Mass Production

[Darinost]

Teaser:Let’s be clear, women aren’t baby factories… unless you decide to turn them into one…
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Mass Production
Author: Darinost
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If it isn’t already obvious, this story is a fetish fantasy. In reality, women’s rights are vital and increasingly under attack. Please do not take this silly tale as any sort of condonation of the ongoing regression of women’s rights around the world.
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Mass Production

Raping Maxine the first time was… well, it was fine. She’s the only woman I’ve ever abducted, and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy breaking a cute, feisty redhead down into a whimpering fucktoy. We had all sorts of good times together, like making her bend over and count off the number of times I spanked her plump ass before I was ready to sink my cock into her guts. Or the long hours of deepthroat training where she’d throat me until she passed out, over and over again. Yeah, I had plenty of fun with her during her month of captivity, and she kept my cock satisfied.

But the second time… that was the special one.

I’d let her go about eight months prior, driving her out into the middle of nowhere and dumping her at the side of the road. I’d left her with a single instruction, and a promise to show up and make her life hell if she didn’t obey.

She started sobbing the moment she saw me in her home at two in the morning. She’d moved and installed a fancy security system since my first visit, but those were minor inconveniences. “But I… I did what you wanted…” she pleaded, tears and snot running down her face.

That much was obvious, from the glorious sight of her swollen postpartum belly and fat, milk laden tits. I’d watched her progress closely over the previous months, but being in the same room with her was so much better than just stalking her Facebook page and taking candid photos from afar. The trembling woman looked nothing like the slender, fierce activist I’d first seen at a pro-choice rally about a year earlier.

She’d stood out to me back then, but not just because of her pretty face, sleek red hair, and the kind of figure that starred in the average teenager’s wet dreams (not mine though; the dreams that used to make me have to change the sheets in the morning had always involved women with bulging nine month tummies, and fat floppy titties that were already dribbling milk). 

What had caught my eye about Maxine was the handmade sign she was holding up that said WOMEN ARE NOT BABY FACTORIES. All I could think about for the rest of the day was that while she was absolutely correct, if women were baby factories, she’d make a damn sexy one.

I licked my lips as living proof of that cowered in front of me. “Yeah, you did just what I wanted,” I confirmed happily. “And that’s why I’m not about to torture you to death, slut. I’m just going to bring you back with me. To stay.”

She gave me a wide eyed deer in the headlights stare for a long moment, then turned and ran.

Correction: tried to run. My baby momma could barely waddle in her state. I easily tackled her to the floor, and jabbed the syringe I’d brought into her neck. She was out like a light. From there, I dragged her out to my car, dumped her in the trunk, and just like that, Maxine was mine again.

Before I left, I did take a minute to check on the little brat we were leaving behind. He was still less than a week old, just a shriveled thing in his crib. I didn’t feel any special attachment towards him, but I didn’t have anything against him either. I’d place an anonymous 911 call once I was safely away, make sure he was found before anything happened. “Mommy is gonna go be daddy’s fucktoy again,” I cooed, scratching his tummy. “Can you say ‘bye mommy fucktoy’?” He smiled and giggled at me. Ah, like father, like son.

By the time Maxine woke up a few hours later, she was back down in my basement and all trussed up on a table. While she was asleep, I’d stripped her naked and forced her hands behind her in a reverse prayer position, with several zip ties to keep them in place. Then I’d pushed her legs up and back; she’d always been limber, and it didn’t take too much effort to get her ankles to behind her head and then zip tie them that way.

The bondage left her scrunched up like a pretzel, and had two immediate benefits. First, it had to be incredibly uncomfortable, and growing worse with each passing moment. Maxine had begun squirming and moaning in pain even while unconscious, trying uselessly to find a position that wasn’t unpleasant. Second, it pushed her already huge tits and belly out even further, putting her best features on full display.

I had lots of good memories of me and Maxine down in this basement, and from the way she started hyperventilating when she realized where she was, she hadn’t forgotten her time down here either.

She’d become well acquainted with my leather belt during our month together; I’d gone out of my way to help her develop a very healthy fear of it, making sure it played a prominent role in all of her punishment sessions. She’d learned quickly that the sight of my belt meant that she was in big trouble.

When she saw it in my hands now, her hyperventilating transitioned into a full blown panic attack, and hot piss spurted from her spread crotch to soak the table. “Please!” she gasped. “I’m sorry I tried to run, Master! I’ll be good! I promise!”

