http://www.mrdouble.com



The Girl Farm Part 1 (teen, slightly underage)

It was my partner Janice, ironically, who introduced me to the
Robertson Home - or the Girl Farm, as I came to think fondly of it.
Erotica - pornography is the word she uses  - is about the only sore
spot in our very loving and positive relationship. In her eyes, it's
"demeaning." Its message is that all women are objects to be used. No
matter that the sex-video and sex-mag models might feel OK doing it,
it still makes Janice and her women friends feel threatened; and she
believes the porn actresses, strippers and prostitutes owe it to all
women not to participate 
But she doesn't let it stand in the way of our relationship or our own
very good sex-life. She tolerates my enthusiasm for sex-mags, videos
and the more explicit of the Usenet newsgroups, provided I keep the
physical evidence away from her eyes.
We have this periodic debate about the supposed influence of
"pornography" on actual sexual and violent crime. I maintain most
"porn" doesn't describe rape or domination anyway, and even among
readers of that kind of erotica, it's only the most disturbed of
individuals who would be driven to put the ideas they read into
practice.
"I'd feel more inclined to listen to that," Janice says, "if I could
see the sort of men who read pornography putting  money into the Rape
Crisis centres and the other places that help the victims of what you
call disturbed attitudes. Porn might not make *you* rape, but it helps
some men do it, and you should be doing something to balance that."
So when she saw the Robertson Home's advertisement she drew my
attention to it immediately.
"Men - do you feel guilty?" read the bold heading. And it gave me
Jan's exact line. If we enjoyed "pornography" and sex-shows we should
be contributing to the rehabilitation of the young women harmed by
sexual violence and promiscuity.
The Robertsons "rescued" girls and women in abusive relationships and
those sinking into an "amoral" way of life, and "set them on the road
to becoming useful citizens." Or so the ad said. I suppose, looking
back, it was a fair description of what the Girl Farm does. Depends
what you mean by "useful." ;-)
Jan positively insisted that I go along to a public meeting later that
week.
The line-up was more or less what I expected; an earnest looking
social-worker type with thick glasses running the show, and a lot of
the audience like that too A fair number of straight suits and
T-shirt-beard and neck-pendant types. But a lot of the blokes, I felt,
were more my kind; the ones I'd have no hesitation chatting to in a
bar.
We opened with a presentation of what the home was all about; a farm
out in the sticks somewhere where girls referred by the welfare
department and the like lived and learnt useful trades and discipline
- either working on the farm itself or travelling to jobs in town.
Tim Robertson - the guy on stage, founder of the venture, along with
his wife - outlined the finances of the home; it seemed to subsist
mainly on endowments from well-off men who'd probably been made to
feel guilty too. But it was made plain they were out for a lot of
smaller contributions from guys like me.
In the coffee break, I got chatting to some of the others, and mostly
saw my first impressions confirmed. Some men were there like me
because their partners had thought it was a good idea; others because
they were curious about the kind of girls the home took in. The
publicity had mentioned that two of the "guests" would be there to
talk about their old and new lifestyle, and it was plain some guys
were more interested in hearing about the old!
One man there I'd seen several time in the "adult" section of my local
video outlet; we'd nodded and exchanged a few words. He admitted
quietly to me that he'd come partly "to see if there are some little
sluts I can un-rescue." He turned out to be luckier than he could
possibly have expected - him and me and about ten other guys!
He sat next to me as the second half started, and when Robertson
brought on his "guests," we exchanged surreptitious looks of approval.
Tania had a pale but very attractive face, long dark hair, and a body
that you would have called slight, had she not obviously been about
four months pregnant. Annie was taller and bigger-boned, a reddish
blonde - Both of them were strikingly good-looking and, given their
alleged background, surprisingly well dressed.
Tania took centre stage. She was 14, she told us, "nearly 15." For
about two years, she'd been into everything - alcohol, dope, partying
all night, getting into fights. "And sex, of course," she said,
cradling her bulging belly. "A lot of sex." She was putting on a
regretful pained expression, trying to look as though she couldn't
stand to remember, but with that last comment, I thought I caught the
trace of a smile. I glanced at my neighbour and he gave me a look that
said he'd seen it too. He spoke up, sounding for all the world like
one of the do-good social worker types:
"Did you not have any contraceptive advice?"
