American Milk

By Gregor Daniels

After vegan extremists sabotage a dairy farm, one farmer is prepared to resupply the nation with milk using extreme measures—and they involve the local penitentiary. Ray Dotson, a bank robber, along with twenty other inmates, will be subjected to a radical serum. He'll have to adjust to a new life out in the pasture. Because after the changes, no one will ever mistake him as human.

This story is set in the Farm Land universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Jun 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463411933

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

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Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Copyright © 2019 Gregor Daniels

All rights reserved.

Only ADULTS beyond this point.

All characters are consenting adults at least eighteen years old.

This story includes: udders, breast growth, and unrealistic amounts of lactation.

Day Zero, 10:58 A.M.

When the smooth highway asphalt switched abruptly to muddy back road, ten tons of bus screeching and hollering along a stretch of potholes, Ray Dotson had a look out of the mist-fogged window next to him. There was pasture as far as the eye could see.

And a sign: PUCKETT FARM.

Told ya it was work, Antoine said, to Ray’s left. Pennies on the dollar. And I’ll be wanting that five bucks as soon as you’re on the outside.

I’ll leave it with your mother, Ray said.

My mother’s in the ground, and good riddance.

Then you’ll know where to find it.

It was a long road leading up to the farm proper. Ray observed hundreds of treeless acres, rolling green grass, everything sectioned off with electrified fences. No animals, though. Not a cow, pig, or a damned dog. The only life to be seen out of the right-side window were the armed guards. He counted a dozen of them. Looking toward the driver’s side of the bus, he saw the same thing over there. Gun-strapped security warriors looking tough in the morning drizzle, scowling at the new visitors.

Farm work, Ray mused, relaxing as much as the chains would allow him. Somewhere, God was having a hearty chuckle at this sudden turn of fortune. Ray’s family had owned a farm in Nebraska, near Broken Bow. Cattle and wheat. The day after he’d turned sixteen, a heart attack had put his father in the hospital, and Ray had been expected to fill Dad’s shoes in the family business, a long life of back-breaking manual labor all prepared for him.

He’d run away instead.

Stowed himself in a Winnebago, hopped off in Birmingham, a thousand miles away.

Never been back since.

The bus bumped and swayed up the drive, the engine revving in the mud.

Farms give me the willies, Antoine said. Reminds me of all that shit on the news, in New York, whole farms cleaned out, people up and vanished out of thin air overnight, tractors and shit sitting with their engines running, food still on the table. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, chained in; Ray felt the man shiver. Remembered why I stopped watching the news—politics, disease, and now people disappearing off the face of the Earth.

They were turned into animals by a crazy bitch, Ray said.

Antoine laughed. You need to cut television out of your life too.

Ray had a sister who lived up in the northeast. He was hoping to call her before this sudden road trip to the middle of nowhere. Last he heard she was out in New Jersey—which hadn’t been mentioned in the news. Likely she was fine, but he still worried. Lindsay had sold the farm after his departure and his mother’s passing, made enough money to move to somewhere that didn’t smell like cow shit. Good for her.

The music over the radio cut out; Ray looked ahead and saw the farmhouse and barns, like a small town itself, much more impressive than his family’s dwelling.

Then the bus groaned to a stop, and the guard up front—McCullough—jumped up with his shotgun held steady and visible across his chest. All right, you gorgeous moo-moos. This here’s the Puckett Farm. George Puckett needs help. That’s where you come in. You will do what you’re told. You won’t give anyone shit. You’ll answer politely and treat everyone else politely. And when you’re hurting and aching, I won’t hear any goddamn complaints. Understood?

There were mumbled agreements and nods throughout the bus.

Follow me.

Ray and the twenty-or-so other men filed out of the bus, fettered and cuffed.

He’d never heard of inmates working a farm before. He’d done his fair share of digging ditches and landscape maintenance—that hard manual labor easily outsourced to convicts who had no choice in the matter. That was all state tidyings; a farm, well, that was a private business. He wondered how much money had swapped between the hands of Puckett and the penitentiary. And all those guards he’d seen? Private security? This wasn’t your typical dog-and-pony show.

McCullough and the other guards led the men towards a big barn. Then the order came through