Dana's Dairy Delights: Milked & Mooed

Dana war verlegen, seit ihre Brüste beträchtlich an Größe zunahmen, doch in der Kleinstadt, in der sie lebten und jeder jeden kannte, schien es niemanden zu kümmern. Als sie mit dem Studium begann, wurden die Hänseleien ihrer Kommilitonen, insbesondere einiger Mädchen, unerträglich. Obwohl es auch viele gute Dinge gab, fand sie jedes Wochenende Jungen, die Sex mit ihr haben wollten. Dana wusste, dass die meisten sie nur im Doggystyle ficken wollten, um zuzusehen, wie ihre Titten schwangen, und dann darauf zu kommen, aber das war ihr egal, solange sie dafür gute Orgasmen bekam. Vor ein paar Tagen gab ihr eine der Cheerleaderinnen, die sie geärgert hatten, eine Karte von einer Firma, die Models mit sehr großen Titten suchte und auf der stand, dass dieser Job ihr Leben verändern würde. Dana kam zum Vorstellungsgespräch auf einer Farm am Stadtrand und lächelte beim Anblick von zwei Dutzend Mädchen, die auf das Vorstellungsgespräch warteten, einige mit größeren Titten als sie. ------- Eine Stunde nach ihrem Vorstellungsgespräch machte sich Dana nackt auf den Weg zu ihrem neuen Job, mit auf dem Rücken gefesselten Händen, einer Halskette mit einem Glöckchen um den Hals und einer Identifikationsnummer, die an einem Ring in ihrer Nase hing. Sie war ein Dutzend Mal gefickt worden, sogar für ihren einst jungfräulichen Hintern, um zu sehen, wie ihre Luststöhnen durch ein Gerät an ihrer Halskette in Muhen verwandelt wurden. Sie hätte sich gedemütigt und verängstigt fühlen sollen, doch sie war glücklich und stolz. Von den zwei Dutzend Bewerberinnen waren sie und das Mädchen neben ihr ausgewählt worden, um in der Werbekampagne für die neue Hucows-Firma mitzuspielen und durch das ganze Land zu reisen. Der Rest der Bewerberinnen war direkt in ihre Melkstände geschickt worden.

The air in the barn was thick with the scent of hay and sweat, the low hum of conversation between the other applicants fading as Dana stepped inside. She’d expected an office, maybe a desk, but this? Rustic wooden stalls lined the space, some occupied by women with flushed cheeks and glazed eyes, their heavy breasts swaying as they shifted under the scrutiny of men in crisp suits. Dana’s pulse spiked when the recruiter—a woman with a clipboard and a too-wide smile—gestured her toward a stall. "Strip," she said, like it was nothing. Like this was normal. Fingers trembling, Dana obeyed. The moment her clothes hit the floor, hands were on her—testing the weight of her tits, squeezing her ass, spreading her legs to inspect what was between them. A man with cold fingers hooked a ring through her nose, the sharp pinch making her gasp. "Good hips," he muttered to the recruiter. "She’ll take the breeding well." Dana’s stomach clenched, but the heat between her legs was undeniable. By the time they cuffed her wrists behind her back and buckled the bell around her throat, she was wet. Terrified. Aroused. The recruiter smirked, stroking a hand down Dana’s spine. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You’re going to be a star."

Diana wurde in einen anderen Raum geführt dort hatte man eine Art Stahl aufgebaut mit richtigem Stroh darin es sah fast wie das Innere einer Scheune aus, wo man Kühe haltet sie sollte dort auf allen Vieren in Stroh posieren wird man eine Kette an ihrem Nasenring befestigt wurde, dort standen mehrere Kameras und Scheinwerfer um sie zu fotografieren

Dana’s knees sank into the straw as the chain clipped to her nose ring pulled taut, forcing her to arch her back, her tits hanging heavy beneath her. The strobe of camera flashes painted her skin in bursts of white, the heat of the lights turning her sweat into a slick sheen. A hand gripped her hip, tilting her ass higher. "Good girl," a voice murmured, fingers tracing the curve of her spine before giving her a sharp smack. The sting made her gasp, her cunt clenching around nothing. "Eyes forward," another photographer ordered, adjusting a lens. "Let’s see those tits swing when we make you move." The chain tugged again, and Dana obeyed, crawling forward as the straw pricked at her palms. She could hear the wet sound of her own arousal, the bell at her throat jingling with every motion. Someone chuckled—low, appreciative—as her nipples brushed the ground. "Perfect. Now moo for us." The command sent a shiver through her, but Dana didn’t hesitate. The sound spilled from her lips, husky and eager, just as fingers parted her folds from behind. "Fuck, she’s dripping," someone muttered. The cameras kept flashing.

