Gemma Becomes a Hucow Ch. 02 – BDSM


CHAPTER TWO – PROCESSING

The doors opened automatically, and Gemma moved forwards as if in a trance. She had not been quite sure what to expect, but now she could see there were more attendants waiting ahead of her in a small room, which had a long corridor leading away from the rear side. The previous girl was disappearing down the corridor, walking steadily behind her chain. Just when Gemma reached where the attendants were standing, the chain stopped, or rather the gantry paused and the chain tightened until the collar was starting to choke her, and she had to withstand raising up onto her toes. A strange wondered passed through her mind; somewhere back through those doors, the next chain was already presented in position for another girl who was entering the system.

She looked wide-eyed down her upturned face at the group of lab-suited attendants who would begin her processing. Her breathing was heavy, laboured. The oldest woman, kindly but professional, moved forwards with a hypodermic.

“Gemma — 73-398P is your number, now but NRS employees will refer to you as 398 from here on – this is just a mild sedative to help you. It’s all going to be quite overwhelming, and even some of the older women get, well, a bit hysterical. I know you are young and it’s all quite a thrill, but try and stay calm and enjoy what’s happening. We don’t want you to overdose on the thrill. After all, you’ve enrolled voluntarily and I can see your body has responded very — expressively — to your circumstances, so I’m expecting it will not be an unpleasant process for you. But this injection will help you enjoy the extra processing we do for cows that have made your choice of duration.”

As she struggled to absorb the meaning of what the woman had said, Gemma felt the prick and the feel of the needle entering her well-developed buttock, and then a warm glow started spreading through her body.

My choice of duration? That could only mean that permanent milkers were processed differently to what she had seen in the advertisements and online! And she had only chosen the last option because her family received a much larger payment from the National Resource Department.

Although the form had given applicants the choice of five or ten years, Gemma had chosen the final option ‘when milking ceases’, thinking it was more flexible as well as better rewarded. And now she was worriedly wondering just what that meant. None of the information site or advertisements had covered this.

Another attendant moved to her side carrying an aerosol with a long flexible tube extending from its top. “Open wide, 398. This is a temporary de-voicer until we can get you properly set up.”

The tube slid down the back of her tongue, the spray was cold, and then a dizzy Gemma felt her throat going numb. Even her tongue was going numbish. Already everything was very intense. Scary things were being done to her, very rapidly, and she was feeling very strange from the injection.

The next item on the processing list was more mundane – a blood sample. Gemma stood motionless and glancing nervously around her while the catheter drained a vial of her blood from her arm, a small plaster applied afterwards to the needle point.

Her clothes were being methodically cut away from her with shears. Gemma had a moment of apprehension, because she had not envisaged that they would be discarded. Even though she had a Plan B, she had assumed they would be labelled and stored and returned to her when her period of milking had finished. Now this seemed far more final.

Once her clothing was cut away from her torso, her heavy breasts swung free of her T-shirt and her soaked panties were dragged unceremoniously and kicked apart. Her vulva and naked mound were coated in aromatic mucus from her arousal, dribbling down her inner thighs. She stood there fully naked, unable to cover herself, yet not particularly bothered by that. She had spent the last few years wandering around the sport shower-rooms with nothing on, so this was nothing new. It was a little embarrassing to be so publicly turned on, but there was little she could do about that, and after she’d walked through those double doors, after she had pressed that fateful remote, none of this was her responsibility.

She had entrusted herself totally to the care of the NRD, and she had already come to terms with that during her years of preparation. Anyway, the processing team were all women, which was comforting. And now she was feeling so floaty like she didn’t care about anything really, vaguely absorbing the scene as if it was happening to someone else. She felt quite removed from everything except the deep sense of sexual need and jangly nerve endings from between her legs, and her tight breasts and aching nipples.

The team leader came in front of her and showed Gemma two bright-red plastic tags, already printed clearly with ‘398’. “This is the last thing we’ll be doing at this station, and this is probably the last time anyone will talk to you, 398. From here you’ll go to the cleansing station, and then you’ll be transported to the production facility where your final processing will be done. Good luck, 398.”

Then, seemingly as if choreographed, two attendants took hold of her earlobes and waited. The team leader nodded and her ears both stung terribly at the same time. Gemma was already floating, so while she struggled and a throaty moan of protest came faintly from her, it was more a letting out of breath, and her struggle was more of a shrug.

Despite her reactions the plastic tags were already being fitted through the punched holes, her ears being wiped with a cream that stung afresh. She shook her head as well as the collar allowed, and the tags tapped against her skin lightly. Her ears still throbbed dully as she stood there, pinned by the chain still restraining her to the spot.

The team leader glanced across at her from where she was typing at a keyboard, noticing her movement. “Nice new ear-rings for you, 398! Enjoy!” Gemma smiled weakly.

