The gravel crunched under the tires as the black and white chartered bus, its tinted windows hiding the occupants inside, made its way up the winding drive. Passing a green fenced in pasture and a wooded area it slowed to a stop in front of the imposing red and white building. It was a long low and windowless structure with several sliding doors along one side; the sign in the front, Smythe Stables, was the only clue as to what might be inside. With a hiss, the doors of the bus folded open.

    A tall austere woman rose from her seat at the front of the bus and turned to face her young charges. Her height was enhanced by the gleaming black stilettos, and the long, sheer nylon covered legs that extended from her black leather pencil skirt. Moving effortlessly on the wicked high heels she walked down the aisle of the bus. Looking back at her were row after row of young ladies, this year’s graduating class from Lady Caroline’s Academy for Young Ladies. “Today is the practical exercise in the milking of the submissive male. We’ve covered the theory and physiology in the classroom. Here you will put the theory into practice. Your future husbands will need to be regularly milked. Whether or not you do this or assign it to someone else it is important to have full knowledge of what is involved in the practice. It is my recommendation that either you or your Alpha Male lover perform this service on your husband. Such personal ‘attention’ is more humiliating to the male and drives them further into submission. Ms Constance Pennington Smythe has made her milking stable available to us, very generous of her. She will host an afternoon tea for us at her club and then we will return to the stables for the strap-on exercises before we depart. Are there any questions?”

    A beautiful girl with flowing blonde hair raised her hand. She was dressed in the same uniform as her classmates: a crisp white blouse, sheer stockings, bracelet-length kid leather gloves, a tartan mini skirt and high-heeled court shoes. “Where do all the males inside come from?”

    Lady Caroline slipped on her black leather suit coat. “Disciplinary problems, males who couldn’t be trained or perform to standards. A few languish here simply because their owners tired of them and at least here they can serve some function.” She turned to look at a pretty brunette. “Susan, I believe your father is inside.”

    Susan smiled and nodded. “Mother sold him to Ms Smythe. He was getting in the way, wasn’t good for sex, a premature ejaculator Mom said, and wasn’t making a good domestic. We have a really good sissy maid now and Miguel is a better lover for Mom.”

    The girl in the seat in front of Susan turned around. “Your Dad’s in there? That’s fuckin’ cool.”

    Her outburst brought instant recrimination from Lady Caroline. “Deidre, mind your language!”

    “Yes, Ma’am.”

    “Remember girls, domination and superiority are not crass; wield your power and authority in a regal and ladylike manner. When we go inside you will each pick out a slave. Warders will be around to provide you with gloves and lubricant and show you how to hook the suction nipple to their penis. The males have not been milked for several days so should be very amenable to our attention. But to help them along everyone add a spritz of scent.”

    Twenty five gloved hands disappeared into twenty five identical and fashionable clutches to remove bottles of expensive perfume. In an instant the bus filled with a sensual aroma.

    The male bus driver, naked and gagged with a large penis gag, breathed in the heady scent and felt his cock try to stiffen in its chastity cage. The sharp spikes inside the device brought immediate pain and put down any attempts at erection.

    Caroline returned to the front of the bus. “When you get inside, remember YOU are the superior Female. This is your last semester at my academy. You’re all of legal and marriageable age and when you graduate you will enter the world to search out and cull those submissive males from the herd. It won’t be difficult. Society abounds with them and I and my faculty have provided you all the skills and tools you need to capture a husband and to staff your households with sissy maids. But to obtain maximum efficiency from male slaves you need to know about their care and feeding. So pay attention today, these are valuable lessons. Please form up outside the bus and wait for me.”

    The girls walked down the aisle, each one stopping to tighten their leather gloved hand into a fist and deliver a hard blow to the bus driver’s right arm and shoulder. His arm was covered in black, blue and greenish bruises that never healed. Chained to his seat there was no way he could escape, even if he wanted to. But he’d accepted this for so long that although they hurt, he sat and took his beatings, offering whimpers of pain into his penis gag. The girls, for their part, delighted in seeing who could force the loudest wails from his gagged mouth.

    Caroline watched this ritual with amused detachment. At this rate he’ll only be good for another year before that right arm is useless. Oh well, I’ll sell him to Constance and he can spend the rest of his days inside the stables. Before leaving the bus she took the remote control from her pocket and pressed “medium.” The steel balls inside the driver’s butt plug began to gyrate and bounce against one another. She smiled as the driver squirmed at the anal invasion. Grabbing his wrists she brought them to his neck, locking the cuffs to his collar.

    He looked at her; his eyes begging and pleading for mercy. He knew there was no relief, no mercy, never had been, never would be. But something deep inside of him still searched for what he knew he’d never find.

