Collared Slutgirls

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Abby asked for at least the hundredth time, biting the ends of her thin auburn hair.
“Well, Abbs, it’s probably a little late to really think that, don’t you think?” Sandra asked with a roll of her eyes and a flip of her blonde tresses.
Abby nodded, a quick, hectic jerk, but continue to chew her hair.
“Stop doing that, Abby, you’re making me nervous now,” Brittany said. “And considering I’m the one driving this thing, you don’t want to make me nervous.”
The girls all laughed and Brittany smiled as the tension eased a bit while she turned off the exit ramp to leave the highway and take the back roads leading to their destination.
“The others still behind us?” Bobbie asked.
“Yeah, they just turned behind us,” Sandra responded.
“Both cars?”
“Yes,” Sandra said with exasperation.
“Calm down, girls,” Brittany said. “Here, we’ll be there in less than half an hour now. Abby, you have the brochure, read a bit to us, OK?”
“Sure,” Abby said, glad to have something to occupy her mind. She pulled out the colorful brochure and looked at the cover, where a smiling girl wearing nothing but a collar and a cowbell waved at the reader. “Happy Heifers Breeding Farm,” Abby said. “Tour groups welcome.”
“Happy heifers? Ugh, that’s so cheesy,” Bobbie said.
“Quiet, you,” Brittany said. “I’m listening.”
Abby opened the brochure and continued.
“The Happy Heifers Breeding Farm is a family-owned operation and has maintained a contract to accept girlcows from the state for three generations now,” she read. “Here, we keep our animals in the best possible conditions to produce delicious milk for public consumption and healthy calves to continue the bloodlines of promising specimens.
“Wait, there’s a footnote here: ‘No child born on the farm is forced to become a girlcow. All female children are educated alongside their peers in public schools and has a choice at 18 to attend college, enter the workforce or take a collar with a private individual or other slutgirl processing source. Incentives to return to the farm are offered to all girls but no coercion is used.”
“Legal jargon,” Sandra said. “Get to the good parts.”
“Our girlcows, once processed, are kept in comfortable dormitories, where they can raise their families and enjoy their downtime. But the livestock spends much of their time in the barns, where they are locked into the milking devices in individual stalls to produce milk and be inseminated with their next child.
“All girlcows are well-fed, to keep their offspring and milk alike healthy, and they are provided with the best medical care to keep them producing both for decades after they are first branded and administered the girlcow serum.”
“Sounds cushy,” Bobbie said. “If you like being a slut with giant tits sloshing with milk.”
“Like you would?” Sandra asked and Bobbie blushed as the other girls laughed.
“So, what’s the difference between a slutgirl and a girlcow, anyway?” Brittany asked when the laughter died down.
“Not much, really,” Abby said, still reading the fine print in the brochure. “A girlcow is a slutgirl, legally, though of course not all slutgirls are girlcows. But a girlcow is a fully registered slave on the slutgirl registry, just one with a specified purpose that requires staying on the farm to be bred and milked.”
“No private girlcows, huh?” Bobbie asked.
“The health department ruled it wasn’t acceptable for various reasons relating to proper girlcow maintenance,” Abby said. “It seems girlcows fare best in herds.”
“Like us, huh?” Brittany asked.
The four girls were indeed part of a larger group at their high school, a dozen girls who had become known for their tight-knit camaraderie and their ability to keep a collar off their necks. In a week, the 12 were expected to walk across the stage to get their diplomas and head off to college, where they’d finally have to split up the gang.
Then Brittany had her idea.
Now, the gang was headed to the nearest breeding farm to take in the sights before they launched a new chapter in their lives. “One final adventure,” Brittany had called it.
A few minutes later, the three cars pulled into the parking lot of the farm, where the girls spilled out to hug and talk despite seeing each other only an hour earlier.
Brittany looked over her troops, as she thought of them. Anna, a bright girl with a love of video games; Beth, who was shy when around anyone not in the gang; Tia, who loved hip hop and science fiction movies in equal measure; and all the rest of them, all young and vibrant and so dear to her. And, after graduation, she might never see them again, but for her idea.
