Disclaimer: Don't do this at home. If you are underage, don't even read this at home. In fact, if you are underage, and reading this disclaimer, shame on you, you're spoiling a perfectly good childhood. Anyway, this is purely fiction, and science fiction at that, so whoever you are, don't take it seriously. I do like to write in a way that makes things seem plausable, but that doesn't mean that these things are plausable, or for that matter even admirable. So, take it from me, Clark Kent, this story is just for funsies.
Maybe it was just that things had gotten too easy for Jack. After all, he lived in an easy world for a man, women outnumbering men by a good two to one. Of course it had to be that way, the social engineers said. The world had started to become unlivable due to the surge in population, up until recent decades when incentives and policies had been changed to reduce the swell to what promised to soon be pre-twentieth century levels.
Birth control had been mandated at birth for most, with time induced injections for both men and women implanted, and active until the thirtieth birthday, finally a worldwide UN law. This one was recharged at the age of thirty, if you took the incentive. Alternatively, a surgeon could remove the implant, but for a tax in the event of any resulting births of free citizens. Jack was nearly thirty himself, and had been pondering his financial options regarding another implant.
Another, more welcomed law had been the Kavorkian Assembly, a collection of laws that effectively legalized, as well as sanitized, suicides. In an overcrowded world the takers on that had been many, though it was now slowed to a trickle in the now reduced, and happier general population. The companion law (we'd come to think of all laws as companion to some other; one for the people, and another for commerce) had been the national Commerce Kavorkian Law, which meant anyone could volunteer both themselves and any product of themselves for utility to any licensed outlet. Think of it kind of like Soylent Green, and you might get the picture. What the hell, if you're dead anyway, you might as well be reconstituted into any number of useful biochemicals. In a way it's no different from organ donation, a requirement since well before I was born.
You just have to keep commerce happy in a shrinking world where the markets are also shrinking. We all reap the benefits of low unemployment, but the moral details may not always be to the liking of the overly religious. Thankfully there are less of those. I mean, in the 20th century they were willing to sacrifice the environment to jobs, an unthinkable prospect in the new age. It's a good thing that we know better than to do more of that since the warming recovery brought us back, though the tidal floodplains formerly known as New York City and Florida will never be the same. No, today we just accept the sacrifices of a few volunteers, at the great improvement in the lifestyles of those left behind. I'll tell you personally, I wouldn't have it any other way.
The Equal Rights Amendment had similarly been altered to allow unprecedented freedom beyond, race, creed, national origin, sex and age, now including sexual orientation, and proclivities. Twenty years after those additions, someone successfully argued in the Supreme Court that, that right also included the right to volunteer one's self into slavery, defining it as a sexual orientation activity as long as it is initiated with a clearly defined contract that was not coerced and had been granted the five day lemon period. Laws were passed allowing for the slaves to bring up their children in the same environment, a Family Act of some sort, as I recall. Of course, any person found to be caught up in such a venture, and wanting an out, needs only to sign a few forms and make a court date, a set of provisions designed to keep the lawyers happy, and allow fair restitution for anyone taking on a slave who may have incurred expenses for unexpectedly short stays. Think of it something like a divorce. Children above the age of sixteen could similarly divorce their parents, a much debated provision due to the strain on social systems, should a slave's child seek provision. The provider of the new child, the firm holding the parental slaves, would have to foot most of the bill for the new citizen, adding incentives for the firm to maintain some control over the freelancing of slave childbearing. Children divorcing parents seemed a natural spin from this sort of contract, necessitated in cases where the child was fathered or mothered by a person who'd chosen the orientation of slavery, though it has since been found to be almost never used, perhaps due to the financial pressures of incentives. Some contend that children of slaves receive inadequate education to handle the forms, while others say that this is exactly why then shouldn't be let loose upon society's social nets anyway. I find it hard to believe that children of slaves do not seek release without some, unknown to the general population, corporate secrets that bind them. A few radical anti-materialists have made claims, but they have little sway and less press.. I fear I've regressed. After all, who am I to argue with a good debate?
It's kind of crazy to think of it, but the same prosperity that brought men like Jack a new bed partner every other night, also bred instincts to get kinkier with his cohabitants. He was soon into two women at once, and then at nineteen he met his first Dominatrix. She was a tall lady who'd found a niche standing over men with her whip, playing puppy. As so often happens, one thing led to another, and he was hooked on submissive sexual escapades. One Mistress led to another too, and soon it was only the most vicious and dehumanizing of Mistresses that appealed to him. He still enjoyed being put into humbling situations in particular, graduating from puppy to dress up. He wanted to do that more and more, but he couldn't find a non-professional Mistress to dress him and use him the way he wanted, so he stuck with the ever busy professionals, feeding them half of his pay for one hour of unfulfilling adventures into femdom.
To be honest, Jack knew he was playing with fire, having read countless articles about men who'd become entrapped by fantasies, only to give themselves over to one corporate venture or another. It has even been noted that franchises often subsidized professional dominatrixes in the underground press, though few believe the accuracy of such rags.
In spite of the reduction in population, and corresponding individual prosperity, the same 2% still rode the top of the ladder, their lives well hidden behind massive gates and gothic mansions. As for the budgeoning slavery mills, Jack personally had known a half dozen men to have been overpowered by their lust and sign themselves into slavery to one massive corporate franchise or another. It shocked him more often as he approached thirty, that he too seemed drawn to this sort of ultimate submissive behavior. No wonder there was such an imbalance between women and men now, reasoned Jack. Women didn't seem as drawn to sexual extremism, as men were. In fact, one rarely saw any symbols of male on female dominance in commercials or media, as if there'd grown an understanding among the 2%ers that the depiction of females as victims would no longer be tolerated as politically correct.
Between sexual adventures, he started looking up the ads in the net yellow pages, imagining himself logging onto one of a large slave franchise, or maybe one of the mom and pop enterprises. Some came right out and said it was the most sexual thing a person could do, while others kept up the more honorable pretense of a business designed, 'to take care of your every need, while meeting our corporate goals`. It came to a point where when he was short on money, and unable to pay a professional dominatrix, he'd spend the evening on the internet, reading stories and advertisements from one business after the other. It was like candy to him, the more he read, until he found himself consolidating his holdings, readying himself for the move, all the while lying to himself that he was strong enough to keep himself from actually doing the final step - true slavery.
"Good evening ... Jack I see it is. What can I do for you?" said a voice on the video net. Jack was looking at a nice redhead, with freckles. She was sitting down, looking into the video screen, so he couldn't see her body, but she had a nice leather bra, telling him all he needed to know to maintain some interest.
"I'm Uh, well, I just wanted to talk to someone about your services," said Jack.
"Oh, you mean the indentureship program, or our sales?" Asked the lady in her most friendly telephone voice.
"Well, the indentureship program, I guess. I have a few friends who did this, and was just curious to see what they've gotten into. I found yours to be a little up front about, well ..." Jack paused.
"Female domination, and domination in general?" Filled in the woman, turning her head as if to say, it's not all that big of a deal.
"Well, as hard as it is to admit, I do enjoy that sort of thing on occasion," confessed Jack.
