon refers to a file on her computer. That is a valid code, but there is no referral. And this is a female! The visitor is casually dressed in a pantsuit that has to be from Paris, hair and jewelry done to perfection. This woman is certainly no reporter from National Enquirer, or any number of similar curious lowlifes who sometimes seek them out. But why is she here?

"Of course, Senator Broward did request we issue that invitation, but left no name for us. A pleasure to meet you, Connie. May I see your identification?"

Trying to hold her fingers steady, Connie passes over the fake ID, in the name of Constance Sheperd. It had cost her six thousand dollars and it damn well better work! She cannot be known here as the Senator's wife.

After a few swift validations on her computer, Nurse Reardon looks up with a relieved smile. "It all checks out, Miss Shepard. I must admit though, you are the first woman who has joined our program, and it leaves me at a bit of a loss. Will you please tell me what you are seeking?"

Connie thinks back to what her husband's friends had admitted to her, reluctantly, about the program. The Farm runs a human lactation experiment. Stressed, powerful men who want to revisit earlier, less stressful times in their lives come here to suckle the milk of lovely young women, and to feel secure and cared for. What none of the men could tell her, because they did not know, is that the young girls' milk is laced with powerful hormones that regress them physically. When they grow up the normal way, they are taught, Nursery-style, the modern attitudes about women. Their old existence, of course, is wiped out through a faked disappearance, their estates liquidated and turned over to the Farm.

"I have friends," Connie says with a shy smile, glancing again at Nurse Reardon's lovely bosoms, "who confided in me about how wonderful it feels to be cared for here, and about the lovely effects of rejuvenation. I so want that."

Nurse Reardon smiles. "Yes, those are worthy goals." She does not point out that those are only side-effects of the regression therapy. "We'll be happy to have you with us. Are you prepared for an extended stay?"

This takes Connie somewhat aback. On edge about being thrown out of the office and banned from the property, she hadn't counted on this. "Umm, I'd heard there were weekly visits. But I suppose I could clear my schedule..."

"You are right. Most of our male clientele come weekly, with accelerated treatments later on. But in your case we would like to work with you full time, starting immediately. Will that be possible?"

Connie sits back. Tasting the idea. My car will be right here, I can leave at any time. Why not?

"Sure," she replies with a smile. "Why not?"

"Fine, We'll need you to sign some forms. Everyone will call you Buttercup here, for confidentiality. Will that be suitable?"

Connie frowns. Buttercup sounds like a cow's name. "Could we make a nickname out of that? Like Butter, or Cupcake?"

Nurse Reardon chuckles. "Something will work out to your satisfaction. Usually people earn their nicknames. I'm going to call one of our little cows to take you on tour. In the meantime, I'll be drawing up your legal papers. Connie, here is our deluxe menu."

The nurse slides a printed sheet across the desk under Connie's nose. It's a list of services available at the Farm, and most folks would leap from the chair seeing the prices.

"Since this is your first visit, you would probably appreciate a tour?"

"I would like the tour, but I do have a preference."

"Certainly. What interests you on our list of services?"

"My friend said you have a pregnant redhead. I'd like it if she could take me on the tour. And perhaps she could be my..."

Nurse Reardon smiles. "The term we use is Mommie."

At the word, Connie blushes. She's not ready to start calling a stranger Mommie, it seems too intimate.

The nurse consults her computer. "Marilee is one of our most popular little cows, but yes, she is due out of the Milking Center soon, so she can be available for a tour. Shall I call her?"

Connie tries to breathe evenly. What she wants is to heave a big sigh of relief. She nods.

"Fine. I'll call her to meet you. I'll have your forms ready for signature this afternoon."

The two women stroll toward the exit. "Thank you for coming," Nurse Reardon says as she walks Connie through the office. "This will be a brand new experience for us. We've never entertained a refined, mature woman. We'll work with you in every way we can."

