Luscious Hills Dairy [Hucow] [Noncon] [Blowjob]

**Content disclaimer: the main character starts her hucow induction in this story unwillingly, in a dystopian nightmare of a future very much inspired by a recent American judicial decision…**

Medical and farm play, needles, bondage, blowjobs, deepthroat, dehumanization, and teasing/denial play big parts in this story.

If you like this kind of stuff, check out my other stories!

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Luscious Hills – what an obnoxious fucking name for an obnoxious fucking place. I can’t believe that life has led me here, locked in a pillory with another bar under my hips and a spreader bar keeping my legs apart, my ass just a bit higher than my head so that my pussy is easy to access. Fucking degrading is what it is, and when I get out of this mess I’m going to make my ex-husband regret being born.

I wasn’t really paying attention when the New Debtor Laws were passed. That was something for poor people to worry about, and all the media fuss over “cruel and unusual punishments” or how “we’re all living in some bizarre dystopian capitalist nightmare” was just downright annoying. I read the news to find out how Kim K is going to be celebrating her sixtieth, not to get depressed by some dried up old lawyer complaining about civil rights and how this would disproportionately affect women.

Turns out that dried up old bitch might have had a point. It was my husband’s bad investments that got us into this mess, my husband getting fired from his CFO position, my husband borrowing too much money for the summer house that wasn’t even on the right Greek island – I mean come on, how is it possibly fair that the debt gets split equally among us when I never even saw our finances until they were getting torn apart in front of the judge?

Debts of more than 100k are now paid through enslavement, at the rate of 50k reduced for every year served. In my case, my idiot husband managed to rack up almost six hundred grand in debt even after all the assets were seized and sold, so now it’s six years *each*. I don’t know where they wound up taking him, but my slave contract was bought by Luscious Hills Dairy. At first I thought I’d be doing farm work, which was already a nightmare, but then I learned that this farm doesn’t have any animals on it.

No, this farm is much worse. This farm produces *human* milk, and it just so turns out that I have ideal milker genetics. This is a piece of information I gladly could have gone without hearing, but there’s a ball-gag in my mouth so big that my jaw aches from accommodating it for the three-hour trip from the auction house to the farm, and worse than all that I’ve had to listen to the farmer prattle on about how much pride he takes in his ‘herd’ and the nutritional benefits of breastmilk and how much *fun* we’re going to have together once I learn to accept my new place in life.

What a prick.

He’s whistling some aimless, cheerful tune as he gets something ready behind me. The pillory is set up so I’m facing one of the wooden walls of the barn, unable to see anything else going on in the room. He seems to be taking his sweet time, and I imagine that he’s staring at my ass as he does. Most men do. I guess I was what you might call a trophy wife, though that would kind of imply that my ex was a winner. He was just rich, and I was just hot. Not in the cheap pornstar way either, but in the well-bred aristocratic way, with a firm ass and high, teardrop-shaped titties that matched my slender frame.

The farmer who bought me is a world away, a man with rough hands, shaggy brown hair badly in need of a trim, patchy stubble, and a round, boyish face. He finally approaches me and sets himself up on, I shit you not, an old-timey milking stool. I test how far I can move, but it’s not far, barely more than wiggling a couple of inches. He doesn’t seem to notice or mind, and the next thing I know he’s rubbing something wet and cold over my breasts.

I yelp in surprise, but I’m already at the far end of my range of motion so I can’t even flinch away. “Sorry, it’s a little cold this morning. You’ll get used to it soon enough, we do these udder scans weekly until your course of induction hormones is complete,” he explains to me as he spreads it around. “Then once you’re on the regular production schedule, it’s biannual checkups.” It would almost be better if he was taking advantage of the situation to be a pervert and feel me up, but he doesn’t linger or squeeze them or anything, like this is just business to him. I can’t believe that a rack like mine which once won wet T-shirt contests all over Atlantic City doesn’t even get a second glance here.

I feel him press a big plastic wand against my breast. Some part of me expected there to be some noise or faint vibrations, but the only sign I have that anything is going on is his occasional noises of approval as he moves it around, checking each breast quickly but thoroughly. As if it wasn’t humiliating enough being completely naked in front of some hayseed, now he’s also seen *inside* of me. And he’s only getting started!

Once the scan is done, he wipes the gel off of my tits, but any sort of relief is short-lived because the next thing I know there’s some kind of device around my nipples, applying intense suction! I protest around the ballgag, but all that comes out are some muffled mmmmph noises which don’t seem to bother him. “These need to stay on for about ten minutes before the procedure and then twenty minutes after, we need full engorgement for the drugs to work properly,” he explains. I don’t like the sound of that – and I like the third target even worse as he parts my lips and places a third suction device onto my clitoris!

I try to buck it off, but I can move so little and it’s well stuck to me. The sensation is intense, both pleasurable and uncomfortable, as I feel my delicate parts stretched out into wide tubes by the force of the vacuum pressure. “Now for the transvaginal ultrasound,” he announces cheerfully. I can do nothing but grunt and shake my head in protest as the lubed-up wand is now eased into my waiting pussy, a surprisingly easy process despite it being at least as thick as my ex-husband’s cock and a few inches longer.