"Oh, please Jack. Don't be so bashful; Most men like that sort of thing. Some women like it too. It's perfectly normal. The idea that we have to be strong all the time is the real fable. I have it on good advice that over three quarters of the men who come to organizations like ours come to us for this very reason. It's what we do best. And, as you know, we have to satisfy or the clients can file papers for release after the initial contract. Not many do that. Think of it as the perfect marriage. By the way, you wouldn't want to go back to some good old fashioned linebacker mentality and marry me, would you? I can't find a he-man anywhere, the way services like ours are gobbling them up. Just kidding. Don't tell the boss I said that, he'd kill me," said the smiling lady.
That threw him off guard, and lightened the conversation. They were soon talking as if the topic wasn't enslavement. After awhile he asked, "How do I sign up then; I mean, if I decide to try it out."
"Well it depends on what you want. If you just want to come work for us, then it's a few days to process the documents with the government. You could even do it on-line. On the other hand, if you want special processing, and almost everyone does, then you have to sign up and do some waiting for things to develop. We send you some material in the mail, and give you a reporting date. All of this becomes binding if you do sign, over the net or otherwise. So, do you want to see our packages?" She beamed.
"Oh god. Yeah, I guess. No harm in seeing what you have, I guess."
"Good. I'll send it as an attachment. When it's downloaded, you can review the videos and have as much fun with them as you like. There will be icons on the videos for you to pick from if you want to sign, or you can call me back if there are questions. I have your account, so you can come right to me if you like. We like to make it easy, and give you a friendly face because we know how big a step this kind of thing seems to people. Here it comes. Thanks for shopping Barley's services," she said.
The screen went to a video stream, most of it loading onto Jack's communications terminal, but the front end was already streaming. Jack saw some conventional slave fantasy stuff, men in cages and in cells, let out for the day to do manual labor, with almost all women supervising them. That's easy, Jack thought, cheap beds, bad jobs, and considering how there are half as many men around as women, it's not unusual to see mostly women running things. The company seemed to specialize in food products and pharmaceuticals. Jack watched the men being moved from job to job, as if they'd picked the best looking men to advertise the products as well as the service.
Things progressed to bondage scenes, beating scenes, cross dressing scenes, and a few where the men were being used for everything from sex to the implied toilet service. A couple showed a rich man boning a male slave in the background, and a couple more showed the occasional female slave being put through her paces. I can't believe I'm actually looking at this seriously, thought Jack.
Then there was the last video. It started with an insane question: 'Did you know that it is now possible for a man to experience childbirth?'
Well, thought Jack, actually I kind of did, though the thing had been in trials for decades, and in light of the population problem, hardly encouraged. He'd never really heard of any service actually doing it outside of test trials though. There were complications, it seemed, to genetically restructuring a person, particularly past infancy. The breasts came in fine, and the testicles and penis could be remolded, particularly when the process was coupled with surgery to reduce the protruding package and make the outie morph into an innie quicker. A uterus would form if given a few months of continuous treatment. He thought he remembered something about how contraction of tissue was a difficulty, though expansion was not as tough on the gene host, which made for some rather big looking women in early volunteer test trials, which of course was less than perfectly attractive, but he guessed better than the old way transies had to endure.
The credit was followed by an explanation that over eighty percent of Barley's clientele opted for gender reassignment, most of those for the full treatment, including childbirthing capabilities. It was their specialty, it appeared, though the video on that one was pure text. How did they manage all of that childbearing and the associated taxes, he wondered? Childbearing was a difficult responsibility even for a free person, he understood. Still the idea of womanhood, in its fullness, was a big turn-on to the man. Jack pulled his pecker out of his pants and beat off to that one. It was rich, imagining himself changed into a woman in the context of a dom/sub relationship. Nothing was finer than being under a woman's whip, he thought, unless it was maybe being forced to be a woman under a woman's whip. Very humbling, he imagined, getting off. No wonder finding a dominant woman to do him for free was so hard, he realized; any woman with that propensity is employed by someone to do it for either hourly money or the main gig.
Two days later, and five rounds of masturbation later, he started chatting with a whole range of services, finding out that it was now standard practice to offer gender reassignment, and that it was the most sought out option, though Barley's had the edge in percentages of clients served in this way. Why hadn't I seen all of these new women on the street, Jack wondered, realizing of course that slaves are almost always kept separate from the general population, most people guessed out of the stigma, or perhaps the possessiveness of the firm that had taken responsibility for any procreation misdeeds. Jack came back to his first ad, running up the Barley's page again, and was confronted by the same redhead.
"Did you find something you liked?" Asked the lady.
"Well, I just wanted to ask you about the reassignment thing. Is that real? I mean, does it work good now. Nobody seems to have any pictures of that kink," Jack asked.
"It's a secret within the business community. Even I don't know much about it, being stuck in telemarketing. But, from a sales point of view, it's my best seller. I get a three hundred Euro bonus for each Joh ... I mean person, that I sign to that contract, and if you haven't noticed, it's really rare when someone opts to sign for divorce from the service after the first year. Satisfaction, it appears, is nearly one hundred percent. You look like a perfect candidate, if I say so myself," she offered.
"Uh, well," Jack hesitated.
"Oh, come on. You're killing yourself over this, and we both know you have to do it or go crazy," she said, still smiling radiantly, but this time popping a signature icon up on my screen so it hid all but the top half of her head.
"Oh, momma," Jack spoke, startled by the signature icon's sudden appearance. Almost as if an echo, his cock started twitching it's own message of excited ascension. He touched himself through his pants, but then took his hand away back to the keyboard when he realized that the video camera could still see him even though she'd put up the visual illusion of a low wall. In a flurry of sudden anxiety, Jack typed in his code, and then smacked the submit button. "Oh god, what have I done?"
"Oh, thank you, Jack, and congratulations on your choice of Barley's. I'll have the packet sent right to your pad in this afternoon's mail. Now, please send me your operating system password, and leave your computer on for me. It's ours now anyway, since you and your former possessions have been effectively signed over to Barley's. Things happen right away under the new automation processes set up by the Fair Trade Commission, for both yours and our convenience. First, I'll need to complete your personal affairs, liberate your accounts, contact your family and place of employment, and then take possession of your software for our used inventory, so ours can take its place. You are now a Barley's slave. We take care of everything so you need not worry about the details. You should feel very special." The screen went blank. Jack missed the pretty redhead instantly, her voice and joyful demeanor having been almost hypnotic, he realized. The computer suddenly started doing a configuration. Jack watched until it said, 10% read, 2% erased, and then went to his bed and tried to go to sleep, thinking, I've really done it this time.
After his nap he went to the mail slot, and collected a package. Over at the terminal, it read 98% reconfigured. The package had a bottle of pills, with a note telling him to start with the red ones, and then go to the yellows by the weekend. He looked at the first of the red pills, and thought about backing out.
Just then the screen popped up. The speakers blared as well: "Slave R34,199, you are to come to the screen and be at your knees. Do so immediately. I am activating the camera. You will not be allowed to see me at this time."
"OK," said Jack, used to dominant women telling him to assume a role. He got on his knees, and waited.
"Well, swallow the pill, slave. I don't have all day!"
"Yes, Mistress," he said, putting the pill into his mouth and gagging it down without water.
