Inseminated

"It'll buck for a while, but they get used to it," he told me, "They just need time to learn who's in charge."

Something didn't sit right with me, but I sat idly by while Mister Donaldson trained his son, my best friend, to inseminate a cow.

"She--she doesn't like it, Pa," Raymond called ahead. I wanted to speak up for him. In our years together, I'd never heard him so fragile. His naturally playful bravado was toned way down, like a puppy hanging his ears low after being caught chewing a slipper. "What do I do?"

Mister Donaldson punched the air at his own side and spit out his toothpick, seeming to forget I could see him from the front of the cow Raymond called Angela when his father wasn't around. Hiding in plain sight behind the wide bars on the fence, feet nestled in hay, I cringed every time Angela grunted and tried wriggling free from the harnesses around her.

Mister Donaldson's twang kicked in full force, "Damn it, is it lubricated, boy?"

"Y-yes."

"Then shove it the hell in. We got other shit to do today."

And so he did. Angela's cries echoed in my head that night. I couldn't help feeling horrible for what her life must be. Born on the farm. Raised on the farm. Imprisoned on the farm. Inseminated and milked and repeated. How long before she became a literal piece of meat for the Donaldson's customers. The label wouldn't even read "Angela", but instead, a varying grade of beef.

"Thanks for coming with me, Byron," Raymond whispered from the bed above me, "You don't have to sleep on the floor though."

Lately, I've been having some urges that are "completely natural for a boy your age" according to my parents. I haven't talked with Raymond about it because it's somewhat embarrassing, and I definitely don't want him finding out about it in the middle of the night.

"I can come down there--if you want," he offered, sounding more like the passive boy from the barn this morning than the rambunctious kid from gym class, "After working with the animals the way Dad does, I think a blanket fort sounds refreshing."

Before I could answer, Mister Donaldson pounded on the wall. I'd forgotten how much he hated hearing our voices at night while we pretended not to hear his moaning every night. Mrs. Donaldson really helps him burn off his masculine energy. A lot.

Like a ghost knight he appeared in the doorway. He didn't bother flicking on the bedroom light, but his silhouette dominated the room. "Quiet down in here. It's half past 9 and I'm still hearing you whining about how hard your day was after doing only half of what I do to keep you all fed. Close your lips. Close your eyes. Go to sleep. You gotta be up in five six hours if you wanna eat before getting to work on the field."

After he retreated to bed, we both laid in silence. Neither of us wanting to acknowledge out loud that we saw it. Like a sock hanging from his waist. It dripped when his body burst into the room. I didn't know where the string of liquid landed, but I was curious if it'd been launched onto my sleeping bag at my feet. Never before had I realized he was--well, a man. I mean, I knew he was a man, but until tonight he was just my friend's dad. Now, unable to unsee his massive third arm, bulging calves, and the globes seated at his lower back, he's transformed into so much more than Mister Donaldson.

A knock at the door downstairs snapped me back to reality and I quickly choke-holded my boner under my waistband. Raymond's snoring assured me I must have gotten long lost in my fantasy. The footsteps trailing down the hall could be none other than Daddy Donaldson's. I pictured him in socks but still buck nude elsewhere, dominating the hallway with his essence, leaving a trail of precum behind him like a hungry dragon salivating on its dungeon floor.

"Raymond," I whispered, hoping not to get a response before springing to my feet as silently as possible to tip toe to the top of the stairs.

Two men stood at the doorway as Daddy Donaldson stood poised in his white briefs with a hole on the left cheek, letting small, dark, whispy hairs reach out. Just below the double-lined waistband the material was pulled to tightly that they seemed to ripple, connecting one mountainous lump to the other. His white T-shirt was futilely hanging onto his mass.

He chuckled, but I noticed his butt flex, ready to run. In an instant, the two men seized his wrists and pulled him out the door. He hardly resisted, but simply tugged enough times to demonstrate he's not fully submitting.

It was easier to slide down the banister than to try finding the steps that don't groan underfoot. I ducked below the window, not minding the cold air streaming in from the front door not fully shut. I could hear them through it.

"Hold him still, please," a third stranger hummed under the porch light.

Daddy Donaldson was fully disrobed. Toes, knees, shoulders, chest, and face all pressed to the wood flooring Raymond and I sanded together just last week. From the window I could see the pink of his hole through the forest of dark hair. I could hardly breathe.

He grunted controllably when the stranger kneeling on his right leg pressed his gloved middle finger into the hole. It disappeared so quickly, the finger, that I almost believed it was a magic trick. I'd never seen something actually go up am asshole before, yet the stranger pushed and pulled it in and out so many times that it looked easy. I wanted to try it for myself.

