The Hacker and the Milk Queen

[jjaygee58]

Hi everyone. Hope you enjoy the next installment of my Hacker story!




The Hacker and the Milk Queen, Part 1

“Dear Ms. Roth,

When can I come back to the east coast? I hate this place. The Midwest is just dreadful, but Wisconsin is the worst! There is absolutely no culture here. The men are ignorant and smell like cow shit. The women don’t shave for the entire winter and are fat and sloppy year round. Of course if cheese curds are the height of your cuisine, then fat and sloppy is understandably the default. Ugh. Stephanie, please, get me out of here!

In your service,

Lesandra Lachey”


“Dear Lesandra,

I do not appreciate your tone. Never forget your place in the network. You do as I say. Period. That said, I do understand how horrid the Midwest is. But always remember that you’re doing important work for us. If the sisters in the network are going to dominate the United States, then we must control the largest industries across the country. In Wisconsin, that means dairy, and we need you there, running Wisconsin Milking Company. Stay strong in that miserable stupid place! We will see you back east one day.

Sincerely,

Stephanie Roth”


“Dear Ms. Roth,

Believe me when I say that I know my place, and I am always ready to work for you and the network. I just hope the fat cows in this state—the wives of the men who run our farms, not the cows we milk!—know theirs! God, I hate these people, but it is my honor to work on your behalf.

Sincerely,

L.L.”

Ooh, this is good, the Hacker thought to himself as he read the correspondence between Stephanie Roth and Lesandra Lachey. Lesandra, it was clear, did more than just belittle the wives of the farmers who worked for her. She was embezzling from the company, funneling the money to her “sisters” in the network. And she had a horrible record on animal rights. “They’re just cows!” she wrote in one email to a farmer whom she employed. “Open range? Too expensive! Give cows a more ‘humane’ schedule?! Please! Just strap the Cow Milker 3000 on them and run it until they’re dry! Good God, I’m here to make money, not cry about cows!”

The Hacker’s email to the farmers working for Wisconsin Milking Company—about the animals, the region, the fat and hairy women—angered them; it enraged their wives. The plan they hatched would put Ms. Lachey in her place.



The Hacker and the Milk Queen, Part 2

A woman like Lesandra Lachey certainly looked out of place in Wisconsin. Her long wavy light brown hair and fine features called to mind her French heritage. To emphasize her lineage, Lesandra put on display for observers fine perfumes and a vaguely European accent. That alone certainly made her stand out in Wisconsin.

So too did Lesandra’s attire. She favored expensive skirt suits imported from Fifth Avenue, if not Paris (London fashion hadn’t been worth a damn since the early ‘90s she’d muse), and stiletto heels at a minimum of three inches. Form fitting and elegant, the suits made her look and feel powerful. Under the expensive suits, just for herself, she favored frilly French knickers—all lace and ruffles and see thru nylon, a garter belt, and reinforced heel and toe stockings from Givenchy. The only garment she wore that was more common was her bra. Her 36D breasts were large and full and the lacey underwear that she favored was too delicate to support her. So, Maidenform it was. But no one had to know that!

Many mornings, Lesandra would slip into her expensive lingerie and heels and stand there, looking in the mirror. The see thru panties, the garter belt and expensive nylons, the stiletto heels . . . she knew she looked ravishing. “Wisconsin is not all there is!” she’d think to herself. “I am Lesandra Lachey! I am rich and powerful and aristocratic! I am destined for better things. I will one day assume the position a woman like me deserves!” If she had a few extra minutes and was feeling naughty as well as powerful, Lesandra would take a dollop of expensive French body cream and massage it into her copious breasts. A firm rub and a light twist of her nipples always got her energized for the day, leaving a little wet spot in her panties to betray her excitement. God, she loved someone playing with, sometimes sucking on, her nipples. It never failed to make her hot beyond belief. Then Lesandra would slip on her bra and suit and head out to take on the world. Take on the idiot farmers and the mooing beasts that followed them about, and the cows too.



