Carl was not happy. He’d just turned sixteen, and was looking forward to a summer hanging out with his friends. And he’d get some of that, sure, but first, there was his parents’ annual month-long vacation.

Every year, they went on a summer vacation for a whole month, and every year, Carl got packed off to Camp Wauwautoonie. It was fun, sorta, but it was full of little kids, and lately, he didn’t have the patience for them.

But this year was going to be different. He was going to spend the month of their vacation at his Uncle Percy’s place. He’d never met Uncle Percy, since he lived on the opposite side of the country, and he never came to visit Carl’s folks. But he was his mother’s older brother, and anyway, Carl’s parents had told him Percy had a great big house, with lots of fun things to do. And Carl figured it had to be better than Camp Wauwautoonie.

“Now remember, son,” his father was saying, “Percy has some odd rules you’ll have to follow. Nothing too weird, but for example, in the house, everyone wears a kimono instead of street clothes. Things like that. Just do as he asks, and I’m sure you’ll have a great visit.”

Since he didn’t really have much of a choice, and being basically a good-natured young man, he decided to make the best of it. After all, if he had a really shitty time, maybe he could talk his folks into getting him a new car for college. That was a thought.

When Carl got off the plane, he was surprised to see a cute Japanese woman in a very risqué chauffeur’s outfit holding a sign reading, “Carl Holder.”

He walked up to the woman, no, at close range she was barely more than a girl, and said, “I’m Carl.”

“Good, sir,” the chauffeur answered. “I’m Beverly, and I’m pleased to meet you. Your Uncle Percy sent me to pick you up. He apologises for the discourtesy of not meeting you himself, but he was unavoidably detained. Do you have any luggage?”

She led him over to the baggage claim area, and quickly corralled his one additional suitcase. When Carl reached to take it, she brushed his hand away, politely but firmly.

“Your Uncle has strict rules, sir, and one of them is that guests are to be treated like visiting royalty. He would be most upset with me if he found out I’d not taken care of your bag for you,” she explained.

Chagrined, Carl followed her out to the VIP parking lot. There was a nice black limousine, and she put his bag in the trunk, then opened the door for him.

After he settled in to the very comfortable back, she said, “There’s things to drink at the bar, and snacks in the mini-fridge. There’s a satellite TV, and XM radio. Please make yourself comfortable, it’s about an hour’s drive to your Uncle’s home.”

The ride passed, and Carl was half-dozing on the plush leather seats when the door opened, and chauffeur Beverly extended a hand to help him out.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” she said, and led him to a very fancy front entrance. She opened it, and they stepped into a small antechamber. There were two doors on the far wall, one with a male silhouette, one female. But these were not the usual signs you saw in businesses that wanted to cater to multilingual crowds. Instead, the male stood sideways, and appeared to be holding his cock in his hand, pissing in the direction of the female silhouette. The female, by contrast, appeared to be kneeling, hands interlaced at the back of her neck, breasts proudly thrust forward, and it appeared that the stream of piss was splashing her face.

Carl was confused. He looked at Beverly, but she just smiled. “If you’ll go through that door, sir,” she pointed to the male silhouette, strip off all your street clothes, yes, that includes shoes, socks, and underwear, and select one of the kimonos in the wardrobe to wear, and a pair of slippers, then step through to the other door, you’ll find your Uncle, and he will explain everything.”

She then went through the female silhouetted door, so Carl decided there was no point just standing around. He entered the other door, found a box labelled “Carl” which he presumed was for his clothes. He stepped out of his loafers, stripped off his shirt and slacks, then hesitated. But he remembered his father’s words to him, and also remembered his resolve to make the best of it, and removed his boxers and his socks. He found a black silk kimono with an abstract design of curved lines, and a pair of slippers to match. He donned both, and opened the other door.

It opened into a decently large room, perhaps twenty by thirty. There was an extremely large fireplace on one of the long walls, at least eight foot wide, six high, and six deep, with a few large leather-upholstered wingback chairs facing it. At the far end of the room was a sliding glass door leading out to a patio, and what looked like a pool, and even a hot tub. Just inside the room, on the opposite wall from the fireplace, was a conversation pit, featuring a very plush sectional sofa, also leather-upholstered. Sitting down there was a large man, who rose and headed over to greet him.

