The Birthday Bull free porn video

Procurement

Michael knew he needed a change for quite some time. His job of many years had become tedious, the people in his life had grown annoying, and his town in general was fast becoming a rundown slum. The security of his job was the only thing keeping the man glued down, so when his pink slip arrived one afternoon, he knew it was time. After seven years of toil, he decided to take his severance and start somewhere new; he was moving to the city.

Three weeks later, he found himself staying in a small hotel and hunting for jobs. The city was beautiful, the people were interesting, and the women were gorgeous. Hooking up with one of these pretty girls was what Michael had in mind as he prepared for a Friday night out. Being unattached, young, handsome, and charming, he knew he had a decent chance of getting laid. Dressed impeccably, every hair in place, the man set out on a night he couldn't have imagined.

Byron's Brewery wasn't far from his hotel. He strolled in, finding the place rather crowded with all sorts of the city's populace. A few empty stools remained at the long bar, where Michael took a seat. Quickly ordering a scotch on the rocks, the man set about scanning for interesting women. Ladies were everywhere, but all seemed to be with their men. Hopefully, the scotch would help ease his self-consciousness, he thought, as he finished his drink. He didn't like coming to bars alone, but his lack of friends in the city made it his only option.

Turning back to the bar, Michael had just ordered a second drink, when someone sidled up to his right. He looked over to see an attractive woman: pretty green eyes contrasted with red, wavy, short hair. Her face was round and cute, dotted with light freckles. She wore a little green dress which stopped rather short, allowing her to display the shapely legs she bore. Pretty black shoes adorned her little feet, he noticed, casually glancing down.

"Hi there," she smiled, catching Michael's eye.

"Hello," Michael greeted, returning the smile and receiving his drink.

"I'm Abby," the woman said, extending her fingers.

"Michael," he said, taking her hand. "Would you like a drink?"

"No thanks, I have one," she answered, pointing to a table where sat a large, red-haired man. "I was hoping you'd like to join me. My brother's just leaving, and you seemed to be alone."

"Yep, I am," Michael replied. "And yes, I'd love to." He happily followed her lead to the table, unable to stop staring at her little body as they went. That was easy, he thought to himself.

"I have company now," Abby told the big man when they arrived at the table. "Off you go!"

The man gave Michael a once over, as if he didn't trust him. Finally, he stood. "Be good to my sister," he said, pointing his finger at the man. He then walked off without any further comment.

"He's mad because they just called him into work," Abby explained, taking a seat. "He doesn't like me in a bar alone. But anyway, sit. Let's chat."

Abby seemed to grow more and more pretty as they talked. She was fun, flirty, and seemed interested in everything Michael had to say. She asked him question after question: how old was he? Where was he from? Did he like to drink? Did he ever do drugs? What sort of diet did he enjoy? Did he work out? Before he could return a question, she was on to another. He felt like all he was doing was talking about himself.

"How about tattoos?" she asked, returning from the bar; she had insisted on buying the next round. She set down his scotch before dragging her chair closer to his.

"No tattoos," Michael answered, sipping his drink. "You?"

"Well," Abby smiled, "maybe you'll find out..."

"Mm. I know I will," he shot back, feeling more confident with each passing scotch.

"I don't know," she played, sipping her martini, "you seem a bit shy for my taste."

"Shy?" laughed the man, knowing this could be true. "Nah. Not really."

"In that case," the woman asked, leaning in close to his ear, "what about sex? What kind of sex do you like, Michael?"

His heart began to pound! This girl was so direct, he almost felt uncomfortable. He had many kinks that few people knew about, and he was suddenly embarrassed. It took a long time for him to be comfortable telling his partners all his fantasies. Telling a stranger at a bar was far too embarrassing.

"Ha ha," he laughed nervously, tipping back his drink. "You know, all sex is good in my book."

"Aw, you are shy!" she teased, placing her hand on his leg. "Okay, I'll help. Are you a breast man?"

He glanced at her chest as she arched her back, her cleavage protruding from beneath her dress. "Um, yeah," Michael said. "Breasts are good.

"I don't think you're a breast man," she smiled. "Are you an ass man?"

The girl stood from her seat, turning her back on Michael. He stared as she bent forward slightly, her sexy butt nearly in his face.

"That's um—Yes!" he stumbled, amazed with this woman.

"Maybe you're a leg man," she taunted, again taking a seat. Crossing one over the other, she ran her hands down her curvy bare legs.

Michael's eyes followed her hands, but continued on to gaze at her shoes. "Feet," he heard himself say, captivated. "I think feet are sexy."

"Oh! A foot man," she jeered, allowing her shoe to dangle from her toes. Her heel was pink, round, and flowed into a high arch that left the man drooling. He could only imagine what they must have looked like bare.

"Want to get out of here?" Michael asked, swallowing the last of his scotch. He wanted this woman badly. Not only that, he was feeling a bit drowsy and hoped the fresh air would help.

"Let's do it," Abby quickly agreed.

Michael stood up, the room spinning. He gripped the table a moment to steady himself. He wondered why he was so drunk; he could down three scotches easily.

"Alright there?" laughed the woman, taking Michael's arm.

"Yeah. Just... dizzy," he said, laughing it off. He wasn't about to blow this opportunity!

"Don't worry, I can drive us," Abby offered when they got outside. "Just over here, you lush!"

It was halfway to her car that Michael started to drag his feet. The streetlights swirled around his vision, and everything Abby was saying seemed like it came from a distant shore. He was about to sit down in the road, when a familiar face suddenly appeared and hefted him up: Abby's brother.