    She saw the look, reached down and viciously pinched a nipple. Eventually that look will be gone; he’ll be destroyed, resigned to his fate. But I do like them like this, ever hopeful…right before they’re completely broken.

    She left the bus and joined her fresh-faced entourage: so prim, so proper, so perfectly dressed and coifed. And so full of malevolent evil, carefully inculcated by her, “follow me girls.”

    Caroline entered a code on the keypad and the sound of magnetic locks releasing could be heard behind the door. With a push on the door the group walked inside.

    The entrance was a well appointed office area: wooden desks, fresh flowers and plants, and the usual assortment of computers and office equipment. A matronly woman with graying hair rose and embraced Caroline. “So good to see you today, and these are your girls? Here for their first milking are they? We won’t disappoint them.”

    “Ladies,” said Caroline, moving beside Margaret. “This is our host and the Stable Manager, Margaret.”

    “Good morning girls, I’m so pleased you’re with us today,” said Margaret.

    A chorus of “Thank you, Ma’ams” filled the office.

    Margaret beamed, she always reveled in young women coming of age and taking their rightful place in the Female/male hierarchy. “Shall we go in girls? And if you have any questions please ask myself or any of my Warders. You may touch and handle any of our males; we keep them quite clean and hygienic, although gloves are mandatory for the actual manual milking procedures.” She chuckled as she heard the usual: “cool – yech – gross – are they ticklish?” Margaret nodded to her secretary who pushed a button on her desk. With a ‘whoosh’ the large door slid to the side and the group stepped into the holding pens.

    The girls and their escorts found themselves in the very heart of the stables. A long central corridor stretched the length of the building leading to large roll-up doors at the end. On each side of the corridor lay the pens, small barred cubicles waist high. Everything was gleaming white, chrome and stainless steel. The girls squinted  at the brightness.

    “Yes, it is bright,” said Margaret. Taking sunglasses from a rack she gestured for the girls to each take a pair. She swept her arm in the direction of the pens, “they live in constant brightness, no time, no day, no night, they simply exist. They eat and they are milked.” She reached into a drawer to remove a leather Tawse. “Ms. Smythe has kindly provided this beautiful Tawse as a prize for the best milker among you. It’s a lovely implement that you can pass on as an heirloom to your daughters to use on their husbands.” She handed it to one of the girls. “Pass it around, get a feel for it.”

    A Warder in a white jump suit and knee-high, spike heeled boots approached and handed Margaret a riding crop. She flexed it in her hands and turned to face the girls. “Each pen has a crop, paddle and nipple clamps to punish and discipline our stock. Use them at your pleasure. There’s really no room in the pens for whips.” She smiled, “I suppose that could be the single consolation to their dismal existence. Still, we can get all the results we want with these simple tools.” She cut the air with a menacing slice of her crop. “Ellen here,” she pointed to the tall, beautiful Warder, “will demonstrate on the first subject and then you can each select your stock and have a go at it yourself.” She turned to Caroline, “would you like some coffee while the girls learn to milk?”

    “Thank you, love to.”

    “Girls, if I may have your attention over here.” Ellen led the group to the first pen. From the wall she removed a clipboard and scanned the attached pages. “Number 723, age 53.” She pointed to the man on his hands and knees on the coarse concrete floor of the pen. He was naked save for a steel collar around his neck. The collar was attached to an eyebolt anchored in the floor. It was obvious he was always on his hands and knees.

    A hand shot up. “Number 723? Doesn’t he have a name?”

    “We give them numbers, names aren’t necessary for them. Some of them haven’t heard their name for years.” Ellen laughed. “They may not even remember their name” She consulted the clipboard again, “if it matters, his name is, was, Donald Kremmer, sold to our stables six years ago by his wife.” Number 723 never looked up at the mention of his name. She held the clipboard up so the girls could see one of the pages. “This is a Run Chart, a Statistical Process Control device. We monitor their sissy cream output to insure they produce efficiently. Although he lacked as a lover and a husband his milking output is acceptable.”

    One of the girls raised her hand. “What happens when they can’t produce anymore?”

    “The first thing we do is check the charts and their recent history,” said Ellen. “If it shows a steady and gradual decline they may be at the end of their useful like as milkers. Or it could be an aberration; maybe they’re sick or off their feed. If it’s something we can fix then we make the adjustment and get them back to full spunk production.”

    There were several giggles and murmurs at “spunk production.”

    Another hand shot up, “and if you can’t fix the problem?”

    Ellen shrugged, “they’re at the end of their useful life to us. We may put them out in the fields but often they can’t keep up with the physical demands of hard labor. Others end their life as furniture items, serving out their existence as ashtray holders, boot lickers. Or we sell them off, that’s the most profitable in the long run, although we don’t realize much revenue from even that.”

