Livestock Dairy Farm (1)
"A new milk cow's arrived. Take her to the Kaede Ranch."
Kaede, seated at her station, jammed her cap down over her head and twisted her face into a scowl.
This was a state-run livestock dairy farm, ostensibly created to supply stable-priced dairy products amid skyrocketing inflation. But to Kaede, it was just a dumping ground for horny bitches who voluntarily signed up to become human livestock.
The fresh milk cow standing right in front of her looked no different.
A livestock beast with a face screaming to have those watermelon-sized udders squeezed dry right then and there. And what the hell—why wear clothes that made her nipples poke out like that unless her tits were overflowing with milk already? Kaede despised these creatures.
If it weren't for the fat paycheck this job offered, she'd have quit ages ago. Naturally, even while handing them over, her resentment boiled over. She'd yank the leash hard enough to choke them, but the livestock always beamed with blissed-out happiness.
How fucking horny do you have to be to look that deranged?
From her baseline of common sense, these livestock were utterly incomprehensible. Hard to believe they were women—people—like her.
As always, Kaede shoved the livestock into the pasture and trudged back to her seat. Paperwork handover should've involved a mountain of forms, but since the whole thing pissed her off, for weeks now she'd just scribbled a name, stamped her seal, and bounced. She couldn't even recall if she'd glanced at the final docs before stamping.
All she cared about was raking in the cash, quitting fast.
Maybe grind out six more months, then globe-trot?
Staring at the drab ranch always sparked travel fantasies in her head.
To boost milk production, the pastures hosted constant fucking. Mostly the guys' domain. Women like her just cleaned up the mess afterward. Scenes that piled on the grievances, inevitably.
And if the milk didn't flow, they'd park the cow in the stimulation control room all day. The real issues? Shitty soundproofing, and she had to monitor the monitors. The job demanded witnessing some brutal shit, stress stacking endlessly.
Kaede's solution? Total detachment. As long as no major fuckups, slack off and slide by. That was her way.
Until the day that flipped her life inside out.
Just another lazy monitoring shift, irritation maxed, when the boss approached.
"Kaede?"
"Yes?"
She shot him a puzzled look—the boss never sought her out unless it was rare. Plus, his face was off. Like he was glaring daggers.
"This document—you're absolutely sure you signed and stamped it?"
He thrust out the papers clutched in one hand. Kaede glanced over. No clue what it said, but yeah, her seal was at the bottom.
"Yes, that's mine."
She nodded carelessly. Her seal meant her work, right? She'd never bothered reading anyway—why would she know now?
But the instant she answered, the boss nodded around the room.
"Take her away."
Before she could process the nonsense, burly men closed in, grabbing her arms.
"...W-what the hell?!"
Too bad—she barely got the words out before a chloroform-soaked rag jammed her nose. Lights out.
In her final haze, she caught the bold print atop the boss's papers.
"...Livestock application?"
No chance to speak. Blackout.
When Kaede came to, the sight of herself horrified her. Naked, legs splayed wide, restrained. Iron cuffs locked her wrists and ankles—no closing up, no mercy. Every shameful inch exposed.
She knew this setup all too well. The initial body scan for confirmed livestock.
She'd never forget her early farm days, watching these inspections.
A man in a crisp white coat stepped forward. A face she recognized.
"Examiner! This is a mistake! I-I'm not livestock!"
Her desperate plea got zero reaction. Instead, he coolly fired up the tattoo gun in his hand and started etching numbers into her ass cheek.
"Aaagh!"
Fresh skin ripping, ink burrowing—her scream sliced the air.
"...What the fuck are you doing? Wrong livestock processing... Ugh! It hurts!"
"Shut it. Resist, and it's the stimulation room for you. Milk Cow 218."
"...Milk cow? What the hell? Get the boss on the line! Something's fucked up here!"
But with "218" fully branded on her ass, the examiner whipped out a measuring tape and probed every inch.
As he reached for her breast size, she shrieked.
"Kyaa! Don't touch there!!"
"Noisy bitch. Time for a gag."
Gag secured, silencing her, he measured away. Input all data into the computer.
Then he loomed before her forcibly spread legs.
"Pussy inspection next."
He dove in: clit size, labia folds, inner walls—scrutinizing it all.
Even for dairy livestock, this was essential. Gauge condition for proper mods, data for later pleasure-stims to milk more efficiently.
For Kaede? Pure humiliation. She'd never had real sex. Bared like this before an examiner? Mortifying.
To him? Routine. Maybe a coworker once, but now just another cow checked hourly. Dairy livestock lost all sex appeal—raw nudity meant livestock, nothing more.
"Breasts next. Then a wash."
Why breasts? Simple: Dairy recruits favored big-titted volunteers. Bigger udders, better mod yields. Check milk ducts normal? No implants? Flaws meant unfit for standard rearing.
He kneaded her tits thoroughly. Snapped pics from below for implants. To her, it was toyed-with playthings.
Pinched and tugged nipples. Squeezed and released the surrounds.
By now, shame ebbed; the fondling sparked heat. Her core slickened, honest and slow.
"Breasts done. Washing now. Pubes all off."
Pubes fouled waste management, stank if soiled, risked milk contamination. Removal mandatory.
But Kaede's face twisted odd. She'd felt her pussy dampen from the tit-play. One glimpse down there now? Pervert caught aroused during inspection. Deny livestock status? Gone.
Against her dread, his hand headed south.
"Mrrphhgrrgh!"