Prize Bull Ch. 02

"Dr. Perry, Travis is very interested in semen," I told the vet as Travis and I followed him down the row of stalls as he checked each of my 16 cows to see how their pregnancies were progressing. I had had all of them impregnated using artificial insemination a few months before. Having a calf upped a cow's milk production and was just part of the process of running a dairy. And if we had a few female calves, it would let me build up the herd a little more without buying. Travis blushed scarlet as the vet explained the process of extracting and storing bull semen and inseminating the cows, with no knowledge of what I knew, that twice each day I drained my hired hand's balls dry while he stood naked in the bull pen of my barn.

I had met Travis when he became friends with my son Tim, who was off at college. Both boys were 18, and while Tim had no interest in taking over our family's more than 100-year-old farm, Travis had convinced his parents to delay starting college for a year so he could work on a farm and get experience. They hoped he would outgrow his interest in dairy farming with a year of hard work on a farm, but I doubted it would turn out that way. For my part, at 36 I was divorced and had narrowly missed losing my farm to my scheming, cheating ex-husband. My next partner, I had vowed, would be submissive to me, and Travis was well on his way to becoming just what I wanted with the application of the right kind of motivation, blending pleasure and praise and pain until they were inseparable. He worked for me every Monday through Saturday, doing the morning and evening chores, which were too much for me in addition to my off-the-farm job as a nurse.

All 16 of my cows were pregnant, which meant we would be busy in the spring when it came time to for calving and the barn would be a small maternity ward for very big animals. But now, as fall deepened, the workload was easing a little. With the cows not going out to the far pastures there was more time for me to play with Travis.

"When you finish up with your chores, Travis, I want to quiz you on what you learned from Doc Perry. I'm just going to run up to the house and change." I ran up the hill and quickly jumped in the shower, then stepped out and rubbed myself all over with body lotion with a light scent of jasmine before slipping into a skirt, blouse, and cowboy boots. I didn't have time to do a full face of makeup, so I settled on a little mascara and wet-look lip gloss, then brushed my hair out. It was cool walking down the hill with wet hair—it was just a week before Thanksgiving—but comfortably warm in the small barn. The farm's larger barn stood unused until the time came that I had enough help on the farm that I could build the herd back up to its full size. "You ready for your quiz, Travis?"

We sat down in the little corner office I had made for him by placing two partitions in a corner of the barn. It had a sign with his name on the outside, a desk, shelves and hooks for his uniforms and a locked cabinet where I kept my supplies. I sat down on the small leather loveseat I had brought down from the farmhouse with the help of a day laborer, while Travis sat on the hard-backed chair that served as his office chair. I quizzed him about what the vet had told him about cow insemination and gestation, and while he did well, there were a handful of questions that he missed.

"Travis," I began, "I know you aren't in school yet, but there are things you can learn here on the farm that will be as helpful as anything you'll learn in school if not more so. Doc Perry's probably forgotten more than I'll ever know about cows, and I grew up on this farm. When I set you with something to learn, I expect you to pay attention. I'm going to be leaving some things for you to read, and you need to show them better attention than what I've seen today." As I spoke, I leaned forward, making sure Travis got a good look down the front of my blouse to my black lace push-up bra. With him wearing the special uniform pants I had had made for him, his reaction was instantly visible as his cock hardened and pushed the thin material outward. With no underwear on to hold his erection in place, his cock had nowhere to go but up and out.

"To make sure you have the proper focus on your studies," I continued, seemingly ignoring the bulge in his pants, "I'm going to give you a consequence: 20 swats with the paddle. Take off your things and hang them up."

"Yes, Miss Dara," he replied obediently. When I had first begun training him, Travis had often been resistant. He still got shy and embarrassed from time to time, but his obedience to me was becoming more automatic. I unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the leather paddle. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pulled up my skirt, revealing my creamy white thighs. He knew what was expected now, making a bridge across my lap with his hands and feet on the ground. He held silent while I grabbed his cock. No need to stroke him to hardness; he was already fully erect, so I simply grabbed him and pulled him down on my lap, trapping his penis between the thighs I had just recently rubbed with lotion.

