Too exhausted ...

The latest orgasm that has ripped through you has left you totally exhausted and limp. Your breathing still has not returned to a natural rhythm as aftershocks continue to explode. You tremble helplessly, flesh rippling in waves, causing your toes to curl. You're too weak to fight, and too hoarse to speak, unable to utter any protest to the farm hand's actions.

The loud 'CLICK' of each latch locking in place, thunders in your head, competing with the sound of your racing heart pounding like a drum. You realize that your chance at escape has been effectively taken away, but somewhere deep inside, you don't care. The euphoria enveloping your entire being makes you realize how much you crave each orgasm. The constant milking of your breasts serves twofold. First, the erotic suctioning fuels each orgasm. Second, the extraction of milk eases the ever increasing pressure.

Suddenly, everything stopped! The dildo stopped fucking away incessantly. A faint hissing could be heard as the device slowly retreated from the overly slick sheath pulling free from its grip. You abused pussy, can be felt remaining open and gushing, streams of your womanly cum now running freely down your thighs. The suction cups on your tits fall to the floor, faint traces of milk clinging to the edges of the cups.

'Oh no! This can't be over! I've got to have ...' "Mooooooore" You can hardly believe you are having these thoughts, yet alone, begging for more! Shame and disgust fight to fill your emotions, battling with satisfaction and glee, not to mention wanton lust and sexual desire.

"Soon enough JERSEY GIRL. We have to make sure you are fully indoctrinated before we can assimilate you into the herd." His voice is music to your ears. You long to be talked to like ... a human?

'Wait!' You suddenly find enough strength to lift your head and raise your eyes. All you can make out, is that the farm hand is fiddling with some controls on a computer tablet of some sort, that you had somehow missed, hanging on the wall of the stall. '_Why did he call me JERSEY GIRL? I'm not from New Jersey!' As you ponder that thought, you begin to consider his other comments ... 'Indoctrinated? ... Assimilate?'_

Confusion wreaks havoc within you as the stable hand moves around you, in and out of your field of vision. It is only now, that you begin to realize, that despite the transformation that is taking place, and your inability to stop it, your mind is still able to process reasonable coherent thoughts. Fear and dread begin to creep through you as you realize this is the most inhumane **** of all ... knowing what is happening, but unable to stop it. _'It'd be so m_uch easier if they just brainwashed me into a bimbo slut cow!'

That last thought seems to linger in your brain, longer than it should. The only comfort currently offered to you is a bale of straw and hay that the farm hand places beneath your belly. The weight on your tired legs has been alleviated, and the coarse bristle of the straw and hay, though mildly irritating provides a comforting mattress of sorts, upon which to rest.

Your wrists are now permanently bound in place, hands flat on the floor. You wouldn't be able to move them, even if they were freed. Thanks to the multiple orgasm, they feel like lead weights hanging down from your torso. Your ankles are tethered in place also, keeping your movements to subtle shifts only. Your breasts hang freely just over the edge of your makeshift mattress. The coarse bristles scratch at the underside of your breasts, and though you can't see them, it feels as if your nipples are threatening to scrape across the wooden floorboards.

So exhausted are you, that you immediately fall asleep, despite the farm hand moving around you with a seeming purpose and goal in mind.