"Open your mouth. Move your tongue around. Good. Now listen. You will no longer be required to go to work. Workers will arrive with boxes, and we require that you box up your belongings yourself. Label each box. The workers will return and remove your things from your pad. You will be given your necessities, and after the seventh pill, you will be brought to the company. Do you understand, slave R34,199?"
"Uh, yes, Mistress. I hope I can go through with this?" Jack added.
"You'll either go through with it, or we'll come get you and make you go through with this. You will prefer the first option. Your pill was taken at 3:46. Your computer will display peaceful scenes of country life to put you in a pleasant mood. Every day at 3:46, you will be instructed to have the next pill. These pills are prep pills, so you will see few signs of change until we collect you. Otherwise, the week is yours to enjoy, although we are restricting you to house arrest. Good-bye, slave R34,199." The screen popped up a picture of a field of grass with wildflowers.
Jack realized he couldn't go out. He'd wanted to go to the store, but then wondered if he had any money? He looked at his computer, and tried to gain access to his account, but the keyboard was frozen. Oh great, he thought, I'm a slave now, but I've never really been good at being grounded. I have to think differently, he thought, sitting in his chair.
The netphone rang, "Hey Jack, pick up! Pick up," it was Marilyn, his most recent girlfriend. He picked up the phone, but nothing happened.
"I'm sorry, but this terminal is now owned by Barley's Enterprises. The former owner is no longer available, and has become the property of Barley's. Your number is being placed on a gatekeeper list, and will no longer access this number," a computer voice told Marilyn. Jack's heart sank. They were stripping him of his friends.
"Oh god, Jack. What have you gone and done. Please, can't you ba ...." Her voice went dead as the company locked her out.
Jack missed her immediately, but knew there was nothing he could do but feel the emptiness. He tried the television card, but it was not getting any feed from the fiber. Jack spent the rest of the day lying around, reading novels. Two days later he had boxed up his things, and they'd been carted off, so even a novel seemed like a luxury. He was left with a box of kinda fresh vegetables and a white jumpsuit with R34,199 stitched as a name tag. He put it on after an embarrassing moment when the men taking the boxes insisted upon taking the clothing off his back and watching him dress. All business, they left the instand he was clothed.
Six days later he started to feel funny, his breasts hurting, turning to buds. His face was feeling like it was flattening. He knew his nose was an eighth inch wider, and his mouth seemed more fleshed out. The worst part was that he felt like he had a case of the blue balls, his testicles aching well up inside of him at his gut. For the most part, Jack went from liking that to dreading it, in big swings of emotion. Clearly the process had begun. They were making him into a woman, the ultimate submissive male fantasy. He was having second thoughts big time, but he knew it wasn't going to stop just because of a few belated moments of reason.
At exactly 3:47 on the seventh day the monitor came to life. Jack had grown very tired of the lack of things to do, and was ready for anything to cut the monotony. He'd just taken his last pill, when the voice said, "Slave R34,199. You will now proceed to the box that brought your food and clothing. Put any remaining food on the floor, and sit inside of the box after placing it just inside the front door. You are about to be collected. Do not ask questions. You are prohibited from speaking to the workers. This communications port is now reprogramming to facilitate it's resale." The terminal went blank, and then started reconfiguration.
Jack was having some difficulty remembering his instructions, but then looked at the box and remembered to empty it and sit down, stuffing his feet in so his knees were fully bent. It felt kind of ridiculous, but then again, that was one of the points of submission, to be ridiculous. A few minutes later a couple men came in, sat a bigger box up behind him, and tilted the smaller one until he was lying back in the larger box. A lid was nailed on, holes for air evident all round him. The men took him out of the room on a dolly, tossed him into a van, and sped off for what turned out to be a three hour collection tour. More boxes were collected as Jack snuck looks through the air holes.
When they were done, and speeding down the freeway, Jack realized seven boxes were in the van with him. That's eight men, he thought, or maybe a woman or two. Doing some math, he figured Barley's was an average sized company, with maybe five percent of the market share in his State; a wild guess. The county they were driving around in was maybe twenty percent of the State's population. That meant Barley's was picking up forty men per day, or roughly fifteen thousand people a year; in one State. If they were only five percent of market share, that meant three hundred thousand men were being swept off the State's streets per year, in order to serve one slave service or another. No, he thought, my math must be off. At that rate, women would outnumber men four to one in less than a decade. He thought back to when he was ten, and realized that men had nearly equaled women back then. It maybe fit, he thought, his mind losing the numbers and growing confused. He just couldn't seem to keep anything straight in his mind anymore, thinking that maybe it was because of the combination of stress and lying around. He realized this, and felt better, understanding that his math must have been terrible. As for his back, legs and neck, the strain of being crunched up in a box was killing him. Coupled with the pains of his transforming body, Jack begged the gods to make the trip short.
"Out. Stand up, shed the boxes; push it open, shed those nailed lids! Now get under the rail. Move it! Take your right arm out of the clothing, so that it is naked. Not like that stupid! Take it out of the sleeve. One more mistake from slave R34,214 and I will have to stun every slave in this Que. One shackle per slave! One on the right wrist. You are now property. Slave's R34,231 and R34,183 will move down the line to the far wall on the left. Over there, slaves R34,231 and R34,183. The rest of you lucky fools have signed on to be transforming. Beat it to the wall right beside the van. Get the led out! I don't have all day!" Screamed what Jack could only imagine was the biggest, fattest and ugliest female drill sergeant he'd ever seen. He had removed his right arm from the coveralls. He ran to the rail that went from one wall to the next, quickly clicking the first free shackle he could see to his right wrist, and ran to the wall closest to the van. He ran behind three other men, the two remaining men behind him step for step, and the two non-transformers already moving in the opposite direction, holding their arms up ridiculously, and the steel squealing out the report of moving bodies. The two were met by a little shapelier drill person, a lady built more like a brick than their mountain. The two were soon hustled out of the immediate room, leaving Jack with his five fellow slaves and the monster woman. Jack's shackle was attached to a thin, bolt-like piece of steel. The steel pin disappeared into a grove in the overhead rail, a big ball within the rail held the pin in place so that Jack could run freely as long as he went where the rail led him.
"You are not allowed to speak. Any slave that chooses to speak will be stunned by my wand. If a slave speaks twice, every slave here will be stunned. Since we already have seen an infraction from slave R34,214, any infraction will result in mass stunning. You will not enjoy hanging your entire weight from the rail as you recover. Now, I want every swinging cock showing. Take off the coveralls, and kick them over towards the van for collection. You will not need human clothing until a human being finds it amusing to lend you some!"
Human clothing, Jack's mind thought? What's that mean? What other kind is there? Were they supposed to think of themselves as no longer human, wondered Jack? Well of course, he guessed, slaves are no more than humans that other humans have decided not to treat as such.
