Gemma Becomes a Hucow

CHAPTER THREE -- AT THE FACILITY

After over an hour, the truck slowed and turned carefully, and then their progress was a bit more bumpy. Finally the truck turned and stopped gently, then slowly reversed until it bumped into something solid. There were sounds of the cab doors opening and closing, footsteps, and then the rear doors opened, bringing the sounds of the outdoors again, together with voices.

With surprise, Gemma recognised the voices as the team leader and her male visitor. They had been in the truck! The woman was still explaining things to the man, who seemed content to listen.

"So here we are. It's not one of the most modern sites, but I like its authenticity."

Gemma's spirits soared; surely she was going to spend her days in rural bliss lying around in grassy meadows!

The two of them were joined by other voices, making greetings. Gemma could not hear what was being said from where she was in the lorry. Then there were clanking sounds behind her; perhaps they were coupling up so that the frames could be wheeled straight into the buildings. Gemma realised she would be first to be unloaded, but when it happened, her frame slid out into the open, but then hit something with a noisy clang of metal, and then her feet and then arms and collar were being freed from the frame. To her surprise, the lorry doors were closed again with a clang and scrape of the locking lever. After a few moments the lorry started and slowly drove away. There was a smell of dust left in Gemma's nostrils, and momentary silence except for bird noise in the distance.

The Superintendent continued her commentary. "So here is the permanent cow who self-indentured this morning, 398. We'll be making some extra modifications to her. Apart from the devoicing procedure I mentioned earlier, she'll have the nubs installed and several piercings. We'll also do the basic hormone supplements; both oxytocin, the milk-drop hormone, and what we call our 'happy' drug, which is a controlled dose of psylocibin. You know, psychedelic mushroom.

From here on they are not generally washed except for those tissue areas involved in production, for hygiene purposes. We find that without clothing they don't smell unduly, mostly their skin smells milky. But because this one is a permanent, so we will apply a hair eradication salve today, to their head, armpits, genital areas and legs. That will be repeated several times over the next few days, usually sufficient to kill off the hair follicles. It makes handling the permanents easier from the employees' point of view, because they all look very similar with bald heads, and there's much less chance of them becoming attached to a particular cow.

For identification purposes they used to be branded, but the plastic ear tags serve adequately as quick visual identification. However, with the new hand-held devices, it's useful to also laser a barcode on them, which the device can read without contact, giving instant access to all their background data. So that's the last process she'll undergo. Then she'll rest for a couple of days."

"......oh, I forgot, no. This one needs milking straight away. Normally the cows take up to a week to start expressing, but it looks as if this one has been practicing, so she's fairly full. A keen one, eh?"

Even as she was absorbing all this new information, Gemma's limbs and body were being handled, her feet being dropped limply to the dock, still in their cuffs. The neoprene waist strap was released and casually discarded together with her blindfold.

Gemma didn't know if she would be able to walk, especially with the heavy metal collar and cuffs on, but then the arms that had been supporting her as she dropped away from the frame, lowered her onto a kind of trolley on her back without her feet touching the ground, and she was wheeled away from the lorry facing backwards. Inside the building, the roof was wooden, with framing and timber slats, but she could see little else. There was a strong smell of straw, of bodies, and perhaps a little of urine. She could see there were four of them wheeling the trolley, all strong men in overalls, so she stayed still, her heart beating strongly.

Finally the trolley came to a halt, and she was lifted bodily, turned in mid-air, and brought down onto her hands and knees onto a floor of straw. Gemma groggily looked up and realised that she was facing some sort of small wooden frame that looked like it would be used for shearing sheep or something like that. Beyond the cage, the midday sun was shining through gaps in the long rough-finished planks that comprised that side of the barn, creating mottled stripes on the straw bed. She was pushed forwards inside the cage, which was also filled with a thick bed of straw, until her head stuck out through two vertical wooden bars into the passage beyond.

Straightaway her neck was clamped tightly, so tightly that she had to concentrate on getting her breath into her lungs through her nostrils rather than gasping through her mouth. Her arms and legs were being fixed again, and then her torso was strapped up against the ceiling of the cage with wide leather bands under her armpits and around her hips and low belly. Once again, she was totally immobilised.

Once again she was aware of the wetness of her gaped opening, was aware of her pressing need, and desperately hoped she would be soothed there soon.

Actually it was not long before Gemma received plenty of attention down there, but it was not to be the kind of attention she was hoping for. There were needles eased into one buttock and then into the depths of each breast. While she was still recovering from these new invasions to her body, she felt her labia being wiped with a very cold liquid, and then someone grasped them carefully. There were pulled back strongly and suddenly a spiking pain sent Gemma into a frenzy of useless flailing. While she was still reacting to the intense pain, she felt cool metal being passed through the wound, and a loud click, before whatever it was, was allowed to drop heavily, so that her labia felt grossly distended. The same happened with her other side.