 "I was takin' big risks, I know that now," said Tania. "But the pill
made me sick all the time."
"And the young man didn't use a condom?" This time, it was one of the
pendant-wearers asking.
 "Not many of the guys ever did," Tania answered, with her sorrowful
expression switched on. "Quite often I was drunk or stoned anyway, so
how would I know who was usin' a condom and who wasn't?
"So I s'pose it was only a matter of time before this happened," she
went on, before anyone could interrupt. "With the kid coming, I was
pretty desperate for money, and pretty miserable about my life. I went
to the Welfare and they put me on to Tim."
At the Robertson home, she said, she was learning to grow, buy and
prepare food properly for herself and others, and adopt a sensible,
economical diet, improving her reading, writing and numeracy skills
and travelling to town to a clerical job. "The farm's a great place to
be. I learn how to be useful to others." Was there another little grin
there, or was it my imagination?
One of the suits cut in: "what about your boyfriend?"
"My boyfriend?" Tania seemed genuinely puzzled.
"The father of your baby. Isn't he doing anything to support you?"
"The father? Look, man." For the first time, the sorrowful cast fell
right away. Tania was both defiant and amused at her questioner's
naievety. "It was a *party*, right? I was turned on to sex that night
- the night I think it happened, anyway. I was sexed up and stoned out
of my tree. Who's the father? Pick any one of a dozen guys. Fourteen,
I dunno. Probly every one of 'em fucked me. I wasn't counting. And I
didn't even know half of  'em."
You could flick your eyes round the room at that point and
characterise the faces; the ones looking shocked and uncomfortable,
those trying to keep an air of professional detachment, and the ones
who were clearly aroused by the idea of young Tania getting
gang-banged, and would have liked to hear more.
There was an awkward silence. One of the beards saved us. "So now
you've broken with that way of life."
"No more dope," Tania answered. "They don't let it in the place.
Straightened myself right out there."
"What about alcohol?" asked a suit.
 "We're allowed some, as long as we don't get drunk. We're learning
how to drink properly."
A few 'tuts' could be heard at that point; pick the teetotallers.
Tim Robertson stepped in. "We don't encourage total abstinence at the
home; that would be unrealistic and it certainly wouldn't prepare our
guests  for a positive attitude to the social drinking they will
encounter when they leave us. We allow a little wine - or beer for
those who prefer it - at our big dinner of the week on Saturday
evening. Tania put it well; it's a matter of learning to drink in
moderation and handle alcohol responsibly."
That really divided the audience. "You're letting 14-year-olds drink
liquor?" came one incredulous shout; followed by a retort from a
beard-and-pendant who said he'd let his son drink a little wine at
dinner since he was 12 and it had done him no harm. "There is nothing
wrong with responsible drinking in the home. It's legal and acceptable
in most societies; and this is, after all, supposed to be home
temporarily for these young people."
Robertson had to speak up in the end to quieten the fuss.
He was about to get Tania to sit down and move to introduce Annie,
when my friend put the logical question, the one I and probably a few
others, had been trying to phrase.
"And what about your sexual behaviour? If you don't mind my asking,"
he added politely. "Is that, er, less promiscuous now?"
"I've slowed down a bit," said Tania, no longer bothering to stifle a
grin. "But I've still got a few boyfriends who are allowed to visit.
Either that or I get to go out at the weekend - if I've behaved myself
durin' the week."
That was another feed line for a big row, with Robertson pushing his
"moderation" line and the idea of gradual reform. "I don't like the
idea of teenage sex any more than you do," he said. "But you have to
balance that against the right of these young people to privacy.
Trusted friends of either sex are allowed to visit our guests in the
common rooms and their private rooms, and it's our policy not to
interfere with their right to be alone at those times."