I suppose I must be a little turned out despite myself, because even though it takes a bit of pressure for him to get it inside, my walls part willingly for him and it glides deep inside me without any pain. In fact, when he pushes it all the way to the back I feel my thighs tremble just a bit with pleasure. Noticing this, he chuckles indulgently and thrusts it into me a few times, toying with me before settling down and actually doing the scan.

Having my body manipulated like this is bad enough, but the way it responds, betraying my unwilling mind… that’s the worst part by far. It’s one thing to be the victim of a crappy husband and crappy laws, but now I’m being victimized by my own body!

The scan doesn’t take long, so after he finishes (this time not bothering to wipe the gel away) he starts getting ready and I’m left to wait. Having ten minutes before the next step seems like a godsend, a chance to catch my breath and collect my thoughts, but of course things don’t work out that way.

I hear the door behind me open and a low whistle. “This is the new heifer? Skinny, but she’ll be pretty soon enough,” says the gruff voice of an older man.

“Give her a month or two, Zion. We’re trying out the higher dose on this one as part of the G2 production goals. I’m predicting a 600% growth in udder volume in eight weeks, and a 20% increase in yield over the G1 cows. She should be our best cow yet in under six months,” the first man replies. My mind spins as I try to imagine what my ordinary B-cups would look like *six times bigger*.

“Hallelujah Doc, that’s what I like to hear! And speaking of which, if you’re not using her…?” Zion asks.

The first guy chuckles. “She’s not ready to be bred yet,” he says.

**To be WHAT?!** I wonder, grunting in alarm.

“…but you can use her mouth. Here, I’ve got a ring gag handy,” Doc says.

“You’re a great Vet, you know that?” The other man laughs and I hear the jangle of a buckle as he approaches me with the gag. I don’t have any time to digest the fact that the guy I thought was a farmer is in fact a *veterinarian* nor the fact that breeding is, apparently, part of my duty here at the farm, because the next thing I know there’s a big hand resting on my face.

Zion is a black man, perhaps in his forties, with broad shoulders and a small paunch that together tell a story of hard work and a few too many beers after. He has the kind of face that could be handsome with a bit of moisturizer and a better haircut, but right now there’s a lecherous smirk on it that makes me shudder. “Hey there heifer. I’m going to put a new gag in now, alright?” He greets me. “If you’re a good girl and don’t make any sounds, I’ll be gentle. If you try to scream or bite, I’ll hurt you. Alright?” He has a strong southern accent, and the way he says *alright* is deceptively soothing for how horrific his proposition is.

I nod, desperate to get the ball gag out, but once he removes it I clamp my jaw shut stubbornly. “Fuck you, pervert,” I hiss through my clenched teeth, glaring up at him. I know that my little act of rebellion won’t go well, but I’m still shocked when he slaps me. And not something playful either, but a proper open-handed knock upside the head, delivered so fast I didn’t even see his hand coming. The blow lands heavy and I’m dazed for a few seconds after, long enough for him to pry the ring gag between my teeth and buckle it tightly in place. My face stings where he slapped me and my ear is ringing, but I don’t have time to think about that.

In fact, the only thoughts in my mind are centered around Zion unzipping his fly to reveal an uncut cock that almost fills my mouth even though it’s still soft. Laid across my tongue, though, it doesn’t stay that way for long. He grabs my silky blonde hair in his rough hands and holds my head still as he simply lets his organ soak in my mouth for a minute. “Feisty one,” he comments offhandedly.

“They all start that way,” Doc agrees. I can’t hear anything moving around now; he must be watching us. I already miss his gentle touch as Zion begins to thrust his half-hard cock deeper, bumping into the back of my throat. It makes me gag but he doesn’t seem to mind, as he does it again, and again, until I have the gagging more under control. By now he’s fully hard and begins to go further past my gag point, pushing his way into my throat inch by inch. I have no way to resist; tensing my throat just makes it hurt more so I have to relax, swallow the head, and just let it happen.

I’ve never deepthroated anything before and I feel tears well up in my eyes. It’s uncomfortable, humiliating, and the absolute worst part is that every time he pulls out and I gasp for air, I’m surrounded by the smell of his sweaty balls – a smell that is making me undeniably aroused. Or maybe it’s the helplessness of being used like an object. Maybe it’s the suckers on my nipples and clit. In any case, this is the most erotic moment of my entire life, and I absolutely hate myself for it.

I guess it must be pretty good for Zion too, because he doesn’t seem to be worried about making it last. He fucks my face at his own pace, balls smacking my chin as he starts getting really into it. “That’s a good cow,” he grunts, and I feel his dick twitch and swell in my mouth. Is this really happening? I feel his cum hitting my throat, but it’s so deep inside me, so far past the point of my gag reflex, that there’s not even the question of swallowing, it just flows directly into my stomach.

He pulls out with a satisfied sigh, wipes his wet, sticky cock on my face and hair to dry it, and leaves me stunned and gasping for air as he wanders off again with only a short goodbye to Doc. They’re both so casual about this, like it’s an ordinary day on the farm! Just a few short weeks ago, blowjobs were something I reserved as a very special treat for my husband. Usually he’d get one on his birthday, and one after Christmas if my presents were good enough that year. They’re supposed to be a rare and special thing, just like me, and the blow to my pride is even worse than the sticky mess drying on my cheek.

