Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four
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Mayor Jasmine Branch was having a productive day when the idea for the farm first occurred to her.
Much of her morning had been occupied with a meeting in her offices, where she had enjoyed the feeling of her young female intern Sophie licking obediently at her cunt, while she explained to her male intern, Tyler, about the changes she wanted to implement in government communications.
“We’re not going to talk about ‘rape’ anymore,” she told Tyler, while using Sophie’s hair to pull the poor girl’s face tighter against the Mayor’s cunt. “Instead, I want to say ‘unscheduled intercourse’ or ‘unexpected sexual entertainment’. And we want to talk about sexual harassment as ‘well-intentioned sexual compliments’ or ‘physical praise’ or ‘a pattern of sustained appreciation of her appearance’.”
She stopped to sigh happily as Sophie’s tongue flicked across her clitoris.
“Oh, and when we talk about rapes, I want to make sure we’re always explaining why the rape happened,” she said. “Focus on the woman involved. So say, ‘Last night a difficult and argumentative feminist enjoyed unscheduled intercourse in Gunderson Park’, or ‘An attractive blonde woman in a short skirt was forcibly gifted with a man’s sperm early last evening while out clubbing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Tyler, taking notes.
“Pass that on to the police and prosecutors,” said Mayor Branch. “We’ll see about maybe passing laws to make it a compulsory phrasing in the next few months.”
“Of course,” said Tyler. He gestured at Sophie. “Can I fuck her when you’re done?”
“Naturally,” said Jasmine – but as she did, Sophie struggled, and tried to pull away from Jasmine’s cunt.
Jasmine looked down at her cunt-slave intern. “What’s the matter?” she asked her.
“Please, mistress, no,” said Sophie. “You won’t let me use birth control, and… it’s my most fertile time…”
Jasmine looked at her in surprise. “Do I look like I give a fuck?” she said. “Women are born for breeding, Sophie.” She looked at Tyler. “In fact, I’d prefer that you ejaculate in this little brat as many times as possible in the next 24 hours. You can clear your schedule, if necessary.”
Tyler grinned. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you, ma’am.” He unzipped his pants and advanced on the poor, spoiled Sophie.
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But Sophie’s objection had given Jasmine her new idea. There were hundreds of young, unwed mothers every year in her city who had little means of financial support and little in the way of family help. At present they were largely supported by the city’s existing welfare provisions, but… couldn’t Jasmine maybe find a better way?
Over coming weeks, she consulted with the stakeholders in the area, and put together a plan. She received many sane and sensible submissions, but the input she liked best was neither sane nor sensible, and came from the Coast Light Church, a fringe evangelical sect that submitted simply that unwed mothers were sinful sluts who were going to hell, and that government policy should be to rape and physically discipline these whores so that their tears might purify their souls.
She met with the leaders of the group in her offices.
“Obviously I can’t just order that every single mother in the city be raped and beaten,” sighed Jasmine, with some regret. “But… have you ever thought about operating a government-funded service provider in this space?”
And so it was that the Farm for Unwed Breeders was born.
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It was a simple enough prospect. The city helped the Coast Light Church buy a former dairy farm, and convert its three barns into very basic accommodation for women. The rooms were small and simple, with transparent plastic doors that afforded the women no real privacy, and the church liked to refer to them as “stalls”, in reference to the building’s dairy origins.
Any pregnant woman could apply to live on the farm, and have all her bills – including the costs of her pregnancy – covered by the church. It wasn’t free, as such – what the church was offering was a zero-interest loan, with no repayment date, although the woman was required to sign over her financial control and power of attorney to the church until the loan was repaid. But for unwed mothers in danger of homelessness, who were struggling to pay bills and buy food, it was an offer they often couldn’t pass up.
The Farm also offered anonymity. Many women who attended were ashamed of their pregnancy, or their financial situation, and so all women on the Farm were required to sign a confidentiality agreement which prevented them from discussing anything that happened on the Farm with anyone. It included the police – going to the cops with a complaint, or aiding them in an investigation, would leave the woman in financial debt to the Farm forever, even if the complaint was justified.
To further promote that anonymity, the women left behind their names when they entered the Farm. Upon arrival, they were each given a pseudonym – and in another reference to the Farm’s history, these were always names for female cows, so the woman would be called “Daisy” or “Buttercup” or “Bessie” or “Sprinkles”. They would be given a leather collar with their new name emblazoned on it, to help staff identify them, with a medium-sized bell hanging from it that they could ring if they needed assistance.