“Carl, glad to meet you at last,” the man spoke. He had a voice that reminded Carl of the late-night DJs on the local jazz station. Very mellow. “As you might have guessed, I’m your Uncle Percy. So sorry we’ve never met until now, but my business keeps me from having the time to travel for pleasure the way I’d like.”

Carl shook the proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, too,” he replied. Carl followed his uncle over to the couch, and took a seat on one side of the square formed by the sofa. His uncle took a seat opposite him. Carl opened his mouth to speak, but Percy waved him to silence.

“I’ll bet you are curious about the entryway, aren’t you?” Percy asked. “Well, why don’t you let me explain some things about the house rules and customs first, then give you the tour, and if you still have any unanswered questions, that will be the time. Fair enough?”

Carl nodded his assent.

“First, it is customary to offer visitors some refreshment,” Percy stated. “Would you care for a glass of the house special?”

“Okay,” Carl answered, hesitantly.

Percy pushed a button on a remote sitting on the small coffee table in the center of pit, and a moment later, Carl saw the strangest sight. Two completely naked women crawled into the room on hands and knees, each balancing a glass of some whitish liquid on her back. One was a very busty redhead, the other a very busty blonde.

The blonde crawled over to Carl, reached back with one hand to grab the glass, then knelt in front of him, proffering the glass. When he took it from her, she immediately crawled forward, folded back Carl’s kimono, and took his very erect cock in his mouth. Carl stared at the girl, dumbfounded. He looked over at Percy, and saw that the same thing had taken place over there, with the redhead gently sucking Percy’s cock.

Percy explained, “One of the customs of the house is that all females are naked, unless specifically wearing an outfit chosen for them by a man. Another is that all females crawl on hands and knees, or kneel. They may not stand up unless instructed to do so by a man. Thirdly, it is a custom of the house that when encountering a man for the first time that day, any female must offer him a blowjob.”

Carl continued to stare in amazed curiosity. Finally, he remembered the glass in his hand, and took a sip. It was somewhat odd tasting, like milk, but not quite right. He’d tried goat’s milk once on a dare, but this wasn’t goat’s milk, either. He took another sip, and decided he liked it, wherever it came from. He looked a question at his uncle.

“That, my boy,” Percy told him, “is the very finest female breast milk. In fact, it came from the lovely Giselle,” he nodded at the blonde in front of Carl,” just an hour ago. Generally, I prefer to drink it warm and fresh, but we thought we’d ease you into it.”

Percy commanded the redhead in front of him, “Offer!” She knelt up, her hands cupping her clearly full and dripping tits, presenting them to Percy. He took one nipple into his mouth, then began to mash the tit, squeezing the milk into his mouth. After a few minutes, he did the same to her other tit.

Deciding he recognised a good example when he saw one, Carl commanded Giselle to offer. He drank from her, enjoying the warm sticky sweetness of her milk, and realised how pleasant it was to milk her like a cow. She threw back her head and opened her mouth, apparently enjoying the milking. When he had squeezed her dry, and released her, she immediately resumed the interrupted blowjob. The excitement of all the amazing things that had happened caused Carl to shoot into her mouth almost immediately. She sucked him dry, and licked up every bit of cum on his cock with obvious relish.

Percy was clearly just finishing up in his girl’s mouth, as well. When she had cleaned him thoroughly, Percy asked, “Ready for the grand tour now?”

Carl just nodded, since he was still a bit dumbstruck.

“Sluts, you may go,” Percy commanded the two milk maids. They left. Percy pushed another button on the remote, and Beverly crawled in, naked as the day she was born.

She crawled over to Carl, and took his cock in her mouth. Carl was surprised at how quickly he was again able to get hard. She looked up at him, paused in her blowjob, and said, “Sorry I couldn’t take care of you sooner, Master, but we have to be discreet in public, and Master Percy wanted to explain things to you first.” That said, she resumed her task.

Carl was able to last a bit longer before he shot a load of cum into Beverly’s mouth. She also swallowed it with evident pleasure.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Percy said, “Beverly will give you the tour.”

“Master, if you’ll take that door,” Beverly nodded in the direction she meant, “and take a left down the hall, we’ll get started.”

