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Milk Factory 37
BIGBUTADORABLE.BL0GSPOT.C0M
Jeremy is horrified by the Jackal's multiplication. It is easier to believe that he is seeing things than that he is losing his mind.
Talking to Asterios only gives Jeremy a headache. A motion sickness of a situation far beyond human perception. Similar to the queasiness in your stomach when you stand in front of a huge wave that threatens to sweep you away. Jeremy wants to run away, anywhere.
'He is a monster, an unspeakable monster.'
The middle-aged man, fed up with Asterios' nonsense, involuntarily rubs his hands together, thinking he needs to get away from the overbearing presence. Well, he knows he can't. No matter where he runs, the monster will probably chase him to the ends of the earth. But he feels that he has to escape this room right now. He wants to get out.
Jeremy's breathing gets harder and harder, a throbbing pain rises from his side.
"Why don't you answer me? Isn't five enough? I thought I might be able to get you out of that awful horniness a little faster."
"......"
Jeremy does not dare speak back or think of anything else to say in response to the unscrupulous remark. He begins to lose his cool.
What should he do? He can't even defeat one Asterios, let alone five. Brute force is not the way to go here.
And the damn monster can read people's minds, so it's hard to make plans. It is probably reading everything in Jeremy's head right now.
"Haah... ungh..."
The middle-aged man is out of breath even though he's not doing anything. His heart is pounding like he's been running for miles. Cold sweat is breaking out at his temples.
'What should I do?'
'No, I can't think about that.'
'Sh*t, sh*t...'
The trembling in Jeremy's hands intensifies, spreading through his body and becoming uncontrollable.
"Ah... uhh..."
All five black figures, tall and massive, stare at him. It feels like he is facing ten pupils embedded in the darkness.
The middle-aged man, completely disoriented, shakes and reaches for the table. Then, seconds later, he grabs a vase he had set aside as decoration and hurls it at the creature's head.
Shatter!
None of the five monsters move, dodging the flying vase with minimal effort. Fvck. Jeremy is also surprised by himself for suddenly doing that. Fvck. As soon as the vase shatters on the floor, he makes a beeline for the front door.
"No, no, no...!"
Jeremy can't be in the same room with that terrifying demonic creature. Not in his beloved home. Not on his beloved island.
Panicked, the middle-aged man runs like a man who has just seen a ghost, not looking back. His body is heavier than in virtual reality, but he still moves fluidly. Even though he is butt-naked, wearing only a tight apron.
Jeremy runs and runs. Each step sends a jolt through his large udder. His feet are bare without shoes, but it doesn't matter. His breasts, jiggling as he runs, are a sight to behold. Both bulging almost through the tight apron on either side—like watermelons about to explode. His whole body is glistening with sweat.
"Ahh...haah..."
Jeremy's face is red as he can't stop gasping for air.
'Is this right? No, there's no point thinking about it. He'll read me.'
In the end, the middle-aged man doesn't know if it's safest to be unpredictable and let his instincts take over.
The helplessness and frustration cause Jeremy to become increasingly impulsive. His horniness, which usually flares up like a pain in the ass, is ironically helping to fuel these impulses. He shudders at the thought of running away from this demonic monster, only to have his body heat up and crave its embrace.
"Haah...ah...huff..."
'No, I've been through this before.'
Jeremy keeps telling himself that he will be able to hold it together this time. He did when he ran away from the factory. He is sure he can do it. No, he has to.
As he speeds down the hot road, Jeremy is confused about where to go. He knows every inch of the island like the back of his hand, but he feels even more lost than when he escaped from the factory.
He wonders if it is even possible to run away from this damn fake island.
'No, don't give up. Maybe...'
Come to think of it, the monster usually only comes when Jeremy thinks of him or calls him. Maybe, just maybe, not thinking about him is the way to escape. Turning his head to see if Asterios is following him, Jeremy is relieved to see the road empty. He tries to calm the fear in his mind.
Think of a happy memory, please, think of a happy memory...
It's been three years since he's been back on the island. If it weren't for Maximus, he probably wouldn't have set foot on this tired island again. Jeremy studies the beach in the distance, trying to recall his memories of Max: tanned, coppery skin, bright blond hair shining in the sun...
For some reason, the panting middle-aged man can almost see the back of his lover's head as he continues to run, far in the distance, and it makes his stiff legs feel stronger. The fear and anxiety of the incomprehensible existence eases a little.
"Haah...haah..."
When Jeremy finally stops pounding the pavement, he somehow finds himself in front of a store that rents hunting rifles. The small shop, right on the trail to the woods, used to be busy during the hunting season. But now it is empty, just like the others.
Jackals are animals. And the most logical way to defend yourself against them is to get a gun. With that in mind, the middle-aged man steps over the counter and deftly grabs a gun from the wall.
'I can't help it. I want to live. I've had enough of this monster.'
