Whoresteins Hucow Dairy Farm Pt 01

Whoresteins Dairy has been a household name for decades, and we're proud to maintain the fine traditions of hucow farming established by our founder, Arthur Sterne, 70 years on.

Since our founding in 1953, Whoresteins has used the most cutting edge techniques to ensure that all of our hucows are healthy, productive and docile, taking troubled young women who would otherwise have fallen into lives of vice and criminality and ensuring they contribute to their local communities and this great nation of ours.

We'd like to invite you, as a potential investor, to visit our flagship facility to better understand the work we do, and just how rewarding it can be, not just financially, to join us in our mission to be the premier hucow concern not just in this country, but worldwide!

The email had arrived in Gemma Michael's inbox, one of dozens that were typically screened out by her personal assistant. The assistant had been hired at Gemma's insistence - how could she be expected to manage her own inbox and diary, she had so many other responsibilities in the office.

Ever since she'd married Jeoffrey Michaels, a scion of the venerable Michaels family, she had insisted on a high profile role at one of his family's companies. And she'd done sterling work!

Her official title was "operations consultant" but her duties extended into a wide range of areas - she had been pivotal in making key decisions about the office decor, for example, taking lengthy trips across the country and overseas to pick out the most elegant furniture and artwork for the offices.

She'd made great strides when it came to client entertainment as well, visiting some of the most fashionable restaurants in the city to ensure that client meetings could be held in only the most auspicious surroundings.

She'd even spearheaded negotiations with a delightful young man from a premium bottled water company, arranging what she was certain was a fantastic deal with him to provide their product to various offices in the Michaels family's portfolio of businesses.

In fact, it was pure luck that she happened to glance at her laptop when the email arrived. Her assistant had been called into some other meeting, and she'd been passing the time until she returned to execute her latest genius idea (a nautical theme for the company Christmas party) when the message appeared.

Gemma wasn't terribly familiar with the hucow industry - it was one of the more specialised fields that had emerged in the 1950's after the laws regarding indentured servitude, private prisons and corporate ownership of human being were changed in a series of sweeping reforms - but Whoresteins absolutely was a household name. Not a premium brand, of course, (Gemma hadn't drunk hucow milk herself since she'd started university), but nonetheless a hugely successful one.

Gemma cocked her head as she read the email, the gears of her mind turning. Why hadn't it occurred to her before - to put her prodigious talents to use finding new investment opportunities for the family fortune. Geoffrey's grumblings about how she only ever seemed to spend money could finally be put to rest when she could show him up by scouting a golden investment opportunity like this.

It was only a few minutes later when the door to Geoffrey's office flew open, his wife standing in the doorway, that fevered glint in her eye that confirmed that she had had yet another of her fabulous ideas.

"Geoffrey darling, I'll need you to tell the Financial Director to clear his schedule this afternoon - I've found an absolutely wonderful opportunity..."

The sleek black limousine swept into the VIP section of the Whoresteins parking lot. The driver emerged and opened a rear door and Gemma stepped out, adjusting her sunglasses and tucking the italian leather folio under her arm.

She gave a curt nod to the driver and headed across the car park towards the main doors.

Whoresteins flagship dairy was true to its kitschy, homespun marketing propaganda - the front of the facility decked out to resemble a traditional, all-American midwestern barn, a facade that did little to obscure the sprawling, industrial facility behind.

The illusion didn't last long however. The faux-wooden doors glided open as she approached to reveal a tastefully minimal foyer. Two leather chairs sat opposite a glass desk, manned by a woman, no older than 21, with platinum blonde hair, perfect pearly white teeth and a prodigious bosom openly displayed by her low cut blouse.

Aside from the smiley blonde behind the front desk being slightly more busty than usual, and the fact that the ornate glass decanter on the desk was clearly filled with milk rather than water, it could easily be the lobby of any other soulless corporate headquarters.

"Good morning!" the receptionist piped up with a bright smile as Gemma stepped over the threshold.

"How may I help you today? Do you have an appointment?"

Gemma cast her eyes around the foyer, removing her sunglasses and adopting a well practiced look of disinterest before finally turning her gaze to the receptionist.