"Count, Travis," I ordered, raising the paddle. He lifted his ass, the skin on his cock pulling down as he remains trapped between my thighs. SMACK!

"One! Two! Three!" Travis counted each blow; I stopped after 10. I was smacking harder than ever before and his ass was red, while tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Should I stop? Is it too much for you?"

"No, Miss Dara," he sniffled. "I can take my consequence."

He lifted his ass in preparation, then lowered again, lifted again, each motion like a stroke of my hand, his cock pinned tight between my thighs. We began again, the tension building as we got closer to the last strike. THWACK! "Eighteen!" he cried out, "Nineteen!" I knew what was coming now, his desire for that last smack on his hot bottom driving him to raise and lower, then raise and lower again and again, begging me, "Oh, Miss Dara, oh please, oh please." I held the paddle still, waiting for him, stroking his back.

"That's it, lift your bottom up. Only one more to go."

"Ungh, oh, oh, oh," he grunted, then shot his cum onto the floor, still pumping between my thighs as I brought the paddle down hard for the last time. THWACK! I bent down over him, caressing him, running my hair through his dark brown ringlets of hair that make him look like Michelangelo's David. I was wet with sweat from the exertion of padding him so forcefully in the warm barn and my cunt was slick with my juices. I decided I would have to find a way for him to service me as well, to relieve the fire between my legs, but in a way of my choosing, and at a time of my choosing. Still in my reverie, I picked up the tube of salve from the desk to soothe the heat in his red bottom leaning close over him to rub the few small welts that had formed. I could feel his heart pounding hard against my legs as I pressed my lips softly to the back of his neck.

Later, after chores, I checked in on him. Cupping his butt cheeks in my hands, I saw him wince, but he assured me he was okay. "And here?" I asked, running my hands down the front of his pants, his cock answering me almost instantly with an erection. "That seems to be okay, as well." The look on his face told me he wanted me to make him come him again, I had decided on my next steps, and keeping him on edge for a bit was the beginning. The pants were designed with a wide elastic waistband and no belt, so it was simple for me to slide my hands down his pants and cup his balls in one hand while I teased my short, manicured nails across the head of his penis as I talked. "That was a pretty hard paddling, young man. I'm proud of how well you stood it. But I think we should give your backside a break for a few days, so no stimulation. If you feel the need to masturbate, you can. If you do, be sure to enter it into the Prize Bull software like I showed you." Travis nodded his head.

With Thanksgiving coming up in a few days, it was a good time to take a break. I pretty much left Travis to handle the chores himself as I put in extra hours at work, shopped for the holiday meal, and got Tim's room in order for his visit home. It was a four-hour drive home from college, so I was expecting him late Wednesday night, but Tim called early Wednesday to say he was going to go out that night with his friends and wouldn't be home until Thursday afternoon. We don't have our Thanksgiving meal until dinnertime, after the chores were done, but I was still disappointed. I had prepared his favorite chili with rice and a big tossed salad to eat Wednesday night and was looking forward to spending some time catching up. Instead I got a bratty speech informing me I shouldn't expect any help with farm chores, that he was in college now and the divorce settlement mandated that I pay half of his tuition, but it didn't mandate that he had to work for me. I wanted to tell him he was a self-righteous little prick who should realize that the farm had help put food on his table and clothes on his back for most of his life, but instead I just went down to the barn and installed new locks. If he didn't want to help out, he for sure as hell wasn't going to be partying in my barn with his buddies or screwing a girl in the hayloft, both of which I knew he had done in the past.

I thought Travis had gone home for the night, but he found me there, leaning up against Willow and crying. (We had named all the new cows after plants—Willow and Tulip and Iris and such.) I quickly wiped away my tears and pulled myself together. He never even said a word about it, just accepted my invitation for a chili dinner. We talked over dinner about the farm, and about a plan I had to enlarge the herd and start selling raw milk. There would be a lot of hurdles to overcome; selling pasteurized milk is such the norm that it takes a lot of doing to sell milk straight from the cow, but the buyers who wanted it would pay more even than my restaurant buyer in the nearby town of Idlewild—who touted "made with local, organic milk," our milk, on his menu—for the privilege.

