The Inspection

The morning light filtered through the barn's dusty windows, casting long shadows over the old wooden beams. Nellie stood in the center, her heart pounding in her chest as she faced the team of experts Mr. Franklin had brought with him. The barn, usually filled with the hum of machinery and the soft lowing of the Dairy Queens, was eerily quiet, as if the entire building was holding its breath.

Mr. Franklin gave his team a curt nod. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Nellie watched as the team of experts began to set up their equipment. There were three of them—a tall, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, a no-nonsense woman with a severe bun, and a stocky man with a trimmed beard. They moved with practiced efficiency, each task flowing into the next as they prepared for the examination.

The tall man approached first, holding a digital scale. “Let’s start with the weight. Step up here, please.” His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if he were simply going through the motions.

Nellie did as she was told, stepping onto the scale. She felt the man’s gaze on her, calculating her worth in pounds and ounces. The scale beeped, and he immediately relayed the information to his colleagues.

“Weight is within the expected range,” he said, noting the number on his tablet. “No significant deviations from the standard growth curve.”

The female expert moved in next, tape measure in hand. “Let’s check her height and chest circumference,” she instructed, her tone brisk. As she measured, she spoke her findings aloud. “Height: 6’8”. She adjusted the scale and noted the measurement on her tablet. “Weight: 237 pounds, evenly distributed. Height is consistent with her records. Chest circumference… sweet Mother! I wish Sandra would get this big. Clearly, this one's development is on track for high-volume production.”

The stocky man nodded, making notes on his own tablet. “How is your daughter Sandra, by the way? Are you still determined to make a Dairy Queen of her?”

The woman in the lap coat sighed. “I'm trying, but I think she might be sabotaging me. No matter what I feed her, she won't get any bigger.”

The stocky man nodded and went back to his analysis: “No signs of underdevelopment. She’s well within the optimal range for productivity.”

Nellie tried to keep her breathing steady as they continued their examination, but it was hard to suppress the growing sense of humiliation. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, reduced to nothing more than measurements and statistics.

The tall man with the glasses leaned in, running a hand over Nellie’s hips. “Good bone structure,” he commented, almost to himself. “No signs of strain. Breeding potential remains high.”

The female expert motioned for Nellie to open her mouth. “Let’s inspect her teeth,” she said, leaning in to get a better look. “Teeth are in good condition,” she announced after a moment. “No signs of wear, decay, or other dental issues.”

“Excellent,” the tall man replied, his eyes still glued to his tablet. “That’s crucial for maintaining a healthy diet and preventing complications during milking.”

Nellie clenched her fists at her sides, trying to hold back her frustration. The way they spoke about her, as if she were nothing more than a piece of equipment to be appraised, made her feel small and insignificant.

The stocky man moved in next, his hands rough as they groped her breasts, lifting and squeezing. “Breast volume, significant. Let’s see… approximately 4 gallons per breast.” He turned to the tall man, who was taking notes. “Any estimates on milk yield per day?”

The tall man adjusted his glasses, his eyes flicking back to Nellie’s chest. “Given her size and lactation history, I’d estimate 30 to 50 liters per day. Could increase with proper stimulation and diet.”

"Didn't the owner say 70 liters?" Asked the woman.

"Yeah, I wouldn't take his word for it." The stocky man said. "Unless this degenerate pumped her day and night, maybe..."

“Likely,” the tall man replied, barely glancing up from his tablet. “Skin elasticity is good too. The usual amount of stretch marks, low risk of tearing tissue, even with further breast enlargement.”

Nellie felt her stomach twist at the mention of further enlargement. She was already so large, so heavy. The thought of being made even bigger, stretched even more, made her want to scream. But she stayed silent, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference.

“Next, we’ll need to check her fertility,” the female expert said, glancing at her colleagues. “We should verify her reproductive health to ensure she’s a viable candidate for breeding.”

The stocky man crouched to examine her lower body. “Genitals are well-formed. No visible abnormalities. Fertility should be intact, though we’ll need to conduct a hormone panel to confirm.”