The Hacker and the Milk Queen, Part 3

Today, Lizzie had to work in the office in the morning and then go to one of the large corporate farms. God, she hated those places. They were loud and vulgar, smelling of cow shit and wet earth. The barns practically compelled people to wear overalls and rubber boots. Not her though. Lesandra always believed that if she were going to lay claim to her rightful place then she had to look and dress the part at all times. Work attire was work attire, and today that meant a silver-gray skirt suit, semi-see thru white blouse, light tan reinforced heel and toe stockings so fine that you could barely see them against her light cinnamon skin tone, and gray three-inch slingback stilettos. Someone looking very closely could have seen the telltale garter bumps under her skirt, but no one in Wisconsin, Lesandra was sure, was savvy enough to look.

Well, maybe one person. The new mailroom guy was an odd character. He had only been there a week, but he always seemed to be sizing her up in a way that was totally inappropriate for their stations. Lesandra would give him a withering cold eye but he seemed to ignore it, just fixating on her clothing, her treatment of those around her, and her office. A couple times, she found him alone in her office, suspiciously near her computer. But nothing seemed amiss.

Although she couldn’t put her finger on it, it seemed to Lesandra that something changed when the new mailroom guy (what is his name, anyway? she’d think) arrived at Wisconsin Milking. Employees would change their computer screens when she walked by; the farmers were more impertinent in their correspondence with her; if she had the misfortune to be in a room with their wives, the women glared at her and made obviously nasty comments just out of earshot. Lesandra was ready to fire them all, and start with the mailroom guy. He was probably a union organizer or something.

The impertinent emails had reached their head a few days earlier, when a group of farmers “commanded” her appearance at their barn in the afternoon later that week. They were tired of her treatment and wanted to give her hands on experience with their work. “Oh, I’ll show up,” Lesandra had thought to herself. “And I’ll make them wish they had never tried me!”

Lesandra’s phone buzzed as she pulled her Mercedes into the farm parking lot. “I warned you,” wrote the Hacker. “I told you to stop your bad behavior. And yet you continue to embezzle funds, mistreat your employees, and show no regard for the animals that you exploit. The time has come to pay for your sins.” Attached to the email were months of correspondence, showing one bad act, or even crime, after another.

Lesandra’s heart sank. She didn’t want to believe she’d been caught, but the evidence left her little choice. Stephanie Roth was supposed to take care of this! “Please don’t send this to the police,” she wrote. “What do you want me to do?” “You will pay your penance to the farmers,” the Hacker wrote. “We’ve made plans for you. Now go inside and take the place you deserve.”

Lesandra felt butterflies in her stomach. Suddenly the sexy panties and nylons, the stilettos, the power suit and expensive perfume didn’t make her feel confident. She looked around and realized there were several dozen cars in the parking lot: farmers’ pickup trucks but also cars belonging to employees at the corporate office. “What are all these people doing here?” she wondered. “And what, for God’s sake, is the mailroom guy doing here, walking into the barn. And why is he staring at me?” It was subtle, but he may have winked.



The Hacker and the Milk Queen, Part 4

As Lesandra got out of the car, she felt one of her expensive high heels sink into the mud. She had to be careful or she’d get her expensive nylons dirty. “Ugh,” she said out loud. “This place is disgusting.” “Rich b*tch,” a woman muttered, but Lesandra couldn’t figure out who, despite whirling quickly to find the culprit. “I’ll make these fat cows pay,” she said to herself, half forgetting the Hacker’s email.

Lesandra walked past the viewing area where fifty people could watch the Cow Milker 3000 in action. Even Lesandra, who couldn’t care less about such things, had to admit that it had the incredible suction necessary to drain a cow’s teats in a hurry. I wonder . . ., her mind wandered. Nah, it couldn’t be a pleasant feeling to have something suck that hard, but it sure was effective, she thought. There were a few people milling around in the viewing room, all murmuring and giving her the eye as she walked by. Lesandra just gave them her haughtiest look, which subdued them. All of them except the mailroom guy who locked his gaze on hers and continued setting up the video camera. What’s the camera for, Lesandra thought, and why does that guy give me the creeps?