At the door, the nurse gestures toward Connie's automobile. "Please wait at your car, Buttercup. Marilee will meet you shortly. She will take you on your tour, but you may choose any girl you like. All our young cows are polite, well groomed, and perfectly healthy. They will love to be with you. Each little cow has her own preferences. And you are free to let them know what you desire."

With a professional smile, the nurse turns to go. Feeling completely alone, Connie, jolted that she'll be known as Buttercup, experiences a spiral of terrifying doubt. Rumors about the Farm had made her head swim. It's oriented to male customers, pampered and breast-nursed by young women. But Connie herself is a long way from gay. She wonders how she'll get away with it.

And what about the girls who work here, the little cows? Are they bisexuals? Connie firmly resolves to not only stay the course, but to keep one single thought at the top of her mind. Find my husband!

Connie had listened wide-eyed to stories Ron's friends shamefully related after her husband went missing. "Ron had this nursing fantasy," one confided, red in the face, "but he was also interested in other things. Mutual spanking, sex sex, anal sex."

Connie shakes her head forlornly. Standing beside her swoopy convertible, she sees across the field a cluster of white tents, each with a colorful banner flowing from a central pole, a different color above each tent.

Connie turns. Walking toward her from the main barn is a lush feminine goddess in the late stages of pregnancy. Full-bodied and mother-naked. Connie's attention dwells on each and every one of her own physical flaws as though they were on public view. Comparison to this... goddess, is frightening.

As the ripe womanly form draws closer, Connie sees she is very young, not over nineteen. Her football-shaped breasts, nipples dewy with white droplets, flow over a high rounded baby bump. Her front is a jiggling mass of large, fleshy orbs. Closer now, Connie sees it's a redhead with ponytail curled down one breast. Her crotch is bare, a hairless peach split by a demure vertical slit. The flowing naked body is all woman, her dancing green eyes intelligent and mature.

"Hello, Buttercup. I am Marilee."

The tones of the girl's voice are so serene that Connie is unaware she'd been addressed as Buttercup. For a moment, Connie cannot speak. Marilee is stunning, a lovely young redhead mere days from giving birth. Her large, purple-veined breasts show droplets of white on fat nipples. She regards Connie with intelligent eyes.

Holding Connie's hand, the girl's grip is soft and warm. Connie's nipples fizz within her bra. The lovely girl is so close, her breasts so full and beautiful, to think that she will be required to touch and suck them sends her brain into a whirl. She cautions herself to be reserved. The girl has not yet accepted her.

"You need to park your car out of sight. For your protection," Marilee smiles. "Follow me." The girl turns away, her tucked-up little bottom a symphony of flowing womanhood. The long pony tail brushes her shapely back.

Following slowly in her car, Connie studies the girl's smooth walk. She gets another surprise to see a row of expensive customer vehicles hidden from view. The naked girl stands in the grass, pointing Connie toward a place beside the barn. As Connie emerges from the convertible, Marilee waits with a welcoming smile.

"I'm sure you don't need this jacket," she says, pulling it off Connie's slim shoulders. Marilee's eyes dance in her face as she loosens the top two buttons of Connie's blouse.

"Now you look more relaxed." Marilee's pregnant belly presses against Connie's flat tummy, a warming mass. The girl's body is scented with earthy fragrances, aromas of damp sexuality. Up close, Connie cannot avoid watching the girl's flowing breasts as her arms lift to straighten her collar. The girl's breasts hang as soft footballs that roll heavily over her baby bump.

The youthful goddess turns toward the distant tents. Connie falls in beside her, more comfortable now, hopeful that she's been accepted as a client.

"Did your friend say much about our Farm?"

"A little." Although Connie knows she is not gay, this Marilee creature is the most delectable feminine concoction she's ever laid eyes on. Her eyes cannot resist watching the soft mouth as the girl speaks.

"When the Farm was first established, it was a venture based on the work of a prize-winning geneticist. He discovered genetic markers that create helpful traits in babies, such as longevity, intelligence, physical strength, and compassion for others.