“Why can’t you lead the way?” Carl asked.

“Females never lead men in this house, Master,” she answered.

Carl rose and headed towards the door she specified. Beverly crawled behind him, just to his right. He opened the door, stepped through, and held it for the crawling girl.

In the hallway, he turned left, and shortly came to a left turn. Taking it, there was then a door on the right-hand wall.

“Did you need to use the bathroom, Master?” she asked.

“Why yes, that would be great,” he responded.

“Then open that door, Master,” she requested.

He did so, and stepped in. He saw a sink, ordinary enough, save that instead of being mounted to the wall, or on a cabinet, or pedestal, it was held by a naked girl. There were no faucet handles he could see. He also couldn’t see a toilet, just a corner of the room, tiled roughly two feet by two feet on the floor, and three feet high. There was a rim around the edge of the tiled area, perhaps two inches or so in height, and what appeared to be a cabinet door or something on one of the two back walls of the tiled area.

“Did you need to shit, Master, or only to piss?” Beverly asked him.

“Just a piss,” he said.

“Great, Master,” she replied, and crawled over to the tiled area. She knelt in it, facing him. He looked bewildered.

“Didn’t you say you needed to piss, Master?” she asked.

“Yeah, but where’s the toilet?”

“I’m right here, Master,” she answered.

“What?”

“In this house, Master, men don’t use porcelain toilets, only female ones.”

“So I just piss in your mouth?”

“If you like, Master.”

“And you’ll swallow it?”

“Of course, Master. It’s one of my reasons for being. But you don’t have to piss in my mouth, Master. You could piss in my hair, or on my tits, up my cunt, into my ass, up my nose, in my eyes, whatever would give you pleasure, Master.”

“But what if I’d said I needed to shit?”

She didn’t answer, but instead, opened the cabinet door beside her, folded down what looked like a toilet seat, with a bowl underneath that narrowed to a funnel. She lay down with her head under the bowl, took the funnel into her mouth, and smiled up at him.

“You’d let me shit into your mouth? And swallow that, too?”

“Certainly, Master. You are a man, I am a female. It is the natural order of things.” Her words were a bit distorted by the funnel in her mouth, but he understood her well enough.

“Well, get back up, I just need to drain the monster.”

She folded the toilet seat back up and stowed it in the cabinet, then resumed her kneeling position, hands clasped behind her head, tits thrust forward, mouth and eyes wide open.

Carl stepped in front of her, unfastened his kimono, took his cock, and pissed. He wasn’t very accurate at first, and got some in her eyes, and some up her nose, and even some on her tits. But he quickly zeroed in on her luscious mouth, and filled it with his piss.

She had apparently been trained to open her throat wide, since she didn’t seem to swallow at all. It was as though he were pissing straight into her belly.

Finally, the stream ended, and Beverly immediately crawled forward, took his cock in her mouth, and sucked him clean.

“Do you need to wash your hands, Master?”

“Yes, I do.”

He walked over to the sink, but couldn’t see the taps to make the water run.

“May I, Master?” Beverly asked.

He nodded, and she leaned in and pinched the sink girl’s right nipple. Immediately the water began to flow. She held the nipple for several seconds, then dipped her other hand in the water. She nodded, and knelt back out of the way.

Carl stuck his hands in the stream. It was just pleasantly warm. He got his hands wet, then looked for the soap. Spotting a dispenser head next to the tap, he guessed. He put his left hand under it, and with his right, pinched the sink girl’s left nipple, Sure enough, soap squirted from the dispenser. He pinched again, and again, and again, until he had enough to wash his hands properly.

Then he rinsed them, and looked for a way to turn the flow off.

“Just pinch both her nipples at once, Master,” Beverly told him.

He did, and the water cut off.

“Where to next?” he asked.

Beverly led Carl down a stairwell, perhaps two flights or so down. It was a most unusual stair, in that it was about eight feet wide, but the innermost two feet were not actually stairs, but a smooth ramp. Carl realised how clever that was when he heard Beverly crawling along behind him. Since all females crawled, it made sense to accommodate them on the stairs.