New arrivals would be placed in Barn One, which housed all women who were less than four months pregnant, or who had been at the Farm for less than three weeks. Here they would adjust to their new names. Each day they would take a cocktail of drugs intended to improve their health during pregnancy – although they would not be told that the drugs would also promote breast growth and lactation, increase their arousal, and dull their critical thought capacity, making them stupider and more suggestible.
They would often feel a little uncomfortable during this period, as Farm staff would never look at their faces, instead staring only at their breasts or groin – or as they were taught to say, their udders and their cunt. If they ever referred to their organs as anything other than “udders” or “cunt”, they would be gently corrected. Farm staff encouraged the girls to look at each other’s udders too. They were, after all, supposed to be anonymous – staring at a girl’s face was an intrusion upon her privacy.
During this period the girls undertook group counselling where they talked about their experience becoming pregnant – and the counsellor would always focus on the shame the girls must feel for the slutty sex that had gotten them pregnant, and for their present gravid state. The girls were encouraged to talk about how dirty and stupid they were, and how they were too pathetic and slutty to be trusted to make decisions for themselves. In these sessions, they would sometimes talk about their dreams for the future, after their child was born, and these dreams would be carefully noted down by the Farm staff.
When the girls progressed beyond Barn One – their pregnancy now beginning to visibly show – they would be taken to Barn Two. And here they would be shown how much debt they had accumulated.
It would generally be a shock for the women. The Farm charged high rates for its accommodation, despite the basic nature of its stalls. The pregnancy drugs weren’t cheap. The counselling was a premium service. The women would be asked how they intended to pay off their debt after birth, and they never had a good plan. The Farm would be understanding, and assure them that it would take charge of the matter, and ensure the women were able to financially manage their debt.
The first stage of this was that the Farm would sell off the woman’s clothes. She would not need clothing at the Farm – she could go naked. Every few days she would be taken for a photography session, where her naked pregnant body would be documented by photographers to be sold as pornography, with the proceeds placed against her debt. The women were assured their faces would be blurred in these photos – but the Farm somehow forgot to do that on each and every occasion.
The women were no longer referred to as women in Barn Two – only ever as “cows” or “breeders” – and they were encouraged to refer to themselves and others that way too.
During the days, the cows would be “prepared for their pregnancy”. This involved time spent in a set of large machines, adapted from the Farm’s dairy origins. An industrial-strength milking machine was applied to the tits of each breeder, and at the same time they were fixed upon a fucking machine, which would rhythmically pump a dildo in and out of their cunt. The size of the dildo would increase as the breeder’s pregnancy progressed, with the aim of “preparing their cunt to expel a full-sized infant”.
The machines were painful and humiliating, and sometimes the breeders had to be forced to take part, and secured in place for the duration of their treatment. When the cows produced milk, they were told it would be sold to private buyers, and the profits paid against the cows’ debts.
There were no toilets in Barn Two – the cows were expected to relieve themselves outside, like animals, and it was also outside where they were washed daily with the aid of a high-pressure hose.
The group counselling sessions were replaced by “confession and massage” – a misleading euphemism, for the cows hated this most of all. A man would attend upon them in their stalls, and make them again admit that they were dirty and slutty and stupid. Then he would spread their legs, and slap their bare pussies 15 or 20 times – more if they tried to shut their legs or protect themselves – and then have them rest their udders upon a wooden shelf, where he would strike them repeatedly with the heel of a shoe, or whip them with a leather belt.
“This is nothing compared to the pain of childbirth and breastfeeding,” he would tell them. “It will help you prepare – and it’s no more than you deserve.”
Lastly, the cows would sometimes be visited by men from outside the Farm. The men would enter their stalls and make use of the breeders. It was prostitution – the women knew this – and the Farm assured them that they had no choice in the matter, for the Farm made their financial decisions, but also that the men were paying a high rate to use the women, which would help offset their debt.
At first these visits would consist of the men only staring at the naked cows, and masturbating, and ejaculating over the face and tits of the cows. Later, they would expect the cows to suck their cocks, and facefuck the unhappy breeders. Eventually, they would want to penetrate the cunts of the cows, and use whatever force was necessary to make the struggling cows comply.
It was no surprise that many cows tried to escape the Farm during this part of their pregnancy, regardless of their debt. They never got far, though. The Farm was surrounded by an electrified fence, and security was strong, and in any case each cow had been implanted with a tracking chip. They were caught, and brought back, and now they would be moved to Barn Three.
