Naked Cow Dairy Ch. 01

CHAPTER 1: JOINING THE HERD

The basics of the advertisement were simple and straightforward:

NAKED COW DAIRY

• The regions largest and most trusted source of milk and dairy.

• Open for tours and informational sessions.

• Join the herd.

• Several contractual options available.

• Meals, housing, medical, and benefits tied to production.

Sure, there was their logo and contact information, too. I was intrigued. No, the truth was, of course, I was desperate, just like everyone else. Females outnumber males by a large percentage. Nobody seemed to understand what was causing that but it probably had something to do with the reason why all the grass fields that remained caused all the bovines to die out years ago. Ever since the bombs, those who survived, evolved, and advanced in a newly created society and were forced to adapt to all the changes that followed. Life was messed up. The society that evolved pushed to adapt or be left to suffer. We had been the so-called 'bread basket' of the country providing grains and dairy to the nation. All that ended and it took scientists decades to develop new resistant grain crops but even those efforts came too late for the few cows that had survived.

In some ways, life took on the appearance of old times captured in ancient books. There was limited transportation, communication, manufacturing, and innovation. The people lived basically without anything so society could devote their effort to serving 'the greater good'. Good jobs were scarce and mostly filled by males. Females were given jobs in nursing, care-giving, and motherhood. Everything was a struggle. Fertility was down in both males and females. We were told that the large cities had been wiped out and with them much of the technology and skilled labor for manufacturing.

Naked Cow Dairy was one of numerous across the country that adapted milk and dairy production with the use of female humans. It was another way for females to serve society: become a cow for milk production.

The decrepit bus left the edge of town into the country-side. With me on the bus were another dozen people, mostly females but also a couple men. It was a part of life that a woman might sign-up for 6-months or a year at a farm to earn some desperately needed income while the husband remained behind and worked a job. It was believed to be possible to 'get ahead' if you had the income for a few luxuries or additional training. I watched the people on the bus and wondered if they were discretely watching me, too. The women all seemed beat-down and resigned. Not surprisingly since they were considering relinquishing some of their life to becoming a cow so others could enjoy milk and dairy in their diet. The men somehow seemed worse: they were going for that occasional time away from their jobs to visit their spouse who might be attached to a milker at that very instant.

I have lived in a dormitory for minors since a very young age. My father worked manual labor outside and my mother cooked and cleaned at one of the other dormitories. There was no time to care for children. The dormitories provided a mere basic form of education to all children while a few others were deemed worthy of potential and separated for more attention. Mostly boys, however. When I reached the age of maturity for the new society, I was moved to a women's dormitory and given a limited time to decide on a job.

The bus pulled off the main road into what every school book depicted as a farm except that this one had no cows or livestock grazing in the fields along the dirt road toward the building ahead. This was Naked Cow Dairy or what a dairy farm had become. In fact, the fields along the roadside showed no evidence of any diary farming. All the field were grain. In the distance, we saw large clustering of buildings and the men on the bus became more intent. That must be the diary farm.

Exiting the bus, the men went one way while the women were led another. There were maybe a dozen of us and we were led by a woman to a smaller building with a 'welcome' sign over the large doors.

We were led down a hallway to a large room with chairs, each given a clipboard with forms attached. The forms recorded all the necessary information about us for a contract to be signed and included name, health records, age, marital status, sexual experience, breast size, if we had been pregnant, etc.

The forms were collected and another woman entered the room and stood at the front looking at the women in front of her. A few of the women were young like me but more were older. I couldn't tell if the woman was making a judgment of who among us would be better suited or if it even mattered. She began the presentation of information about the facility, the dairy farm, and the process. She emphasized that a special diet would be provided that would aid in the production of milk. Injections would be given to initiate the production of milk and further injections could be provided, if requested, to provide additional stimulation of milk production.

A woman in the row ahead of me asked, "What happens to the breast in this process?"

"Well," the woman addressing us began, "since the production of milk is the goal, the more milk you produce the larger your breasts will become."

"I mean," the woman ahead of me persisted, "how big? I'm not so sure my husband would want me with huge breasts."

"It's going to happen. If all you do is stimulate enough production to milk and not go with the enhanced options for greater production ..." she paused, "breast size could increase from say a C-cup to a E-cup. Remember, you are compensated by your milk production. The more you want to earn, the more milk needs to be produced, and, by extension, the larger your breasts become."

