mykinkywankbank:When I became a vegan, I kept telling Daddy that it was wrong to drink cow’s milk be
mykinkywankbank:When I became a vegan, I kept telling Daddy that it was wrong to drink cow’s milk because the cows didn’t really want to be milked.Daddy decided that the simplest way to show me that wasn’t true was to lease me to The Farm. After my first breeding and once my milking schedule was made regular, he came to visit for a few hours instead of letting me be milked as usual. The mounting pressure ached and burned, and I begged to be milked. Daddy laughed at me, and asked if I could still be vegan if I wanted to be milked. I reluctantly said no, and he told me that I could come home.But he’d still signed a lease renewal, just a part-time one. Daddy sent up my breeding and milking station in my old bedroom. The bulls visited the house until I was bred, and then Daddy used me, safe in the knowledge that it was only for pleasure. But after the contract was fulfilled, Daddy didn’t stop. I bore my baby siblings and kept being milked for the next decade and a half, until I physically couldn’t. When Daddy took me out of the rig, though, he replaced me with my oldest daughter by him, and told me it was my job to help her now. I could barely move on my own, my sagging belly and breasts dragging on the floor when I tried to crawl, but I tried to talk her through the pain that had been half of my life, from Daddy’s cock to pushing out babies to being milked all the time. Luckily for her she usually miscarried, the babies having the same great-grandfather, grandfather, and father making them just defective enough to not be viable, but that meant she was milked just as easily. The few babies that were born were usually small and sick, and didn’t live long. But Daddy didn’t care. When he finally died there were fourteen living girls, most of whom he’d abused, three of whom were pregnant. I didn’t know what he’d done with the boys. Anything would have been better than this hell. -- source link