We had cleared the table and I was about to wish Travis a good night when he interrupted me, saying, "You know Miss Dara, you do so much for me, but you really don't let me do much for you. I know you are on your feet all day at work. Why don't you sit down in the chair and I'll rub your feet for a while before I head out?" I allowed as how that would be okay and sank down into an antique Morris chair I had refinished and reupholstered with creamy brown leather as Travis sat cross-legged on the floor and rubbed my feet, which really were aching. It brought to mind my fantasy of having Travis between my thighs, licking me until I came, and I resolved to make that fantasy a reality sooner rather than later. But for the moment, I merely invited Travis to join Tim and me for Thanksgiving dinner after learning that his family ate their meal at noon.

Alone that night, I pulled up the information on the cow's milk production, then clicked through a few menus to find the information that had come from the Prize Bull application on Travis's iPhone. I hadn't mentioned it to him, but it automatically updated any entries at the same time the production data was sent over. I scrolled back and saw he had only masturbated one time in five days, just once since the previous Friday when he came from being paddled while his cock rode up and down between my thighs as he lifted his ass, and it had taken him 12 minutes, according to the data he had entered. I thought that was strange, given that I had been making him orgasm twice a day for weeks before this little break and that rarely took more than five minutes. I also knew he was still walking around with a near-constant erection anytime I was in the barn. I trusted him to be truthful, so I just filed it away as something to look into later. As it turned out, it was much later before I got the full story, which proved to be very interesting.

Tim's visit was also quite interesting, although not in such a pleasant way. I heard a door slam in the driveway and when I looked out the window, I was surprised to see him head down to the barn first thing. His keys didn't open the new barn locks, so after a quick kiss and hug hello, he asked for my keys, which I declined to give him. "Speaking of keys," I asked, "what are you driving? That didn't sound like your truck's door shutting. I only knew it was you because I saw you out the window."

Tim grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and answered as he munched, "Dad helped me buy a car. I didn't want to drive a truck anymore."

"Well, where's the truck then? You'll need to bring it back if you aren't using it," I told him, which is when the shit hit the proverbial fan. It seems he had used the truck as a trade-in, getting just $400 for it. To give myself a moment to calm down, I grabbed my laptop and looked up the bluebook value: $2,700. So not only had he and his dad—who had always been an idiot when it came to money—left $2,300 on the table, there was one slightly larger issue: it wasn't his truck, it was mine, which I had given him to use when he got his license.

"How did you trade in a truck that didn't have either your name on the title or your dad's name on the title?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Dad and Brittney handled the paperwork."

I was barely holding it together at this point. "Tim, do you not get that you can't sell a truck you don't own? Do you not get that the only reason I'm not already calling the cops to report my truck stolen is because I don't want you to get in trouble? What were you thinking?" The edge in my voice was sharp, and there really was no satisfactory answer to that last question. He was thinking he wanted what he wanted, right or wrong, and his dad, as usual, would help him get it. I backed off before things got heated. "Tim, it's fine if you don't want to drive a truck. I get that you don't want to be a farmer, and driving a truck makes you look like one. And that's fine, it really, really is." I gripped his arm. "I want you to be successful and happy, not run a farm you hate just because your ancestors started it. But you can't go behind my back like this." Tim just continued munching his apple. The deal was done, and he knew I couldn't undo it without causing him serious trouble. "Forget it, Tim. Just go put your stuff in your room. I've got some cooking to finish. Maybe you'll come keep me company while I work."

After I calmed down a bit, we managed to have a good talk as I put the finishing touches on Thanksgiving dinner. I could see he was glad to see Travis, although the two hadn't kept in touch while Tim was at school. There was one awkward moment when I overheard him asking Travis if he had keys to the barn and it finally clicked why he wanted them. "Tim, I flushed the pot you left in the barn when I found it a week after you left," I called into the living room nonchalantly. That put an end to that. Tim was gone back to school Saturday morning, and things were back to normal on the farm, using the term "normal" somewhat loosely.