“All the buildings in the complex are connected by a network of underground tunnels, Master,” Beverly explained. “This way, we sluts can move about between buildings unseen by the neighbors. Best way to avoid raising questions.”

“I see. So where are we going now?” he asked, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They faced a tunnel that led left, and right. There were a number of signs on the wall opposite, such as “Dairy,” “Stables,” “Torture Chambers,” “Operating Theatres,” and so on, each with an arrow indicating left or right.

“I think the Dairy next, Master.”

He turned in the indicated direction, and walked. He was surprised at just how long the walk was. Apparently the Dairy was some distance away from the main house.

Finally, they came to a stairwell on one side of the corridor, with an overhead sign saying, “Dairy.” They ascended to a large room, perhaps 150’ by 50’. Carl stopped to look, but couldn’t really make sense of what he was seeing.

Perhaps sensing his confusion, Beverly said, “If you go up another flight, Master, you can see the whole thing from the observation deck. Also, the dairy supervisor is there, and will be able to tell you far more about the operation than I can.”

Knowing good advice when he heard it, Carl ascended, with Beverly following.

The observation level was about ten or twelve feet above the dairy floor. He saw a redheaded female, kneeling at the edge of the platform, watching the operations. She turned as she heard his footsteps, and as was customary, took his cock in her mouth. Carl had never had this many blowjobs in his entire life, let alone in one day. Any remaining pique he might have felt about not getting his previous summer plans fulfilled (whatever they had been, he could no longer remember), vanished.

When he finally shot down her throat, she looked up at him and said, “Hello, Master Carl, I’m Jami. Master Percy told me you’d probably be coming by. Have you ever visited a dairy before?”

“Once, back in the third grade, we took a school field trip to a local dairy farm, but I don’t really remember anything about it, save that the cows stank.”

“Well, Master, our operation here is probably not all that different, save of course that we don’t allow our hucows to stink. After all, they have other uses here than just providing milk.”

“Now if you look over the milking floor, Master,” Jami waved her arm to indicate the space, “you’ll see that the hucows are standing in rows. While it is more humiliating to have them kneel like cattle to be milked, it is more efficient in terms of floor space and speed of processing to have them stand. Each slut is milked, four times a day, and each has a daily quota.”

“How much milk do they produce, on average?”

“The minimum is six quarts a day, Master. Most average closer to eight, and one or two exceptional ones have hit ten.”

“And how many,” he fumbled for the word, “‘hucows’ did you call them?” Jami nodded. “How many hucows are there?”

“The current herd is just over a thousand hucows, Master.”

“So let me see, that works out to about two thousand gallons of milk, every day? What do you do with it all?”

“As you already know, Master, some of it is kept for drinking, a good bit is made into cheese, some is kept for bathing in, and the rest is sold to folks who appreciate really good milk.”

“Bathing it it? Really?”

“Oh, yes, Master! I’m told it does wonders for keeping your skin soft and supple. Speaking of our cheeses, would you like to try some?”

“Sure, why not.”

Beverly directed him back down the stairs to the main floor, then to a side door that led into an old-fashioned deli, with cuts of meat and hunks of cheese, laid out on cold counters, but free for the taking.

“What sort of cheese do you like, Master? A good sharp cheddar? A blue cheese? Perhaps something softer, like a mozzarella?”

“I really love a good sharp cheddar. Any chance of that?”

“Definitely, Master. We have a lovely seventy-two month cheddar,” she pointed at the hunk, “that I am told is to kill for.”

He sliced off a corner and tasted it. It was wonderful! Complex, flavourful, and with that dryness that a really good cheddar has.

“Delicious!” he proclaimed.

“If you enjoyed that, Master, just wait until you try one of the house special pizzas, made with fresh mozzarella. You will flip.”

“I can’t wait. So where next?”

“I thought Master might enjoy the stables?”

“I don’t know how to ride a horse.”

“That won’t be a problem, Master, since we don’t have any horses in the complex.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then he smiled.

“Let me guess,” he said, “you use females?”

“Yes, Master, that’s it exactly. Would you like to see?”

“Hell, yes!”

Back down into the tunnels they went, heading further on from the main house. The distance from the Dairy to the Stable was at least equal to the distance from the Main House to the Dairy, presumably because it was another large building. He hated to use the word barn, since barns were used for animals. Then again, here in the complex, females apparently had about the same status, so maybe barn was the right word, after all.

