The Volunteer

The Volunteer

They called it a barn but its size and construction was more reminiscent of a warehouse than anything else. The air inside was hot, stuffy and it stunk of cunt and cum. The rhythmic thrumming of a hundred milking machines blended into a constant hum that echoed wherever you went so that you could not hear the Mooing or grunting of any of the stock until you were only a few feet away.

Francis Giddy, 1st shift Manager of GHS Dairy #6 reviewed the numbers on his tablet computer as he paced the lane between milking lines. The other Managers didn't come down here, except to get their rocks off, and then they would usually only go as far as to the first expectant Heffer before going back up to the office.  

Francis knew better.  Unlike the others, he knew the stock.  Every single one was unique and required his personal touch.   Rather than replaceable production units and cum receptacles, he saw his livestock as the living, breathing animals they were.   He even bothered to learn what some of their names used to be.  Not the farm-grown ones of course,  they were never anything but livestock, even if some of them eventually ascended to something higher, but the acquisitions … the acquisitions piqued his interest.  Anytime Francis felt the urge, he would walk past a dozen farm-borns to find an acquisition, ideally in her first trimester, to release his cum into. Not Pregnants were off-limits to everyone but the breeding Bulls.  Men who were genetically selected to father the future generations of slave girls.    

He felt the urge now in fact, his cock straining against his briefs, but he had work to do first.  He carried the clipboard down the line to where Hucow #6-36 was chained.  #6-36 was a farm-born, on her first breeding.  Francis noted that her belly was even bigger today than yesterday.   Her hands and feet were still intact, telling him that she had decent obedience and submission scores. All in all, in the six months since being converted, #6-36 had been a model hucow, except for one lingering issue.  Francis waved a farm hand over.   “This one is still 30% behind its milk production quota!  Increase prolactin injections and leave it on the machine an extra hour each day.”  

The farm hand nodded and knelt down behind the hucow who looked up at Francis in desperation.  

“Muuuuhhh Muhh?.”  She said to him.   

Francis stroked its hair.  “Shhh.   Cows can’t talk.  We took your tongue to help you remember that.  I know it’s not your fault, but we need to meet our numbers.   You should be giving birth in a couple of weeks.  Between that and the prolactin boosters, I’m sure you’ll be caught up enough to go outside with the herd again inside a month.”  

He patted the hucow on the head. 

“Muhh Mooo” #6-36 said.  

“You're welcome” Francis replied, then he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.  “Good cow.” he said.  

The hucow smiled for a moment and then grunted.  She started rocking forward.  Francis looked up to see that the Farmhand had apparently finished adjusting the levels and was now fucking the hucow from behind.  Francis nodded and moved on.  

He turned the corner and came back up the second row.   He waved as he passed Bruce who was pulling his dripping cock out of #6-89 “Karen” a former officer of the resistance.  “Afternoon Bruce!  Tough day at the office?” He joked.  

Bruce chuckled as he jammed the Double penetrating anal/vaginal tail plug into Karen, sealing in his cum deposit, and then turned its vibration to high causing Karen to let out a Moo.  

“I Tell ya Frankie,” Bruce said “Being a bull is a tough life!  I’m supposed to fuck three more today and I already feel spent!”   

Francis glanced down at the inventory numbers, he noticed that Bruce had never been to pharma.  “Rick’s got blue pills. Don’t push yourself.  Every Bull needs em once in a while!”  

“Nah!” Bruce replied stroking his still-wet but softening cock. “Just needs a nap.  It’ll be up for the next one in no time!”  

Francis looked down at #6-89.  She was staring right past him at #6-90 a young hucow still on her first pregnancy. #6-90 was looking straight down and there was a wet spot where her tears had landed in the dirt.  He looked back at his tablet. #6-89 had birthed 20 girls into the slave academies since capture and conversion 18 and a half years ago.  Of course.   