She shook the thoughts off and they all walked in the doors of the visitors’ center. They passed a family of three, including a young woman, slim and graceful in an elfin way, hardly older than they who looked incredibly nervous.
“Doesn’t look like she’s here voluntarily,” Bobbie whispered to Sandra and they both snickered.
Inside, a pleasant young free girl of about 17 in stereotypical overalls and straw hat approached them.
“Here for a tour?” she asked.
“Yes,” Brittany said.
“Excellent,” the teenager said. “I’m Mandy, your tour guide. I’ll show you around and give you an idea of life on the farm here. Just a few ground rules: you can ask questions, but only at the end of each segment of the tour. Also, no touching any of the livestock, there are lots of health regulations there. Finally, after the tour, you’re allowed to declare if you’d like to volunteer for the herd here, but to keep the group going smoothly, we do not take applications during the tour itself.
“Now, put this on, it will mark you as a guest and keep the scanners from going crazy if one of you happens to have a wild genetic marker or something.”
“Scanners?” Abby asked as she pinned the ID card, emblazoned “Guest,” on to her shirt.
“They’re at the entrances and exits of all farm buildings to keep the livestock from wandering off,” Mandy said. “They detect the girlcow serum in a person’s blood and ring if anyone passes under when they shouldn’t. Some girls with the right DNA can set them  off even without the serum. They’re the ones who would have been drafted as girlcows during the first generation of the serum, before we refined it. But these will keep that from happening.
“Everybody good? Alright, here we go!”
They walked across the barnyard — and it was a working barnyard, covered in dirt and straw with chickens and dogs and other small animals wandering around picking at feed or keeping an eye out for vermin — and entered one long building.
Inside, however, it looked like nothing more than a pre-kindergarten classroom, as a hallway fed into dozens of rooms, each filled with roaring children of various ages.
“This is our nursery,” Mandy said. “It’s where all the children under 5 stay when their mothers are on the production line. It serves as a daycare and pre-kindergarten program to prepare the children for school, to which they’re bussed on reaching the correct age. My siblings and I grew up here.”
Hundreds of children ran around, all bright-eyed and happy, dressed in colorful T-shirts, dresses, jumpers and other outfits. They looked no different, Sandra noted, than other children.
“Despite rumors, there are no side effects from the girlcow serum in the girl’s children,” Mandy said. “Such children, on the female side, show no statistical increase in likelihood of becoming a girlcow themselves, except for maybe through behavioral connections formed from growing up here. And there are no physical or mental effects, though some of the dairy industry’s researchers are trying to discover if girlcow offspring are more intelligent than average.” She tapped her own head as if in silent agreement.
The group left the joyous chaos of the nursery behind and entered a taller building which looked like an apartment complex.
“These are the dormitories,” Mandy said. “Of course, we will not show you an actual room used by one of our cows, as we protect their privacy where we can, but we have a model room for tour purposes. As you see, while we enter, the rooms are much like a college dorm suite, with a living room, kitchenette and several bedrooms for the girlcow and her children. The kids, of course, must learn to share, as given the size of girlcow families it would take up a lot more space to given any of them private rooms. But they are provided with food and shelter by the farm management, as well as a stipend for personal belongings such as books, toys, electronics and other luxuries.”
The rooms looked quite comfortable, if impersonal, Bobbie thought, but it would be quite easy to make it a home with a few extra touches.
Next they passed an official looking office-style building.
“This is the lab, where we not only test new strains of milk and dairy products, we produce the girlcow serum itself,” Mandy said. “Unfortunately, much of this material is proprietary information and cannot be shown to the public.”
“What about her?” Sandra asked as two men who looked very much like security guards escorted a near-hysterical young woman inside. They all recognized the girl they’d passed when they arrived.
“This is also where we adminster the girlcow serum to new acquisitions,” Mandy said smoothly. “But until a woman has been collared, she remains a free person and therefore it would be a breach of privacy to allow the public to witness her processing. Let’s move on, shall we?”
The tour continued through the milk processing lab, where the tanks of fresh milk were packaged and shipped off to the factories to be treated and delivered to the supermarkets and restaurants of the nation, and the pasture, which was currently empty but for a few horses and a pair of goats.