The girl behind the desk was clearly not hired for her brains, but then she too was probably an important part of the decor. Gemma was careful not to look at the smiling receptionist when she addressed her. It was all part of her affected personality for business encounters - remaining aloof at all times - but she'd felt a genuine twinge of disdain when she'd seen the beaming young woman, immediately identifying her as yet another piece of office furniture - a slow witted bimbo there to impress visitors.

Finally deigning to respond, Gemma granted the receptionist a tight lipped smile. "Yes, hello. I'm Gemma Michaels, I have an appointment with Mr Sterne."

The receptionist seemed undaunted by Gemma's cold demeanour, her bright smile not flickering for a second.

"Oh of course, Miss Michaels. Mr Sterne is expecting you."

The girl leaned across the desk to reach an intercom button, her tits threatening to burst free from her blouse as she did so.

"Mr Sterne - your 1 o'clock is here - Ms Michaels."

"Mrs Michaels!" Gemma cut in

The receptionist flashed Gemma another smile, not missing a beat.

"Mrs Michaels," the girl corrected herself.

"Mr Sterne will be along shortly. In the meantime can I offer you some refreshment?"

Without waiting for an answer the receptionist poured out a generous measure of milk from the decanter on her desk into one of the spotless crystal glasses, proffering it in Gemma's direction.

Gemma hesitated for a moment, reluctant to imbibe the mass market product. Still, she mused, it made sense to show that she was keen to sample the product she was considering investing in.

"Thank you, that's most kind."

She took a sip of the thick, creamy milk, the taste bringing back memories from her early life. She had to admit, she retained a soft spot for the drink - it was rich with just a hint of sweetness, oddly comforting. But there was something else, not quite familiar. Perhaps this was a higher quality version of their milk, one served to corporate visitors and other VIPs.

Gemma swallowed, licking her lips involuntarily.

"So, does this come from the farm here? From one of your human cows?"

"Oh yes, of course - Mr Sterne is very insistent about us only serving exactly what's on offer in stores. We're very proud of our product, whichever one of our cows it comes from. Is this your first time visiting a hucow dairy?"

"Yes, it is. I'm looking for new opportunities to diversify the investment portfolio of Michael's Industries, and the dairy sector seems like a - well, I need hardly explain it to you, I'm sure." Gemma's tone was more than a little condescending, as if this over-endowed secretary would have any idea what she was talking about. "Have you, ah, worked here very long?"

The secretary's eyes did indeed begin to glaze over at the words 'diversify' and 'portfolio' but she perked up again at Gemma's question.

"Oh 3 years now, since I graduated school. I was so excited to get to work at the head office - Mr Crowley said the best place for me was at the front desk. He said someone with my talents was perfect to welcome visitors when they arrive."

She beamed with pride, apparently convinced that she was an integral part of the organisation.

The sound of doors sliding open came from behind and a man appeared through the doorway. Late 30's, brown hair with a touch of grey, dressed in a white shirt and jeans, a warm smile on his face.

He approached, extending a hand.

"Mrs Michaels! So sorry to have kept you waiting, welcome to our little operation. I trust Emily has been taking good care of you?"

"Yes, thank you! It's nice to meet you in person. And I'm looking forward to the tour."

Gemma set down the glass, realising that she had drained the whole thing. "And you certainly have a first rate product. Here's to hoping to a successful partnership. Now. Where would you like to begin?"

Mr Sterne smiled appreciatively at the empty glass.

"I'm glad to see you enjoy our work. We aim to please after all. It's all we can do to keep the staff from abusing the free milk at work policy. Isn't that right Emily?"

He winks at the blonde behind the reception desk, extracting a giggle from the woman.

"But yes, absolutely - let me show you around our little operation."

Mr Sterne beckoned for Gemma to follow him through the inner doors and along a corridor lined with trophies and plaques - various industry awards Whoresteins had earned.

"I trust you didn't have to travel too far? I imagine your work keeps you very busy so I really do appreciate you sparing the time to visit. I think it's important that any potential investors see the work we do in person to understand how their contribution will be used."

At the end of the corridor he guided Gemma up a staircase and through a pair of double doors, a blast of chilled air coming through when they swung open.

