Having read extensively through the hucow genre, I have wanted to make my own contribution. But I must pay thanks to writers like Katie Smith and Carl Bradford and other writers of the StripSearch forum, because they have influenced me as well. This actually started life as a Tracey Smith story, but I quickly realised there was no part for the usual supporting players -- this is all about the central character and her experience.
CHAPTER ONE -- THE BIG DAY
It was her 18th birthday today, and Gemma Faulkner bounced out of bed, eager to get her special day underway. But today there was one big difference with Gemma's birthday this year. It was not presents she was looking forwards to, because there would be none -- the family had agreed that -- and nor would there be any particular celebration. But regardless of all that, this day was the most important day in Gemma's life. Nowadays a girl's 18th birthday not only made her a legal adult, but that in turn meant that now she could freely enrol herself into the National Resource System.
Actually, her enrolment had not been an issue for anyone in her family. Ever since Gemma's breasts had started developing at the age of 10, when she was already masturbating each night, rubbing furiously between her thighs, she had realised that she was fated to become a hucow. With each year her body became more fecund, more curvaceous; and if to cement the deal, she was streamed in the lowest class in college when she arrived there.
Girls with larger breasts could still avoid being drafted into the Resource System if they showed academic aptitude, but Gemma had known all along that her fate lay elsewhere, and she was happy with that. So she readily accepted the special sport and training courses that the college presented for girls who accepted this route, together with the slave training modules that they shared with girls who were drawn to slavery indenture, and her family had supported her. Thinking realistically, she felt deeply that they would likely otherwise be supporting her financially as she progressed through life, rather than receiving the incentive payment that the Government made to families of hucows, acknowledging their sacrifice to society.
She was absolutely looking forwards to being transformed into a pampered, constantly-horny, beastette, with absolutely no responsibilities or worries. She would end up not only producing milk and little ones, but would spend her days completely naked, probably just pooping or peeing anywhere, and likely restrained daily while her breasts were tormented by suction cups, and that thought alone blew her mind and made her tweak her nipples, making her her panties so sticky that most afternoons in the months before her significant anniversary she ended up going without any underwear at all under her cheerleader skirts.
She knew everything in her life would be taken care of; food, shelter, warmth, her health, and of course her sexual needs. She would experience a full and satisfying sex life without the anguish and tribulations of normal relationships. In return she would give society both milk and other little hucow candidates in due course. The advertisements and posters had been clear on this.
So with this knowledge, Gemma had applied herself to becoming the perfect candidate. She had not bothered with boyfriends, preferring to attend to her body's needs herself, relentlessly plunging her favourite dildos into her pussy and rosebud month after month until they both were accomplished performers.
However she had, with great control, stopped playing with herself about a fortnight ago, and now even the delicious sensations that the shower head made each morning caused her cunnie to tingle alarmingly. She had found it very difficult to concentrate on anything at all in the last few days, not only from anticipation, but especially because she had stopped expressing milk around the same time, and gradually her breasts had become engorged and tight. But she wanted desperately to present as an excellent candidate for the resource programme; she wanted to feel proud of her achievement, even though there was no diploma for this like other academic subjects at her college. So she had even prepared herself by getting her hair cut into a shorter style that looked smart, and had spent some of her allowance on hair removal down below, before going across town to a photography studio and getting a nice portrait for her family to remember her by.
As her father pulled into the crowded carpark of the receiving centre, Gemma could see that the working day was already well underway even though it was only 8.30am, with lots of activity around the entrance to the admissions office. She had deliberately worn older, comfy clothing, assuming that it would be returned to her automatically at the end of her career as a hucow, but not wanting to risk her best clothes becoming musty in some locker, because the clothing would most likely be dated by then.
But surely her family would surely bring fresh clothes at the end of her duty period. That was one piece of information she had not seen. Over the years she had read everything she could on the subject of human cows, and had watched all the advertisements for the NRS showing happy girls being milked, relaxing in their quarters, and mooing happily while being inseminated, all while the voiceover explained what a valuable contribution each girl made to society and to the national economy. Each advertisement finished with the mantra, "Realise your dreams, and help your world!"
Walking into the reception hall with her father accompanying her, Gemma could see a queue of girls already waiting at the main desk, and several attendants standing on each side, waiting with a pile of equipment on their trolleys. Some girls were fully clothed, others were just in skimpy sports clothes or even bikinis, and there were a few who had turned up completely nude. These naked girls all had ready-shaven vulvas, just as Gemma had prepared herself, knowing that they would end up being that way in any case. A few days ago, she had visited the local beauty salon and had her thighs, legs and armpits completely waxed. Her reasoning was that not only would she be properly presented, but perhaps if they gave her hormones to promote milk production, then her hair might not grow back.
Those girls who are waxed are looking forwards to this for sure, thought Samantha. Like me. We're the naturals.
These days, girls had more choices than just the NRS. They could indenture themselves into slavery, although most girls who ended up being slaves came through the judicial system, convicted of offences with a prison sentence, and compelled to do a plea bargain to avoid penal labour. Of course, in that case, there was no chance of any compensation to the family, unlike when a girl placed herself with the NRS, and the girl was fated to receive some heavy-duty obedience conditioning that did not include any calming medications, so they were essentially broken into docility. Even girls who self-indentured as slaves got no compensation, though obviously their keep was supported by their new owner or owners once they had passed through the auction market system, so their families didn't have to support them.