"All we little cows on the Farm help to continue that work. Some are descendants of the very first of our line. Arlene, whom you met, is fourth generation. Arlene is my adoptive mother and special mentor and I love her. My friend Cheryl and I were honored to begin the seventh generation."

"But, don't you also sell milk?"

The girl's laugh is a secret of feminine joy. She slips an arm through Connie's, sharing her flowing warmth. Connie's mind reels with this naked sexpot so close.

"Yes, all little cows give milk every day. The owners need to support the genetic work, the little cows agreed to be milked for profit. That is one of the ways we keep the place going."

Far ahead of them is vast green rangeland and close by, a pavilion of colorful tents.

"We can meet some of the girls, will that be okay?"

"Certainly," Connie says, although she's quite satisfied that Marilee, of the enormous, blue-veined breasts, is the girl she wants to spend her afternoon with.

Beside a tent, Marilee calls out, "Hello? Cheryl, can we come in?"

Marilee pulls aside the tent flap, steps through and motions Connie inside. Bending down brings her face close to Marilee's naked tush. The girl is gorgeous in every secret, gentle curve.

On a sofa a young large-breasted woman reads a magazine. Also very pregnant, her hands rest on a bulging tummy. The tent is carpeted, tastefully appointed. Behind the big sofa, a sumptuous bed.

A warm smile lights the girl's dark eyes. Marilee goes to her, they hug close, giggling at all the room their baby bumps take up. Connie is swept away in the heady vision. These girls are animals! Humans, yes, definitely, but they are fully expressing their bodies in every moist, bulging, squirty way. Watching two pregnant goddess-girls press their bodies together, Connie feels a definite inner warmth.

"This is Buttercup," Marilee says.

The dark-eyed one looks at Connie with a sultry smile. "Welcome, Buttercup, I am Cheryl. I hope we can get better acquainted soon."

Marilee play-punches Cheryl in the shoulder. "Me first!"

Cheryl pulls Marilee's face to hers and the two share a long kiss, open-mouthed and wet. Secretly inside her expensive bra, Connie's nipples fizz.

They leave Cheryl and walk on, passing several tents around the circle. Marilee stops.

"Sami, are you guys decent?" She listens carefully, turns to Connie. "We can peek in," the pale goddess-girl whispers, lips near Connie's face, "but they are busy so we must be quiet."

Marilee eases the drape aside. They peer together through the opening. The naked girl is so close Connie feels her warmth, can smell her, has a momentary rush of holding tight to Marilee's lavish form.

Inside, the tent is as nicely-decorated as is Chery's, but in a different style. The lovely blond woman on the settee is not pregnant, but her breasts are full. Across her lap rests a naked man, head in her lap, face buried in those full breasts, pulling hard at a glistening nipple. The woman's eyes are closed. The man's mouth makes wet sucking noises.

Marilee and Connie, faces close enough for a kiss, look at each other. Connie finds Marilee's mouth lush and attractive. The soft naked breasts lie warm against her shirt. Marilee pulls Connie outside and away.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Golden Marilee's eyes dance, clasping Connie's hand.

All Connie can do is shake her head. They walk to another tent, Marilee's, and walk inside. Connie finds herself private with the naked goddess-girl. Standing on a colorful Oriental rug, she turns. Behind her waits a comfortable couch and a king-size bed with fat cushions. Their eyes at the same level, irises wide and black, lips moist. She puts a hand on Connie's arm.

"Buttercup, I have such nice feelings around you." The girl's voice is breathy. She gazes into Connie's eyes, "I'd like it if we could get comfortable and talk a while."

Connie is so entranced, she cannot speak. Something in the air makes her want to be naked with this sultry girl. Marilee takes Connie's hand and places it on a fat warm breast. Connie's world does an orbit. It's like the first time a girl at a sleepover did that, but then they were only playing. Marilee gazes at her, lips softly parted. Here she is, a woman of 52 with this pregnant young thing in her secluded boudoir, and her mind is losing control! But now Marilee is telling her what to do and when to do it.