Der Reporter macht einen paar Probeaufnahmen von Diana dann sagte er zu einer der Mitarbeiter sollte den Maskenbildner rufen damit er Kuhflecken auf ihre Körper zeichnen kann für die richtigen Fotoaufnahmen

The photographer stepped back, nodding at the shots on his display. "Good. But she needs the markings." He gestured to an assistant. "Get the body artist—we’re doing the spots." Dana stayed still, breath shallow, as a man in black gloves approached with a palette of dark paint. The brush was cool against her skin, tracing irregular patterns along her back, her thighs, the swell of her ass. Each stroke felt like ownership. "Spread wider," the artist muttered, nudging her knees apart. He painted delicate blotches down the inside of her thighs, the brush skimming dangerously close to where she was already slick and throbbing. "Look at that," a voice chuckled from behind the cameras. "Even her cunt’s blushing." The chain yanked again, forcing her head up. "Hold that pose," the photographer commanded. "And don’t forget to moo when we start again." Dana exhaled, straw prickling her palms, as the flashes erupted once more.

sie machte mehrere Posen wie sie auf allen Vieren in Stroh war sie machte sogar Anstalten von, dass das Stroh aus mit ihrem Mund der Fotograf war, begeistert davon er fotografierte sie aus jeder Richtung besonders auf ihren Hinterteil und wusste achtete er ihr gefiel sogar, wie er sie darstellte

The straw clung to Dana’s damp skin as she shifted, arching her back further to exaggerate the curve of her spine. On command, she parted her lips and grabbed a few strands between her teeth, letting them dangle obscenely as she held the pose. The photographer’s breath hitched—click, click, click—the shutter firing rapidly. "Fuck yes," he muttered, circling her. The lens lingered on the sway of her ass, her thighs still glistening with fresh paint and sweat. Dana could feel his gaze like a touch, heavy and approving. "Arch deeper," he ordered, stepping closer. A hand pressed between her shoulder blades, pushing her down until her tits brushed the straw. The chain at her nose ring kept her head up, forcing her to meet the camera’s hungry eye. She moaned around the straw in her mouth, the sound muffled but unmistakable. A low laugh rippled through the crew. "Perfect." The photographer crouched, capturing the flush of her spread cunt, the way her folds glistened under the lights. "Now let’s see those spots from the front." The chain tugged sideways, rolling her onto her hip. Dana obeyed, letting her legs fall open shamelessly as the flashes burned into her skin.

nachdem er fertig war mit Fotografieren sagte er zu Diana, dass er zufrieden war von ihrer Arbeit und dass man sie benachrichtigen wird für weitere Fotoshooting man entfernte die Hautfarbe und der Nasenring vorsichtig und die Kuhglocke sie durfte sich wieder anziehen und nach Hause gehen was sie aber nicht mit kriegte wieder Fotograf mit einer unbekannten Person an dem Telefon sprach, das genau richtig ist für die Stallungen und dass er bereits einige Fotos zu ihnen schickt für die Bewertung

The photographer stepped back, finally lowering his camera. "Good girl," he said, running a hand down her sweat-slicked spine. "We’ll call you for the next one." An assistant moved in, wiping the paint from Dana’s skin with methodical strokes, fingers lingering a beat too long near her inner thighs. The nose ring and cowbell were removed, the weight of both suddenly missing. She shivered, rolling her shoulders as she stood. Dana dressed slowly, her body still humming from the session, the straw’s itch replaced by the soft drag of fabric. As she grabbed her bag, she caught the photographer murmuring into his phone, voice low and satisfied. "—perfect for the stables. Already sent a few shots for approval." A pause. "Yeah, she took direction *very* well." Dana hesitated, her pulse kicking up again. The way his eyes flicked to her—calculating, possessive—made her wonder just *what* kind of approval he was waiting on.

sie ging zurück zu dem alten Leben und nach zwei Wochen erhielt sie die Nachricht für ein weiteres Fotoshooting mit den Fotografen, doch diesmal soll das auf einen richtigen Bauernhof gemacht werden die Fotografien sie dachte nichts dabei bei letztmals auch nicht viel passiert und sie kam dahin, ohne jemand davon zu erzählen wo sie war