Again, there was the climb/crawl up the stairs, and again, there was an observation deck on the second level. Again, the obligatory blowjob. It was a good thing, Carl thought, that he was still young. He wondered how his Uncle kept up. After he shot his load down the stable supervisor’s throat, the brunette looked up at him.

“Hello, Master, my name is Angelique. Master Percy said you’d be coming by. Have you ever seen ponygirls before?”

“Ponygirls?”

“Yes, Master, that is what we call them. There are actually three kinds of ponygirls.”

“Three?” Carl asked. He was just repeating Angelique, and he felt kind of stupid.

“Three, Master Carl. First, we have dressage ponygirls. Dressage ponies, sometimes called show ponies, are chosen for their looks, and for their athleticism. They must all be at least a D-cup, at least five foot nine, and between 120-150 pounds. Let me show you one.”

A girl, no, technically a dressage ponygirl, climbed the stairs to the observation deck. But she didn’t just climb the way most folks did, lifting each foot only as high as needed to reach the next stair. No, this ponygirl raised her legs until her thighs were horizontal. High-stepping, Carl recalled hearing it described.

She wore a hood that covered much of her head. There was an opening in the top, where her long blonde hair was pulled through, into (naturally) a ponytail. Her eyes had zippers over them, currently unzipped, as well as large blinders to either side, limiting her view to what was directly in front of her. Her mouth was not covered, but was filled with a large bit gag, with control reins attached to either end. The hood, which was made of black leather, ended in a collar that was locked on to her neck.

From the neck down, she wore nothing, until her thigh-high, skin-tight, extremely high-heeled black leather boots. She had two inch rings in each breast, not in the nipples, but anchored an inch deep in her very large (Carl estimated at least a G-cup) tits. Carl realised that they were strong enough to enable her to be hitched to a cart by them. Her cunt was completely shaved, and she had three rings in each cunt lip, each two inches in diameter. Finally, her large clit sported two studs pierced through it, at right angles, making a small X. In addition, her ass sprouted a literal pony tail, though it was blonde, like the hair on her head.

“As you can see, Master Carl,” Angelique continued, “our dressage ponies are well equipped for dressage competitions, just like normal horses. They are graded on gait, submission, movement, and so on. Unlike dressage horses, they are also graded for stoicism under torture.”

Angelique slapped the ponygirl on the ass, which apparently was a “dismissal” signal, since she high-stepped her way back down the stairs.

“Next, Master, we have cart ponies. While these are also selected for their looks and athleticism, their role in life is to pull carts. They are only required to be a minimum C-cup, and can be any weight or height the men who select them find pleasing. In fact, when you leave here, you’ll be assigned a cart to carry you for the remainder of your tour. So you’ll be able to see some of them then.”

“Finally, Master Carl, we have work ponies, as you can see below,” Angelique gestured out to the barn floor. There were hundreds of ponygirls below, wearing hoods like the dressage pony. But in their case, there was no bit gag, and no blinders. In fact, there were no openings for the eyes at all.

They wore high-heeled black leather calf-high boots, and they all had an inch thick rod piercing both breasts horizontally, with heavy leather reins at either end. Finally, there was a chain connected to their clit piercings, threading through their cunt rings, and finally up their slits to thread through a ring on the back of their collars.

Carl also noticed that, while none of the work ponies were ugly, they weren’t as attractive as, for example, Angelique. Perhaps that was why they were assigned to what he suspected were “low visibility” roles. Speaking of visibility...

“Without eye holes in the hood, how can they see?” Carl asked.

“Obviously, they can’t. But they are draft ponies. Their job is to haul wagons, or to turn wheels, pull plows. They don’t need to see. Only their driver needs to see. Any questions, Master?”

“No,” Carl answered. He was still taking in all the new ideas.

“Then may I suggest we go pick up our cart, Master,” Beverly said.

Carl and Beverly descended the stairs, back to the underground tunnels. There, he saw a cart. It was the kind he knew was called a sulky, though instead of having one horse in the front, there were two ponygirls.