Jeremy's side aches and burns. At the same time, tingling sensations come and go. His memories of being born and raised on this island, of leaving it and joining the army, are all false. Just like the non-existent gunshot wound in his side. Jeremy's lower back hurts like hell. It's not like a little soreness on a rainy day.
"......"
The middle-aged man crouches behind the counter and prays silently. He doesn't believe in any religion, but he does it anyway. And now that he thinks about it, it's kind of funny for a big man like him to be hugging a shotgun while butt-naked, wearing only an apron instead of a military uniform.
With a gun in his hand, Jeremy's horniness subsides surprisingly quickly; the moment he realizes he has something to protect him, his wildly fluctuating anxiety subsides.
Catching his breath, Jeremy checks the time. It is only 12:00. There is still time for the sun to set, so if he can keep his wits about him and outrun the jackal, he might just make it through the day.
"Ahh...haah..."
Silence.
Sitting alone with his naked butt kissing the cold floor and his hands gripping a gun, Jeremy is thinking.
How much of this is real, how much is fake?
It is sad indeed to realize that all of his memories of Max are fake, but somehow comforting to think that even the memories of his wandering days are fake. Still, Jeremy is reluctant to fall asleep without someone beside him. In fact, ever since he has been stuck on the island, he has woken up in the morning to an empty bed and felt extremely stressed.
It's strange. If those Thelma creatures are raising humans to be milked, they could have just shown them paradise on earth. Why did they have to show the painful memories in the human's life?
"......"
Jeremy lowers his eyes, somewhat somber. His brow furrows as his blue eyes close beneath his long lashes. The cold iron in his hand does little to dispel the source of his fear.
Minutes after minutes, thinking about many things, especially the beings here, Jeremy is quickly overcome by fear.
Unconditional happiness, surprisingly, does not guarantee the quality of human milk. Born a king, never experiencing a crisis, and raised with the fantasy of being surrounded by saints all their lives, humans eventually want more. More food, more servants, a bigger kingdom... So the Thelmas devised a plan. They would give humans traumatic and horrible experiences and then reward them with a peaceful life.
Not only are humans content to live a simple life after a crisis, but their milk is sweeter, more flavorful, and more tolerant of stress and juxtaposition. And a middle-aged man like Jeremy, properly scarred in body and mind, is the perfect ripe, edible animal.
"......"
Jeremy wonders if the jackal will ever find this hiding place, and if he does, will it be effective to shoot him? He is a monster, after all.
'No, no, no. I must stop thinking about this monster. I have to think about something else...'
Max... Max...
Jeremy squeezes his gun even tighter between his bulging tits and murmurs a silent prayer. That the beast will just give up and go away...
Talking to Asterios only gives Jeremy a headache. A motion sickness of a situation far beyond human perception. Similar to the queasiness in your stomach when you stand in front of a huge wave that threatens to sweep you away. Jeremy wants to run away, anywhere.
'He is a monster, an unspeakable monster.'
The middle-aged man, fed up with Asterios' nonsense, involuntarily rubs his hands together, thinking he needs to get away from the overbearing presence. Well, he knows he can't. No matter where he runs, the monster will probably chase him to the ends of the earth. But he feels that he has to escape this room right now. He wants to get out.
Jeremy's breathing gets harder and harder, a throbbing pain rises from his side.
"Why don't you answer me? Isn't five enough? I thought I might be able to get you out of that awful horniness a little faster."
"......"
Jeremy does not dare speak back or think of anything else to say in response to the unscrupulous remark. He begins to lose his cool.
What should he do? He can't even defeat one Asterios, let alone five. Brute force is not the way to go here.
And the damn monster can read people's minds, so it's hard to make plans. It is probably reading everything in Jeremy's head right now.
"Haah... ungh..."
The middle-aged man is out of breath even though he's not doing anything. His heart is pounding like he's been running for miles. Cold sweat is breaking out at his temples.
'What should I do?'
'No, I can't think about that.'
'Sh*t, sh*t...'
The trembling in Jeremy's hands intensifies, spreading through his body and becoming uncontrollable.
"Ah... uhh..."
All five black figures, tall and massive, stare at him. It feels like he is facing ten pupils embedded in the darkness.
The middle-aged man, completely disoriented, shakes and reaches for the table. Then, seconds later, he grabs a vase he had set aside as decoration and hurls it at the creature's head.
Shatter!
None of the five monsters move, dodging the flying vase with minimal effort. Fvck. Jeremy is also surprised by himself for suddenly doing that. Fvck. As soon as the vase shatters on the floor, he makes a beeline for the front door.
"No, no, no...!"
Jeremy can't be in the same room with that terrifying demonic creature. Not in his beloved home. Not on his beloved island.
Panicked, the middle-aged man runs like a man who has just seen a ghost, not looking back. His body is heavier than in virtual reality, but he still moves fluidly. Even though he is butt-naked, wearing only a tight apron.