One of the farmhands came around and crouched down before her face, not bothering to look at her while he fiddled with some equipment. Gemma was absorbed with the thick hairs on his forearms when he looked up, stabilised her face with one hand, and then slid something cold and metallic up into her nostrils. He seemed to squeeze a trigger, and her septum was brutally punched through. Tears streamed into her eyes and she choked up and gagged as her throat reacted, but all she could do was squirm in the tight embrace of the neck stock. Casually, the farmhand fed a thick ring through the hole and let the clasp close. Gemma's attention was filled with the heavy presence of the metal ring on her top lip.

But that was not the end. The farmhand squeezed her nostrils closed, forcing her to open her mouth. Instantly he reached in with tongs and took firm hold of her tongue, drawing it forward between her lips. Another brutal crunch and suddenly there was a bleeding hole through her tongue. While holding the tongs with one hand, he produced a kind of carabiner ring, pressed it open and forced it through her throbbing tongue. Instantly, Gemma could only lisp, so heavy was the ring, and its presence pressed down against the tip of her tongue, further reducing her dexterity of movement.

The same farmhand then spread some kind of thick gel over the skin of her scalp, and into her armpits and between her legs. Once again, the contact of his gloves was too fleeting to allow any her satisfaction, serving only to inflame her poor tissues afresh.

But they were still not finished. As Gemma tried to keep calm by focusing on the pretty pattern of sunlight on the flooring, a heavy band was tightened around her forehead, completely immobilising her from even fidgeting. Her chin was jammed tightly down on the horizontal beam, her tongue still throbbing inside her mouth, weighed down by the heavy ring.

Another senior-looking lady wearing a white coat moved into Gemma's vision, carrying a tray of instruments, which she placed down carefully. Gemma was still feeling quite dopey, so she didn't quite take in what was going on. But then the lady placed a kind of cloth cap over Gemma's shaven scalp and appeared to make two marks on her skin, one on each side ahead of her ears with a pen. Gemma's wide eyes swivelled hard to try and follow what was going on in front of her. The cap was removed, and the white-coat lady busied herself on the tray.

The team leader lady was standing over to one side, still with the man from the reception centre. She was keeping a running commentary, which Gemma dully overheard.

"So this is when we implant the nubs as attachment points for anything, including attaching the cow in frames, or for keeping her from moving. Of course, the nubs mentally reinforce the cow's transformation from human to animal. Inevitably they will see reflections of themselves, and this has a deep psychological effect, we have found. We have found cows standing still in front of windows, contemplating their reflections The cap acts as a template to get their positioning just right to engage with our facility's docking systems."

The white coat lady turned holding a swab glistening with fluid. It was cold on Gemma's scalp.

"Just a short-acting anaesthetic while we gain access....."

Next there was a shiny implement in her hands, which looked like a corer.

"So we remove a plug of skin to reveal the bone..."

Tracey was becoming nervous. The fact that they were going to enter her brain was suddenly very real, and very close, and very scary. Was she going to disappear? Was she -- Gemma -- going to cease to be, leaving just a zombie body?

The white coat lady was all purpose now, standing over her with what looked like a power drill. Gemma felt firm pressure on her right side, then a high-pitched whine like a dentist's drill started. It was so loud! It felt like it was inside her head, like her whole head was being vibrated, and it was like being in a loudspeaker! She could hardly hear the supervisor woman talking, but she was had to concentrate and take her mind off what was being done to her, while all the while wriggling her arms and legs fruitlessly in her restraints.

"......and these new -high-speed portable drills have made a massive difference. Before we had to lay the cows out on a table, but now it can be done right here in the barn while they are in their permanent frame. The bit is designed so it only takes the bone to a specific depth a bit like a router, and doesn't penetrate the meninges below. In a minute the vet will flush the ports out and we can insert the metal plugs."

The incredible noise and vibration was repeated on her left side, leaving her ears ringing. There was hardly any sensation, which felt quite bizarre, not that Gemma was minding that. A squeeze bulb made fluid flow down the sides of her head. Again the white coat woman turned and was busy at her tray, sterilising something, fiddling with a tube of something. Gemma started to tune out, because it was all too much to take in, but also because her tongue felt twice its size and her pussy was throbbing now.

But then something the team leader lady was saying caught her attention.

"....so in fact the nubs were a second thought. You might remember, Mr Mayor, that further back in time, girls were devoiced chemically during processing, which was not ideal. We were already developing a more elegant procedure to facilitate language loss, one that involved access to the brain itself, and one of our team realised that installing the nubs would be far less complicated than trying to replace a bone plug. The clever bit is that the two nubs are not the same....'