He tapped the screen to confirm his suspicion.  He leaned down to eye-level with the Hucow.  “Yes.  That one is your daughter.” He whispered  “The first of your whelps to reach enslavement age. According to our records, growing up, they called her Pamela and she wanted to be a pleasure slave at a beachside resort but her cunt wasn’t wet enough for our testers.  Bad genes I guess. Now she is like her mother.  Livestock.  Wonder if any of your brood will ever make it out of the barn.”  

#6-89’s eyes flashed and locked on Francis.  “Mooooo!!!!!MAAAHHHHH!!!! MOOOOOO!!!!!”  

Francis patted the hucow on her head.   “There’s Karen the rebel I remember!”  He looked over her back at Bruce who was making an entry in his log.  “Bruce, tell the boys in custodial that I’ll give them a half day on Friday if they run a train on #6-90 while Karen here watches.”

Bruce nodded “Will do Boss!”  he turned and went up the stairs to the catwalk.  

Francis left Karen impotently Mooing at his back.  Karen’s rebel cell had set a bomb that killed dozens of men, including one of Francis’ school-mates 21 years ago.  Nothing was too cruel for her.

At the end of the row, he turned up the next line.  Halfway down there was an empty milking stand.  He stopped and looked at his tablet again.  

#6-121 “Paula” had been with the dairy since the beginning.  An outspoken resistor and organizer when the new order took over she had been collected immediately after women’s rights had been abolished.  Her resistance to the primitive behavioral adjustment techniques of the time cost her hands and her feet making her the first of the hooved conversions and the inspiration for the Orange-Tags that would come later.  Last night, after Francis’ shift, #6-121 had died during her 25th labor.  Such a shame. Only 2 or 3 more pregnancies and she would have been old enough for “Pasture” where she could spend her infertile final years crawling in the soft grass outside with the lucky few that last that long.  

He pressed a button releasing the #6-121 designation.   A ‘wait” wheel spun for a moment and then the screen updated.  

#6-121 “Andrea” The picture was of an angry-looking blond girl, standing naked and chained to a wall with an orange tag on her collar. Francis read over the file and smirked.   This would be delicious.  He looked at who was Bull on duty for 120-140 today and then opened a chat window.  

<Francis>: Harry, come meet me at 121, new arrival.  Blue-Pill if you need to.  

<Harry>: OMW

Francis heard the break-room door open above him and boots on the catwalk to the stairs.  Moments later, Harry was standing beside him.  

“Wha-happened to Paula?” He asked in his thick cockney accent.  Harry had immigrated only 2 years earlier.  

“Died in childbirth,” Francis said. 

“Oy!  Dusty ‘ol cunt!  Not surprised! What about er whelp? Fancy I fathered that one.”  He grinned wide.  Bulls earned a “breeding bonus” for every paternity test that identifies them.

“We’ll see when the tests come back,”  Francis said non-committaly.   Non-Pregnant Hucows were bred once a shift, 3 times a day by three different Bulls who worked the floor of 180 hucows on rotating 20 stand assignments. 5 on 4 off.  As a result, there were 54 possible fathers for every Hucow baby. 

“So, what do you want?” Harry asked.  

“New arrival.   Orange tag volunteer.” Francis said with a grin and waited while Harry worked out what he said.  

“Ew the ell volunteers for orange tag treatment.  This cunt’s gotta be a right twisted masochist!”  He exclaimed 

Francis chuckled as he shook his head.  “Worse!  She’s a fucking idiot!”  

“Wha say you?” Harry scrunched his brow. 

“You know we have these adverts all over Old-world western media telling cunts they would be better off giving up Western values coming here and serving a master?”  Francis said.  

Harry nodded “Right,  Cock-blockin media companies keep censoring us” 

Francis continued. “Well, the message still gets through.  Gets through to this girl Andrea apparently and she hopped a plane into town.  See the problem?” 

“She just hopped a plane?  Didn’t reach out to an intake or nuttin?”  Harry looked up.  “What a stupid cunt!” 

Francis held up the tablet for Harry to see. “Plane lands, she has no male escort and no freedom pass.  Immediately she is state property.  They collar her at the gate and drag her off.  The whole time she is screaming that she is a volunteer and should be able to choose her owners.”  