Finally the paperwork was done, her new details were entered into the system, and the chain slowly slackened and then moved forward along the gantry. Gemma walked forwards obediently but very wobbly. She felt woozy, she felt unsteady on her legs. Her sex was still needy for some attention, so she hoped she would soon receive a lovely soaping down, with plenty of handling and fingering.

She was led right down the corridor by the steady progress of the gantry, and then she turned a corner to face a completely different space. Here the walls were stainless steel, and so were the floor tiles. In the centre of a larger room than the last there was a drain on the floor and of course multiple hose outlets on one wall. But what took Gemma’s apprehensive gaze was a metal tube frame that hung on a chain from the ceiling in the centre of the room, looking formidable and complicated. Its function seemed to be clear; Gemma was gonna be fixed into it.

Sure enough, as she reached the several overall-clad attendants who were waiting, they took her arms in a firm grip while another uncoupled the chain that had brought her there. The zip-lock tapes were dispensed with, but quickly Gemma’s wrists were encased in shiny metal cuffs and fastened aside from each other at the level of her shoulders, docking into fixtures on the frame. Likewise the collar was removed and another wide metal band was clipped around her neck and quickly her throat was being pressed up against the metal frame, where the band seated into a clasp. Then each of her ankles was encircled and immobilised wide aside, and lastly a flexible Velcro band was strapped around her midriff.

Gemma was now held tightly in a splayed posture, still standing. But then the frame started to move! While it remained in its central position, the points that held her legs and arms were rising, opening her up completely. When Gemma felt she couldn’t do the splits any wider, and was struggling and tossing her head in apprehension, the frame released a little pressure and stopped. Then the whole contraption descended slightly so she was closer to the ground. She felt her nether parts completely open and vulnerable; she felt totally helpless, which was both scary and exhilarating. This was a wild ride!

She glanced around as best she could. It seemed as though one of the attendant group was a visitor, or perhaps a trainee, although the man didn’t look much like a trainee; more like a boss. The leader was explaining the process to him while standing alongside Samantha, talking as if she wasn’t there.

“This cow has chosen what we call the permanent option. Girls can choose 5 or 10 years, but some choose to stay with the department until their milk ceases to flow. Because they will not be re-integrating into society, there are some additional modifications we can make which make their handling and control easier. I like to believe it makes for a more harmonious experience for them as well. We have recently developed a surgical procedure that permanently removes any lingual ability, and one of our scientists realised that the procedure allowed the fitting of basic mount points on the skull. I’m tempted to call them horns, but in fact they are titanium nubs that can be used for clamping, for attaching ropes and restraints. We find that once the head is solidly fixed, they are much less likely to struggle and therefore injure themselves. And, of course, it makes the hucow experience much more intense for the girl.”

While she was talking, an attendant came over with what turned out to be electric shears, and quickly, with long strokes from back to front, took all of Gemma’s gorgeous blonde hair down to a stubble. Again, the suddenness of what was happening pushed through her sedated state and had her heart pounding again and her breath laboured and uneven. When the attendant stepped away, the contraption rose into the air, and others stepped forwards with nozzles that were used to sluice out firstly her pussy and then her back passage with warm water. It was a very strange sensation to be so thoroughly sluiced out with a forceful stream of water. Gemma felt as if every internal crevice had been scoured out by the pulsing flows. The attendants then washed all the debris and hair down into the drain.

Gemma was deliriously aroused now, frustrated by the glancing pulses of warm water on her vulva and clitoris. Both her passageways had been strongly stimulated in the most delightful way while being washed out. Her rosebud was still letting a dribble of water out, running down her inner thighs. But the attendants almost seemed to be avoiding over-stimulating her, so she remained totally frustrated.

While one of them held her hose, the other stored hers and returned holding a soapy sponge and a razor. First she sponged Gemma’s glistening armpits, then shaved them afresh. Next was Gemma’s head, which was shaved clean in long, deliberate strokes, the attendant running her fingers over the surface to check she hadn’t missed anywhere. Then she proceeded to soap the rest of Gemma’s body.

Every stroke, every touch, enthralled her and had her wriggling in pleasure. This was the moment Tracy had been begging for in her mind ever since she stood before that reception desk in the queue of innocent girls, even though the touches were too fleeting to get her off like she desperately needed.

What would be happening to those girls? Would they be having the same experience as Tracy, over-whelmed with arousal at what was being done to them, and with the delicious inevitability of their situation? Or would they have freaked out and had to be further sedated or even knocked out, so they missed out on knowing how good it felt?

