My guess (second guess, the first one being null-and-void) is that the goat shows up and, well, hilarity ensues.
Wait, wait, I know what happens next! I just saw “Pulp Fiction” again.
[sub]Let’s see, where’s that samurai sword . . . Gotta be round here somewhere, next to the chainsaw . . ."[/sub]
“Hey, wait a min… Umpph” I exclaimed as the hand of Rafe clamped back down on me.
“Get him in the milkhouse, Rafe. There’s no windows , so we can turn on a light and get a look at him. Oh and let me grab the pruning shears first”
“MMMMNNUMMMBMMNNNB!!!” I exclaimed fruitlessly as I was dragged through the dark, a big stinky arm around my throat.
A heavy wooden door slammed, and a light flicked on a bare lightbulb suspended from a wire. I finally got a look at my captors.
Rafe was a huge, blonde, mullet headed individual with a scraggly mustache, and thick undefined muscle that nonetheless hung on him like beef. He wore a pair of sweatpants that were about two sizes too small so his legs were like sausages. He sat me down in a chair and stood directly in front of me, flexing and staring at me from two dark sunken orbs that were too close together beneath a blonde unabrow.
My face was crotch level and maybe about a foot away, and I couldn’t help but notice that either he had just taken a very cold shower (a theory his BO seemed to belie,) or, more likely, not every part of his body was as well-developed as the rest of him.
“I tole ya he was Amish.” He said.
“Let me get a better look at him, why don’t you use the duct tape and tape him to the chair,” replied Sirzee. She was obviously the brains of the pair, and I appealed to her mutely, trying to look bewildered, innocent, and none too bright, an attitude I found easy to adopt.
Sirzee, was a statuesque bleach blonde with huge pendulus breasts ready to break out of a heavy duty underwire bra, which she wore without a shirt. This, and a pair of yellow shorts was her complete outfit.
With one hand clamped to my mouth, Rafe grabbed the duct tape, used his teeth to free an end, fastened it to my shirt and wrapped it several times around me and the milking chair I occupied.
“What are you doing here?” Sirzee asked.
Rafe glared at me in warning to keep it quiet and removed his hand from my mouth. Then, he cuffed me in the head for good measure, knocking my wig askew. “Look, I knocked his hair off,” he said.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt you folks. I’ll gladly move…”
“Interrupt us?” exclaimed Rafe. “How’d you know we were…”
“Hush.” Said Sirzee.
We all hushed.
She looked contemplatively at me, removed a small round mint from a roll in her pocket, put in her mouth and crunched. Then she removed my wig.
“Hamish the Amish has a wig! Isn’t that against your religion?” Asked Rafe.
“Well, uh…”
“Hush.”
We hushed.
“Help me get his pants off, Rafe. Something ain’t right”
“Now wait a minute!” I started.
“One more word out of you, Boy and I’ll tape your mouth shut. You understand?”
“Yessir.”
A moment later, I sat in the chair, naked from the waste down.
“Well, he ain’t Amish,” Sirzee informed nobody in particular.
“Damn, he’s hung pretty well, though.” Replied Rafe, staring at my modest genitalia. “Hey! How can you tell?”
“Look,” replied Sirzee. “He’s circumcised. Amish don’t do that.”
“Oh,” He said, then “How do you know that?”
She just looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“That was before you met me though, right?”
“Yes Rafe.”
“Alright then.”
“Ok, Hamish, listen to me now…” Sirzee began.
“It was just one fella though, right?” Asked Rafe, troubled.
“Yes Rafe, just one.”
“Well how do you know if it was just one? Maybe he converted later or something.”
“Rafe!”
“Ok, Ok. Just one. Got it.”
Sirzee leaned in close enough for me to smell the mint on her breath, and see the trickle of sweat between her freckled milk white orbs. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, and I want you to be truthful with me. I want you to be relaxed and tell me the truth. So, we’re gonna help you relax. Rafe? Roll one of your homegrown’s for Hamish.”
“Allright. This is gonna be fun.” He said.
While Rafe went to work, Sirzee grabbed a tentacle from a stainless steel and black hose looking contraption that hung like a giant mechanical octopus from the wall.
“You hush now, and relax,” she said. She place a hand on my thigh, and with one deft motion seized my manhood and inserted it into the end of the tube before I could even jump with alarm. She patted my thigh. “Good boy.”
“Smoke up buddy!” Rafe stuck the lit cigarette in my mouth. It tasted sweet, and made me cough, but Rafe held it fast so I couldn’t help but inhale the smoke.
“That’s a milking machine you’re wearing, Hamish. If that’s your real name.” Sirzee began. “You listen to me real careful now, cause when I turn this switch, you’re going to heaven. This thing’ll do things to your nice little pecker there you never thought were possible! But, and this is the kicker, if I leave it on to long, it’ll just keep on sucking till it rips it off! Whick now that I think of it would actually be a shame, you’re kinda…”
“Sirzee” chided Rafe with all the indignance he could muster.
I felt dizzy and lightheaded. I tried to object but Rafe just cuffed me again.
“Sorry, Rafe. We’re gonna want some answers Hamish, and to show you mean business, let’s just give you a little taste of what you’re in for. That way we know you’ll tell us the truth.”
“Whoo-hoo!” Rafe exclaimed, as Sirzee threw the switch.
Well… this would be much more erotic if the machine had a latex vagina on the end or somthing… as it is now I just have pictures of Scyllas schlongdong in a milking machine. GOD DAMN, where’s those sheep!!! I’m losing my erection here Scylla!! 
munches his popcorn and drinks his $40 coke
Not exactly what I had in mind for marketing
a product tie-in, but what the hey, it’ll do…
“Got milk?”
What’s Electrolux doing these days?
Dagnabit, I need closure! Not some feeble milkus ex machina!!
Scylla may be VERY interested in obtaining those negatives.
Dies from suspense
where’d all the ewes go?! cmon, scylla… brushes off last of the feathers lets stick to the original theme, eh?
tosses the corpse of MIKE_P out the window and sits in now unoccupied space
cmon, cmon, cmon…
<i>mmmmmm Ewes pant . . . pant . . . .<i>
Get back to the sheep man you don’t know what you’re missing 
“Oh goody,” I think. “This thread’s jumped back up near the top of MPSIMS - there must be a new instalment.”
Nope. Talk about disappointment. I’m so disappointed I can’t even come up with any sheep puns.
Scylla, you’re killing me here. Where’s the next bit? Baaastard.
[sub]Okay, one sheep pun.[/sub]
[Bad Cockney Accent]
Cor, blimey! This ain’t aff gettin’ odd, innit?
[/Bad Cockney Accent]
Mrs. Scylla: “What do you want for breakfast, dear?”
Mr. Scylla: “Mutton, honey.”
[sub]Just heard this on the TV, thought it was appropriate.[/sub]
While waiting for the next installment, I thought some of ewe might enjoy passing the time by checking out this interesting site.
(Warning: Contains provocative mutton photography)
come on already, it’s been a whole friggin day! how much longer do i have to sit in this cough cough[sub]hard, uncomfortable, gummy, sticky, muddy, vinyl[/sub]cough cough seat? c’mon, did they really turn the machine on? and what happened to the sheep?! gets down on knees oh pretty pretty pretty please with a cherry on top, TELL US THE REST OF THE FRIGGIN STORY!!!
you have got to be kidding…
This story better be finished by Passover (stupid Jewish tie in, that you have to think REALLY hard about, quite a stretch but it was the best I could do.)
Appy Polly Logies. I’ve been holidaying in Hell for the last few days and haven’t been able to write.
Of course, that’s “Hell” as in “Away from the Sheep Shed”.