“You’ll get used to it,” the younger man says soothingly as he sits on the stool again. “The hormones help with that. Soon you won’t have to worry about a thing, your only thoughts will be on the next milking session and when you’ll get bred again… it’s the most natural thing in the world, and you’re lucky enough to be a part of it.”

I want to slap that smug expression off his face, but the only thing I can do is shake a little as he grabs a nipple sucker. “Hold still, you won’t want me to miss my aim in a minute,” he chides me as he removes it. I whimper, feeling how distended and swollen my nipple is in the cool air of the barn. It was the size of a small blueberry when he started, but it feels like the final joint of my pinkie now, elongated and extra sensitive. The farmer pinches it and rolls it between his fingers experimentally, and I gasp despite myself at the sensation of being played with when I’m already this turned on.

I’m so focused on the pleasure that the small pinch of a fine hypodermic needle being inserted into the tip of my nipple barely even hurts. But it’s not the needle I need to worry about. There’s an uncomfortable pressure as he begins to depress the plunger, and then as the liquid starts to interact with my body it causes a burning sensation. It’s mild at first, but then the needle sinks in again, a couple of millimeters away, and injects some more. By the third jab I’m so sensitive that I can clearly feel the tiny needle sliding into my delicate nipples, and there are two more after that.

My nipples feel like lit match heads now, an exquisite pinpoint of fire. I want to plunge it into ice water, give it a soothing rub, anything to help the intense sensation of heat, but when he finally lets go the only thing I can do is shake a bit, which only makes things worse. I almost cry when he removes the sucker from my other nipple, because this time I know what’s coming. Five little pricks, and that nipple is on fire too, but more intense than the other one. It seems to be dying down a little, less of a burning sensation and more of a tingle, but not the sort of pins-and-needles feeling like a foot falling asleep. It’s more like taking a bandage off, the sensation of the skin that had been trapped beneath it finally getting to feel again, but a hundred times more intense.

I’m breathing heavily now, and I can hear a ragged sound coming from my throat as every exhale comes out with a reedy whine of pain and arousal. Clearly he can hear it too. “Might want to take a deep breath for this one,” he advises me as his fingers find the clit sucker.

“Ooo! Guhh,” I protest as best I can around the ring gag as my clit is finally released. Even the cold air against it is intense when it’s so pumped full of blood, and when he grabs it between his fingers I whimper loudly, anticipating the worst. The first prick of the needle isn’t as bad as I had braced myself for.

The burning sensation, though, is so much stronger. It feels like pure fire is coursing through my capillaries, like every nerve in my entire clit is being personally set alight. I can’t breathe, I can’t even scream, my entire body locks up, but it fades quickly, fades into a persistent throbbing, needy heat. As he cleans up the needle and vials, the discomfort I’m in goes from pain to a desperate need to be touched, to have any kind of soothing or at least stimulation. It’s worse than my last day with the cast around my ankle when I broke it as a kid, the compulsion to scratch and touch a part of my body that has been without any contact for so long, and yet it’s only been a matter of seconds.

“Easy there, we’re not done yet,” Doc says with a chuckle. “Those are just to make your body more responsive and receptive. Now we’ll start the hormones… although it sounds like you’ve started moaning already!”

“Uck oo,” I hiss, but he only laughs and smacks my ass indulgently as he sits down.

“Quiet down, I’m just joshing with you. Gotta have a little fun on the job, right? Anyway, these might be more uncomfortable,” he mentions. I brace, believing him, but I still wasn’t expecting the sheer size of the needle he slides into my breast. Both long and wide, I can feel it going through layers of fat and flesh until it’s right up against my milk glands.

I’m breathing hard as I feel the cool liquid injected deep into my chest. Removing the needle isn’t any better, and then it slides in again! Time seems to go in slow motion as he injects each breast six times, and it feels like the syringe must be the size of a soda bottle because my boobs feel obscenely swollen and heavy when he’s done, the skin uncomfortably tight. I imagine they must look like water balloons or bad silicone implants, grossly distended, disfigured for life!

“We’ll just use some lotion to help your skin adjust and prevent stretch marks,” Doc says as he cleans up this latest round of medications. I grunt some agreement, but I don’t think it matters what I say at this point. His touch is as gentle as ever as he rubs a vaguely honey-scented lotion into my tits, careful to moisturize every inch of skin in the area, especially my nipples. I startle when he first passes over them, shocked at how incredible it feels. My nipples are now as sensitive as my vagina used to be, if not even more! Even this very light, non-sexual massage is incredibly pleasurable, and when he notices this and starts playing with my nipples it only takes a few moments to put me on edge.

“Shame you won’t be allowed to cum until you start producing,” he says with a little sigh. “Not my decision, but that’s what the research shows works best. Don’t you worry though, you’ll be lactating normally in a couple of weeks.”

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/w49s6g/luscious_hills_dairy_hucow_noncon_blowjob