Finally, the tour moved onto the main barn, a massive structure that loomed over the barnyard.
“Before we enter, I must again ask you not touch any of the livestock,” Mandy said. “If any of you feel light-headed or faint, please let me or an employee know and we can escort you out quickly. All ready? OK, here we go.”
The doors opened and the group entered the production line of the breeding farm.
Although they’d seen such things before on documentaries and educational films, not to mention in slutgirls rape racks at school and in parks everywhere, it was still shocking so up close.
Hundreds of women, of all ages, colors and body types, were lined up in myriad rows across the building, all of them kneeling in straw-lined stalls and locked into steel frames that kept their arms and legs from moving much.
Each collared girl, a dull bell hanging around their necks, was moaning and, well, moo-ing, as glass pumps attached to their significantly-sized breats pumped away greedily, drawing milk out from each tit and funneling it away into metal tanks for later processing.
Most of the women were pregnant, many heavily so, but that didn’t stop the other end of production. Behind almost every girl at one time or another was a man, pounding away at her leaking slavecunt with abandon and seeding the girls with copious amounts of semen.
“The girlcows are constantly aroused, so even while not ovulating or while pregnant, they still get a certain amount of sexual activity,” Mandy said as she showed off the farm’s pride and joy.
She continued on about the amount of milk produced and the per annum sales of their best-selling varieties of girlcow milk and other facts they would have found interesting if they could focus on anything but the deeply arousing sight of women treated like livestock because, in legal fact, they were.
While Mandy was still talking, two security guards entered the barn with a girlcow between them. She looked desperate and eager as she mauled her leaking breasts with her hands and mooed softly.
“Ah, here is our newest recruit,” Mandy said, consulting an electronic tablet as the girls watched the guards lock the new cow in an empty stall. “According to our records, she was donated today by her parents in exchange for a tax break and a certain financial incentive.”
“They sold her,” Abby said.
“Let’s see how the new girl enjoys her arrival now,” Mandy said.
They all recognized the new cow as the who arrived when they had and had been escorted past them for processing. Now, though, she only slightly resembled that free person, as her breasts had grown several cup sizes until they almost looked grotesque on her willowy frame. Her face, too, was the same yet different, no longer shy and anxious but eager and contorted in desperate lust.
While they watched, the men attached the pumps to her massive tits and the cow moaned in pleasure and relief as the suction began to draw the milk from her aching udders. Then they watched as one of the men walked behind the cow, pulled out his cock from the velcro flap that served as his fly and sank it to the root in the new girlcow’s leaking cunt.
“Mooooo!” the slutgirl squealed and soon she was writhing in her bonds and screaming in ecstatic surrender as she was slaveraped for the first time.
“She was virgin until now so this is her first breeding,” Mandy said. “But her vitals are good and she appears to be quite fertile even before appliction of the serum, so we expect she’ll catch pregnant in no time.”
The new cow was exhorting her rapist to knock her up as the girls watched and then she wasn’t talking at all as she squealed and mooed in glorious rapture as she began to cum again and again.
The girls didn’t know how it lasted as they were spellbound by the erotic sight. Mandy soon ushered them on but the sight of the girl’s acceptance of her slavery was imprinted on their minds.
The group barely realized they were out of the barn until they back in the visitor’s center in front of a desk ominously labeled “Registration.”
“I hope you enjoyed the tour,” Mandy said. “You sure looked like you did.”
Brittany tried to will the flush in her cheeks down but wasn’t sure she was very successful.
“Now I’ll ask if any of you girls want to register today and join our herd of happy heifers,” Mandy said. “Any takers? You can read the conditions on the enslavement forms right here if you’d like.”
That was when Brittany knew it was time to reveal her plan, the one she and all her friends had embarked on three months ago.
“Well, about that, those probably aren’t necessary,” she said. “You see, we’re all pregnant.”
Mandy blinked. “Pregnant?” she asked.
“Each and every one of us,” Abby said, smiling even as she blushed furiously.