The big woman came up to each man. She took out what looked like, and was, a hand stamper; the kind used in food stores to mark prices and inventory numbers on merchandise with blue ink. She read off the numbers on the discarded coveralls, and wheeled the numbers in on her stamper, then stamped each man with his number on his forehead and right butt. Jack felt like meat when she did him. At each man she went through a little dialogue ritual: "Let me see your cock? Hum. Not much here," or, "Oh, that's big. I like them fat. You may as well understand it now, and I do insist upon the delight of being the first to tell you this: Your cocks are going to be the first thing to go. Go ahead and twitch the doomed little rats all you want, but don't touch them. I'll imagine you'll want to shake them around some though, get a last feeling for the weight, or in some cases, the lack of weight ... cause in a few minutes you'll be saying good-bye to your little buddies."
Jack looked down, shocked. Well, of course, he thought, the cock was going to go if he was going to become female, but it did seem kind of a shock to be told this by a monster of a woman while standing naked with his hand overhead in a shackle. He'd imagined some doctor's appointment. Jack looked around. He could hear machinery beyond the entrance room, some kind of factory. Several doors led off, two with an overhead rail, and one without. The one without had a picture of some sort on it, with a red circle and diagonal bar across it. That was his first view of restrictive, non-slave doorway.
The third man in line started to moan, slave R34,214, realized Jack. Jack shushed him, but the man persisted, finishing with the protest, "I don't want to be cut. I want to change my mind. Please. I want to sign the forms to divorce," He started screaming. The big woman responded with a glair, but then seemed to ignore slave R34,214, instead walking right up to Jack. She put her wand on his penis, and jolted him with electricity. Jack blacked out. Soon, slave R34,214 was the last man standing. The woman walked up, and put her wand to his dick. She waited, looking into his eyes, making him sweat. He was so terrified that his cock started peeing. When he was done, she bit him with the electric. Jack, being the first to go down, was recovering enough to take the load off of his wrist when the last man was jolted. Jack's wrist was sore, and bleeding from a small cut. His nuts felt like blue balls, cramping. All around him the other men started to recover, Jack realizing that he'd just been lucky to be the first, probably as an example to the man beside him. There were no more protests, but the man beside Jack maintained a steady stream of near-silent weeping.
"The term of the contract is for two years. The act of divorce from the firm cannot be exercised until the first term is finalized. I don't want to destroy your hope, but suffice to say, by then much will have changed, slaves. For example," she said and paused. "Now follow me so we can see to your penectomy," she said, walking to the lead through a steel door frame.
Oh god, thought Jack, full of remorse for being weak and signing on. Never in his life had he missed his girlfriend like he did at that moment. He couldn't believe he was actually walking to his own penectomy; the literal end to any girlfriend, present or future. The men had no choice, he understood, and he seemed like part of a machine as they moved through a large warehouse like room, finally stopping at what might be an office door. A haggard looking nurse appeared, and gave the first man a shot with a six inch needle right up into his groin. He had a hard time standing up with his feet braced wide as instructed, and moaned involuntarily. Jack feared another zap, though the big woman herding them probably knew it was to be expected, and went over to the office beside the one the men were at to chat at a person inside, between glances in our direction. Jack couldn't see the person she was talking to, but he got the impression this was just another day at the factory for the women he'd seen so far. God, thought Jack, this is common to her, an every hour affair. The nurse was done with the shot, and turned around to get something else from a tray on a chair. She bent over, and Jack saw the brand, 'Slut R26,000' on her ass, her skirt barely at her pussy level. One of those rare female slaves, realized Jack. She moved back around, put some ointment on a steel rod, and grabbed the man's penis, inserting the rod right down his pee hole a good six inches. Jack cringed. She took some tape, and taped it to the man's penis head. Jack couldn't see inside, as the first man went in. The next man stepped up, closed his eyes, and spread his legs, tears already in his eyes as he anticipated the pain.
The second man actually fainted when the shot went in.
"Hold the pansy up! The idea is you're to become sissies, not start out that way; though it is a bit telling that you're here, now isn't it?" Commanded the Drill Woman, going right back to her other conversation with the unseen person inside the second doorway. Slave R34,214 had a moment of inspiration and grabbed the man in front of him, holding him up enough to keep him from hurting his wrist. The nurse finished her job, sticking in the metal rod. The man came too, and the nurse told him to hold his head as low as he could, for some blood, while he stood there. It seemed like a long time to Jack after that, the men standing there for twenty minutes before the next man was called into the room. Nobody came out.
The nurse started on slave R34,214, and he fainted before the needle was even loaded. Jack caught him with his one arm, and held him while the nurse did her job. Jack could almost feel the needle going in, as he stood holding the fellow slave. The man regained consciousness ten minutes after she'd finished. They waited again, half an hour, Jack guessed. Slave R34,214 kept jiggling his penis by the last of it, apparently fixated on the last feel, even as everything was getting numb. Finally a gurney came out. It was a two bed deal, one stretcher a foot above the other, both slaves shackled to the side rail. A small towel covered their privates, but everything else was still naked. Jack realized for the first time, seeing them lying like that, that these men had small budding breasts forming, much like his own. Another fairly big looking woman, a non-slave nurse, was pushing the cart out to a distant door.
"OK, slave R34,214, your turn to lose the male prize!" Said the sadistic Drill Woman. She leaned over from her chatting doorway, looked into the doorway of penectomies, and said, "Doctor, I think this one needed a filet. If you don't mind, Sir?" Then she touched slave R34,214 on the shoulder, nudging him into the room. Jack was in front of the line then, his heart racing as he braced his legs shoulder width, and waited for the nurse to do him. He closed his eyes. Inside the room, everyone could hear slave R43,214 whimpering with squeals.
"Open your goddamned eyes, slave R34,199! This is your big moment. I don't want you to miss a minute of it!" Screamed the Drill Woman. Jack's eyes shot open, with fear. The nurse was on her knees, pointing the needle at the base of his crotch, right behind his nuts. He wanted to say something, "Oh God," or anything, but he wasn't allowed, and just watched the nurse's hand move up, sinking the needle up until it met tough mass. The plunger was pushed and the juice filled his lowest body muscles. He felt light headed and his mouth get cottony, but took big, slow breaths, and fought it back. The nurse took out a rod, and started filling his pee hole. Jack almost started feeling detached from it all, as if it was still slave R34,214, and he was looking over the man's shoulders. Then the tape went on to hold the rod, and he was ready to be decocked. Oh momma, thought Jack. I'm ready to be decocked. This can't be real!
It seemed like time stopped just then. Instead of twenty minutes, it seemed a second before he heard the words, "Next slave," and nod from the huge woman with the stun wand. Jack walked into a small operating room, his eyes stunned, and his mouth a gaping hole of apprehension. One bed was full with slave R43,214. He was staring at the ceiling. A towel was over his crotch.
The rail on the ceiling that held his arm captive was slanted so that it dropped to chest level so that Jack felt compelled to sat on the operating bed. He was helped back by the same nurse who had given him the shot. A short, balding man was working on some instruments on the other side. Half way down Jack saw the tray of ice. There were three pieces of meat on top. Jack thought it weird that they should be displaying meat in a doctor's office, but then recognized the penises. One was small, and the next fairly long. Each had a strip of tissue cut from them lengthwise, where the underside of the penis had been, realized Jack. The last one was different. It had been split down the middle, and then severed in one piece just beyond the split so that it still was barely one piece. A filet, understood Jack. He also saw that the strip under the cock was still on the meat. Jack looked over at slave R43,214, and knew its former owner. Looking again at the pieces of meat, Jack understood the significance of a filet, cut sadistically, and with no consideration for the preservation of the nerves the other slaves retained. Jack was finally adjusted back and strapped down. His arm was then removed from the shackle, and the nurse quickly shaved two inches all round the base of his penis, leaving a circle of hair uncut around the central area. Orange fluid was spread over the shaved area.
