Starting in chat and email, I've been developing a concept for what I think would make a wonderfully immersive interactive roleplay: a farm for women to be controlled, cared for, and bred like cows.
A lot of ideas are still forming (for example, how they come to the farm. Do they visit a fertility clinic and are tricked/drugged/brainwashed/convinced/forced to come? Or, do they come willingly?) but I've gotten certain other things more firmly established: it will be run very professionally, the cows each given their own stalls (though, not much privacy is offered). In addition to the farmer, there will be studs and medical staff coming and going. They will be on regimented schedules to ensure the greatest milk yields and regular, healthy birthing. There will be some form of competition amongs the cows, based on objective performance or some other scale, which determines the type of care they get. The number one cow will earn a more private stall and a designated stud. The cows will be docile and enjoy the attention and affection they receive. They may start out more strong-willed, and will have to be broken. Below is a scene I imagine playing out when the vet comes calling. Please leave feedback below or email me at SMESfromlit[at]yahoo.com
I bring the vet out to the barn, where he sees my seven cows, patiently waiting for us. He knows them all well, having visited each of them many times. He's become a close friend.
He in fact leads the way to his current patient, one of my youngest. She's early in her third trimester, her body swollen and bloated on her ass, thighs, breasts, her belly large and round. She's laying on her side, resting.
I gently rouse her with a hand sliding over her hip. She looks from me to the doctor, her eyes widen slightly, but she remains calm. The first part of the exam is the milking. I start pumping her breast with my hand, and suckling the large, worn nipple, to get her to let down her early milk. It starts to come, sour and sweet at the same time, and she sighs in relief. I immediately connect her to a milking machine. I do the same for the other breast, suckling, kneading, and then attaching the pump.
Meanwhile, the vet circles her, taking her pulse, noting the way her body is developing with the pregnancy. Laying in the fetal position, the cow's eyes widen when the doctor slides a lubricated thermometer into her puckered anus. I finish milking, letting her heavy breasts fall free from the milking machine. I let the doctor take over.
He slides the thermometer out of her and writes down the reading. He then dons gloves and tells the cow "On your back, knees up" an order she complies with immediately.
I watch, intrigued, as the vet gently spreads her legs wider, then uses his fingers to spread her pussy lips open and insert a speculum. She gasps at the cold, looks to me for support. I just look at what the doctor is doing. He uses the speculum to view her from the inside, seeing that she's healthy and prepared to deliver the child. After that examination, he removes the tool and inserts his fingers, probing and feeling.. He tells me "I need to see that she has the proper muscles developed to deliver the child easily. She has some experience, but it has been while."
I know this: the woman is at least 7 months pregnant, before that I was milking her for at least 14 months, tricking her body into producing more and more milk for me. The child, raised on formula, was adopted.
The vet's eyes get a gleam, the cow squirms as he fingers her. He tells her to squeeze her vaginal muscles, and I can see her clench his fingers. "Not too weak" he says, and moves his fingers more quickly. "Squeeze again" he says, this time with a third finger inside her. I trust this man and let him have his way.
He's clearly fucking her with his fingers now, sliding them in and out like a cock, sometimes, curling them up to massage her G-spot. The cow moans, squirms. I look from her, to restraints hanging on the barn wall, and back to her, and she takes it quietly, the only sound the vet's fingers in her now-dripping pussy and her gasping at lungfuls of air.
He tells her to squeeze and squeeze, to remember the pressure and pain of childbirth. He fists her now, his whole hand sliding into her opening, her wide hips and practiced pussy stretching and accommodating his ministrations.
"Squeeze me!" the doctor says and the cow's body tenses and she comes, her pussy spasming around the doctor's hand and wrist. She cries out and the vet smacks her hard on the thigh to shut her up. I glare at him, and look to the cow's panicked eyes as she shudders and lies still.
The doctor, all business, stands, removes his gloves, and shakes my hand. "She's quite an animal, doing just fine. Keep her on those vitamins and call me with any questions."
"Yes, I say, one of my very best. But, please, you can test her muscles all you like, but, in the future, don't strike my livestock."
