A documentary

The woman re-enters the room. She is carrying a paper and a set of wireless headphones. She turns them on and hands them to you. You hesitate for a second before putting them on. The world is now muffled to your ears as you watch her place the paper on the desk. You briefly glance at it with disinterest.

“Your teacher is having you watch this documentary on the Hucow Industry instead. You have to fill out that worksheet as you go.”

She pulls a pen out her pocket and places it on the paper.

“I couldn’t find any pencils so you’ll just have to use a pen.”

She walks to the back of the room and powers on a small projector tucked out of sight, causing you to miss it on your first inspection of the room. It sends a blast of blue light against the opposite wall, before finally a white Minchest Farms logo appears on a black background. Satisfied, the woman leaves.

As the logo dies off the screen, background music starts playing. At first you don’t notice it, but you soon hear the peculiar music. It’s unlike any music you hear on the radio. Your musical analysis is interrupted by the start of the documentary. A zoomed out picture of Minchest Farms appears on the screen, and a soothing voice begins to narrate.

“Minchest Farms is at the forefront of premier Hucow milk production in the United States. But that wasn’t always the case…”

You look at the worksheet for your next question. It asks when Minchest Farms was established.

“Minchest Farms was established by its current owner Keith Minchest in 2016.”

You quickly jot that down. The music continues to swirl in your brain as the voice continues.

“Minchest Farms is proud to boast its very diverse cattle - Minchest calls upon the services of all cows - regardless of size, ethnicity, or any other demographic.”

Again, you copy the answer. You wipe sweat from your forehead. That tiny projector must be heating up the whole room.

“Minchest employs thousands of men and women to become human livestock. Everyone from dropouts to doctors become cattle. Even people such as yourself can easily become cows. Do you think you would be a good cow?”

The question makes you think. You aren’t sure. It doesn’t seem too hard, although surely there are… you have to… you can’t think of the word. It’s avoiding the tip of your tongue as you concentrate on it. Your head starts to hurt and you eventually give up.

By now, the room is sweltering, and so, with a quick look around just to double check that you are in fact alone, you peel off your jacket. Fuck it, you take off your shirt too. Your sweaty legs beg to stop broiling as well, so you slide them off too. You aren’t too worried about anyone seeing you. You are in this random room that seems to have no other function.

Suddenly the film shows a woman on all 4s dressed like a cow. A huge, massive, bulking hulk of a brute approaches from behind. He is dressed similarly, but what catches your attention is his pecker.

The voice comes over the background music.

“This cow is about to be bred. Bulls have massive cocks, far greater than would be found on a normal human. He savagely flounces on the cow, making her his own. Pretend that you’re that cow right now. The bull mounts you, sliding his impossible girth into your folds.”

You can feel that your nethers have gotten slick with sluice and are aching for attention. The many angles on the screen show the cow being speared with the thick shaft. Your hand flutters down to your crotch. You let a few fingers caress the labia before they delve in. You imagine yourself as the cow, being mercilessly fucked from behind. You pump harder, egging on your animalistic partner.

“All this intercourse is all part of the obvious final goal: breeding. Cows are kept almost constantly pregnant, allowing for greater milk production, as well as richer, creamier milk.”

You rub your stomach, imagining it bursting at the seams with a baby - no, a calf. Not your baby, though, the company’s. You own nothing anymore. The company owns you and everything you produce, including offspring.

“Of course, a Hucow’s primary function is to produce milk.”

You wipe your head to remove excess sweat. As you ravage your vagina, the kind lady from earlier comes in with two large pitchers of milk and a glass. She pours the glass on the end table full of milk and walks towards you.

“Of course, cows always love to taste the premium goods. Good cows drink milk.”

Good cows drink milk. The woman holds the glass to your lips and you greedily suck down the ice cold milk, all the while plunging in and out of your folds. She continues to hold full glasses of milk to your lips, and time and time again, you insouciantly imbibe the chilled dairy.

“Good cows develop big udders and produce milk.”

As you drink yet another glass, you pull your panties all the way down to your knees so as to have complete access. In doing so, you spill the glass and milk spills all over your bosom. You quickly unclasp your very taut bra, letting the drenched garment fall to the floor. Your large, heavy breasts burst out, rejoicing their release. A dull ache grows in each breast. With your non-masturbating hand, you massage your sore breasts, mauling them with devout devotion. You feel an orgasm on the horizon, but it refuses to arrive.

“Good cows produce lots of milk.”

With a harsh squeeze, your right breast shoots out a small splattering of milk droplets. You continue to paw at your vagina, panting all the while.

“Good cows moo.”

Through gasps you cry out a feeble “Mmhmmoooo…”

“Good cows moo.”

“Mmhmoooooo!”

“Good cows moo.”

“MMHMMOOOOO!”

“Good cows moo.”

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” You scream it, and you also mean it.

“Good cows can cum.”

This sends you over the edge. The looming orgasm strikes you like a tidal wave. You scream in ecstasy as you ride the high. Your energy spent, you can feel yourself slipping out of consciousness as darkness clouds your vision. The last thing you can remember before going cold was the sound of that music drumming in your ears…