Moo!
Moo!
"Alright, get up!"
The lights in my pen came on suddenly, rudely awakening my from my night's sleep. A guard was looking down at me, not at all pleased with how slowly I was moving. I sat up on my bed of hay and rubbed my eyes.
"Come on! Get going!" the guard shouted as I hurriedly got to my feet as quickly as I could. Or, more accurately, hooves. "We have a schedule to keep here! Move!"
The guard took me firmly by the arm as I left my pen. We went down the corridor between dozens of other pens, all filled with dozens of other bovines and separated by steel bars. The ceiling above us was high. We were in a barn. I don't know who the guards are, since they were gas masks and body armour like that worn by SWAT teams.
I'm a bull and I have horns and brown-blonde hair. When I first came here, I was just an average guy you see on the street; in fact, I was pretty scrawny - at least by bull standards. Now, I'm something else entirely. Thanks to several weeks of intense hormone treatments, I'm grotesquely muscular, and my testicles are the size of eggs. Hell, I'm bigger than the guard right beside me. That's huge!
I didn't want to come here, of course. But now I don't want to leave. Why would I? Life is just fine.
The guard and I passed through a door from the pens into the stalls. There are twelve on each side, separated by partitions. Most were unoccupied, since the day was just beginning.
I was brought to one of the stalls just about in the middle of the row - number 7A. It contained a medical-like chair with straps for my limbs and lots of mechanical equipment and robotic arms. I sat down willingly after taking off my tight rubber thong and the guard belted me in tight so I couldn't move. I don't know why I still have a thong, since can't be afraid to show myself in my line of work - but they're standard issue nonetheless.
Electrodes were placed on my stiff, pink nipples to monitor my vital signs. Then the guard checked my testes for any lumps and there were none. This was followed by stroking my cock to make me fully erect - something the guards' training manual called 'priming for production.' There's nothing better than the feel of his smooth rubber gloves except what comes next.
More like cums next, anyway.
The guard left me alone with the machines. I could hear the grunts and shouts of those next to me in the stalls loudly. This only made my cock - fairly impressive by any measure - even harder. I started dribbling precum in anticipation.
One of the robotic arms made a whirring sound as it slowly came down towards my crotch, guided by the computer's electronic eyes. I clenched my teeth for a moment; the feel of being touched by a machine at the beginning is something you never really get used to. A rubbed-padded mechanical claw took hold of my cock and held it straight up. My red, engorged head glinted a little under the bright, warm lights.
The back of the chair automatically reclined to a more comfortable position. I grasped the soft cylinders designed for the purpose on the armrests tightly as my legs were lifted out of the way, rendering my pink rear pucker vulnerable. Another arm came down and slid down over my cock, over the one already there, firmly holding the organ in place.
The machine greedily sucked up my precum through the clear tube running along its arm. It began to stroke me rapidly in a random succession of twists and jerks. I grunted and tried to thrust up against it, but the firm arms held my firmly in placed.
At this point, a third arm came from below and inserted its probe firmly into my anus. I didn't hurt, since I was used to it. The device exerted lubricant through small holes on its soft surface. It quickly found my prostate and went to work vibrating and throbbing inside me. My whole body tingled with pleasure. For a moment, I felt dizzy and giddy.
I reached orgasm quickly. When it hit me, I hunched up against the mechanical pleasure-devices as hard as I could. "Moooo!" I groaned aloud, my cry lost in the moans of those experiencing similar pleasure in other stalls.
The machine greedily slurped up all my semen. I felt like the orgasm went on for hours as my body, completely taught and sweaty, gave the machine all that it demanded. When I'd finished producing, the machine stopped to let me rest for a moment. I lay there, my cock and muscles tensing with my outie belly button thrust out into the stale, smelly air, my heard pounding. My was greedily slurped away through a series of pipes mounted on the ceiling, mixed with all of that produced by the other bovines at the Farm.
After two or three minutes of rest, the machine went to work on me again. This time it went slower, giving me more of a build-up. I came again for the second time and gave the machine my ejaculate. I only got a few seconds of rest before it began working me up to my third orgasm. There would be many more to come, I knew.
Sometimes the machine holds you on the brink of orgasm for as long as it can. Other times it just forces you to come seemingly within seconds. I don't know why it does the things it does, but I do know the machine is programmed to get us to produce as much as possible.
No one chooses to be brought to the Farm and made to produce. You're kidnapped so fast in the blink of an eye. And you can't ever leave - not until you're no good anymore, anyway. But the working conditions are second to none and all you have to do is sit down. I get paid not in dollars, but in orgasms.
It's like heaven on Earth.
"Moooo!"
The End