“It’s okay, Maxine,” I said soothingly. “I’m not upset with you.”

“N-no?” she breathing skeptically, her eyes flickering wildly between my smile and the belt.

“Not even a little,” I assured her. “It must have been a terrible ordeal, carrying your rapist’s baby to term, huh?”

“I-I-I didn’t mind, Master!” Maxine stuttered nervously.

I gently tsked her as I brushed a few sweaty strands of red hair off of her face. “You know I value honesty, Maxine. Let’s not begin our new life together with lies, okay?” She shuddered. “Tell me how you really felt during these last eight months.”

“I, I hated it, Master,” she conceded.

“Because?” I prompted.

Maxine didn’t seem too happy about opening up and sharing, but she was still eyeing my belt and smart enough to realize that whatever I had planned with it, being reticent wasn’t going to do her any favors. “I hated, um, feeling so heavy, and like I was a, a prisoner in my own skin. I hated that our, our son had more ownership of my body than I did. I hated…” Her expression grew a little distant. “Brenna left me because I refused to get an abortion and she couldn’t understand why I… why I couldn’t just try to forget you and move on.”

I chuckled. “You know, I genuinely forgot you were gay. It never really factored into our time together back then, and it sure doesn’t matter anymore, huh?” She nodded her head sadly. “And you’re a vegan too, right? But that one, I know that didn’t start until after you and me.” I grinned. “You really hated those food bars that much, huh?” Her face turned slightly queasy as she nodded again.

The food bars were the only thing I’d ever fed her, not counting all the piss and cum. They were a homemade mix of dry cat food for a proper gritty, dusty mouthfeel, generous portions of animal lard for caloric content, and a number of supplements to meet her nutritional needs. Maxine ate three big bars a day, each one slowly nibbled to make sure she could really savor the experience. The texture alone had made me gag when I tried a small piece of one myself, but the actual flavor had been a bit bland, so I’d made sure to season them going forward: an old dog turd I’d found on the side of the road for one batch, a clump of hair from the shower drain for another, and so on. By the end of our month together, the mere sight of one of her bars was enough to make Maxine retch.

I gently trailed my fingers over her soft breasts, enjoying how even lightly brushing her nipples made her wince. “And these must still be very sensitive, aren’t they? When was the last time you expressed them?”

“I was, um, I was on my way to do that when you… when you saw me, Master,” Maxine told me.

“So they were already full of milk then, and that was hours ago. They must be about ready to burst by now. Would you like some help, since your hands are a little occupied right now?”

Maxine’s face flushed a deep red. “Y… yes, Master,” she admitted.

“Happy to help,” I purred. “But first, let’s see how hard I can make your milk jugs bounce.”

She started wailing the moment the leather first struck those fat, lovely milkers. I took my time, making sure that no inch was spared. It took about eighty minutes of rigorous tit swatting before I was satisfied that they were covered in angry red welts from top to bottom. Maxine spent the entire time in a state of near mindless panic, babbling pleas for mercy that I couldn’t catch or care less about.

My cock was demanding relief by that point, so I decided to take a quick fuck break, and sank into her cunt. Maxine grunted in pain as I ramrodded her baby chute. She’d been tight before, and if pumping out my kid had loosened her up any, I couldn’t tell. If anything, that big belly made her even tighter than I remembered, its weight compressing her pussy tunnel around my hard shaft. I grabbed two handfuls of tit meat and crushed them in my grip as I pounded her. “Alright, time to get milked, slut.”

Sure enough, just a bit of stimulation was enough to get those fun bags spurting. I leaned in to lap some freshly squeezed milk off her welted titties, not stopping or swallowing until I had an entire mouthful of warm creamy goodness. I rolled it around in my mouth for a moment to savor it, then spat it all right into hers. She gagged delightfully, and it only took a couple more spat mouthfuls before I was spitting hot milk of a different kind into her tight snatch.

I panted happily as my cock softened inside of her. Now I could get back to what mattered.

I set the tray I’d prepared next to Maxine’s prone body, and made sure she could see all the items on it. She whimpered meekly when I picked up the first, a long iron skewer, but made no further pleas for mercy. I don’t think she was feeling any calmer, just too exhausted to keep making a fuss.