Daddy Donaldson really went wild when the stranger to his left joined in. Together, in just a minute, managed to open the hole so widely that it looked like the female anatomy Raymond and I laughed at in Science class together. When the third stranger unzipped his fly, I could tell what was going to happen. Daddy Donaldson's own meat started dripping again, but not erect. Almost as if the first two strangers were pressing a button that makes it squirt, Daddy Donaldson's dong literally drooled into a puddle between his knees.

"Prep me, please," the standing stranger requested. Automatically the stranger turned and swallowed his pipe. Like another magic trick, it disappeared and reappeared into and out of his throat. I never knew they grew so long. Daddy Donaldson's was definitely thicker, but this one had to be as long as my ruler.

"This isn't funny, Creedmor," Daddy Donaldson grunted, voice echoing gently off the wood.

He tapped the stranger on the chin with two fingers. As it snaked out of his mouth, gobs of white fluid clung from it like slime. After the sword swallower revealed the whole rod, he kissed the tip of it before maneuvering himself, like a boneless creature, to position the tops of his shoulders at Daddy Donaldson's knees. The back of his head rested in Daddy Donaldson's puddle, and he opened his mouth to catch whatever else might come out.

"To keep you quiet," he gargled, sucking on Daddy Donaldson. I could hear his zipper and only imagine he fed Daddy Donaldson in return, "No biting," he reminded him just before slowly pressing his own teeth on Daddy Donaldson's growing penis.

While the Sword Swallower did his job, the Fingering stranger pressed his pelvis onto Daddy Donaldson's shoulders and hugged his waist like a harness.

"Who's laughing," the Long stranger offered before shoving his penis against the bushy hole.

"Is it lubricated?"

The Long stranger smiled and pursed his lips. Kneeling down, planting his face in the bushy hole, he made slurping sounds. I could hear gurgled gasps from Daddy Donaldson followed shortly by groans and "Mmm" from the Sword Swallower. After nearly a minute of making out with Daddy Donaldson's furry ass, the Long stranger stood up and answered, "I'd say, yes. It is now."

"Then shove it the hell in," I whispered to myself.

And he did. Daddy Donaldson roared like a beast when the rod started disappearing inside him. The Sword Swallower choked, but seemed to like it. The harnessing stranger laughed as the Long stranger pumped his own hips fervently. The two of them took turns spitting in the space between them. Lubricating the rod and the hole together.

It was an orchestra of grunts and groans until at the Long stranger paused, "One more push, and I think I'm going in."

Daddy Donaldson's whimper sounded like defeat, but he began bucking. The harnessing stranger laughed and hugged tighter. I'm surprised no one came downstairs. The noises were becoming unnervingly loud.

What sounded like "oh" was more likely "no".

The Long stranger stepped backward and rebalanced himself. I heard a thick wad of spit land in front of him. The harnessing stranger was bobbing his own head around, likely adding his own saliva to the bushy, wet, pink hole.

"Time to find out," he said. His waist froze in place for just a moment before he and Daddy Donaldson groaned together, and then he thrusted so hard it sounded like a fly swatter when his legs clapped Daddy Donaldson's submissive ass.

His shrieking was drowned out soon and it sounded wet. I heard him coughing just after the Sword Swallower moaned long and deeply.

"And that's my load," the Sword Swallower sung in between breaths, still gobbling Daddy Donaldson's dong.

"And mine, actually," said the harnessing stranger, "Shit, that was hot."

The Long stranger continued humping as he sounded off, "Mine too, but I won't stop until you get his."

Daddy Donaldson's whimpers transformed into moans like we'd hear from his bedroom at night. Not his own though. Like those we'd hear from Mrs. Donaldson. The octave was higher. It was breathy and heady. Almost like the adlibs to a ballad.

Something was leaking from the intersection of the Long stranger and the bushy hole. It splattered onto the Sword Swallower's forehead noisily as the Long stranger kept moaning refreshedly as if he'd just finished a sip of a soda in a commercial.

It began to sound like Daddy Donaldson was about to sneeze. He let out "ah, ah, ah" and then one long, high frequency whine that outlasted the Sword Swallower's satisfied choking, gulping, and swallowing sounds.

"All done?"

"All done," the Long stranger answered, slapping Daddy Donaldson's backside, "You two go on ahead. I'm going to take my time cleaning up."

"You're going to handle him on your own? Are you sure?" I shared the Sword Swallower's skepticism as he rose to his feet, wiping his chin and licking the corners of his mouth.

"Ah, don't you worry about me," he pressed a firm hand on Daddy Donaldson's firmly arched back, and placed a second at the depth I approximated his own dong rested still inside him, "It'll buck for a while, but they get used to it. He just needed time to learn who's in charge."