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Chapter 2 - THE BULL PEN

I created this illustrated story from some of the art and description in my HF gallery. (The last three images wouldn't insert in the text, for some reason - perhaps a size limit.  So, I split the narrative at that point, and added Chapter Two.)  

Chapter 2 - THE BULL PEN

Chapter 2 - THE BULL PEN
CHAPTER TWO: THE BULL PEN

The pressure inside the fembo's four jugs was becoming unbearable. When the herd didn't burst in, on schedule, to drain her udders, she tried to do it, herself.

She needed their hungry mouths in other ways, too. Her clitorized member twitched, with the thought of those tongues and lips, mauling her tender teats and twat.

No matter how hard she tried, though, not a drop of milk would come out of her rock-hard teat. She tried to gnaw off those new buttons on the end of her upper teats; but that hurt, and she had to stop.

Earlier, her handlers took her to a machine that sucked her udders in, and injected lactose-soluble plastic through the nipples, deep into the lactiferous ducts leading from her milk-producing alveolar glands. The buttons on her teats were the external remainder of the tough, rubbery plastic substance.

The little nipples on the fembo's belly signaled that she had suckled long enough to trigger the development of a belly udder. It would soon be time to put her into full-time milk production.

Before sending her to the dairy, though, she would be deprived of both suckling and the milker. Cruel as it seemed, this would make the transition to a real dairy cow easier for the heifer.

By the time the combination of milk pressure and lactic acid dissolved the plastic, causing her to "bust her plugs," she would be so eager to be milked, that when she was locked in the milking stocks, with the noise of the machinery, and her mooing, moaning stall mates, her animal fear would be washed away by the sheer relief of being drained. From then, on, the milker would be her constant friend.


Unlike fembos, cowgirls were once human females, and had only two chest udders.  The fembo heard one of them mooing in fear, in the nearby insemination cell.
 
The cowgirl’s teats were already dripping from the pressure inside the swollen udders hanging painfully below her bent-over body. She longed for the heavenly relief of the milking machine, but, for once, it was nowhere in sight.

At the sound of heavy movement behind her, the cowgirl tried to twist around. Hot breath seared her neck and back. Her panicked squeal was drowned out by the thunderous bellow of a bull!

As the thick, slick tip of his member forced her open, the virgin heifer instinctively twitched her tail up, and braced her hooves against the steel harness frame. She could feel the power of his thrusts squeezing her internal organs aside. The harness bit into her shoulders and hips, as her belly ballooned with semen.

The fembo listened enviously, as the cowgirl’s frightened bellowing became moans of ecstasy.  The cow’s chest and belly udders slapped loudly together, in time to the bull’s thrusts.  All the poor fembo could do was clumsily rub her enormous clit with the hard hoofs that once were her fingers, until she, too, moaned in  bovine release.




The fembo didn’t have to wait long for her turn.  Barely able to support the weight of her swollen udders, specimen F-884 staggered out into the open air, feeling the warm sun on her skin for the first time since she was a he. Her hardened hooves were immune to the rough dirt, as two handlers – one behind with a prod, the other gripping her nose ring – led her to a steel frame in the center of the fenced enclosure.

They strapped her to the framework by her hips and and shoulders, bent forward, as she was in the dairy. But where were the suction cups? She began to moo, plaintively, to be milked.

“Heh! You’re in for a nice surprise, today, fembo!” chortled the short woman, with the prod, swatting the hucow’s fat, branded ass.

“Getting knocked up will swell those udders, honey, till you can’t haul them around by yourself, any more,” chimed in the taller nurse. “In a year, or so, you’ll be our prize producer.” With that, the women quickly retreated back through the gate, and locked it.

Of course, #884 didn’t understand these words, any more than she could read the “BREEDING PEN” sign on the fence. Her senses, however, told her what her frontal lobes could not. The sound and smell of the bulls had her pussy dripping before the first enormous shaft split it.


These were hu-bulls: the male offspring of cowgirls and men.  With power and endowment of bulls, and the sexual appetite of hominids, they would keep the new fembo pregnant, and more than satisfied for the rest of her new career.


 

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