The pair emerged onto a raised catwalk above a large open factory floor. The hum of machinery and the sloshing of milk filled the room as Gemma looked down at the huge vats of creamy milk, a few staff in cleansuits moving between them, monitoring various machines.

"As you can see, we're committed to using only the most cutting edge technology when it comes to processing our product. Truth be told, most of this process is automated - it's at the early stages of the production line where we're really able to make a difference."

"Am I right in thinking you've not visited a hucow dairy before?"

"That's correct - but I've been doing a lot of research into the industry. I understand that the Asian market is an important growth area?"

Gemma hadn't done more than a bit of light reading on the subject, in truth - that was what the support staff were for.

"Ah, you're referring to our new facility in China I assume?" Mr Sterne replied, "You're absolutely right - we have over 300 hucows there now with plans to double that number over the next 18 months. We had some supply chain issues to begin with but I'm pleased to say that we're now operating above projected rates of productivity. Headquarters is still our highest producing facility though - from this one dairy alone we supply two thirds of supermarkets in the state."

Gemma nodded noncommittally. It was always best to let these executive types deliver their monologues about the 'amazing' things their businesses were doing.

"Still, you can find out all about the numbers side of Whoresteins on our website. We can move on from here, unless you have any questions about the specifics of our processing and bottling process?"

"No," Gemma replied. "I'm sure that Whoresteins is using perfectly adequate equipment, and really the processing of hucow milk doesn't vary a great deal from one dairy to another, as I understand."

"I see. I thought you said you hadn't visited any other dairies...?"

Gemma ignored the question.

"I'd really like to talk in more detail about the financial side of the business - what kind of rates of return I can expect from our investment."

"Of course, of course. But, if you'll indulge me, I simply wouldn't feel right bringing you all the way out here without offering you the full tour."

Gemma was about to reply with something dismissive, when she noticed a young woman approaching from the other end of the catwalk bearing a tray with a steaming insulated mug.

"Ah, Lindsey - thank you so much," Mr Sterne greeted the girl, almost a carbon copy of the receptionist. He plucked one of the mugs from the tray and offered it to Gemma.

"Unfortunately much of the facility has to be kept refrigerated - I always say that a glass of warm milk is the best thing for keeping the chill away."

Gemma considered protesting, but in truth, the cold of the factory floor was beginning to get to her. With another tight lipped smile she took the cup in her hand and took a long sip.

If anything, it tasted even better than the glass she had drunk in the foyer, the warmth seeming to spread through her whole body.

"Thank you," she turned to the smiling blonde, "Lindsey, was it?"

"Yes Miss. I hope it's not too hot for you?"

"Oh no, no it's perfect, thank you."

"Thank you, Lindsey. That will be all for now."

With a nod, Lindsey walked past the pair, towards the door that led back to the lobby.

"Now, if you're suitably warmed up, shall we continue?"

Mr Sterne led Gemma along a series of catwalks while the efficient, almost serene work of the dairy went on below.

Gemma did her best to ignore him as he waxed lyrical about the history of the company, explaining how his grandfather had been one of the first people to work with the state to house female prisoners in a way that ensured they remained productive members of society regardless of tendencies towards antisocial behaviour, how Whoresteins had almost single-handedly restored the prosperity of small towns across America by offering families the opportunity to have a guaranteed income stream during the financial crisis of 1962 by submitting excess daughters to the Dairy.

"Mmm, fascinating." Gemma gave an affected yawn. "Well the tour has been very interesting but I-"

"But you're keen to see the more, 'grassroots' part of our operation? Of course. Please follow me."

Mr Sterne led the way to the end of a final catwalk, through another pair of double doors. Beyond was a wide stairwell, and Gemma followed him as he descended.

"Might I ask, Mrs Michaels, do you have any thoughts on the controversy surrounding hucow farming? Obviously it's died down a lot since the 1960's but there's still a few dedicated groups who object to the practice."

Gemma had never given it any thought. Hucows were simply part of life, and had been for decades by the time she was born. She'd never seen one, nor had any particular interest in doing so. It was common knowledge that the sort of women who ended up in a hucow dairy were the types who would never have done anything else with their lives regardless.