Lesandra couldn’t really think through her questions though because just as she got back to the stalls, rough hands grabbed her and yanked her through a door. Lesandra fell to her knees on the barn floor. Her senses were instantly assaulted by the sound of cows mooing and the smell of animals penned up in mud and straw and excrement. She heard the derisive laughter of at least a dozen men and women—farmers and their wives—surrounding her. “Rich b*tch,” Lesandra heard one of them say again as she looked up with her hair hanging in her face. And she felt something squishy under her knees. Getting her stocking feet dirty was the least of her problems; when she fell she landed with her knees in the mud, or at least she hoped it was mud!

Lesandra was appalled at what these heathens had done to her. “These nylons,” she hissed at the crowd, “are worth more than you make in a week!” “I will fire all of you!” Lesandra shouted as she struggled to her feet, her stilettos slipping in the mud, ruining the shoes and further soiling her stockings.

“Embezzler!” cried one; “Animal abuser!” cried another. “Fat and hairy, huh?” said several women, waving printed emails over their heads. One of them put her work boot on Lesandra’s ass and gave her a push, leaving a muddy print on the CEO’s expensive skirt. Her stilettos slipping on the ground, Lesandra pitched face first into the straw, her expensive suit dragging through the mud and her heels kicking up in the air. “Ungh!” was all the corporate leader could say as her breath was knocked out of her. “These shoes aren’t appropriate for the workplace!” one of the women shouted. “We should take them off so you’re safe.” Slightly dazed, Lesandra could barely move as rough hands grabbed her ankles and stripped her shoes off. Lesandra’s skirt rode up enough that the farmers could see the welts of her stockings. “I don’t think those are pantyhose,” one of them said with a laugh.

“Help the lady to her feet,” one of the farmers said. A couple women grabbed Lesandra by the wrists and hauled her upright. Her feet squished in the mud. Lesandra looked down to see her nylons ruined, her bright red toenail polish just visible through the muddy reinforced toes of her stockings. Her suit, jacket, and blouse were smeared with mud, or worse. “What have you done to me?” Lesandra wailed. “You’ve ruined my clothes, taken my heels, and made a mockery of me. I demand that you recognize my rightful place. Now let me go immediately, you brutes!” Lesandra wrenched her wrists back and forth, but it was clear she was no match for the good sturdy Midwestern women. “Oh, we have a place for you,” one of the women said, and they all laughed. Lesandra paused, wondering what was in store.



The Hacker and the Milk Queen, Part 5

As two of the farmers’ wives held Lesandra’s wrists, two others stepped up to the struggling CEO. “You’re way overdressed for your place,” they said, as each grabbed the shoulder of Lesandra’s suit jacket. A tug, a harder yank, and the garment split right along its seam in the back, falling to her wrists. “What are you doing to me?!” Lesandra yelled in in a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear. “Getting you ready,” one of the women growled. “I must say, I had no idea how big your boobs were until we took that jacket off. You’ll do well. . .” Lesandra looked down to see that her semi-transparent blouse was doing little to preserve her modesty. “Oh God,” she moaned. All the men cheered.

“Skirt’s next!” yelled one of the women. “No!!!!” Lesandra said, but she could do little to prevent her forced stripping. The two women who had ripped her jacket in half hooked their fingers into Lesandra’s skirt at either hip. It was fitted, tight, and they had to stretch and wiggle it down Lesandra’s hips. “Stop it!” she bawled. “You can’t do this to me!”

They got the skirt low enough to reveal the top of Lesandra’s lacy garter belt. “Whooo,” one of the men whistled. “Please stop. Please don’t do this to me,” Lesandra whimpered. “You don’t want us to do this?” one of the women said as she wiggled the skirt. “Please, no. . .” “OK, we won’t do that,” the woman said. Lesandra couldn’t see her devious smile. “Thank you. Now please let me go. You’ve made your point,” Lesandra said, trying to assert herself. Maybe, she thought, she’d get out of this with just a ruined suit, nylons, and heels.

“That’s nice of you,” one of the men said. “what with her calling you fat cows and all. . .” “I think,” the woman replied, “that you helped me change my mind.” With that, she grabbed the waist of Lesandra’s skirt at the zipper and pulled as hard as she could. The clasp, the zipper, the seam, they all exploded with a loud rip! Everyone, including Lesandra, gasped. Then they started pointing and laughing uproariously. “Look at those fancy panties!” one woman exclaimed. “They’re see thru, and they’ve got lacey ruffles on her backside! Aren’t you precious, you little rich b*tch!” Then she gave Lesandra three hard spanks on her pantied ass. Lesandra couldn’t talk; her mouth just puckered into an “O” and she grunted with each spank. Her eyes bulged, and she squirmed just thinking about the sight she must be presenting to the men and women behind her.