"Now, we're going to perform a penectomy on you son. You'll only feel a little. I suggest you remain still and cooperative, and I'll preserve the nerves on the underside for you. Otherwise we'll be a little more creative, like in the case of that wimp over there, though having one's nerves removed is less work for me. Your choice; filet or tube steak?" Said the doctor, doing a little bedside, thought Jack, and not really wanting an answer. A mirror overhead showed Jack the work as the surgeon lifted his penis, and taped it to his stomach. A scalpel laid an angular cut all the way down, and then another, lifting away the bundle of nerves. Pulling back some skin for cosmetics, the doctor clamped off some veins, secured them so they wouldn't bleed, and then severed the rest of the penis, and picked it up. It dangled from his hand like a recently caught fish. "There. Very nice. Some rich person is going to have a nice expensive course of this. These average sized penises are the first to go. Want a lick?" He said, putting the penis up close to Jack's lips.
Jack was terrified of doing anything that might annoy the man who could in one stroke cut the nerves to all sensation down at his crotch. Unable to speak, and unwilling to annoy the man, he opened his mouth into a small O shape.
"No biting. This is just a little play. I like to please the customers a little, after these mighty little sacrifices," said the doctor, concerned about the quality of the cut of meat should someone's teeth marks show. He pushed the tip of Jack's dying penis into Jack's mouth, and pumped it back and forth a few times, laughing with amusement, before taking the cock out and putting it on the tray of ice. Jack felt humiliated, and horrified all at the same time, tasting the blood on his lower lip. For some reason it did appeal to him as sexual, though only in spurts which lasted only long enough for him to realize his old pocket buddy no longer responded to the command to rise.
The doctor went back to work, using glue sutures to close the wound, and seal the nerve endings to a seam he'd cut into the body just above where the cock had been severed. That done, he inserted a plastic catheter, and sprayed on ample antiseptic. A fresh towel was taken off a shelf. The doctor wiped off Jack's lower lip, and then used the same towel to cover his crotch. The operation was over. A second double stretcher was unfolded, and both he and slave R43,214 were helped on, then cuffed to the side-rail for the ride. Jack took one last look at his penis, just one cut of meat next to three others. It wasn't legal to sale human meat, he knew, but the rich could buy anything, and probably fairly well in the open since commerce even had the law privatized, he also understood. Penisless, Jack was wheeled away from his cock knowing he'd just given his prize up for the seemingly petty purpose of becoming part of some sadistic wealthy shopper's meal. He couldn't even get it up to appreciate the submissive pleasure of the fantasy.
As he was wheeled through the door, the Drill Woman looked down at the new pair of cockless men with a smirk on her face, and then went back to her idle conversation. Jack glanced over at the last two men, his eyes instantly fixating upon the front men who stood with his legs slightly spread. The back man was holding him up a little because his partner had grown woozy. Jack saw the ink on each man's forehead, identifying the men as property. Then he looked at the cock between the first man's legs, and stared. He'd never risked staring at another man's cock before, but it didn't feel weird to do it now as surges of envy met surges of sympathy for the numb and flaccid penis. The fact that he was cockless seemed to draw him to the sight, as if for the first time in his life he appreciated the wonder of being a man, and remembered the feeling a warm, tight vagina surrounding and caressing his manhood had once been. That was gone now. He felt such a fool to give up such pleasure in a world full of unattached and willing women. It was gone. He'd gone from being an increasingly more valuable pleasure machine that was in hot demand, to what? He couldn't say what? He didn't know? 'Nothing' came to mind, but he was sure they had something worse than that in mind just over the horizon.
Jack hadn't expected the long, narrow, bunk room. There must have been a thousand men in three layers deep of bunks. What made it most surreal was that nobody talked above a whisper, and that at night. Several nurses did rounds continuously. After a few days he was starting to get horny, dying for a pull on his penis like a cigarette smoker dies for a drag of nicotine, but nothing was there to pull, and the crowding would make it difficult to do without embarrassment even if he had. It occurred to him that the idea of embarrassment somehow still existed, though the pretense of their shared predicament should have fairly covered that space from a logical perspective, he reasoned. By the fifth day he was wondering if he was thinking it better if they'd castrated him and left his penis instead. Still, considering the cruelty of that first day, the treatment was decent, encouraging Jack. When it was his time to go out the far door, he was delighted to find that he was in a group of four that didn't include the human time bomb known as slave R43,214, whom Jack had begun to understand had cracked, sitting on his bunk and rocking back and forth in a stupor.
The next room was a dressing room. For clothing they were given ankle bracelets with a foot of chain so nobody could run. Considering the tightness of the recent surgery in his groin, Jack couldn't imagine running anyway; standing up wasn't even possible, as none of the men could stand much better than bent over twenty degrees. They shuffled out from there to a new building. Jack looked back at what he could only describe as the induction center. The sun blazed down. Looking around he realized the facilities were out in the country, shielded from civilization by hedges and fences. Up in the sky a passenger jet streaked by at twenty thousand feet, a glimpse of civilization and the world he'd been stupid enough to give up on a dumb fantasy whim.
In front of him the purple stamp from the first day was fading on butts. It looked like the butt on the guy in front of him had widened since he'd last seen it, though it didn't look bad, thought Jack, realizing that all of their bodies were starting to exchange muscle for a fine layer of fat in places like the hips and thighs. He looked down at his own body, the hair no longer coming in, the skin seemingly softer, and of course his groin and hip bones painful. There were a few changes, however, that he couldn't quite understand. His hands and toes seemed to be stiffening, and when he walked bent over from the stitches, he realized it didn't seem all that difficult, as if his hip joints had shifted to accommodate the bend. Looking at the palm of a hand, he couldn't move his fingertips more than an inch apart, and like the bottom of his feet, the skin seemed to be gaining layers.
The march was turning into a long one, across a complex that was surprisingly huge, each part hidden by hedges. An occasional worker or supervisor walked past, or stared from the fringes as they were marched. Jack looked again at the men in line, and then at himself, noticing other changes since he'd last been marched in line. He had breasts that bounced somewhat now that he was walking, as if they were filled with warm water from some kind of infection that made them nearly legitimate size A's. His nipples itched, though he knew better than to make unusual gestures, and only scratched in small intervals. On his face, a few hairs had come back but then had almost all fallen out. In between his legs, only a pair of balls dangled down low where he had to bend over farther than the normal bend to see them. From certain angles, he knew his crotch resembled more of a beaver than anything else, the hair growing back, filling in the circle of hair that had been left. It occurred to him that he was immodest when the yard slaves looked his way. The men he saw though were all slave workers tending the grounds, some of that twenty percent that he remembered didn't go for the transition. Few tools were being used, and those only hand tools; apparently manual labor was free and abundant at Barley's.
