Milk Farm - Part 2

After his third milking, Stan lost all track of time. Hours became days. Days became weeks. His life had devolved to sleeping, eating, and daily milking sessions that seemed to leave his mind ever more muddled.

He was also getting fat. Most would have described Stan as “fat” even before arriving at the facility, but weeks later and Stan knew he was fatter than he’d ever been. Parts of him were rubbing together now that had never before--he could feel his neck and chin making contact whenever he turned his head and his inner thighs chafed much further down. His arms--when they weren’t shackled to the wall--were held out further at an angle, the flab beneath his armpits pushing his arms out and away.

And his tits, well… Stan had always sported a perky pair of moobs, but now they were taking on enough mass to start sagging over his belly. He hadn't quite achieved a bosom, but it was only a matter of time.

Despite his increased girth, Stan never quite lost sight of his hardon--as sure a sign that it too was growing along with the rest of him. It felt thicker, heavier, leaving a meaty impact whenever it struck his leg before the men in lab coats came and attached the device to begin his milking sessions. His balls too were getting bigger, weightier, their mass stretching his scrotum almost down to his knees.

“I’m turning into some sort of freak,” Stan thought, but he was too exhausted to be appalled at his bloated stature. He couldn’t tell if it was the added weight, the constant milking, or both, but he was just so tired all the time.

Except when he was given food. Twice a day, trays laden with everything imaginable slid through his door. He was so big now that he didn’t bother diving for the slot anymore--he’d never make it in time. And besides, the food was the only high point of his day. However, he noticed that his dishes were becoming simpler in terms of presentation. Burgers would come without condiments, Pizza slices were little more than bread and melted cheese. It was all still delicious somehow, but it was another strange development to add on top of everything else.

Sometimes, in the moments after waking but before his first milking session, Stan would look up at the corner of his cell to peer at the man he knew only as #347. He was huge now, bigger than any man Stand had ever seen in his life, his massive bulk completely obscuring the device Stan knew was attached to a cock at least as big as his own, but invisible beneath a constantly falling wave of flesh. Stan couldn’t remember the last time he saw #347 doing anything other than spewing a constant stream of cream into the milking device, his guttural moans rising and falling with his orgasms, his smooth flesh undulating to the rhythm dictated by the machine.

It was hot. So incredibly hot. He’d always find himself rock hard, leaking, sometimes even tugging at a turgid cockhead he could barely close his fist around anymore. Then the light would turn on, the men would come in, and he’d join #347 in ecstasy for several hours before his first feeding.

“Hm, looks like your output has dropped a bit,” the man in the lab coat said. Stan heard the words but it was too soon after his milking for him to comprehend much of anything, laying in a puddle of his own jizz on the floor of his cell.

“Looks like we’ll have to give you a bit of a touch-up. I think #347 is available this afternoon, and he’s always receptive to some personal attention,” the man said with a smirk before wheeling the device away, its reservoir full to the brim with his cum.

In the brief moments before Stan lost consciousness, he looked up at the gallons he’d produced, and smiled.

He woke up on the floor, as usual, but something was different. His cell had an unfamiliar odor that wasn’t his own. He roused himself and found that the smell was coming from the man chained to the wall in front of him. It was #347.

It took Stan a few moments to realize he’d been carted into his neighbor’s cell while he was asleep. It took him another few moments to realize that #347 wasn’t gently thrusting his hips as Stan usually saw him. The tube of milky white fluid wasn’t coming out from under his hanging gut. In fact, from Stan’s entirely new vantage point, he could actually see #347’s genitals for the first time.

They were big. Even in what Stan assumed to be a half-hard state, the #347’s cock dwarfed his own, and he was amazed that he never even got a hint of the massive manhood from staring at #347’s reflection morning after morning. Even unconscious, #347 produced a steady stream of white fluid that dripped from his slit into a rivulet that emptied into a drain in the middle of the floor.

Just as Stan felt his own dick harden from the enticing sight before him, #347 roused from his slumber with a groan. The two locked eyes for a moment before #347 chuckled warmly.

“You look new,” he said with a slight smile. “You hear for a top-up? They usually send new guys to me when they need a second dose.”

“A top-up?” Stan managed weakly.

“Eh, nevermind that. You want some of this?” #347 managed to wave his shackled hands in a way that presented his vast enormity to Stan, who managed a nod.

“Well, come on and get it fat boy.”

Stan managed to stand up, legs wobbly from his own increased weight and lack of use over the past few weeks. He stumbled his way to #347 for a few steps before he tripped and fell face-first into #347’s bosom.

“Hey there,” said #347 in a low, inviting voice. “Normally new guys go straight to the tap, but I’m game for a little foreplay first.”

Stan brought his head up and locked eyes with the smiling beauty before him, his round face capturing his entire view. And then using #347’s bulk as handholds, Stan crawled his way up to passionately envelop that smiling face.

It took one kiss for Stan to get hard as a rock, his erection pressing into #347’s flesh and leaking a milky fluid lubricated the two hefty men’s embrace. Stan had to stand on his tip-toes to reach #347’s face thanks to both their protruding middles, but despite the awkward positions, the two made out like high schoolers, enjoying their first human contact in quite some time.