But Lesandra’s time to think didn’t last long. The woman who had ripped Lesandra’s skirt off and paddled her like a child grabbed the tail of her shirt and pulled it up and over the CEO’s head. The force toppled Lesandra forward onto her knees, leaving her on her elbows and knees with her pantied ass and stocking feet in the air and her shirt wrapped around her wrists and her head. “My God, look at the size of her breasts!” a farmer exclaimed. “Yeah, and look at that bra!” said one of the women. “My granny used to wear those! What is that, one of them fancy imported bras? Nah, it looks like a Maidenform that one of us ‘fat cows’ would get down at the Walmart. I guess you can’t be fancy when you got great big teats, eh, Ms. Lachey?” Everyone laughed. “No!!! Please don’t look at me!!” Lesandra moaned, her voice muffled through her shirt.

“We’re not done yet, dear” one of the women said in a stage whisper in Lesandra’s ear. She cupped Lesandra’s hanging breasts gently at first, then kneaded them more vigorously. Lesandra started to squirm. This was so humiliating, but man she loved to have her breasts massaged. Then, without warning, the woman grabbed the bra clasp with both hands and yanked so hard that the clips and straps broke. The bra flew off and Lesandra’s giant breasts hung towards the ground, unsupported and, at least in Lesandra’s mind, obscene. The men would have disagreed with that assessment. With Lesandra’s breasts on display, the woman squeezed and tugged the CEO’s nipples with fervor. “Oh my . . .” Lesandra groaned as she started to writhe and rub her thighs together. “Look at her, she likes it!” the woman yelled and everyone laughed again. “Ooooooh,” Lesandra moaned.

“Help me finish preparing her, ladies,” Lesandra’s tormentor said, gesturing toward the panties. Two women grabbed Lesandra’s expensive French panties and pulled them up as hard as they could, giving the boss a tremendous wedgie. “Oh my God, please don’t do this!!” Lesandra shouted. She kicked her stocking feet but could do nothing as the women pulled so hard her knees lifted off the ground. The panties stretched and rubbed against Lesandra’s private place, making her gasp and moan. Finally, the nylon could take no more and tore at the crotch and waistband, leaving the scrap of expensive cloth in one woman’s hand. Lesandra fell back down into the mud, filthy and humiliated. She was stripped to her garter belt and stockings with her shirt still wrapped around her head, essentially acting as a blindfold and shackles.

Utterly disgraced, Lesandra just wanted to cover herself and lie there. “You’ve had your fun, now go away!” she said as sternly as a woman in such a situation could. “Not yet, Ms. Lachey,” one of the farm women said as she grabbed Lesandra by her shirt and pulled her forward. “What are you doing??” Lesandra cried out. “Putting you in your rightful place,” the woman replied as she tugged Lesandra toward the room next door. Lesandra tried to stand up, to fight back, but a foot on her backside put her back on the ground. The woman holding the shirt tugged again and Lesandra had to crawl on her knees to the showroom where she was being led. As she the humiliated CEO crawled along, each farmer and his wife gave her a swift swat on the ass. “Please stop,” Lesandra moaned, but they ignored her pleas.

“Put her in place, guys,” one of the women said. Several farmers grabbed Lesandra and positioned her on her elbows and knees. “Don’t move,” they warned her. Lesandra, still blindfolded, held her breath, waiting to see what would happen. This can’t possibly get more humiliating, she thought.

A woman’s cold hands grabbed Lesandra’s hanging breasts, surprising her and making her gasp. They were strong, slick with lotion, and knew how to massage her well. “Ooooh,” she moaned, her pussy getting wet with the attention. The humiliation, she thought, was almost too much. Then, the woman focused on Lesandra’s nipples, rubbing, tweaking, and pulling them. Hard. Insistent. “Oh my God, please. . .” Lesandra moaned louder.