"Travis, I'm worried about you," I began as I joined Travis for Saturday morning chores.

"Ma'am?" he asked, perplexed. As was usual when he was around me, his cock began to stir and his erection was soon visible through his pants, unconstrained by any underpants, according to the rules I had set for him.

"I noticed you only masturbated once since the last time I helped clear you out. That's not much for an 18-year-old boy."

"I'm about to turn 19, ma'am," Travis said, looking at his boots.

"Still. Is everything okay? Are you having any problems?"

"No, Miss Dara. I'm fine. I just didn't want to. At home I mean."

I got the sense that he wasn't telling me the whole truth, but it didn't seem like he was lying, so I let it slide for later. "Well, whatever the case," I gestured to his jutting erection, so clearly visible through his thin uniform pants, "we need to get you taken care of if you are going to have any sort of concentration for your chores. Meet me in the pen."

"Yes, ma'am," Travis replied obediently and with a little smile. In our well-established pattern, he stripped down while I washed my hands and gathered the supplies before joining him. I ran my hand over the soft skin of his hard cock, relishing the feeling of power and control as Travis stood still, his legs spread, waiting for my instructions. I cupped his balls in my hand, reaching back to massage his perineum, eliciting a small moan of pleasure.

"Your testicles are so full, Travis. I had worried you were masturbating and simply not recording it, but I can see that's not the case," I said as I alternately caressed and squeezed each ball, causing my hired hand to wince in pain and moan with pleasure in turn.

"No ma'am, Miss Dara, I wouldn't do that. I know what you said about always telling you the truth."

"Well then, let's see what we can do to make you more comfortable. We're going to do this once each hour until you can't come anymore, do you understand? Set the alarm on your phone and meet me here every hour." It would be interesting to see how many times I could make him come; my panties grew wet at the thought of it. I lifted the lube from the tray that hung on the outside of the tray, noticing that Travis's eyes were fixed on the sight of me, spreading the lube across my finger. I moved closer to him, straddling his outstretched leg, as I lazily dragged my finger up and down the crack of his ass. Travis closed his eyes, his breath growing faster as he waited for what would come next.

"Spread your legs a little wider," I ordered. I loved to feel the strength of his leg muscles between my thighs as I worked him over. Sometimes I could ride his leg to orgasm without him even knowing it. "Now, bend over and grab the bar and relax." Travis's reaction was immediate. "What a good boy you are," I purred. "I remember how much trouble you used to give me when you first started working here, but not anymore." I began moving my finger rhythmically against his puckered little hole, which relaxed to let me inside. I quickly found his prostate and began rubbing it, eliciting more moans and whimpers of pleasure. "Do you want me to touch your penis, Travis? Would that help you come?"

"Yes, Miss Dara," he exhaled.

"Yes, what? Tell me what you want."

"Please Miss Dara, I want you to rub my penis. Please. . ."

I wrapped my hand around his shaft, stroking him firmly, then slid my finger out of his ass. This produced a moan, but of frustration, not of pleasure. "Is something wrong, Travis?" I asked, as if I were truly perplexed. He blushed crimson. I hadn't seen that in a bit, and I remembered suddenly how much I loved it, how it added to the heat in my crotch to see this submissive young man abashed and embarrassed at admitting how much it excited him to let me dominate him. I watched as he struggled, still pumping his cock slowly, not quickly enough to make him come but merely to keep him on the edge. He wanted it, but didn't want to ask. My nipples crinkled hard with excitement.

"Could you. . . could you. . ." he stammered. "Could you please?"

"Please what, Travis? I'm not a mind-reader."

"Your finger, behind I mean, could you put it back?"

"You want me to put my finger back in your bottom Travis, is that it?"

"Yes ma'am, please ma'am."

"Then ask me, Travis, tell me exactly what it is you want. Every detail."

Silence. I stopped stroking him, let my hand hang by my side. My body was still pressed against him, the warmth of his naked body passing through my clothing.

Finally, he found it within himself to overcome his embarrassment. He breathed deeply and began, "Please, Miss Dara, put your finger inside me and rub the spot that feels so good. And stroke my penis and make me come. Please . . ."