"Will our breasts reduce back to size after?"

The woman laughed but her frustration might have begun showing. "No. If you aren't producing much milk, maybe. If you grow to an E-cup, though ... no, their dry up and sag."

The woman in front of me got up and left. Apparently, she was with a friend because a second woman left with her. I watched but with bemusement. I wondered what they expected. They were considering becoming cows, what did they expect would happen and hadn't they seen other women in town?

There was more information, more questions. Then, we were given a brief tour of the facility. We were in the administration office building. A large multi-story building to the left was the 'cow quarters' which housed the couple hundred cows. It was another dormitory with contained dining area, lounge and socializing areas, library, recreation area, and fitness area.

In the middle was a large milking building with milking stalls that comfortably supported the cow/woman while being milked. Workers scurried around preparing and attaching machines, monitoring, detaching after completed, and cleaning for the next cow to take position. We could just make out a separate area of the building at the far side where other men were walking around the stalls and they were naked. That area wasn't explained.

Another, much smaller building was on the other side of the milking building but it wasn't described.

Beyond the buildings was a pleasant outdoor area of grass, trees, shrubs, benches, and pathways. A sparkling lake with visible sandy beaches and a trail surrounding it with more trees and benches.

It was actually a much more beautiful site than I expected for a farm.

After all that, it was time for the decision of signing contracts and the level of contract. We waited in a room and were brought into a room with an administrator for final contract discussion and signing. There were a number of women ahead of me and a few after me in line. As the line ahead of me dwindled, I was considering why I was there and what my expectations were and what I expected from my life. I didn't have a family to go back to. They couldn't afford to assist me as being here had proven. I had tried to find a job after reaching maturity but I had no skills and the unskilled work, cleaning, cooking, child-care, etc., were currently all taken. Unlike many of the women, I didn't have a husband waiting for my return with a bit of increase in money from a short-term contract. However, it seemed that maximizing the potential could open some opportunities for the future. Suddenly, it was my turn.

"Sarah Samuals?" the woman behind the desk asked. Verification most probably since she was reading from a form. I nodded. "You are young but you are of legal age. Can I ask why you are considering working here as a cow?" I went through everything about myself and family. The woman simply listened and nodded. Despite my age, it was probably a common story she heard often. "Okay," she resumed her talk, "understand that once you join the herd your name won't be used. You will be assigned a coded identifier which will be attached to your collar. You will be naked at all times whether in the cow quarters, the milking barn, or in the pasture. It isn't that we're trying to dehumanize you ..." she paused and looked at the door. "Actually, it is for us. We don't need to have you feel dehumanized but it is easier, I think, for everyone else working here not to think of you less as a woman and something else ... yeah, a cow. I mean, we're milking you, right?" She was clearly uncomfortable. Did this happen with every applicant or just because I was young and pretty? "So, what are you thinking? Six months?"

I shook my head. "No, a full year," I blurted out.

She looked at me surprised. "Really? Are you sure? I mean, great, but very few women ever walk in here and take on a full 12 months right off the bat." She stared at me. "The money?"

I shrugged. "Partially, sure. But I think I need a goal, a purpose. I think I need something to set my sights on and work toward. Yes, the money, too. I just think I can come out of this having grown and some money to maybe have it make a difference."

"Okay," she responded while looking down at my form, "you don't sound like someone who only had the basic education and parents that couldn't take care of you."

I shrugged, again. "Boys get those breaks." She nodded.

She slid a form across her desk to me. It contained options for the contract with a box for checking and a line for initials and a signature line at the bottom.

"I ... I didn't realize there were so many options," I stammered as I read through the list. I looked up. "These options all deal with various stimulation for milk production?" She nodded. "And it is how much milk we produce that reflects our earnings?" She nodded, again. I looked down at the options, "I think I have more questions."

She smiled almost as if she was beginning to read me. "How many others were after you?" Three, I said. "Please wait out there and I'll deal with them quickly, I am sure."

I got up for the door but stopped and turned. "The others ... what do they normally say?"

She smiled, "It isn't just normally, dear, it is almost always. They choose six months and the basic options. There as some who come back and maybe sign-up for more options because they need the money."

I nodded. "High turn over, huh?" She laughed. I was speaking her language: it's business.

When it was my turn, again, we began the discussion of options all over. The basic was initial injections to begin the milk production process and a special dietary plan to support milk production. Another was an enhanced dietary plan to further support milk production which often could cause some weight gain. Another was additional injections given periodically. As we worked through my questions down the options, the one that had me wondering the most, though, was, 'Bull stimulation during milking'.

