Milk Farm - Part 1

The poll is over, and Milk Farm is definitely the clear winner. Works for me, since I've been itching to write this one up for a while. Enjoy! 

Donny could tell by the biometrics alone that the facility’s prized heifer wasn’t going to last the week. The long, low moan that would sometimes go on for a full 30 seconds was just as strong as when he’d been taken in, but the milky fluid didn’t come in a smooth, steady stream like it used to. Instead, it came in spurts and the occasional gush--an impressive load by normal standards, but not for The Farm.

Here, it was a sign that this heifer’s usefulness was almost at an end.

Donny still had hope for this one. He’d grown especially large after his indoctrination, he’d out-produced every one of his cohorts, and Donny felt that deserved at least some reward. He hoped that this one would be put out to pasture, to live the rest of his days rutting mindlessly and producing the serum needed to indoctrinate so many others.

Donny mentally gave his odds as a coin toss. Normally, the odds would be much lower, but Donny felt that this one was special. His size, if anything, was a sure sign of that.

When the subject’s bellowing finally stopped, Donny lamented the low volume of milk he’d produced. “There’s no hiding a number that small,” Donny sighed. Not here. Not at The Farm.

“Introducing the new you,” read the sign in bold, orange letters. “Take the 30-day challenge!”

It was all a little over the top, but then again, that’s just how supplement stores were these days. Stan didn’t really care--he just wanted a job. Any job. Even one where he’d be selling products he’d never really tried to clients he didn’t really relate to. He was desperate. The fact that he’d got called back for an interview was a miracle in itself. He just hoped that his own appearance wasn’t enough to blow his chance.

The guy interviewing him--he said his name was Al--was built like a brick shithouse. A bodybuilder, Stan figured, which made sense. Bull Massive sold protein and supplements to wannabe jocks and very serious gym rats. Al must have been getting quite the discount, Stan judged based on the size of Al’s pecs.

Stan wasn’t anything like Al. He might’ve been once up a time, but a hard life of fast food and no money for a gym had taken its toll. It was laughable that he was even being considered to work at a store selling health products, given how he looked like the poster boy for Overeaters Anonymous. Stan just hoped he could stag a job with his winning personality.

“Says here you haven’t worked in six months,” Al grunted, eyebrow raised with an implied question. Stan knew it was actually closer to a year, but he’d fudged a lot of things on his resume. Including the fact that he’d been all-varsity his senior year.

“Yeah, it’s been a rough patch,” Stan admitted without a hint of a lie. “But that just means I’m ready to start right away!”

That got him another grunt, which Stan interpreted as a laugh. He hoped it was a laugh.

“You took a double-major of biochemistry and kinesthesiology in college?”

That was a bald-faced lie, but Stan hoped it was complicated enough to slip by without any further questions from this meathead. He was right, and Al grunted before his eyes dipped further down Stan’s resume.

“Well, I gotta say this--uh--rezoom looks good, but you don’t look like the kinda guy who lifts, y’know?”

Damn, he’s not blind after all. Stan defied his natural instinct to slump in his chair, defeated. “Look, I know it might’ve been a year or two since I could run the quarter-marathon, but I really need the job.”

Al grunted again, and Stan hoped it wasn’t another laugh.

“I can’t put you in the store, nobody would come in here to get their protein mix,” Al said, tossing Stan’s resume on his desk. “But I do have something that might work out for you. It’s in the back office. There’s some heavy lifting involved, so maybe when you shed a few of those pounds you’ll be jacked enough to come work for me.”

Al grunted again, laughing at his own joke.

“So uh, like a warehouse job?”

“Something like that.”

Stan couldn’t believe his luck. “Where do I sign?”

Al took Stan’s resume, placed it in a folder, and then tossed a stack of documents on the desk where the resume had been. There were enough to make a loud “thunk” as they hit the metal.

“Wherever there’s an ‘X’,” Al replied. “Then I’ll call the office to get you taken over.”

There must have been over 400 pages, but Stan was willing to read them all if it meant a job. He looked through the first one, something about an extended term of contract with living conditions and food provided, which all sounded good to Stan. He signed the first X he saw, and then the second, and then the third.

By the time he’d signed his name for the 40th time, Stan’s chubby hand was starting to cramp. He was about halfway done the stack when he felt the slightest pinch on the back of his neck. Then a wave of dizziness struck him so hard that he dropped his pen on the ground. Instead of leaning over to pick it up, Stan fell to the ground, looking up at the hazy silhouette of two men as they picked him up by the arms and legs.

“Yes, he looks just perfect,” said a voice just before darkness overtook him.

Donny sipped his coffee as he checked over the new batch of inductees. Most were unremarkable, perhaps sporting a few extra pounds but were hardly worth the effort of indoctrination for how little milk they’d end up producing. Donny had been doing this a long time and had acquired an eye for potential.

But there were a few that seemed promising. One of them, subject #347, was already quite large. His intake weight had him listed at 388 pounds, which had already given him quite the pair of udders. That was always a sure sign of productivity once indoctrination was fully complete.

Another subject, #953, wasn’t quite as large but possessed a certain stout thickness to him. There was no denying the excess pounds, but his frame seemed ideally suited to them and probably many more. Donny saw a lot of potential in this one--so much so that he decided to inspect subject #953 himself.

But after his coffee. He was an absolute zombie without his morning coffee.