Tracey felt something being pressed firmly into her on the right side of her skull, and it felt vaguely tight from the pressure she felt. She guessed that the white coat lady had applied a cement to the nub, so she was being sealed up again, which made her feel slightly better. After some more fiddling at the tray, the white coat turned, and the same procedure was repeated on her left side.

"...and the one on the left side has two angled holes running through it which allow us needle penetration directly to the language centres, at least the two that matter. So shortly the vet will introduce a very long-acting anaesthetic together with a synapse blocker -- a depot injection in fact. By that I mean that it will continue to spread out from a central pool where the needle tip was, over time. Then we can seal up the entrance and everything is sterile inside."

To Gemma's horror, the white-coat lady was now facing her holding a small syringe with a long needle in her hand. She came close, placed a firm stabilising hand on Gemma's scalp, and then Gemma felt a sight vibration as the needle passed down the tube, and a sharp prick somewhere hard to locate. She held her breath, closed her eyes, fearing some excruciating pain, but there was nothing.

And then there was something else, something indefinable; a kind of confusion. It was confusing; it felt almost as if she'd fallen asleep for a few moments, but she knew her eyes were open and they were seeing things happening around her. Her nose could smell several interesting smells, her eyes were hearing sounds. Everything was still working, and Gemma relaxed a bit. The person moved away, and then Gemma could see the sunrays again, shining through the slats.

She was so engrossed in the patterns that it took her a while to become aware of another noise. It was the other two persons, and the female was making a noise, continuously, like a drone, but a bit melodic. Gemma slowly absorbed these sounds, trying to make sense of them. They sounded feminine, and there was occasionally a deeper more growly sound, which was the male human. She shook her head in frustration at not being able to do something she felt she ought to be capable of doing.

But she could not remember what it was. She could not remember.

Instead, she knew the humans were there, she could feel sensations from different parts of her body, she could see the brilliant sun on the straw below her. At least, she could not remember a name for that floor stuff anymore, but she understood implicitly its story, the fact that it and grass were related, that it was dry in her mouth and grass would be damp, and that the sun had a role in there somewhere.

But no words. At least not that Gemma could comprehend, except thing. Gemma had clung onto 'thing' -- but everything was now 'thing'. She was struggling to know whether she was thinking in concepts, or perhaps words had taken on new properties, because sometimes there was the mental echo of a combination of sounds that had meaning, but even when she tentatively tried to make them as a reassurance, her tongue, pressed down by the ring, would not respond.

In her discomfort, her apprehension, she finally made an involuntary noise from deep in her throat; an outbreath of vulnerable frustration, a gurgled bleat. She had heard that kind of noise before, a noise from that family of noises, but she could not retrieve the memory, but farms were in there somewhere. Inside her mind there were only two things; her emotional discomfort, and the noise. They were connected. One thing connected to the other thing.

She relaxed slightly. She could still speak. She could still think.

The forehead strap was released from her, the shelf removed from beneath her chin, and she shook her head slowly back and forth to ease the stiffness in her neck. There was a metal tube being positioned inside her mouth, the tongue ring now clipped somewhere beneath her chin so that her tongue lay flaccidly outside her mouth. Whatever was coming out of the tube onto the back of her tongue, sliding down her throat, tasted nice. Healthy, slightly sweet; but definitely tasting of plants of different kinds.

Tracey relaxed. Now, if only her pussy could be touched, she would be ecstatic. But she had to wait. The humans moved away, the tray disappeared, the barn became quiet save for the breathing and occasional sighs and groans from the twin rows of girls to the side of her. She was not thinking of anything in particular, like a meditation. Except that she did not realise that she was thinking about nothing, it was just what she was mentally occupied with right now.

Footsteps came louder, then a human was beside her, carrying something. There were sounds, hissing sounds, and then something, a mouth, attached itself to her nipple like a child suckling. Then the other side, each child sucking alternatively in a rhythm that took Gemma's whole attention from one side to the other, back and forth. Each suck ignited small nerves in her needy breasts; each suck sent more distant messages to her pussy, which twinged and pulsed with its own answering arousal.

Suddenly Gemma jumped and clenched. A thing had been inserted into her birthing canal, softish, large, cool, and it pressed invitingly against her walls, arousing nice sensations in her stretch nerves.

Another jump, another clench; the thing had started vibrating, was humming in a most pleasurable way, although Gemma knew she needed more to get where she wanted to get, the hum was quiet and low-pitched. She arched her back and pressed backwards against the intruder, willing it to go deeper.

Ohhhhh, that was so good!

To Gemma's surprise, the combination of the two children sucking on her teats, and the relentless vibrations in her tunnel brought about a kind of sneeze, an all-encompassing sensory spasm that involved her whole being, including her brain, a kind of brain-sneeze. For an instant she could not even think, her eyes shut tightly as her hips bucked and thrashed against her restraints.

Then she sagged into the cradle supporting her, the two children still rhythmically working her now-oversensitive teats.

Everything would be OK.