And like drink, sexual temptation existed in the outside world, he
said. Isolating the girls from young men totally on the farm would
mean they'd be badly equipped for proper socialisation when they left.
"We hope they will improve their self-respect in a supportive
environment."
"I don't think you can call what you provide a supportive
environment," said one of the suits, getting angry. "More like a
permissive environment!"
For the first time, Annie jumped to her feet. "What do you want, she
should go straight from fuck-parties to living like a bloody nun! Get
real; give the girl a break! And Tim and Marie too; they do their best
for us, and people like you just attack them!"
"One committed boyfriend, I could perhaps understand...." flustered
the suit. "But isn't it more than one? You" - to Tania - "gave that
distinct impression."
"Who appointed you policeman over how many boyfriends she has?" yelled
Annie. "As for me, I'm 16, I'm old enough for legal sex and I'll fuck
who I bloody like!"
Tim Robertson put a hand on each girl's shoulder, trying to calm
things, but the room was in an uproar.
"You should be reported to the Social Welfare department and the
police," yelled another suit, rising to his feet from the middle of
the audience. "You're running nothing less than a brothel! You're
corrupting these girls, not reforming them."
"Hey look, people!" said Tania with a scream of laughter. "He's got a
hard-on!"
Eyes swivelled round in the rows ahead of him, as he tried to shrink
back to his seat. "Yup, it's a stiffy all right," confirmed the man
sitting next to him. "Getting off on the thought of having the place
closed down, are we? Or are you more interested in the girls and their
sex-life than you like to pretend?"
"Aw, come on!" Annie sneered, to the last speaker. "Bet you're hard
too. Want me to come and take a look?"
Tim tried to put a lid on the developing mood. "Tania, Annie," he said
in a managerial tone. "You're coming close to losing privileges.
You're damaging the reputation of the home. This is not what we need."
But the girls were up and running. "C'mon," said Tania to the
audience. "How many stiff ones have we got out there? Who's feeling
like a fuck ri-i-i-ght now?" Several laughing men put their hands in
the air. 
"Oh, I'm sure there's more than that," she laughed.  "How many out
there? Twenty-five, thirty? We'll take the lot of you on, no sweat!
What say we split 'em down the middle, Annie; half for me, half for
you?"
"Yeah," Annie added, "an' those who think they've got the stamina can
fuck both of us!"
The suit with the boner exploded.
"That's enough! I'm reporting this venture to the authorities. You're
in serious trouble, Mr Robertson." 
He turned and stalked out. A few other angry men followed, then more.
But I certainly wasn't going. Nor was my neighbour or any of the guys
who'd raised their hands!
It would have been fascinating to a sociologist studying "crowd
dynamics" - how the first mob went and other little groups and
individuals hung behind looking to one another for reassurance on
whether to go or stay - then eventually drifted out.
In the end, we were left with a core of about a dozen, and all but one
soberly suited individual I would have picked at the start as there
for the chance of fun. I began to suspect - as it quickly proved -
that Tim Robertson and his girls had worked this trick more than once.
Robertson changed his tone subtly, his stance losing its uptightness
and becoming almost a swagger. "Any more leaving?" he asked loudly.
No-one moved. "Any more Moral Majority people think we ought to be
closed down?" Silence.
"So who's for a fuck!?" he yelled.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a short pause, as though no-one could believe what they'd
heard. Then the small crowd cheered to a man, running their hungry
eyes over the two young girls.
"Lock the doors," Tim said. Two male assistants appeared at the back
of the hall, dragged the heavy double doors closed and threw the
bolts.
"That gives us a bit of breathing space, if they do come back with
anyone," he said. "But it doesn't often happen. They're all wind,
these people. When was the last time we actually got raided, girls?"
"About six months back," said Annie. "Everyone just whipped their
clothes back on and sat down while they were still struggling with the
doors, and everything was sweet by the time they got in. No sign that
anyone had been doing anything naughty."
"More usually they go home and write letters in triplicate to the
department, or the police," Robertson said. "Letters that somehow go
missing, or get a reply that tells 'em 'no impropriety was found.' The
Girl Farm has its friends in the right places. Don't worry. 