As the sponge wiped down her arms and back, Gemma tried to imagine what it would be like the moment a girl realised that she wasn’t gonna be processed as a hucow, but instead was destined for another fate. What an incredible rush that would be! Gemma wondered she would cum straight away if that happened to her, but it would probably be a mental cum, with her body following immediately; one centre of surrender setting off the other in an orgiastic explosion, even as the body struggled helplessly in whatever contraption was immobilising them, as her overwhelmed brain tried to process that her life was almost over, and her exit was gonna be mind-blowing in its deliberate, professional approach but also its cruel inevitability.

Then the sponge was on her chest, the rough yet yielding surface of the sponge and the warm caress of it setting off her taut nipples like that same explosion she had imagined. Her hips bucked and her torso writhed, her breath just hyperinflating gasps. Hardly had she regained her senses, while the sponge tickled her ribs and flanks mercilessly, than it was wiping down around the circumference of her hips. Gemma was steadily humping air by now, impatiently anticipating the first touch of the sponge to her vulva.

But once again her hopes of getting some satisfaction were to be frustrated. The attendant gave the whole area between her thighs just a cursory wipe and continued down her legs, checking they were properly smooth. Then she rose and brought the razor expertly along Gemma’s labia, working again from back to front, and quickly made sure her mound was smooth. It was over all too quickly, and the touches were tantalising, teasing, but so rapid that her poor tissues had no time to react. While poor Gemma continued to pump her thighs in disappointment, the attendant holding the hose moved closer and adjusted the nozzle. Then, using a fine but forceful spray, and working from Tracy’s recently-shorn scalp downwards, she removed all the suds from her skin.

Again, Gemma was tormented and teased by the brief caress of the warm spray over her breasts and her needy pussy, just enough to increase her arousal level another notch but nowhere near enough to get her over the crest of pleasure. Her tissues were so over-sensitised now that they would need really tough stimulation to get her off, she knew, yet her need to get there, to have even the slightest touch, was becoming desperate.

There was no towelling down. The summer day was warm enough, and she could already feel the subtle and exquisite chill between her open lips as her pussy dried. Gemma felt a padded blindfold placed over her eyes. She heard the team leader explain to the other person that blindfolds were used to keep the animals calmer during their journey to their final destination. Then she felt the frame, with her still attached, moving. She realised that the frame must be on another gantry, and she heard herself leave the cleaning station as the overhead motor rumbled forwards, echoing in a smaller space. Then there was the sound of automatic doors opening and suddenly she was out in the open, with all the sounds of trees and birds around her, while a gentle breeze cooled her still-damp skin.

Another exhilarating but scary surprise; Gemma felt herself swung around in an arc, there were some clunks and jerks, and then hands were manipulating her frame to slide noisily along rails until it clicked solidly into place. It sounded as if she was in a truck, facing away from the dock and the rear entry, and she could hear other hoarse sounds and soft moans around her from other girls. They were all packed into the back of a truck, seemingly in a line facing the same way, because the sounds being made by other girls were coming from ahead of her. This was confirmed when the doors closed right behind her head, the vehicle’s motor started and they slowly moved forwards, turned and then moved off in the direction the girls were facing.

Gemma could feel the heat of the girl fastened in front of her, so they were ‘packed in like sardines,’ she imagined. Her pussy was dripping again already, but with her legs so widely splayed, it was slowly dripping from her gaping opening. Gemma’s overwrought nerve endings felt each droplet depart from her gulley, felt it run down the inside of her fleshy labia, and then it was gone. Pinned like a dissection frog, Gemma was unable to do anything about it, not even wriggle to get more comfortable.

Gemma had an incongruous wondered – it felt as if they were girls all going off to summer camp, except this was a very adult, X-rated summer camp, where they would be constantly kept horny and fecund, where they would be mercilessly handled and stimulated in order to augment their output, and increase their likelihood of bearing other hucow calves when they were bred with bulls. There had been only one image of a bull in all the information, and that had been on a more controversial site; the huge cock bowed as it hung from muscular thighs, thighs that looked as if they would pummel her unconscious. Gemma clenched reflexly at the erotic memory and another small gush of juices emerged from her tunnel.

As she hung there, being gently buffeted by the movements of the lorry, enjoying the slight breeze on her face from a vent up front, her breasts swinging heavily with the motion of the truck, Gemma thought where they exactly would be going. She had seen only glimpses of the facilities on the publicity material of the Department, and wasn’t sure whether they were gonna an actual farm, or a more modern processing facility, all white shiny walls and gleaming floors. The images on the publicity sites showed both in different contexts. She was hoping it would be a real farm, because she was looking forwards to paddocks and stables and all the wonderful smells that went with those, especially manure. For some reason she had never understood, Gemma found the odour of manure quite arousing. But she had realised that hucows didn’t actually need a real farm, or even to spend time outside, although it seemed as though getting some sunshine should be part of hucow wellbeing.

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