“Understood,” the female expert responded, already preparing the next test. “We’ll take a blood sample now. We need to ensure all her levels are optimal for breeding. Any deficiencies could impact productivity.”

Nellie closed her eyes as they drew her blood, their voices droning on as if she were nothing more than a piece of equipment to be appraised. The feeling of objectification was overwhelming, but there was nothing she could do. This was her life now—being poked, prodded, and analyzed like a prized cow.

They led her over to a padded examination table that had been set up in the barn. “Lie down, please,” the woman instructed, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

Nellie hesitated, but then complied, lying back on the cold surface. The woman’s hands were clinical and efficient as she began the examination, checking for signs of fertility, health, and potential for breeding. The other experts watched closely, murmuring to each other as they observed.

“Her blood looks optimal,” the tall man said, as he evaluated the results from the blood. “No abnormalities detected.”

The stocky man nodded, jotting down notes. “Good. We’ll need to ensure she’s capable of producing offspring with the desired traits.”

Nellie tried to focus on anything other than what was happening, but it was impossible to ignore the cold, clinical voices discussing her most intimate details as if she weren’t even there.

“Her hormone levels seem stable,” the tall man continued, running a series of tests. “No signs of imbalance. She’s in peak condition for breeding.”

Finally, the stocky man took a step back, wiping his hands on a cloth. “She’s in good shape, all things considered. We could push her production up by at least 20% with the right regimen.”

“Agreed,” the tall man said, nodding. “We’ll recommend a high-calorie diet, regular stimulation, and hormone therapy to maximize output.”

Mr. Franklin, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. “And the breeding? She’s a prime candidate, correct?”

The female expert nodded, tapping her tablet. “Yes, she’ll breed true. With her genetics, we could expect offspring with even greater yield potential.”

“Excellent,” Franklin replied, his tone satisfied. He had been watching the entire process with a calm detachment, but now his eyes were focused intently on Nellie. “Mr. Henderson, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about Miss Nellie’s care and history.”

Tom nodded, though he still looked a bit uneasy. “Sure, go ahead.”

Mr. Franklin scrolled through his tablet, glancing at Nellie as he spoke. “What is her daily feeding regimen? We need to know exactly what she’s been eating, down to the last detail.”

Tom scratched his head, thinking. “She’s on a high-protein diet, mostly grains and supplements to keep her production up. We mix in some vitamins too, and she gets fresh water every day.”

Mr. Franklin nodded, making a note. “And how has her growth been? Any irregularities, rapid changes in size or weight?”

“She’s grown steadily,” Tom replied. “No sudden changes, just a bit of a growth spurt about a year ago, but that’s normal at her age.”

“Good,” Mr. Franklin said, looking pleased. “And what about her overall health? Any illnesses or issues we should be aware of?”

“Nothing major,” Tom answered. “She had a bit of a cold last winter, but she got over it quick. Other than that, she’s been healthy.”

The experts continued to jot down notes as Mr. Franklin asked more questions, probing into every aspect of Nellie’s care, from the cleanliness of her living conditions to the exact specifications of the milking machines used on the farm. The air in the barn was thick with tension, each question making Nellie feel more like an object than a person.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mr. Franklin closed his tablet and smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. That’s all the information we need.”

Tom nodded, clearly relieved that the questioning was over. “So… do I get my money?”

Mr. Franklin waved to his team and the tall man produced an envelope from his breast pocket.

Nellie felt a strange mix of emotions—relief that the ordeal was over, but also a deep unease about what the future held. She knew her life was about to change drastically, and while part of her was hopeful, another part couldn’t shake the feeling that she was simply moving from one form of exploitation to another.

As Mr. Franklin and his team prepared to leave, he gave Nellie one last reassuring smile. “We’ll take good care of her, Mr. Henderson. It's been a pleasure to make business with you.”

Nellie **** a smile as Mr. Franklin patted her head gently, but deep down, she couldn’t shake the nagging worry that she might end up in a far worse situation than this.