"But first things first - donations to our good cause." He put a
bucket on the stage. "Cash or cheques, no credit cards, unless you
want to make a long-term pledge."
"What's the tariff, and what's on the menu?" said someone.
"$10 if you just want to watch the girls strip. $50 for sex with
either of them. For $300 you can come out and visit the farm for a day
and see what other delights we have out there. It'll be well worth
your while, I can assure you; we've got something - or someone - for
every taste!
"I'd better tell you what's really going on," he said, as the money
started to pour into the bucket. And we heard the true story of the
Girl Farm. More than a brothel, it was a scheme to collect sexually
adventurous young girls - girls who really enjoyed sex - and encourage
them to keep on enjoying it in every way they could. In a real sense,
the Farm rescued them from corruption - the corrupting effect of
reform and conventional morality which might otherwise thwart their
natural instincts.
And the other side of this, of course, was pulling in paying customers
like us; men with a keen instinct for sexual fun who would see an
opportunity behind the Robertson Home's fairly straight and "moral"
pitch - while the image of the Home itself remained beyond reproach. 
"Sex is good, and we want to fight the influences that tell the world
it's bad," Robertson said. "We set up a front that gets Government and
moralists throwing money at us, and we raise our girls to be the
bastion of a counter-revolution against prudery and misery."
He was working up into a missionary fervour
"We keep scooping them up, the rebels, the runaways. What the
puritanical world throws out, we gather and cultivate. Our little
colony has more than 50 girls now, and with lovely young breeders like
Tania, we've started on the second generation. From here on, the farm
is really farming; raising girls from birth to become the
sexually-aware and sexually-skilled beings they were meant to be."
The idea, he said, would not be to indoctrinate the children in any
sense, but not to restrict them either. "The difference will be in
what we *won't* tell them. We won't tell them sex is dirty. We won't
tell them they should be ashamed  of their bodies, or of any part of
their bodies or anything they do with their bodies - so long as they
and anyone else involved want to; so long as it causes no pain or harm
to anyone."
As Tim was delivering his philosophy, Annie flipped on some raunchy
music on a cassette player and began to strip. And a very professional
and seductive job she made of it too. Slowly undoing the buttons of
her silky embroidered top, one by one, she revealed a semi-see-through
scarlet bra over small but elegant-shaped breasts. She dropped the
shirt to the floor and moving to the front of the stage, hooked one
thumb in the belt of her jeans and twitched her pelvis up and down in
time to the music. After a little strut up and down the "footlights"
she repeated the move, this time with one hand pressed firmly on her
pubic bone. She certainly knew how to move that thing! I found myself
thinking of her doing it while I was inside her.
This might cost me more than I expected, I realised. When I pitched in
my $50 I'd had my eye on Tania. Unlike a lot of men, I usually find
pregnant women sexy. That round hump under you - or on top of you -
gives a whole new feeling to a coupling, and I love pregnant women's
nipples and areolae as they get ready for their future feeding task.
I'll tell you I've successfully "substituted" for more than one
imminent father turned off by his mate's "condition."
[Author's note: a bit of real-life experience there :-) ] 
I like 'em young, too, I don't mind admitting, so the offer of a
pregnant 14-year-old was irresistible.
Now, though, I found myself mesmerised by the skilled moves of Annie's
rangy body. Kicking off her shoes she unclipped her belt and eased her
designer jeans over her butt and slowly down her long legs, revealing
a matching pair of red G-string panties. 
 Those legs, that elegant bare stomach with its classic deep
almond-shaped navel, and the promise of those small breasts and what
lay beneath that tiny red triangle below - I was up for $100, and at
least getting into both of those hot girl-holes, even if I couldn't
manage to come twice!
"What about the boys?" one of the group asked Tim. "About half of your
births will be male, surely."
"We've thought about that, obviously," he replied. "We know this one's
a girl" - he laid a hand on Tania's belly - "the fluid's been tested."