As for the expected transition effects of the medication, Jack wasn't sure how female everything was developing inside. He did have huge cramps in his lower gut, and his balls didn't hang nearly as low. The cramps weren't just down in his gut either. They went all the way from his forehead, down to the bottom of his feet. At times he thought he could feel his insides moving, particularly near his stomach and inside his forehead.
At first he'd mistaken the cramps for hunger, since the rations had been small and meatless. They'd said the process wasn't very good at reduction, and that diet would do most of the reductive work, while the process did most of the additive things like organ alteration and fattened thighs. Still, it was more than diet that was making his stomach flat, and contributing to the squeezing feeling he had in his head, he was betting.
He looked around. The men in his Que were all getting plainer in the face, as if fat was filling in for that rosy cheek effect. Jack had always thought that particular kind of female facial features a little dull. As for dull, he found himself almost dozing off, going into trances. It wasn't like him, Jack always thinking of himself as quick of wit.
Having apparently gone into one of those trances, Jack was surprised to see himself chained by a link between his ankle chains and a one foot tall post in the floor. There was a low, wooden rail a couple feet in front of him. The transies were side by side, separated by maybe two feet, and in a building again, this one like a small stable. A short, kind of round, young lady was pacing in front of them. She was all of twenty, and no more than five feet tall, Jack noticed. Jack caught the whiff of smoking coals behind him, but didn't dare look around, as he noticed the short lady had one of those wands.
"You have been brought here for the second part of your in-processing. Some of you have probably been enjoying the torment of life without a penis, while otherwise intact. Here at Barley's, we do not intend to force you to endure this punishment much longer. You can be sure that by the time this hour is over, you will no longer be bothered by those destructive male urges. This process in particular will in fact be short and sweet. In the next few days there will be some follow-up; then in a week the final surgery will take place to tuck you in to the new plumbing opening up inside of you chemically. After that everything else of significance will be chemical until at some time in the future we certify you one hundred percent female. We intend to fulfill our end of the bargain at Barley's."
"Of course, as you may or may not have surmised, the rest of the bargain is entirely up to us. You fuckers are going to experience what it's like to transform in ways you dared only dream. The slight alterations in the fantasy have been designed by Barley's in order to assist society in maintenance of certain valuable social goals. We thank you for your unwitting contribution in any of these extended endeavors."
"Now, I want every single one of you fairies to bend over and rest your weight on the rail in front of you. Stick your worthless ass cunts up in the air as far as you can get them, and make sure your ankle chains are stretched as wide as they allow. Do it now!" Screamed the new matron.
Jack leaned over and caught the rail, holding his ass up and widening his ankles. The lady in charge walked by each man, stopping threateningly at each one as each man strained to overdo the assigned position.
"Look straight ahead, and do not flinch when the assistants touch you. I want one hundred percent attention upon the task of keeping your legs spread and your asses up in the air!" Repeated the woman.
Jack felt the tension of men stifling screams or words of terror to his left. Then all of a sudden the man farthest down the line screamed like he'd been hit by a truck. The smell of leather burning hit the air. Jacks underarms started to actually sweat steady drips of fear. Then the man beside him yelled. The woman with the wand came over close, but didn't hit them with a charge, apparently accepting that a scream was inevitable. Jack felt footsteps right behind him, and then something cold touch the middle of his left ass cheek. In a millisecond he understood that it wasn't cold, but extreme heat that had touched him as the device leaned into his flesh and burned a brand onto his flesh. It left, Jack catching himself screaming into the room. He stopped, cutting off the scream as fast as he realized he was levying it. Then the other cheek was hit by the same pain, this time causing his legs to weaken and falter. The woman in front of him touched his shoulder with the wand and flattened him with a jolt of electricity.
Jack came too with both brands done and a bump on his jaw from where he'd hit the rail or floor. The men around him had been spared, and for that he was thankful. Without needing to be told, he got back into position, his head singing and his shoulder numb from the electrical charge. Down the line, the last man was managing to make it through his last brand, amazingly with only a highly strained grunt. The woman in charge went back to the middle where Jack was, and stepped back so everyone could see her without looking to the side.
"Men don't seem to have much tolerance for pain. Women, on the other hand, not only are the more intelligent of the species, but can withstand all sorts of discomfort. Trust me, you are hopeless in the intelligence department, but I suggest you begin to gain abilities in the pain area. You will be needing it in the event your new body proves capable of birthing. We are here to help you learn." She reached over Jack's shoulder and was handed a big, heavy, black tool that looked like pliers with long handles. "Does anyone know what this thing is for? Come on, I want you to speak. Here's your big chance to gab," she teased, opening and shutting the big jaws. It had an open circle that didn't seem to completely close in the business end of it.
"It's a nutter, Mistress," said a man over to Jack's right in a voice that Jack thought amazingly tenor.
"Very good, slave R43,005. Yes, it's been called in some circles, a nutter. This is my favorite part of the job. In fact, you will all be honored to know that I am going to do this part personally. You will all thank me personally when you feel the device clamp your miserable and worthless balls. My name is Mistress Jan. I want sincerity in your new little faggot voices!" She said, her young voice lilting up at the last word.
Oh Jesus, thought Jack, bracing himself. A crimping sound of a closing metal vise snipped the air, followed by the man at the far left saying, "Thank you, Mistress Jan." A minute later it was the man beside Jack saying the thanks. Then he felt someone pulling his balls as low as they would go under the strain of recent surgery and chemical shrinking. Metal clamps were cold up against his groin. A sudden pinching pain shot up through his spine. "Thank you, Mistress Jan," came out of Jack's mouth an octave higher than he'd remembered it being the last time he'd spoken a week earlier, as if someone different inside of him had spoken. The clamps were removed, but the pinched pain kept right on tormenting him. Some of the skin seemed to have been pinched wickedly, and he fought the pain. Looking down between his legs, he saw a new pair of metal rings squeezing his scrotum up near his body, like one of those bands they put on bird's legs, and nearly as small. Beside him to the right a man said, "Thank you, Mistress Jan," soon followed by another further down. The pinching started to ebb just a little, as the skin under and below the rings numbed from lack of blood flow.
The Mistress appeared back in front, then back behind again. "Time for the knife. This won't hurt me one bit, and not you not much either, now that you've been all clamped up a few minutes," said the woman. Jacks sensed the tension moving back to his left. "What do you say, slave?" She asked to the far left.
"Thank you, Mistress Jan," said the man in a sobbing voice. Jack understood all of a sudden that the man to his left had just had his nuts cut off. Then the next man said the same words, and suddenly his own nuts were being manipulated.
Jack only felt some odd pinching, and didn't even realize that they'd been severed, the nutting device having rendered his balls almost completely numb, when the Mistress said, "What do you say, slave?" To his back, announcing the news.
"Thank you, Mistress Jan," he said, realizing he couldn't feel the sides of his balls touching any of his thighs. She smacked his butt loudly, and then went on, finishing the last two pair.