“Here ya go, honey,” the woman said, and Lesandra felt something sucking on her nipples, on her breasts. “Oooooh,” she moaned. It was pleasant at first, and before long downright arousing. Lesandra didn’t care that these idiot farmers were watching, she just wanted to stroke her pussy. But with her hands still bound up in her shirt, she had to settle with rubbing her stocking thighs together.

“You like that honey, don’t you?” a woman whispered in her ear. “Yesssss,” Lesandra moaned. “How much?” “A lot,” Lesandra moaned again. “Are you sorry for what you’ve done?” “Yessss. . .” The suction was growing harder, more insistent. “Do you want to cum?” “Yessss . . .” This was becoming more pleading than moaning. Someone spanked Lesandra hard on the ass. “Ohhhh . . .” she moaned more loudly. More people spanked her and Lesandra moaned even more. “Pleeease. . .” she pleaded, squirming.

“If you want to cum, then moo like a cow,” came the voice in Lesandra’s ear. “Noo . . . please don’t make me do that. Please. . . It’s too humiliating.” “You’ve tormented us enough. Now we can torment you. We can leave you like this forever if you don’t do what you’re told. Go to high!” the woman said. The sucking became so insistent that Lesandra felt her whole body shudder. “No, please don’t! I can’t take it anymore” The sucking, oh the sucking. Another hard swat on the ass.

“Moo like a cow, you little b*tch,” the woman said. “Moo,” Lesandra said quietly, just hoping for release. “Moo like you mean it!” “MOOOOOOO” “Again!” “MOOOOOO!!!” “Again!” “MOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Lesandra was bucking her hips wildly. The spanks rained down on her ass. The sucking on her breasts was driving her mad. “MOOOOOO MOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Now!” the woman yelled and two others grabbed Lesandra’s shirt and yanked it off her head. So close to cumming, feeling so close to ecstasy, Lesandra looked up. There she was on display in front of fifty people from the company! Everyone was in the observation room to see their b*tch boss on her knees, wearing nothing but nylons and a garter belt. Her face was sweaty and her hair hung down. She was being held down by several farm women who had strapped the Cow Milker 3000 to her enormous hanging breasts. It was sucking and pulling on her tits like she was an animal, and she was mooing as loudly as she could, writhing and begging to cum.

Everyone in the audience pointed and laughed. “Oh my God, NOOOOOOOO!!!!” Lesandra moaned. “You said ‘no.’ You didn’t say ‘moo,’” the woman standing next to her said. “Shut it off.” Suddenly the suction stopped and Lesandra whimpered. “Please, pleeease don’t stop. Please.” “Too late, b*tch,” the woman said, and gave her one more sharp slap on the ass. “Please, please don’t leave me like this. Please,” Lesandra blubbered. “What are you talking about, honey?” the woman asked. “You’re in your rightful position.” And then the farmers and wives all filed past the humiliated CEO, leaving her strapped into the milking machine. “Please,” she pleaded, but they all ignored her. Lesandra slumped to the ground, her boobs still strapped into the Cow Milker 3000. She was utterly disgraced.

“Thank you sir,” the farmers and their wives said to the mail room clerk as they left the building. “My pleasure,” he replied as he shut off the video camera. “You’ll hear from me again.” “We hope so,” they said.

The Hacker walked up to Lesandra and whispered in her ear. She didn’t look up, but moaned and shook her head yes. The Hacker laughed and patted her on the head. “Moo for me,” he said, with glee. “Moooo!” Lesandra said. “One more time, with vigor.” “Oh God,” she whimpered. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!” “Atta girl!” he exclaimed. As he walked out, the Hacker turned the Cow Milker 3000 back on and cranked it up as high as it would go. Lesandra’s back arched and the suction cups pulled greedily at her breasts. “Ohhhhh!” she moaned loudly. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! MOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! OH GODDDD!!!!!” was the last thing the Hacker heard as he left. Lesandra’s mind-blowing orgasm brought incredible relief. But the machine was still running and no one would be back to turn it off until morning. “Wonder if she has another one left in her,” he wondered. I guess I can ask her when I send her the video clip, he mused.