     “Sell them to…who?”

    “Overseas markets, we don’t ask what’s done with them. OK girls, back to this specimen. We use standard portable milking machines, the kinds used in small operations for cows, sheep or goats. This nipple goes over their penis and chastity device. The end of their chastity device can be removed exposing the head of the penis, which is pulled into the suction tube. Here,” she motioned to one of the girls, “put your finger in there.”

    The girl did and Ellen turned on the machine.

    “Wow,” said the girl, “I can feel the suction.”

    “Exactly.” Ellen smiled and turned off the machine. She slipped on a pair of latex gloves, squirted lube into the milking nipple, and pushed it onto his chastised penis.  “We have devices to automatically massage their prostate, fucking machines if you will.” She pointed to an evil looking device at the back of the pen, a large flesh-colored dildo attached to a chrome rod. “We can hook them up and walk away, come back later and collect the results.” Her lips broke into an evil smile, “but there’s something about getting up close, inside and personal.” With that she slipped two fingers inside number 723.

    He gasped at the penetration, evoking laughter from the girls.

    “You’ve done the simulators at the academy. This is really no different.” Ellen gently probed and stroked while the milking machine whirred and chugged. “When you find that little bump just push on it, stroke it. Since they’re in chastity, they can’t get an erection, that’s what makes milking so delicious for us and humiliating for them. They lose their seed but miss that precious rush of ejaculation. Look at the tubing.”

    When the girls turned their attention to the clear tubing at the nipple they saw the first beads of cum slowly pulsing down the tube. Ellen continued to massage the prostate.

    “It looks like he’s crying,” said one of the girls.

    Indeed, tears were streaming down the slave’s face, even as he sighed with pleasure from being fondled.

    “Shame, frustration and pleasure, too many emotions for him to deal with,” Ellen said. “He’s twice the age of you girls, but here he is, naked on his hands and knees, a virtual slave, being milked of his seed, deprived of an erection, no shred of manliness left.” She bent down to whisper in his ear, “but he likes it when I put my hand up there don’t you?”

    He shook and sobbed as Ellen milked the last of his seed, “yes, yes.”

    “You’ll note they all have nipple rings.” Ellen reached under the slave to tweak his rings. The girls giggled and pointed. “You can pull on these, twist them or tweak them. There are weights on the wall that can be attached to the rings. It’s fun to pummel their ass and watch their titties bounce. Some of our stock, the ones who’ve been here for years, have quite distended nipples. You can also use one of the chains,” she pointed to the accessories on the wall, “to attach between the nipples and the retaining ring on the floor. This keeps them quite motionless, despite what you do back here.” She shoved hard with her hand and number 723 lurched forward. “That won’t happen when you secure the nipples.”

    She removed her hand, stripped off the latex gloves, removed the nipple, and stopped the machine. Bending over she examined the collection container and noted the number of cc’s collected, writing the number on the chart. “Not bad, he’s still an acceptable producer.” She extended her foot and he bent his head to kiss the toe of her boot. “They lead a bleak existence here and are grateful for any attention they get.”

    A tall redhead raised her hand. “Some of them have a ring in their nose. What’s that all about?”

    “Discipline problems,” Ellen said. “Some of them had trouble adapting to their life here. A nose ring makes it easy to lead them around and get their attention.”

    The girls were excited and ready to try their hand at milking a male. At Ellen’s urging they dispersed throughout the stable, strolling along the pens, window shopping as they do at the mall. The hapless males could only remain on their hands and knees and cower in shame. Lady Caroline brought her girls here every semester, and the males had no choice but to submit and endure the humiliation of being milked by girls young enough to be their daughters. It was the ultimate shame and degradation, which was why Lady Caroline kept bringing her classes back.

    The girls chatted endlessly as they made their selections: “I think I’ll do this one.” “I want this one; I’ve never seen balls that big; he must be full!” “Oooh, a black one, I want to do him.” “Yech, this one’s so fat; I’d lose my hand in there.” “This one’s much younger then the rest.” “What do you feed them?”

    Ellen circulated, answering questions and giving recommendations. “He’s fat because he’s relatively new. With their meager diet here they all slim down.” “Yes, he’s the youngest we’ve ever had; his mother sold him to us.” “We feed them gruel, a mixture of tuna, oatmeal, water and their own cum. With a few vitamins and supplements it provides all the nutrients they need and enough calories to sustain them for their existence here.”

    Susan ambled along, her high-heeled court shoes clicking on the concrete floor. She deliberately stopped before a pen and looked the kneeling male in the eyes. “Hello Daddy.” Sliding back the railing, she stepped into the pen.

         "So my darlings...are you interested in more?" Mistress Constance