She walked in front with a tray of balls, still held in the scrotums by one of the rings, and sat on her chair looking at the new eunuchs, as if proud of herself for the added torment. "Contrary to common belief, these things don't taste very good at all. Barley's doesn't consider them part of their product mix, and throws them away, but I have my own business aside. I like to keep them as a collection. As rare as men are becoming, a lot of women are thinking of things like this as collectibles. A few years ago they were useless, but now you wouldn't believe how much I can sell one of these jars for in the growing lesbian community," said the young sadist, closing the jar up, and waving the slave away with her most recent souvaneers jar. "Slave!" She said over Jack's lowered back. A male slave dressed in shorts came around with a two gallon jar full of pickled testicles. He opened up the jar, allowing her to drop the new testicles in. Jack watched them mingle and get lost in with the rest of the naturally packaged jewels. Even if they were inclined to reattach them, he'd probably end up with someone else's, realized Jack. The woman looked at the slave recovering the jar, and said, "It's still not too late for you to join the transies," to him as he retreated, too full of fear to answer any question with a no.
"One last thing, and then we are done for today," declared the woman, returning her attention to the men in process. The young woman took another tool out of the hands of an assistant behind the men. She showed it around, and then casually poked the new tool into the bridge of the first slave's nose, quickly crimping a nose hole. Jack waited his turn, then felt her hand on the back of his head, steadying him while she notched his nose. An assistant came behind her and put inch wide rings into place, then pinched them shut on a base of brass cement. The cement got hot when mixed like epoxy, and then sealed almost as well as a weld. Jack found the smell getting his head a little light.
They were ordered up, and then marched off towards a new barn. The butts ahead of him displayed Barley's on one cheek, and the much clearer slave number on the other. The new barn was larger than the medical recovery stable, and one of dozens. Jack was backed into a stall, two feet wide, and seven feet deep, where his one ankle was released so that the other ankle could be chained to a low rail that ran the length of the building. Jack sat down in the straw, and looked at where his nuts had been, finding it difficult to see, and somehow even hard to feel much more than the crude nub of the still pinching ring with his hands of increasingly callused palms and fingers. He wanted to cum so badly, to feel orgasms, and make the fantasy work, but there wasn't anything to rub except his tingling crotch. He did, making little circles on his skin, but then stopped in total frustration when he realized anything like an orgasm was a cock and pair of balls on the other side of the universe.
There was a six inch hole in a grating running crosswise on the floor in the back for relieving himself. Behind that was a wooden back gate with open slats, and another hallway with more like himself behind still more rows of pens. There was straw everywhere else, and a small hose near the wall for both drinking and cleaning. Jack had to back up to use any of it except the straw. He laid down, and cried himself to sleep.
A red light went on right over his stall, waking and confusing him. He got up and looked out the eight inch square hole in the wooden gate at the stall's entranceway. He noticed that most of the men on the other side, and to his right had done the same thing, but that most of the new guys hadn't. A minute later the hole he had his head in clanked. A wooden beam had lowered, trapping his neck in the hole. Freightened, Jack tried to pull back, but was caught. Non-transie slaves were being hustled in by a single woman supervisor, and started putting out chow for the heads that were showing. By luck, realized Jack, he'd found the right position to be fed, as a large scoop of vegetable mush was dumped into a tray on the door right under his head. He bent down and ate, having long ago learned that food was scarce and not to be wasted, even if it was nothing more than a tasteless vegetable lump. Of course, he understood, the chemicals and genetic components for transformation were in that too, though by then he'd determined that the best way to get past all of this abuse was to facilitate the transition. Surely, he imagined, things would be better when he became fully female. Maybe even sexual orgasm, or at least stimulation, might be possible, a thing he missed more than the thought of better food. In fact, he was beginning to kind of like the food, strange as it was to imagine liking tasteless vegetables. At first he'd craved hamburgers, but he found the idea no longer appealing for some unknown reason. Jack was done eating long before the red light went off, and the gate raised so he could duck back into his stall and find his straw bed.
Days passed, and his breasts seemed the best indicator of success, soon sagging, and in the way now, every time he moved. At first the hours moved slowly, but then they went lethargically, and then almost without thought. One day he felt himself moving out of a daydream, his head in the rectangular hole, and the gate having fallen. Food was nowhere in sight, and he realized that maybe that was why he was paying better attention. Jack then recognized that none of the other transies had their heads out. There was noise near the back of his stall. Someone was shoveling out his space, he realized when there was movement under him, and a body touching his as if by accident. Then water was everywhere, shooting out from around his head, as the water cleared out the stall and wetted him down. Hands soaped his body, and then the water hit him again, rinsing off the soap. The hands stimulated his senses, allowing him to realize that his smooth hips were much wider than he'd last remembered, and that his surgery was no longer sore. The hands lingered as they soaped his breasts, the weight of which seemed unbelievable. The nipples responded, growing almost an inch long. Time passed while he dripped dry, and then new straw was tossed in around and under him. Jack felt horribly hungry with his head in the hole, a natural response from the stimulus of being like that.
Coming out of another daydream, a man in a white shirt and tie was standing in front of him. "Now, question five. What is the sum of sixteen and seven," said the man.
Jack looked at him with a new wrinkle in his brow, as if hearing him for the first time. "Uh, sixteen and ..."
"And, seven. Sixteen and seven. What is the sum of sixteen and seven," the man asked, looking Jack right in the face, not a foot away.
"Sixteen, then twenty, that way four ... Uh, seven to three. Thirteen. I feel it thirteen," said Jack.
"That's pretty good, slave R34,199. I was beginning to think you'd gone over. Now, what is the capital of, let's see, yes, you're from Ohio. What is the capital of Ohio?"
"Ohio? I talk from Ohio. I live into ... Dayton."
"And the capital is?"
"Ohio is," said Jack, stopping, perfectly sure that he'd answered the question correctly.
"Very good. I'm marking you lucid and competent. You are coming along right on schedule, Jack. Now, the doctor is going to fix it so you can have sex again. He has noticed that the area where the cock used to be has sunken sufficiently, and the internal organs have begun to take very nice form. He needs to administer some topical and then cut through the thin layer of tissue keeping you from forming a good pussy. After that a little plastic surgery work, and then you'll be almost there. Just another few minutes and it will be over. Are you aware of what is happening, slave?" Asked the company man.
"Uh, yes Sir," said Jack. He was ready to finish, finally, happy to get it over with, and then go on to something better, and really ready to experience sexual stimulation again.
"Good. First we need you to sign some consent forms. I've opened the hole to your right, so you can stick out your hand," said the man.
Jack couldn't focus, but was helped by the man who reached in and extracted his hand. The man had some tape, and taking a pen, put it into Jack's palm. He taped it to a mass that had five fingers which had fused with new skin just at the first big knuckle. Jack looked down at the hand, his brow furrowing in confusion when he saw how the fingers were fusing and the skin toughening.
"It's part of the process. Eventually your going to shape out and look very female, Jack. Very sexy to the right sort of bloke. You're going to love it, but first the consent forms for the doctor. Here is the first one, so he can make all the changes he wants, you know, steer to heifer, that sort of thing. We have to make full disclosure for this part, so I'm being honest with you," said the man.
"Steer, to ... ? Already wrote name ..." said Jack, looking at the paper. He tried to read it, but the letters didn't seem to make much sense. He saw the word "I," and then he thought he understood the word, "the," a few times on the page.