"Bull?" I asked. "I understand you refer to the women as cows, but ... bulls?"

"Did you look at the far side of the milking building?" she asked.

I nodded and remembered. "It was darker and harder to see but ... yeah, I think I saw some naked men walking around."

"Bulls," she replied. "I can't tell you how or why it happens. Our struggling society can't put scientists to study something like this ... but a bull stimulating the vagina while milking seems to open the flow of milk more and even stimulate more production. It can increase the volume at the moment."

"You mean ... you mean he fucks her... while she is being milked ..." I uttered in coming to grips with it.

"It's another option." She watched me as I gazed out the window toward the pasture area. "It's only an option. Not many cows take it. Most are married and the rest just want to get through their contract. But," she emphasized, "it is proven to add to production. Not many choose it, as I said. We don't have a lot of bulls as a result. Maybe a dozen compared to the hundreds of cows."

"I ... ahh ... I've never ..." I stammered.

"You're a virgin, dear?" she finished for me.

I nodded. "Perhaps that should be left. You can always add it later. Get used to the process, first." I nodded, again.

Damn, I thought, I could be turned into a milking cow but also be fucked randomly by bulls while being milked? What would that be like? What will any of this be like?

* * * *

I had left off that last option. I didn't think I was ready for bulls, yet. But it was clearly not going to leave my mind, either.

I had been stripped, registered into the herd with a number (8MN345) which was tattooed on my lower back just above my ass. My collar included it and the medallions indicating my contract options which would identify my dietary needs and medical care. The injections went right into the breasts and the next day I could already feel changes in them. The morning of the third day after the injections I was set into a stall for the first time and I was relieved. My breasts felt full and hard. I didn't think the size was much different but there also were no mirrors in the cow quarters, either.

There was a lot to adjust to those first days. I wouldn't have produced enough milk for several days but the rest of life required getting used to, also. Society had little time for individual pleasure or relaxed time. Most people lived in large dormitory buildings and wore institutional-style clothing which was shapeless. Even in dormitory life nudity was discouraged even among the same sex. Now, I found life at the farm to be only nude. All cows were naked and all the time. We had no clothes. We slept, ate, socialized, were milked, and wandered the pasture outside naked.

I found myself fascinated by the variety of breasts, pubic areas, and hair. New cows like me still had firmer breasts while those who had been milked for several contracts had breasts hanging full of milk. Some had their head hair cut short while others had a long mane of hair which was the way I already knew I would grow mine since I always like long hair. Many had pubes covered in thick hair covering and I was inwardly pleased that mine was naturally sparse and barely noticed due to my blonde coloring. But, after several days, I moved around the cow quarters and outside with little thought of my nudity.

I had followed the other cows into the milking building that first time. We were just a long line of naked women entering the door and following directions from a worker pointing to rows of milking stations. The workers were all men and leered at our nakedness but I was told they would be immediately fired if they violated anyone. As it turned out, I was the third to be sent down a new row as the previous one was filled. I was near the end next to the darker area where the bulls would be and the separation was merely light grating about head high. I couldn't really see into the area very well. Mostly, though, my eyes caught on the stalls and soon I was where I would be milked for the first time.

The stalls were equipped with padded benches for reasonable comfort. The knees supports were padded and the bench support was wide at the hips and narrowed through the chest so the breasts hung on either side. There was a padded opening for the head support. Once settled, it was comfortable but I was filled with nervous anticipation about the rest of the process.

I waited anxiously in place but noted movement in the row of stalls before me and next to me. Soon, there was a man kneeling at my side. With my head in the support hole, I tried watching what he did. He squeezed something into his hands and began massaging my breasts and nipples. I was surprised when a soft moan escaped me.

"You're new?" he suggested with a chuckle. I confirmed I was. It seemed odd to have a conversation but he seemed so comfortable about it. "It's okay, you know. They might think of you as a cow but you don't have to think of yourself that way. You are doing a service, you know. My wife is here. We look at this as providing a service to our society. If it feels good, relax and enjoy it."

"Thank you," I replied. "I appreciate that." He patted me on the butt. For some reason that touch didn't feel intrusive.

He then pulled tubing and suction attachments from a chamber underneath me, fitted them over my greased nipples, and started the process. Then, he was gone onto the next stall behind me as he worked his way through the his assigned section. It then occurred to me that the meeting was totally random.