“What the fuck?” Harry exclaimed.  

“That's what they said at the sort,” Francis said. “She was resistant to intake, and she actually tried to avoid her Oral/Vaginal pleasure assessment”  

“A volunteer?” Harry repeated

“Didn’t read the fine print” Francis said. “Despite all this, as an old-world import volunteer, she still had enough bonus points to rate as a pet girl after her tantrum.  But that wasn’t good enough for her.” 

“Aww No!” Harry was grinning. 

Francis nodded “She took a swing at Ricardo in assignments.” 

“Bloody ell!”  

“Yep.  You know Ricardo” Francis said.  “Hucow Orange tag.  Full conversion  and she should be here…..” 

The double doors behind the milking stands swung open.   Blinding light from outside obscured the shapes till Francis eyes adjusted to make out 2 erect silhouettes dragging a 3rd smaller one between them.    

“MAAAAAAAA!   MOOOOOAAAAAHH!   MAAAAAAAUUUUOOO!!”  Echoed off the walls as Andrea, now Hucow #6-121 was dragged into the dairy.  Her back hooves made gouges in the dirt as she kicked them uselessly.  Her front hooves bopped comically as she tried to flail her arms.  

“Blimey, she seems pissed!”  Harry laughed

Francis watched with satisfaction as her metal collar was clipped to the bar between her wrists so that she could see the hooves that now replaced her hands.  She waved them around as her eyes flashed back and forth between them.  Once latched into position,  the farm hands turned on the suction and affixed the cups to her nipples.  They immediately began their rhythmic and so-far unproductive pumping.  

“Moooooaaaahhh!” #6-121 pleaded.  “Mooooooo!”  

“You will get used to it Andrea.”  Francis pulled his lips into a gentle smile. “My name is Master Francis, and I am one of the managers of our dairy.  I say our dairy because, as one of my cows, this dairy belongs to you as much as you belong to the dairy.”  

“Mooo Maaahh Moo Maah” Andrea demanded.  

“You are mistaken.” Francis stroked Andrea’s bald scalp.  New intakes always had their heads shaved.  His fingers ran across the barcode tattoo on the back of her neck.  His hand came around and he looped his finger through the thick ring through her nose piercing pulling her face up to look in his eyes. “You are a cow now.  Livestock like every other Hucow in this dairy!  You now exist for milking and breeding!  Between the hormones and the 12 hours of pumping every day,  your tits will be making milk soon enough. As to the breeding!  Harry here will get you started just as soon as….” He nodded to the Farm hand behind Andrea.  

She let out a loud shrill “MOOOOAAAAAAAHHHHH!!”  As the brand seared her rump with the “GHS #6” Logo.   She was whimpering and then screamed again as the separate “121” was burned in below it.  

“GHS Hucow number six dash one two one is what you are now,”  Francis whispered in her ear. “Not Andrea, not a woman, not a person, not even a slave.  You are livestock.  You are my cow, and that is all you ever can be.”  He grabbed her right hoof, twisted it to release the catch, and pulled it off revealing the fingerless stump that remained. 

“MMMMOOOOOOAAAAHHHHH” #6-121 cried out.  

“Did you think that was a glove?”  He snapped the hoof back into place.  “No hands, no feet, no tongue, no humanity.   Is this what you imagined when you got on that plane?”  He stepped back and gestured to Harry who walked behind her and pulled down his pants.  “Welcome to the rest of your life,” Francis said.  

Harry thrust his cock into her and her tear-filled eyes rolled back while she sighed.   “Muuuaaaahhh”  

“Oy Frankie!  She’s as wet as yer mum! Think she likes it!”  Harry cried out.  

“Maybe she does,” Francis said as he turned to go back the way he came.  The urge was almost unbearable now,  he was as hard as a rock and needed release after that.   He cut between rows and got across just in front of about eight janitors.  They all queued up behind Francis as he took position between #6-90.  He made sure #6-89 was looking at him.  He blew her a kiss and thrust into her daughter’s cunt.  

“Seems wet enough for me!”

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