I placed the skewer’s sharp tip against the side of one tit, a little behind the dark brown nipple. “Welcome home, slut,” I told her, and drove it into her flesh.

Maxine screamed as I forced the skewer all the way through her fat breast until the bloody tip popped out the other side. I withdrew it slowly, making her scream some more, and then repeated the process with her other tit.

I set the skewer down and grabbed the next two items: a pair of stainless steel rings, large and thick enough to qualify as bracelets. I wasn’t gentle about inserting Maxine’s new tit piercings into the holes I’d made, and both were streaked in blood by the time I was done. With the next item on the tray, a soldering iron, I sealed them permanently shut.

I took hold of Maxine’s forever jewelry and gave them an experimental tug. She rewarded me with a shriek of pain that rose in octave and intensity as I tugged harder. Satisfied, I picked up the last item on the tray: a long coiled cable.

A few minutes later, the redhead was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. She hung in the air, still trussed up and now suspended by her two rings, her already massive tits even larger now as her body weight stretched them. I was sure - pretty sure, anyway - that the rings were in deep enough that gravity wouldn’t eventually rip them right out of her flesh. And if I was wrong, live and learn, right?

I enjoyed the sight of the screaming slut for a minute, but something was missing. I snapped my fingers and smiled when I realized what it was: the welts all over her tits no longer looked quite as fresh. A simple problem with a simple solution.

Maxine thrashed in place as I began applying a brand new layer of welts on top of her old ones. From what I could make out from her wails, she was convinced I was killing her. Silly slut.

It took even longer than last time, almost twice as long, to properly decorate her melons. Sometimes it was difficult to be certain if a bruise was old or fresh, and hey, better safe than sorry. But eventually her tits were looking their best again, and my cock was once again demanding my attention.

Nine months ago, her virgin starfish been so stiff and tight that it had taken an hour to stretch it out enough to take my prick. I’d trained it well after that, and now even after all this time it remembered me, and I slid right into her guts.

Once I was fully seated in her ass, I grabbed the back of her head and forced it down towards one of her suspended, stretched tits. “Start sucking, slut, it’s time for lunch.”

Despite all of her distress, if I’d taught Maxine one thing, it was that orders were meant to be followed. So even though she was still frantic and howling, she let me push her head down until her plump nipple was in her mouth, and I saw her cheeks hollow as she furiously sucked on it. With my free hand, I grabbed that tit and squeezed like I was pulping fruit. I was rewarded with the sound of the redheaded slut gagging and then swallowing as her own breast milk spurted out.

I kept squeezing until nothing more emerged, then pushed her head towards her other tit. Only when I was satisfied that both of her fat jugs had been drained, and every drop swallowed, did I let go of her head and focus on my cock. It only a few quick pumps from there to begin painting her bowels white.

I casually groped her breasts with both hands while I remained in her, still enjoying the warm confines of her asshole. “Should we leave your fun bags alone for a little while?” I asked her as I kneaded them like dough. Maxine nodded quickly. “I agree. We haven’t done anything with that big belly of yours yet.”

She whimpered.

Have you ever checked out how fun it is to use a recently pregnant woman’s soft, swollen belly as a punching bag? I can’t recommend it enough. The way your fist just sinks right into her looks and feels incredible, and if you happen to have her suspended by her tits at the time, she swings in the air in a way that’s both adorable and, if you believe Maxine, utter agony.

“Let’s hear your best moo,” I demanded while I made her swing back and forth with each gut blow. “You’ve already got the udders of a cow, let’s get you the voice of one too.”

“M-moo….?” she gasped.

“That’s fucking terrible!” I said, laughing. “If I can’t close my eyes and think I’ve got a big friendly cow in front of me, munching grass and mooing, I’m going to try out my new horsewhip on this belly instead. You want that, slut?”

Maxine shook her head. “Moo! Moo!!”

“I said big and friendly, not sad and shy! Put some joy into it! I want to hear it echoing off the walls!”

“MOOOOO!  MOOOOO!!”

“Come on, this is the happiest day of your life, remember? No more worrying about work, or family, or your ex girlfriend. No more being burdened with bodily autonomy and basic human rights. You’re back with the love of your life, a life that’s going to be spent squirting out his brats in between being his whipping post, punching bag, and fleshlight. Now tell me how happy all that makes you!”

“MOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” she screamed, sobbing. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

We spent over an hour like that, me decorating my fucktoy’s cute tummy with its own pretty bruises while she mooed at the top of her lungs. It was a great time for at least one of us, and there was only one reason I eventually forced myself to stop. Can you guess what that was? Yep, her titties looked like they could use a fresh layer of welts.

I’ll admit, I was a little concerned that Maxine would hate our boxing session so much that she’d be relieved when I switched back to showering her tits with leather kisses, but the way she begged me to “pummel her fat, sexy punching bag belly instead” told me I had nothing to worry about. Still, just to be safe I made sure to catch her with the belt buckle more often than usual during the two hour tit beating session, leaving a crisscrossing web of bloody lines on her melons. They were so puffy and sore by now that they would’ve been big swollen beauties even if they weren’t filling up with milk again.

You may have noticed a correlation between walloping her tits with my belt and my cock getting very excited. Well, this time was no exception, and I was soon balls deep in her twat again. There were still faded bite scars beneath her tits from all those months ago, if you could make them out under all the bruises, and I was eager to add some new ones. I chewed those plump titties with gusto, her cunt clenching me every time I bit down.

Sometimes I’d bite one of her nipples, and be rewarded with a little squirt of fresh breast milk. Every time that happened, I’d kiss Maxine and snowball it back into her where it belonged. “Getting used to the taste yet, slut?” I mocked at one point. “I call it the mommy fucktoy diet: those food bars you already know and love, washed down with all the breast milk your cow tits can produce. We keep draining them like this, you’ll eventually be guzzling nearly an entire gallon a day!”

It didn’t take long to top her pussy off with more cream, and Maxine didn’t resist when I made her suck her tits again while I wrung them dry. At this point, I’d been torturing and fucking her for about eight hours straight, and I was happy and exhausted. “We’ll pick this up again bright and early in the morning, okay, slut?” I told her as I cleaned up the tools that had been left behind. “I’ve already got a batch of bars chilling in the fridge for breakfast: I’m looking forward to your feedback on ‘dead rat’ flavor.”

“Master,” she said nervously. “Wh-when will you… this hurts so bad…”

“What does?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Your arms? Your legs? Or your cow tits?”

“A-all three… “ Maxine whined piteously. “Please, I’ll be a good fucktoy, I promise…” She licked her lips. “I, I still remember all the positions Master loved best. I’d be happy to serve you in any of them…”

“I’m sure you would be,” I said, smiling. “But you’re thinking of free range fucktoys, slut. Mommy fucktoys belong in exactly one position. I call it the titty swinging pretzel, and you’re in it to stay. Forever.”

Her lower lip trembled. “B-b-but I…”

I laughed. “I’m kidding, slut! If I kept you like that forever, your limbs would go numb eventually, and where’s the fun in that?”

Maxine laughed weakly. “Yes, that’s… that was a very funny joke, Master…”

“No, I’ll let you down for about thirty minutes a day to stretch and exercise. Actually, let’s make it an hour so you’ll have time to suck me off too; it’s hard to fuck your mouth when you’re up there. It’s only the other twenty three hours a day you’ll be a titty swinging pretzel.”

The redhead tried to feign laughter again, but it died in her throat when she realized I was serious. “You…”

I interrupted her by clapping my hands. “Anyway, I need to get some sleep. You should try to do the same - tomorrow is going to be another very busy day for you, slut.” She squeaked when I held up my leather belt, but I only tucked it behind her teeth and wrapped it around her head a few times before buckling it closed. “This is to remind both of us that from now on, we begin every morning with a fresh tit beating. See you then!”

Maxine was still making muffled pleas for mercy through her belt gag when I turned off the lights and went upstairs.


***


So that was eight years ago. Time sure flies when you’re having fun, huh?

Maxine is still hanging around, literally. Some pregnancies go better than others, but she pumps out more than she miscarries, and generally by the time her postpartum belly would start returning to normal, she’s already got another baby filling it back in to its proper look (thanks to constant milking, her tits have never been anything less than the perfect heavy milk jugs I know and love). Even when the timing on her belly doesn’t quite line up, I’ve found a few liters of ice cold enema liquid and a sturdy butt plug go a long way towards faking that sexy baby bulge.

She’s successfully produced seven more brats since she joined me, and the potential number eight is already well in the oven. We’ve still got over a decade before menopause becomes a real risk, and I’m cautiously optimistic that we can surpass twenty kids by then. I know what you must be thinking, but let me assure you, thanks to the occasional daddy stitch, her cunt remains as tight as ever. Oh yeah, and I make sure the brats all go to good homes, better than a worthless fucktoy like her could’ve ever provided. 