“Illegally so,” Sandra added. ““As we are, of course, unwed.”
Mandy was no longer shocked, but she looked slightly bemused now. “How? And why?”
“Well, as for how, it was the usual way,” Bobbie said. “It’s not hard to get a teenage boy to fuck you without a condom. They were espeically eager to make a conquest of girls like us, virginal and seemingly untouchable.”
“As for why,” Brittany said, “we decided to make a pregnancy pact. If we all got pregnant at the same time, we didn’t have to go to college and risk separating forever. Instead, we’d all end up at the breeding farm, together, where we’d stay a unit. A herd, like you said. Now we’re just joining a larger one.”
Mandy smiled. “Yes, you are,” she said as she turned to a microphone at the desk. “Security, join me at the registration kiosk, please.”
The group was surprised how quickly they wrere surrounded by men, all of them taller and broader than they, each of them gripping one of their arms gently but firmly.
“While you have declared yourselves to be pregnant, we must legally verify this before we can continue processing,” Mandy said, her perky tour guide persona now business-like and efficient. “Boys, if you would test them.”
Each girl squealed a bit as they felt a pinch in their arms and then they watched as their captors pulled back the tiny needle guns to watch as the inner chamber processed the blood sample just acquired.
As each girl already knew, all the tests came back positive. They’d each tested themselves three times a piece, none of them willing to leave for the farm until all 12 of them were good and knocked up. “Leave no girl behind,” Brittany had said and they’d waited an extra month just to make sure Abby finally got her nervous boyfriend to seed her properly.
“Girls, you have all been found in violation of the Reproduction Act, namely breeding while unwed,” Mandy intoned. “As proscribed by law, you will now be taken into legal custody to be collared, branded and processed as slaves. Furthermore, as illicit breeders, you will be remanded to the custody of the nearest breeding farm – in this case, here – to serve your lifetime sentence as girlcows, to be bred and milked for the rest of your natural lives. Take them away, boys.”
As they turned to the door, Mandy’s grim tones lightened.
“Don’t worry, sluts,” she said brightly. “You’ll love it here. My mother and sisters all do and once I turn 18 in a month, I’ll be joining you all. So have fun out there!”
The helpless girls, unable and hardly interested in breaking their captors’ grip, walked quietly beside the men across the barnyard and into the lab.
There, marched through sterile white hallways, they were finally walked into a long room with a series of reclining beds with restraints. Before they were strapped in, the men made them strip and as Sandra took off her panties and threw them in the basket with all the girls’ discarded clothing, she shivered to know she would never wear anything like them again.
Finally, all 12 girls were lying on the beds at a 45-degree angle, able to see each other slightly as the men tightened the final straps.
“Courage, girls,” Brittany said. “We’re almost there. And then we’ll be together forever.”
Then, without preamble, the men sank the needles into the girls twice, once for each slut’s breasts.
Soon, the sluts were writhing helplessly in their bonds and then screaming in orgasm as their tits began to grow, exploding in size and bringing them immense pleasure with each giant jump in cup size.
Then, even as they struggled to catch their breaths from what felt like a marathon session of great sex, the guards stabbed each girl in the arm with the final needle of serum and the girls began their new lives as girlcows as the final physiological and chemical changes began in their genes.
Ten minutes later, the girls were lined up again, collared and belled, and holding their aching, leaking udders as best they could as they were led, naked and horny, to the barn.
There, each was strapped into a stall adjoining the others, all 12 lined and moaning as the pumps began to suck precious milk from their relieved tits.
“My god,” Abby breathed, “it’s so much better than I could have imagined.”
Then she had time to think it got better still as the first cock sank into her wet sheath and began to wring orgasms from her sensitized flesh.
“Moooooo!” she squealed and joined the chorus of her best friends and fellow herd cows as their slaverapes began.
In six months, Brittany thought, they’d be giving birth to the first of their many children here at the farm, by that point fully integrated into the herd as happy milk producers and rapesluts. And then they’d be lined up again and impregnated for the second of numerous times like the good breeders they now were.
“Mooooo!” she cried out with her sister cows, glad they would stay together forever, just like a good herd should.