"Had to," said the teen with a grin. "The kid might've had a very
dodgy  parentage, for all I knew. But she's OK. Can't have been Mike"
"The sex of the child depends on the sperm, of course," Tim went on,
ignoring Tania's comment. "So one idea is to select from among our
regular visitors those who can prove they've fathered two or three
daughters and no sons. Then we'll put them  to several of our fertile
girls - our volunteer mothers - and we might even give them a
reduction in their annual pledge."
"Fertile Fellas Fathering Females Fuck For Free." said Annie,
squatting down briefly alongside us. "Undo this, will ya?" 
I unclasped the hooks of her bra, and she resumed her dance, removing
it in classic "tease" style; she held it in front of her for a while,
then let it drop, still concealing her breasts with her hands. Finally
she threw her arms up exposing a well-shaped "self-supporting" pair
with silver-dollar-sized pink nipples.
I gave them an appreciative glance as they swayed and jiggled, but in
the nipple-and-areola department, I was looking forward to Tania's
strip! Even that early in pregnancy, the nipple-circles begin to
enlarge and darken and I love them like that.
"I don't agree." Tania pulled my attention back to the breeding
conversation.
"Yes, go on, give us your theory," Tim said, laughing.
"I reckon we oughta breed studs too. Train up their little pricks on
willing girls, so they get to be first-rate fuckers early on. Show 'em
how to talk sex, too; how a girl likes to be seduced. 
"Then we'll let 'em out into the world, just about at the age when
most of their mates are still learning - still finger fumbling. Our
farm-raised stud stock'll slay 'em. They'll get up every hole going.
And they'll open up a lot more, too; girls that wouldn't normally have
thought they were ready for sex. Raising boys could generate more
fuck-mad sluts than breeding girls."
"Yes, well maybe we'll try a small test group," said Tim. "There'll be
some boys, I'm sure. We'll need a band of dedicated volunteers for the
training."
"I'm in for that," Tania said, enthusiastically. "I think I'm still
tight enough. Lots of virgin pricklets to be raised into superstud
tools. Just thinking about it makes me wet!"
"Not as if you're inexperienced at that," accused Annie, beginning to
peel off her panties.
"That's a lie!," Tania protested; then more quietly to the immediate
group. "Never had a boy younger than 12, honest."
I was hardly listening as I watched Annie shed her final scrap of
clothing. To my delight, the red triangle of fabric had concealed
another one of fur. Her fair head hair had shown only the faintest
tinge of flame, but her pubic hair was a delicious bright red-gold.
She told me, during one of our many subsequent sex sessions that she
gives it a little "touch up" every now and then, to enhance the
colour, "but it's mostly natural."
The colour of that lovely burning bush confirmed my desire to have her
there and then. I signalled that desire with my eyes and she responded
by moving to the edge of the platform and rotating that delicious
fur-patch two feet from my face. Two feet that quickly became one,
then a matter of inches, then nothing at all, as I buried my lips and
nose in her musk-smelling, wiry triangle.
 After a little preliminary kissing of the fur, Annie cocked her hips
forward and parted her legs wider in an obvious invitation for my
tongue to caress her clitoris and labia. I dived right in!
As I licked and kissed, Annie continued to make vague hip swivels as
though she were still dancing; but the swivels slowly changed to
full-on pubic thrusts, and eventually she sank to the floor and lay
back, letting my mouth explore her more fully. The musky smell and
sweet-sharp taste of her fluids were strong in my nose and on my
tongue.
Looking up from feasting at Annie's hot-slot, I saw Tania was well
into her strip. Her "maternity" mini-dress had come off, and her tidy
little bulge, with a belly-button already flipping into an "outy," was
bare for all to see. To gaze at the lovely half-naked pregnant teen
while moving up to slide my prick into Annie's warm, sticky tunnel,
was my idea of paradise.
Annie's was the tightest little cunt I've been up for a long time.
Since I passed into my 30s, I'll admit I don't get many chances to
shaft a teenager. She was skilled for her age, though; all the
movement I'd imagined when I watched her dance was there, and then
some. She could clench the muscles of her sex-channel around my cock
in a way that brought me close to orgasm, then release it and let me
stop my own motion for a while, so I didn't come too soon. She must
have known I'd paid for both of them, and she could see the way I was
looking at Tania.