I like to celebrate each birth with a little cow themed present for Maxine. Like stapling a set of fake ears and horns to her head. Or piercing her clit so I could attach a weighted cowbell. Or sewing her hands into adorable cow print mittens shaped like hooves. Most recent was a promise, one I have faithfully upheld, to beat the ever loving shit out of her every time she says a word other than “moo”.

I’m hoping that even after she becomes infertile, owning a fat tittied and still milkable cow will be fun enough to justify keeping her. And if not, I’ve already made contact with a guy who runs a very special cattle ranch and pays top dollar for well trained hucows. The state of Maxine’s reproductive organs won’t matter much when she’s on all fours in a field, getting plowed by paying customers day and night.

Anyway, we’ve got many more happy years together before that becomes an issue, I’ll spare you the blow-by-blow details of our life together, and just say that for me, it couldn’t be better. I’ve had so much fun abusing her bulging belly over tens of thousands of hours. It’s not just about causing her physical pain, though there’s plenty of that above and beyond our frequent boxing practice; like zapping her awake with a taser to her tummy every morning, or using pliers to discover exactly which chunk of soft meat I can twist to make her scream loudest, or just using her belly button as my permanent ashtray.

But I’ve found that best of all is treating that beautiful broad stomach as my personal canvas. I’ve permanently scrawled all of our kids’ names into her flesh with a penknife, designed and branded her with multiple custom “Mommy Fucktoy” cattle brands, practiced my tattoo skills with crude pictures of spurting dicks and squirting tits…

And her actual tits? I beat them with my belt. A lot. Every day. I’ve experimented with other tools and tortures, but I can confidently say by now that there’s nothing in the world I love more than a leather belt kissing a milk-swollen pair of fun bags. When something works, it works. In eight years I’ve yet to end a single tit warming session without a raging hardon, and yet to have a single erection that didn’t end with creaming one of my pet’s soft tight holes.

As for Maxine, the former gay vegan feminist, if I ever asked her what she thinks of her life these days, she’d say… well, she’d say “moo”, unless she wants me to shove the cattle prod up her guts again. But assuming I gave her permission to speak, she’d probably bitch and moan all her old lines like “kill me” and “everything hurts” and “please god why me”. She’d just be being a drama queen, though. The slut gets to end every day with well used fuckholes and a belly full of warm milk; what more does a baby factory like her need?

[SoftGameHunter]

Well, I can't say the pregnancy fetish is one I share, but this is still a well-written kinky tale of abuse, and that's certainly to be encouraged and endorsed wholeheartedly.

[Darinost]

Well, I can't say the pregnancy fetish is one I share, but this is still a well-written kinky tale of abuse, and that's certainly to be encouraged and endorsed wholeheartedly.

Thanks! The fetish isn’t mine either, but at the time I wrote this, one of my longtime readers had just lamented how in another story I’d done featuring long term abduction, I explicitly went “nope, no babies getting born here, not happening”. I felt inspired to try one that fully embraced the idea instead, and I quite like how this one turned out. Best of all, so did he!

So let that be a lesson to all y’all: no, I am not a desperate, dopamine starved whore for feedback. A whore would’ve charged money.

[SoftGameHunter]

Well, I can't say the pregnancy fetish is one I share, but this is still a well-written kinky tale of abuse, and that's certainly to be encouraged and endorsed wholeheartedly.

Thanks! The fetish isn’t mine either, but at the time I wrote this, one of my longtime readers had just lamented how in another story I’d done featuring long term abduction, I explicitly went “nope, no babies getting born here, not happening”. I felt inspired to try one that fully embraced the idea instead, and I quite like how this one turned out. Best of all, so did he!

So let that be a lesson to all y’all: no, I am not a desperate, dopamine starved whore for feedback. A whore would’ve charged money.

Not that there's anything wrong with desperate, dopamine starved whores. It takes all kinds.

[Quinotaurus]

That was good. I like stories that take place over a long time. Only so much violation you can fit in a quickie.

[RapeU]

I'm a guy who enjoys boobs. Milking? Mmmm Bouncing? Mmmm Abuse? Mmmmm

This story checked all the boob boxes