"I think that business is business, Mr Sterne. I'm afraid I don't have a lot of free time to concern myself with the objections made by a few hippy do-gooders." Well played, she thought to herself - showing her ruthless business-minded attitude without being drawn into politics.

Mr Sterne responded with another grin. "Excellent - I feel exactly the same way. Although I must admit I do have a certain passion for the work we do here. Although, as you say, business is business."

The pair reached the bottom of the staircase. Gemma was vaguely aware of the atmosphere having grown warmer and more humid as they descended. That no doubt explained the faint dizziness she was experiencing - the rapid shift from cold to hot.

At the foot of the stairs was a heavy metal door with a small glass window, fogged up and opaque.

"Now, this part of our facility is a little more sensitive, so I'll need to ask you to wear a face mask, if that isn't too much trouble?"

Mr Sterne removed a linen facemask from his back pocket, pulling the elastic straps over his ears before reaching to a dispenser beside the door and removing a somewhat different mask, patterned in cow-print, and handing it to Gemma. He chuckled.

"Sorry, the marketing department do get a bit carried away sometimes."

With a frown Gemma donned the mask as Mr Sterne swung the doors open.

The blast of heat and humidity from inside was intense, and might have been welcome after the chilly processing centre were it not for the feeling of light-headedness that Gemma was struggling with.

She took a deep breath and followed Mr Sterne inside.

The chamber beyond felt almost like a greenhouse, warm and muggy but with a scent permeating the air that was quite different from the jungles of the tropics. It wasn't unpleasant as such, simply organic, the scent of warm bodies. The lighting was low, the fluorescent tubes overhead covered with red filters.

"This section is specifically climate controlled - we've found that it has a marked effect on milk production."

Gemma tried to suck in another deep breath but it only seemed to make things worse, the hot humid air filling her lungs.

Mr Sterne continued. "We've found that hucows kept in an environment of 30 degrees celsius and 80% humidity or higher produce a much thicker, richer form of milk. We don't keep all of our hucows in facilities like these - different conditions and different treatment can produce all kinds of varieties of our product."

Gemma followed along behind Mr Sterne as he approached a low metal gate. Glancing ahead, Gemma realised that both sides of the hallway were lined with identical bars at evenly spaced intervals.

The dizziness was getting worse, the warm milk in her stomach suddenly seeming to have been a very regrettable choice. Sweat beading on her forehead, starting to totter now on her expensive wedge heels, she joined Mr Sterne at the gate, grateful to have something to grab hold of for support.

"As you can see, these conditions might seem extreme for you or I, but our hucows adapt remarkably well."

Gemma blinked, trying to focus and looked into the narrow cell behind the gate.

A woman, ebony skinned and glistening with sweat was on her hands and knees inside. She gazed back at Gemma, big brown eyes regarding the visitor with only mild interest. Around her neck was a thick leather collar, a brass bell dangling from it, swinging lazily in time with the rhythmic rocking the woman was engaged in.

It took Gemma a moment to notice the most striking thing about the hucow however, aside from her nakedness. She was dimly aware that hucows were well endowed - it made sense - but this woman had breasts that were truly enormous. Her tits, or perhaps udders would be a better description, hung beneath her, thick dark nipples almost grazing the floor of her cell. The hucow was moaning, a slow, lazy sound suspiciously similar to a moo, ululating as she rocked her hips back and forth.

"279-A here has only been with us for a few months, but she's already become quite productive. Perhaps it's unprofessional, but I do make a point of keeping track of as many of our producers as my time permits."

'279-A' barely seemed to hear Mr Sterne's words, simply casting a glazed look in his direction, apparently much more focused on her rhythmic thrusting.

"Of course, as you mentioned, one dairy is much like any other in many ways. But Whoresteins was the first to discover that giving our hucows the opportunity to act on their increased libido has a marked positive impact on milk production."

279-A was thrusting more urgently now. Her skin glistened with a mixture of sweat and condensation from the saturated atmosphere.

"Fitting each stall with a relief device has been standard practice since the early 70's, but we were the first to do it."