They looked to be twins, with long brunette hair, and were dressed in the same fashion as the dressage pony. Unlike the dressage pony, they were only about five foot five, and perhaps 110 pounds each, with “only” D-cup tits. In addition, they had genuine brunette pony tails hanging from their asses, just like he’d seen on the dressage ponygirl.

“Beverly,” Carl asked, “how do they get those pony tails? Surgery, or what?”

“No, Master, no surgery. They each have a butt plug stuck in their assholes, which has the hair for the tail attached. In case you were wondering, the hair is taken from former ponygirls who no longer need it. Now that you have a ride, are you ready to continue the tour?”

“Very well. Where to next?”

“You’ll see, Master.”

Carl was delighted that he now had a cart to ride in. The two ponygirls pulling it were lovely, and as they cantered briskly down the underground passage, he couldn’t help but admire the way the muscles in their asses flexed and moved. He felt sorry for Beverly who was forced to trot behind, but riding in carts was another thing forbidden to females, here. He was just glad the rules allowed her to run upright, rather than being forced to crawl to keep up.

Quite soon the cart pulled up in front of a set of double doors, with a sign saying “Torture Theatres.” Carl dismounted, and looked a question at Beverly.

“Just push them open, and enter, Master.”

So he did. Inside was a kneeling Chinese slave, and behind her, a long corridor, with doors opening to the left and right periodically along it. Carl allowed the slave to suck his cock. It took a lot longer for him to finish than before, but no surprise there. Finally, he came, and she grinned up at him, licking her lips.

“Greetings, Master Carl,” the slave said, “I’m Cherry.”

Carl grinned at her and answered, “Of course you are.” She didn’t grin back. Obviously she’d never seen Highlander. That reminded him to ask Beverly, later, if she had ever seen it.

“What have you got going on right now?” Beverly asked.

“Master Andy is about to teach a class on Extreme Pussy Whipping and Torture in Dungeon Three.”

“Well, Master, would you like to check it out?”

“I guess so, sure.”

Carl walked down the hall, until he came to a door marked Dungeon Three. Underneath the official sign was a whiteboard, on which had been written, “Extreme Pussy Torture with Master Andy.” The door was open. When Carl entered, Beverly crawling behind him, he saw that it was a largish room, perhaps thirty feet by thirty. Apparently small was not a concept anyone at the complex was familiar with.

On one side of the room was a gynecological exam table, on a slightly raised platform. But no gynecological exam table that Carl had ever heard of featured straps to bind the patient to it. Bound into this one was a female. He couldn’t tell much about her, save that she was black, and curvy, as all he could really see was her cunt.

Standing next to her, and facing the other half of the room, was a large man. He was in his late forties, probably, and probably closer to three hundred pounds than to two, but his arms, shoulders, and chest were well-muscled. He had a black and grey moustache, and a shaved head.

He looked over at Carl and said, “Welcome. I’m guessing you’re Carl?”

Carl nodded.

“Great, nice to meet you. I’m Andy. If you’ll take your slut over to one of the unoccupied tables and get her strapped in, we’re about ready to start.”

Sure enough, on the other side of the room were eight more gynecological exam tables, arranged so that someone standing between a slut’s widespread legs could also see the dais. Carl led Beverly over to the one closest to the door. Beverly climbed up, and Carl strapped her in.

He took a moment to look around. Five of the other tables were occupied. All the sluts were, of course, drop dead gorgeous. Carl noticed another slut from the Pacific rim, an African looking slut, and three Caucasians. The guys were all young, like himself. He wondered who they were. Another question for later, as Andy was calling for attention from the front of the room.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Andy began, “today’s class is on Extreme Pussy Whipping and Torture. Anyone who’s read the Story of O, or who has seen any BDSM porn, has probably seen basic pussy whipping, like this.”

Andy picked up a flogger and began to whip the cunt spread before him. She began to breathe a little more heavily, but that was the only sign she even noticed what he was doing.

“As you can see, she barely reacts to it. And what’s the point in wearing out your arm, if she’s not at least screaming her guts out as a result?”

Carl and the others nodded. Carl was surprised to find that he completely agreed with Andy. Two days ago, the thoughts he was having would have shocked him. But two days ago, he hadn’t visited the complex.