I moaned, again, as the suction pulled at my nipples. I tilted my head to see the effect of my nipples being distended into the longer cylinder with each pumping action. It was actually quite erotic ... or at least what I was just now associating to being erotic. The action at my nipples was sending a rippling sensation through my body to my pussy. A virgin, I reminded myself. I never had a reason to wonder or imagine what these feelings might be like.

I moaned repeatedly. I ventured a look to the side as much as I could at the woman in the next stall. She was quiet, her larger breasts hanging below her and the white substance of her milk being pulled through the tubing. She was very quiet and unresponsive. I looked down at my nipples, again. I watched them pulled by the pump, distending and relaxing quickly back and forth. Then ... it happened ... milking pulsed out and into the tube. It wasn't as much as the woman next to me but it was my first time. I smiled. I could do this. And, I told myself, I could enjoy it.

When I was being detached from the suction, it was the same man. He gently massaged my breasts and nipples after releasing the suction. "You seem to have enjoyed your first time," he carefully offered.

"What ... why ...?" I stammered.

"Your thighs," he offered. "The insides of your thighs are shiny. Did you orgasm?"

"I ... I think so," I continued to stammer. "I really wasn't sure ... it's all new to me."

He chuckled. He patted my butt, again. "You are young and inexperienced, right?" I nodded shyly. "Most of these women are allowing themselves to become cows and refuse to accept the sensations and pleasures they could feel. Don't be ashamed to feel what you feel."

"Does you wife?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. We enjoyed each other a lot before we came here to earn enough money to start over. We look forward to the time we are together, again. In the meantime, though, I don't begrudge her the pleasure she can gain from this."

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything you've told me."

He rubbed my butt and patted it. "After your milking, massage your breasts and nipples like I did. It will help to relieve any soreness." I thanked him, again, as he moved onto the next stall.

* * * *

I was out in the pasture walking the trail around the lake. I was determined to minimize the dietary supplements effect of weight gain by exercising outside and in the fitness room. I came upon a middle-aged woman bent over smelling a flower next to the trail. She was quite overweight, her butt was wide, her legs and waist thick. Her breasts were large and hanging below her and gently swayed as she made small movements in smelling flowers.

She stood as I came alongside her. Her heavy breasts bounced on her chest. She saw me looking and chuckled. "Your breasts are still nice. I think I now have udders." She laughed. "You're the new, young girl." I nodded as we began walking. She reached over and squeezed my breast and a drop of milk formed on the nipple. Not much privacy exists on the farm. "You are doing well, I see." She looked at me intently. "I hear you signed up for most of the options and I see they are being effective. Interested in the money, huh?"

"Isn't that why we are here?" I asked as an obvious statement/question.

She was quiet for a moment. "It was. For many of us it was." She became quiet, again. I wanted to push what she meant but wisely, as it turned out, I just waited. "We come here with dreams of earning money and a new life ..." she pointed out to nowhere in particular, "... a new life out there. We leave but come back after dashed hopes. After a few times of that ..." she sighed "... we settle into be cows." She raised her head and gave a weak smile. "Don't get me wrong, dear. It's not necessarily a bad life. We have a place, food, and purpose. Really, it's more than I ever found out there."

I thought I would change the subject, "During orientation they said the cows have this pasture during certain times. I also heard about bulls but I haven't seen any out here."

She put her hand on my shoulder and grew serious. "Because they aren't allowed and for good reason." I looked at her curious. "You know about the other side of the milking building?" I nodded. "The bulls ... well some of them are just men but others are motivated by compensation, too. Their compensation is based on their performance in stimulating the cows they service." She must have recognized something about my collar symbols. "You're getting enhanced diet and injections to increase your milk. Some of them go the same route. They can get enhanced diet to increase their cum volume and the injections to increase their cock size and recovery rate. It also makes them very horny."

I looked at her questioningly. "What do you mean?" Naive little girl in a whole new world.

She looked around and spotted a woman coming to the edge of the lake. "Before you think too much about the bulls, talk to her. She's part of a small group of cows that are milked in that part of the building."

I turned to watch the other woman. She was quite large, middle-aged or more, and her large breast bounced and swayed with each step as they hung on her body. When I turned back, the woman I was talking to had walked away. I turned back to the woman entering the water as she gently lay back. She floated easily.