Dana arrived at the farm just past dusk, gravel crunching under her boots. The air smelled of freshly cut hay and linseed oil—sharp, clean. The barn ahead stood wide open, its freshly whitewashed walls glowing under string lights. No animals in sight, just the hum of generators and the occasional metallic click of equipment being adjusted. The photographer leaned against a tripod, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Three assistants moved through the space—one adjusting a diffuser, another testing the shutter speed on a Hasselblad, the third wiping down a leather harness draped over a sawhorse. "You're early," he said, not looking up from the light meter in his hand. When he finally did, his gaze dragged over her like fingertips. "Good. We'll need the extra time." Inside, the space was meticulously staged—fresh straw bales arranged in precise semicircles, vintage milking stools repurposed as props. No livestock, just the lingering warmth of stable heaters and the crisp scent of new hay underfoot. A rolling rack held an array of equipment: riding crops, polished bits, a pair of custom-made hobbles with fur-lined cuffs. One of the assistants approached with a clipboard. "We'll start with the standing series," she said, matter-of-fact. "Then the restrained poses once the lighting's recalibrated." Dana's throat tightened as she caught the gleam of stainless steel buckles being laid out on a velvet tray. The photographer stepped close enough for her to smell the cedar soap on his skin, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Relax," he murmured. "We're just testing boundaries tonight." The first handful of straw scattered across her bare shoulders didn't itch—it prickled, each golden strand catching the light as his assistant knelt to adjust the ankle monitor's strap. The real shiver came when the photographer's palm pressed between her shoulder blades, steering her toward the waiting harness. "Let's see how you wear the tools," he said, plucking a riding crop from the rack. The leather creaked in his grip. "Then we'll discuss the *live element*." Beyond the open doors, the generator's hum deepened—like the farm itself was holding its breath.

Diana noch drei andere Frauen, die bereits anwesend waren, jede von ihnen hatte ein Bademantel an und konnte erkennen, dass sie alle großen Brüste hatten eine war eine Asiaten eine andere war eine blonde Weise mit großen Brüsten und eine war eine Afrikanerin groß gewachsen und große Brüste aber wohl geformt sie unterhielten sich über das was hier gemacht wird Diana konnte erkennen dass sie unter dem Bademantel nackt waren einer der Gehilfen des Fotografen reichte ihr ein Bademantel und eine Ecke wurde ihr gezeigt wo sie sich ausziehen konnte dann gesellte sich mit den Bademantel um sich zu den anderen drei Frauen

Dana tightened the bathrobe’s belt with a tug that bordered on defensive, the silk whispering against her bare skin. The other women turned in unison—three pairs of eyes assessing, measuring. The blonde flicked ash from a cigarette she wasn’t supposed to be smoking indoors, her robe slipping off one shoulder to reveal the weight of her breasts. The Asian model arched an eyebrow, mouth curving as Dana’s fingers twitched at her own collar. “Nervous?” she asked, not unkindly, but the amusement in her voice was unmistakable. Dana swallowed. The Black woman, statuesque against the hay bales, didn’t bother with false warmth. She studied Dana like a specimen, the gap in her robe revealing dark nipples and the first hint of scar tissue along her ribs—old marks, deliberately displayed. An assistant nudged stilettos into Dana’s hands. “Feet here,” he said, pointing to a taped X on the floorboards. His indifference was almost a relief compared to the women’s scrutiny. The blonde exhaled vanilla-laced smoke, stepping so close Dana could see the smudge of her lipstick. “Relax,” she murmured, but her fingers trailed down Dana’s arm with deliberate ownership. “We don’t bite.” A pause. “Unless asked.” Across the barn, the photographer flexed a riding crop between his hands. “Robes off in thirty,” he called without looking up. The Black woman laughed low in her throat, already loosening her sash. “Better stretch, princess.” Her gaze raked over Dana’s stiff posture. “Or he’ll do it for you.” Dana’s breath hitched as the Asian model leaned in, plucking at her belt. “Let’s see what you’re working with,” she said, and the robe slithered open before Dana could react—cold air and hotter stares licking at her exposed skin. The generator’s hum spiked, drowning out her sharp inhale.

The cold air prickled against Dana’s bare skin as the robe pooled at her feet. The blonde let out an approving hum, her fingers grazing Dana’s hip before flicking the cigarette away. “Not bad,” she mused, eyes lingering a little too long. The assistant handed Dana a pair of teardrop-shaped pasties, their metallic sheen catching the light. “These or nothing,” he said briskly. “Photographer’s choice.” Beyond them, the harness swayed slightly from a rafter, its straps waiting. The photographer tested the tension with a sharp tug, then turned his gaze toward the group. “Positions,” he ordered. His assistant snapped a leather cuff around the Black woman’s wrist, guiding her toward the center of the space with practiced ease. The blonde caught Dana’s wrist and pulled her forward, her breath hot against Dana’s ear. “Eyes *here*,” she murmured, tilting Dana’s chin toward the lights. “Or he’ll make you regret it.” Dana’s pulse hammered as the Asian model took her other hand, pressing it flat against the curve of her own waist. “You’ll follow our lead,” she said, voice low but firm. “Just move when we move.” The photographer’s boots crunched on fresh straw as he circled them, crop resting against his palm like a conductor’s baton. One sharp tap against the blonde’s thigh—she spread her legs without hesitation. A second tap against the Asian model’s back—she arched, breasts tilting upward. Then the cool press of leather beneath Dana’s chin, tipping her head back. The photographer’s thumb traced the racing pulse in her throat. “Now,” he said, “we begin.” The generator’s hum deepened as the first flash exploded—white-hot and blinding.