 "Nice, isn't she?"
"Lovely," I replied, between thrusts. "So are you," I felt obliged to
add. She squeezed me with her hole, by way of response.
"But you 'specially like 'em pregnant, don't you? I could tell from
the way you've been looking at her all this evening. "
There was obviously no jealousy between these two friends. I smiled at
my lovely little redtail teen and thrust deeply into her, making her
gasp then grin back.
But I still couldn't keep my eyes off Tania - not when she was about
to remove her bra!
She teased us even more slowly than Annie had. She unfastened the
hooks and held the bra in front of her for a long while why she
swayed. She turned her back, stretched the bra across her breasts,
then let go first with one hand, then the other, so it almost
catapulted away from her.
When she turned back to face us, of course, she had a hand over each
breast.
Not until she was sure she had everyone's eyes on her, did she take
pity on us and raise her arms.
It had been worth waiting for. Her milk-ready nipples were a mouthful
each in themselves, and her dark red-brown areolae were at least five
inches across.
I almost came there and then!
It didn't take long for Tania to peel off her panties. Without any
preamble, she lay down on the stage and spread herself ready for her
first fuck of the evening.
It would have been a bit greedy of me to switch straight from Annie to
her. A bearded guy was quick to strip off and mount her. After feeling
with his hand and obviously finding she was wet enough, he thrust in
and started pumping.
But he seemed to find it a bit awkward negotiating Tania's belly. He
kept slipping out of her and repositioning himself to try and stay in.
Being in a job that involves some selling, I think I'm quite skilled
at being able to "read" a face; to judge when someone is enthusiastic
and when they'd really rather not be doing what they are.
Pregnant sex was obviously not this guy's first choice, and he kept
glancing across at Annie, so I saw my chance. I tapped him on the
shoulder. "Swap?" I asked.
There were a few mild grouches from behind us as we hopped off and
changed over; but, hell, we weren't taking up any more time than if
we'd stuck to the fucks we had. And the girls just smiled at us and
each other; like I say, clearly friends who were used to sharing!
I don't know what it is about me and pregnant girls; I suppose it all
stems from my late teen years, when I "knocked up" my girlfriend -
with, I suspect, her tacit consent. We were both looking to something
permanent at that stage; we were deeply in love and saw ourselves
spending our lives together. So I was positively delighted when Sue
said she was carrying my child. We stayed together and loved and
fucked together right through her pregnancy, and the relationship only
started going sour when the kid was about a year old. We agreed to
split, but we stayed friends and I still see Sue and our daughter
regularly.
So some of the earliest, happiest part of my sex-life was spent
regularly fucking a young pregnant girl I adored. Is it any wonder I
still go for it? I think I've got a sensitive spot on my lower abdomen
that just likes to feel a swollen belly bumping against it.
Like I say, it's got me a fair number of preg-fucks from ladies when
their regular partners had been put off sex and they were "going a bit
short." To my mind, there's one thing better than screwing a pregnant
girl, and that's screwing a pregnant girl who's absolutely starving
for a fuck!
I'd just done it again in a way, I thought, as I lined up to plunge
into Tania's sticky slit. Pregnant gal -check; guy who doesn't really
like preg-fucking - check; gal going short - not applicable; gal
starving for a fuck - CHECK! For young Tania - as I've had plenty of
chance to confirm since - SFaF is a pretty permanent condition!
Her body was everything I hoped it would be; her cunt was hot, tight
and sticky, and her hard little belly definitely hit that sensitive
spot on mine as I thrust deep. Her moans and sounds of appreciation
seemed quite genuine.
As we settled into it, she began to talk as though time wasn't
important and there was no-one else there;  "This is my favourite
song," Tania said. The music tape was still playing, and had gotten
into the slow number "You've got a Hold on Me." As we lazily fucked,
she began putting her own words to it:
"I've got a hole in me,
And it loves a prick inside it.