Jeremy runs and runs. Each step sends a jolt through his large udder. His feet are bare without shoes, but it doesn't matter. His breasts, jiggling as he runs, are a sight to behold. Both bulging almost through the tight apron on either side—like watermelons about to explode. His whole body is glistening with sweat.
"Ahh...haah..."
Jeremy's face is red as he can't stop gasping for air.
'Is this right? No, there's no point thinking about it. He'll read me.'
In the end, the middle-aged man doesn't know if it's safest to be unpredictable and let his instincts take over.
The helplessness and frustration cause Jeremy to become increasingly impulsive. His horniness, which usually flares up like a pain in the ass, is ironically helping to fuel these impulses. He shudders at the thought of running away from this demonic monster, only to have his body heat up and crave its embrace.
"Haah...ah...huff..."
'No, I've been through this before.'
Jeremy keeps telling himself that he will be able to hold it together this time. He did when he ran away from the factory. He is sure he can do it. No, he has to.
As he speeds down the hot road, Jeremy is confused about where to go. He knows every inch of the island like the back of his hand, but he feels even more lost than when he escaped from the factory.
He wonders if it is even possible to run away from this damn fake island.
'No, don't give up. Maybe...'
Come to think of it, the monster usually only comes when Jeremy thinks of him or calls him. Maybe, just maybe, not thinking about him is the way to escape. Turning his head to see if Asterios is following him, Jeremy is relieved to see the road empty. He tries to calm the fear in his mind.
Think of a happy memory, please, think of a happy memory...
It's been three years since he's been back on the island. If it weren't for Maximus, he probably wouldn't have set foot on this tired island again. Jeremy studies the beach in the distance, trying to recall his memories of Max: tanned, coppery skin, bright blond hair shining in the sun...
For some reason, the panting middle-aged man can almost see the back of his lover's head as he continues to run, far in the distance, and it makes his stiff legs feel stronger. The fear and anxiety of the incomprehensible existence eases a little.
"Haah...haah..."
When Jeremy finally stops pounding the pavement, he somehow finds himself in front of a store that rents hunting rifles. The small shop, right on the trail to the woods, used to be busy during the hunting season. But now it is empty, just like the others.
Jackals are animals. And the most logical way to defend yourself against them is to get a gun. With that in mind, the middle-aged man steps over the counter and deftly grabs a gun from the wall.
'I can't help it. I want to live. I've had enough of this monster.'
Jeremy's side aches and burns. At the same time, tingling sensations come and go. His memories of being born and raised on this island, of leaving it and joining the army, are all false. Just like the non-existent gunshot wound in his side. Jeremy's lower back hurts like hell. It's not like a little soreness on a rainy day.
"......"
The middle-aged man crouches behind the counter and prays silently. He doesn't believe in any religion, but he does it anyway. And now that he thinks about it, it's kind of funny for a big man like him to be hugging a shotgun while butt-naked, wearing only an apron instead of a military uniform.
With a gun in his hand, Jeremy's horniness subsides surprisingly quickly; the moment he realizes he has something to protect him, his wildly fluctuating anxiety subsides.
Catching his breath, Jeremy checks the time. It is only 12:00. There is still time for the sun to set, so if he can keep his wits about him and outrun the jackal, he might just make it through the day.
"Ahh...haah..."
Silence.
Sitting alone with his naked butt kissing the cold floor and his hands gripping a gun, Jeremy is thinking.
How much of this is real, how much is fake?
It is sad indeed to realize that all of his memories of Max are fake, but somehow comforting to think that even the memories of his wandering days are fake. Still, Jeremy is reluctant to fall asleep without someone beside him. In fact, ever since he has been stuck on the island, he has woken up in the morning to an empty bed and felt extremely stressed.
It's strange. If those Thelma creatures are raising humans to be milked, they could have just shown them paradise on earth. Why did they have to show the painful memories in the human's life?
"......"
Jeremy lowers his eyes, somewhat somber. His brow furrows as his blue eyes close beneath his long lashes. The cold iron in his hand does little to dispel the source of his fear.
Minutes after minutes, thinking about many things, especially the beings here, Jeremy is quickly overcome by fear.
Unconditional happiness, surprisingly, does not guarantee the quality of human milk. Born a king, never experiencing a crisis, and raised with the fantasy of being surrounded by saints all their lives, humans eventually want more. More food, more servants, a bigger kingdom... So the Thelmas devised a plan. They would give humans traumatic and horrible experiences and then reward them with a peaceful life.
Not only are humans content to live a simple life after a crisis, but their milk is sweeter, more flavorful, and more tolerant of stress and juxtaposition. And a middle-aged man like Jeremy, properly scarred in body and mind, is the perfect ripe, edible animal.
"......"
Jeremy wonders if the jackal will ever find this hiding place, and if he does, will it be effective to shoot him? He is a monster, after all.
'No, no, no. I must stop thinking about this monster. I have to think about something else...'
Max... Max...
Jeremy squeezes his gun even tighter between his bulging tits and murmurs a silent prayer. That the beast will just give up and go away...
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