"No, heifer, Jack. Female. You want to go on and get it over with so you can move on. Woman of the species! Understand? It's the only way," said the man. The management of Barley's thought it wise to get each transie to sign for being made into a cow, and it was the salesman's job to do the disclosure without making it seem different from the original male to female transition idea. The man was good at filling in the new details, while framing it in enough of what Jack already knew to confuse the new heifer and avoid difficulties. He made a good six figure income for this bit of psychology too.
"Uh. Yes, woman," said Jack, his words seemingly coming from air forced out from his gut. He raised his hand and made some motions that he remembered went along with the act of signing a name.
The man in front of him gave jack a small piece of carrot, and helped hold it while patting him on the head. "Very good, Jack. You are going to be very happy. We know this has been hard. I can assure you that we can make things much more pleasant for you soon. Now, one more paper. This one is about the extension. You see, you can't very much go back and get the penis back. It's gone, and we all know it. It's really sort of silly, these two year contracts. I mean, what do they think is going to happen? We can't just sew a cock back on; that's ridiculous. It would be dead and rotten meat. Besides, I have to tell you, the thing was sold to an upscale butchery for sale the day you lost it. I'm apt to believe some lucky diner is a good half dozen weenies into forgetting yours already. Nothing but common poop by now. No, if you want to get over this, and settle into your new sex, you'll need to have an extension. We can do this for you at no cost to you. It's free, because we feel responsible. It's actually our legal obligation to do this for you. Just sign here, for the free extension, Jack," said the salesman.
Jack looked at the paper, again unable to read more than a few words. "Exten?"
"Free. For you. We want you to be happy here. We want to help. Besides, it's the law. We do this for you and any offspring. It's a part of our service that we do just to help make the experience better for you. Free. No cost," said the man.
"Free."
"Make you very happy. Long time," said the man, his language reaching towards Jack's level of understanding.
"Free. Happy," said Jack, nodding his head in the frame. He signed the thing he remembered as a signature.
"And just below, for any offspring," said the man.
"Off?"
"Nothing to care over. You will need our help, doctors, maternity, caring, feeding, stuff like that," said the man.
"Oh. Feed," said Jack, salivating because he always ate when he was in the frame like that.
"Yes, food. Everyone needs food."
Jack signed over his offspring.
"Congratulations, slave R34,199. You are now an official member of the permanent herd. And, I also have to compliment you on your ability to retain so much faculty after several weeks of these drugs, and the effects of frontal lobe contraction. You did know that woman have a twenty percent smaller frontal lobe. They say that it isn't a factor in intelligence, but this thing about contraction, well, we did mention that it isn't the same thing as a natural process. We don't design all contractions because of the damage, but in this case we found a good reason to add it in the mix, and then some for the species thing. I'm afraid that most connections tend to get mashed up and lost a bit. In a way, that's not so bad; keeps a heifer from getting too bored. But, not in your case, slave R34,199. You've been the most lucid today. It makes my job hell, the way they have me so overworked that I have to sometimes get these extensions signed for some of the herd after three weeks in the full mill, I can tell you that. I do have to have signatures that are at least half legible, you know. Sometimes I have to go get witnesses so the marks can be verified. It's a major pain in the ass." The man stopped talking, noticing that Jack had stopped understanding, and was instead looking at him with that more common blank stare.
Over the rail, the salesman could see the doctor moving over to the back of Jack's stall, ready to fashion the huge pussy that would physically finish the process of making this one into a heifer capable of delivering ten to fifteen pounds of animal. Once the chemicals had finished the job a few weeks later, Jack wouldn't be able to do much more than moo, though his half human mind would still find a few minutes a day of recognition of his new dilemma. It was the least they could do for the customers at Barley's, thought the salesman. After all, what was the point for them if they couldn't have a few moments of real, human reflection upon what was happening to them. The eggs would be induced, already viable, so that the calves would be pure animal, and not half human and half cow, as was the genetic code of the cows being bred in order to provide cattle for Barley's enormous meat and dairy business.
A good young heifer like cow (now officially) 34,199 might yield twenty or thirty true bovine animals of the new small Angus variety (ten thousand pounds of meat after some grazing, at nearly two dollars a pound) before the milk and uterus gave out and the animal had to be destroyed for even more pricy organs and the expediency of glue; each pregnancy lasting four months for delivery and recovery, and cost next to nothing to induce since medical and science slaves did most of the back room work. Since cow 34,199 had signed the papers declaring its intent to allow itself to be reclassified as a farm animal, there was no issue with destroying a permanently assigned resident. Not to mention that without the extension from the original two years, they'd lose up to eighty percent of a cow's useful breeding life, and have the additional agony of trying to figure out how to make money on a ward of the state that they'd have to provide disability funds to cover. In all the days of Barley's operations, they'd never had to lower themselves to that kind of irresponsible business practice, winning themselves a One-A commerce standing. Of course, there were times when they had to bend the signing/witness process to accomplish that, but it was overlooked by the government, which didn't relish the idea of administering over wards of mentally disabled animals.
As for dairy, these half cow, half human hybrids didn't make as much, but had far better milk quality than any other animal. The milk was particularly well suited for making expensive baby formula. He always enjoyed watching a new herd being hooked up to the milking machines for the first time. The mixture of half moans, and half moos, a mixture of fear and relief from the strain of massive leaking udders, is almost enough all by itself to bring him off, reflected the corporate salesman and officer. Of course, he thought of himself as a regular studly guy too, living with three women in a wonderful ranch house that they paid for. Women were getting to the point where they'd do anything to keep a good man happy, and some of these women who worked Barley's ranch were wild as hell in bed as well, smiled the salesman. Thank God for that, he thought, not eager to find himself on the nine to five end of these women's attention, though he did sometimes wonder what it was like inside the mind of a cow like cow R34,199? He brushed the thought aside, not liking the way those kinky thoughts were becoming more staple every day. No, he told himself, some day I'm going to be a corporate officer, and have a maid in every room. Though, he thought, what is it like to feel those tits filling up with milk? The salesman shook his head clear.
On the up side for these new cow eyed, and short lived animals, Barley's did allow the male slaves to play breeders once the heifers were a week or two into pregnancy. No, there was a moral obligation to engage some sexual kinks for these volunteers, lest the government step in and contend that Barley's wasn't legit and deprived its clients of implied satisfaction. The salesman didn't think he could work for an organization that conducted its commerce in such a sleazy fashion as to deprive its customers of a little sexual misconduct. He'd heard of such outfits, and wanted no part in it. These cows deserved a good fucking and more, once in awhile, after all they'd given up. Above all, the hallmark of a good business transaction is always the point of negotiation where both parties end the day with a smile of satisfaction on the face, even if one of the two faces did appear a little dulled.
Jack's hand was back down on the ground, where it was beginning to feel more comfortable as a hoof. The salesman bent down to get his pen that had dropped with its tape when the hand had been retrieved. Just visible were the jugs that were already dripping milk, a good, droopy, size double D, from what the salesman could gather. The salesman smiled and, shook his head, proud of a job well on the way to being done. There was just too much work to stop and jiggle the udders of the soon to be new heifer, he understood, flipping the switch for the red light over the next stall, and moving on to the emerging head of the next cow eyed steer.