I've got a hole in me,
And I love to have it filled.
I'm a randy little farm-girl,
And I want to be a breeder
I've got a hole in me,
Won't you come and fill me up?"
That lyric gave me another jolt towards my orgasm. I pushed deep into
her, trying to "fill her up" like she wanted; feeling her innermost
warm wet recesses with the tip of my cock.
"So your breeding's  not going to end with this one?" I asked, pushing
hard against her belly to make the point. "You're going to help with
more of the next generation."
"Am I ever!" the teenager responded with enthusiasm. "Soon as I drop
this kid, I'll be straight back in the saddle, gettin' knocked up
again. ' S my role in life, now. Fucker and mother. Got a hole in me.
Pricks go in and kids come out."
She spoke it this time, but it was clearly part of another verse of
the song.
"So what d'you reckon? One every nine months?"
Her reply is probably best spelt "Nnngh!" She was starting to get
turned on in earnest, and we left off conversation while she
concentrated on the feeling. "Deeper," she said, and I, naturally
obliged to the extent of my (only average) length.
But talking about breeding just added to her arousal - so she told me
later. So after a while I got my answer. "Reckon I'll miss...a few,"
she said, between gasps; "take a rest, maybe. But one a year, yeah.
Reckon I could fit in 25....before I get.... to 40."
I think she was being a tad optimistic, and looking at this fresh
young girl in front of me I didn't like to think of a face and body
ravaged by 25 births. But while it was turning her on to talk like
that, I wasn't going to interrupt.
"An' all the girls'll be good little breeders like me 'n' get into it
early. By the time I stop, they'll be just about onto the third
generation: I'll be a bloody great-grandmother. I've worked it out; if
15 of 'em are girls and they do the same, that's 3615 owners of
willing little fuckholes let loose on the world! All out of mine! 
"Ohhh God!" she yelled, suddenly; and I felt the walls of her tunnel
contract as she came. That tipped me over the edge too and I squirted
long and strong into her.
She barely gave me a chance to recover. "Right, you're done," she
said, pushing me gently away. "Had more than your fair share. Next!"
I scrambled out of the way and a clean-cut guy took my place. As I
stood and walked around the girls, I saw Annie was on her third guy of
the evening too.
I bent and kissed her on her red-blonde mop, but I think she was too
into her fuck to notice much. There were definitely more guys queuing
for her than for Tania, and I felt a bit sorry that the pregnant girl
wasn't being appreciated so much. I moved round to her head, to do the
one thing I hadn't been able to accomplish while we were fucking; get
my mouth on those lovely dark nipples!
And a wonderful mouthful they were too, growing quickly erect and hard
from my kissing and sucking and the effect of the guy screwing her.
Those huge areolae began to pucker and crinkle in the most delightful
way. I kissed all over them, slowly and ran my tongue over the
developing ridges, making them stand up even more.
I love the way some girls' large areolae pucker up. Parts of them
remain smooth while other parts erect. Tania's were very much like
that. She moaned appreciatively, letting me know I was adding to her
pleasure.
Her third guy came, pulling out and squirting all over her stomach,
and another immediately took his place. I went on kissing her breast
and nipples as she mounted to her second orgasm.
After that, she seemed to come with increasing frequency. Annie was
getting quite a few orgasms too.
I don't know whether everyone had paid their double fee, or if some
were getting freebies, but I'm sure everyone eventually had both
girls. They ended up on all fours alongside each other in the middle
of the stage, being circled by an endless line of 14 or 15 men shoving
their pricks into whatever hole came free. Tim joined in, of course,
and when we were all "wilting" towards the end, a couple of us went
and watched the doors, so the regular door-minders could come up and
prong the still enthusiastic teens. 
We were there till well past midnight and never saw anything of the
morals brigade, the police or Welfare inspectors.
Tim walked away with a pile of cheques and cash that night; I reckon
most if not all of us had paid out for a day's tour of his
establishment.
My day wasn't long in coming - and it was only the first of many
memorable visits to the Girl Farm.