The doctor humbly apologizes, and steps out. I meet eyes with the cow, now exhausted, nod to her, and move on. I have many to attend to.
A lot of ideas are still forming (for example, how they come to the farm. Do they visit a fertility clinic and are tricked/drugged/brainwashed/convinced/forced to come? Or, do they come willingly?) but I've gotten certain other things more firmly established: it will be run very professionally, the cows each given their own stalls (though, not much privacy is offered). In addition to the farmer, there will be studs and medical staff coming and going. They will be on regimented schedules to ensure the greatest milk yields and regular, healthy birthing. There will be some form of competition amongs the cows, based on objective performance or some other scale, which determines the type of care they get. The number one cow will earn a more private stall and a designated stud. The cows will be docile and enjoy the attention and affection they receive. They may start out more strong-willed, and will have to be broken. Below is a scene I imagine playing out when the vet comes calling. Please leave feedback below or email me at SMESfromlit[at]yahoo.com
I bring the vet out to the barn, where he sees my seven cows, patiently waiting for us. He knows them all well, having visited each of them many times. He's become a close friend.
He in fact leads the way to his current patient, one of my youngest. She's early in her third trimester, her body swollen and bloated on her ass, thighs, breasts, her belly large and round. She's laying on her side, resting.
I gently rouse her with a hand sliding over her hip. She looks from me to the doctor, her eyes widen slightly, but she remains calm. The first part of the exam is the milking. I start pumping her breast with my hand, and suckling the large, worn nipple, to get her to let down her early milk. It starts to come, sour and sweet at the same time, and she sighs in relief. I immediately connect her to a milking machine. I do the same for the other breast, suckling, kneading, and then attaching the pump.
Meanwhile, the vet circles her, taking her pulse, noting the way her body is developing with the pregnancy. Laying in the fetal position, the cow's eyes widen when the doctor slides a lubricated thermometer into her puckered anus. I finish milking, letting her heavy breasts fall free from the milking machine. I let the doctor take over.
He slides the thermometer out of her and writes down the reading. He then dons gloves and tells the cow "On your back, knees up" an order she complies with immediately.
I watch, intrigued, as the vet gently spreads her legs wider, then uses his fingers to spread her pussy lips open and insert a speculum. She gasps at the cold, looks to me for support. I just look at what the doctor is doing. He uses the speculum to view her from the inside, seeing that she's healthy and prepared to deliver the child. After that examination, he removes the tool and inserts his fingers, probing and feeling.. He tells me "I need to see that she has the proper muscles developed to deliver the child easily. She has some experience, but it has been while."
I know this: the woman is at least 7 months pregnant, before that I was milking her for at least 14 months, tricking her body into producing more and more milk for me. The child, raised on formula, was adopted.
The vet's eyes get a gleam, the cow squirms as he fingers her. He tells her to squeeze her vaginal muscles, and I can see her clench his fingers. "Not too weak" he says, and moves his fingers more quickly. "Squeeze again" he says, this time with a third finger inside her. I trust this man and let him have his way.
He's clearly fucking her with his fingers now, sliding them in and out like a cock, sometimes, curling them up to massage her G-spot. The cow moans, squirms. I look from her, to restraints hanging on the barn wall, and back to her, and she takes it quietly, the only sound the vet's fingers in her now-dripping pussy and her gasping at lungfuls of air.
He tells her to squeeze and squeeze, to remember the pressure and pain of childbirth. He fists her now, his whole hand sliding into her opening, her wide hips and practiced pussy stretching and accommodating his ministrations.
"Squeeze me!" the doctor says and the cow's body tenses and she comes, her pussy spasming around the doctor's hand and wrist. She cries out and the vet smacks her hard on the thigh to shut her up. I glare at him, and look to the cow's panicked eyes as she shudders and lies still.
The doctor, all business, stands, removes his gloves, and shakes my hand. "She's quite an animal, doing just fine. Keep her on those vitamins and call me with any questions."
"Yes, I say, one of my very best. But, please, you can test her muscles all you like, but, in the future, don't strike my livestock."
The doctor humbly apologizes, and steps out. I meet eyes with the cow, now exhausted, nod to her, and move on. I have many to attend to.