Barn Three made no effort to make the cows feel like they had freedom. In Barn Three, their clitoris was pierced and fitted with a ring, and the cows would be chained to some object of furniture by their clitoris at all times. Their hands were kept cuffed behind their back, and their collar was replaced with a new “de-barking” collar, which would shock them if they vocalised any sound other than a cow-like “mooo”. They spent most of their time here in the milking machines, and they would be raped by paying men three or four times every day. These clients made no effort to be kind to the cows , and had been told they could do anything they wanted to the poor breeders as long as it didn’t leave permanent marks. The responses of the cows to these rapes were monitored, and their arousal medications were increased until they were not only reliably wet for rape, but were unable to prevent themselves orgasming from it.
Eventually, the breeders would reach full-term and give birth. At this time their debt would be assessed – and the breeders would inevitably find that they still owed a substantial debt to the Farm. And so their children would be taken away to be raised by the Church, and as soon as it was safe to do so new clients would attend upon the cows, and rape them, and ejaculate into their unprotected wombs, and in short order the cows would find they were pregnant once again – with no option but to once again carry their pregnancy to term under the control of the Farm.
By the time the first cow had given birth, the Farm had constructed a fourth barn, and it was to Barn Four that the repeat breeders went. And here they learned that they truly were breeders – that there was no escape from their role in life, and their days would consist from now on only of pregnancy, rape, milk production, and torture of their udders and cunt. It was their own fault, for being sluts, and allowing themselves to be impregnated outside of marriage.
They were shown the things they had said about their dreams for the future whenever their cunts and udders were punished, so they would associate those dreams with pain and shame. They were encouraged to form new dreams – dreams of improving their milk production, dreams of being more enjoyable to rape, dreams that their female children would one day grow up to be breeding cows too. They found it hard to express these dreams, though, as their electric collars prevented them from saying anything but “mooo”.
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Mayor Branch was approving of the facility when it was first constructed, but when she toured it again after the first women were beginning to reach Barn Three, she got so wet that she had to grab one of the poor cows right there on the spot and force it to lick her pussy to orgasm. The Farm staff watched her do it with amusement and contempt, but Jasmine didn’t care. All women were sluts, after all, and a Mayor was expected to be a role model.
The thought that some day someone would rape *her*, and she might end up at this very facility, was such an overwhelmingly erotic one that she almost needed to rape the cow again when she was done, but she managed to control herself.
“This is perfect,” she told the Farm staff. “This is just how these women should be treated. I only wish we could show it all off to the media – but it wouldn’t be in the interests of the women – or, excuse me, the breeders. This poor cow who’s chained to the floor by her cunt would likely be mortified to be on the news. But trust me that you have achieved everything I hoped for.”
“As you say, Mayor Branch,” said the head farmer, bowing slightly.
“Well, now that I’ve seen this, I’m quite happy to leave my intern Sophie in your care,” she said, gesturing at the pretty blonde standing behind her.
Sophie’s eyes widened with shock. “What? But…”
Jasmine turned to her. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about your pregnancy, Sophie?” she asked. “Did you think that you could hide that you’ve been knocked up? Probably by Tyler, I suppose, but I don’t keep track of all the boys you fuck. You’re an unwed breeder, Sophie, and this is where you belong.”
“But my father – Eldridge Gaunt – he’s rich!” said Sophie. “He’ll pay for me – or for an abortion…”
“You know your father doesn’t believe in abortions, Sophie,” said Jasmine. “And he’s very disappointed in you. He was hoping you were going to become a successful businesswoman, and take over part of his business – but instead you’ve been wasting your internship making yourself a cum-toilet for men, and now you’re knocked up with a rape-brat. He’s realised that you were nothing but a stupid cunt all along, and he’s washing his hands of you.”
“No!” said Sophie. “Please, no!”
Two farmhands came forward and grabbed Sophie’s arms, ready to take her away for her induction.
“Don’t worry, Sophie,” said Jasmine, stroking her former intern’s cheek. “Your daddy will come and visit you regularly. After all, you’re an animal now, not a person, and you can’t get any more pregnant than you already are – so, really, there’s no reason at all that your daddy shouldn’t rape you now whenever he wants…”
In truth Jasmine had had to visit Eldridge personally, and both suck his cock and let him fuck her ass, before he had agreed to consign Sophie to the farm. And even then, in the end it was three key notions that had won him over – first, that he could fuck his own daughter without consequences. Second, that Jasmine would help him select a vulnerable, sexy teen from one of her other “welfare” programs to come to live with him as his new “daughter” – and that he could fuck that daughter too. And third, that Jasmine would let him on the ground floor with the next substantial business opportunity arising from her mayorship, with all the profits that that implied.
And as she watched the crying Sophie be dragged away to start her new life as a breeder, Jasmine thought about the city she was slowly building – and the women who were trapped in it – and she wondered if it was possible that she was literally the best mayor ever.
She thought it was just possible that she might be.
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