What's he doing here? thought Michael, as if in a dream. He saw a blurry van... An empty bench seat... Passing lights through a window as they drove.... Voices came to him from the front of the vehicle: an argument about doses... Something about timing... Then darkness took him.

Chapter Two

Orientation

Michael awoke slowly, bright lights in his eyes bringing him toward consciousness. He had no idea where he was or what had happened. A memory of the pretty woman he had sat with popped into his mind, and he recalled drinking scotch. Must have passed out drunk, he thought, squinting at the ceiling. Why were these lights so damn bright?

He turned his head to the left on the pillow, seeing a white painted, cinderblock wall. He didn't know this wall. Turning his vision to the right, he saw a small room. A closed door was on the wall at which his feet were facing. A toilet sat at the opposite wall, besides which hung a plastic curtain. Nothing else was in the room other than the bed on which he lay, and Michael had no clue where he was.

He sat up, his eyesight becoming more clear. Standing, he slowly approached the metal door, peering out of a small window at face height; he could see only a hallway leading off in both directions. With a tug at the door handle, he found it locked tight. Was he in jail? he pondered, going to the curtain near the toilet. Pulling it back revealed a small shower stall; a bar of soap, towel, and a washcloth were placed on the floor.

Michael sat down on the bed, wracking his brain to remember how he had gotten here. What in the world did he do to end up in jail? What happened with that woman, Abby? The night was coming back to him slowly: the bar, the large man, the van! Had he been kidnapped? he wondered with sudden fear!

A loud click at the door startled the man out of thought. He stood as it opened, a woman entering. Michael was surprised to see some type of rifle in her hands, poised at her eye and pointed at him. Following behind the armed individual came another woman. Similarly dressed in a black uniform, this one wielded a long rod. The women took places along the far wall, staring down the confused man. Lastly entered a third woman, taller than the others and much more intimidating.

While the two females bearing weapons wore their hair pulled tightly back and displayed a military demeanor, the red-haired amazon standing before Michael allowed her long hair to flow freely. Muscles bulged from beneath her tight black pants and pale-skinned arms. The little black tank top she wore barely contained her bosom. She held nothing in her hands, simply crossing her arms as she glared at the man with her cruel brown eyes.

"What the hell's go—" began Michael.

"Shh!" the woman interrupted, placing an index finger to her lips. "You do not speak to me, unless spoken to. Understood?"

"What, seriously? Who are you, Lady?" Michael angrily asked.

"Zap him!" ordered the woman, not at all approving of the man's first interaction.

"What? Wait!" Michael cried, retreating a step. The woman carrying the rod quickly approached, sticking him in the right shoulder. Jolts of energy and pain rippled through his body, and he somehow found himself on his knees. Another poke in his side laid him out, twitching in agony. The guard had retaken her post before he regained his senses. The woman in charge gave him a moment to moan on the floor as he recovered.

"Get up!" she barked, when her patience had run out.

He slowly stood, the pain diminishing. The man felt immediate fear now, knowing that this couldn't be a jail. These people meant business, and they weren't beyond hurting him. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"I will have your respect and obedience," the woman sternly told him. "Anything less, and you will face painful reprimands. Understood?"

"Yeah," Michael nodded, still shaking.

"Allow me to welcome you to The Stockyard," she went on. "I am the herdstress. You are no longer Michael. You are my property, and will henceforth be known as bull number 27. You will not escape from here, so put it out of your mind right now. Any attempt will only result in punishments you can't imagine. Behave, and you will find us fair and humane. Understood?"

"Yes," he answered, not at all liking what he was being told. Escape was the only thing currently on his mind, despite the grave warning.

"Under the bed, you'll find your garment," the herdstress said. "You are to strip completely before putting it on—no socks, no underwear—everything comes off. All jewelry, if any, is to be removed. You have five minutes to change, and then it's time for your exam."

With that, the woman left the small room, her two guards keeping their posts. Their eyes were glued on him as his mind raced. Should he rush them? he wondered. That rifle was aimed directly at him; he'd be dead before he could do anything. Besides, the pain of the electric prod was too fresh in his mind for much bravery at the moment. Being shot might have been preferable to that electricity again. He stood, hesitating, afraid to act.

"Let's go," ordered the female with the prod, using it to point at the bed. "Change!"

Seeing little other option, Michael bent down, feeling under the bed. His fingers found a folded item, which he pulled out. Unfolding it, the man found little more than a white linen gown. With a glance to the women intently watching him, he began to undress. He kicked off his shoes and undid the buttons of his shirt. Slipping it off, next went his undershirt. He reluctantly unfastened his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and let them drop. He stepped out of them, his back to the women, and pulled off his socks. The worst part was dropping his boxers, sensing the eyes of the women on his bottom. Slipping the garment over his head, it came down to just above his knees.

"The watch," the guard said when Michael turned to face them. He unclasped his timepiece, tossing it on the bed.

"Alright, let's go," she ordered, pointing to the open door with her prod. "Out the door, to the right."

The man walked out of his cell and into a white hallway. Quickly looking around, all he saw were walls spaced with periodic doors. The hall eventually made right degree turns in both directions he could see. He was led a few doors down, until he was ordered to stop. The guard opened the door before him, ushering him in.

He found himself standing in an exam room: a table, scale, counter of instruments, and everything one would expect at a doctor's office filled the area. In the room waiting for him was a short, petite young girl. Wavy blond hair flowed to her shoulders, pretty blue eyes were behind thick rimmed glasses, and she wore blue scrubs. The stethoscope around her neck completed her outfit.

"Hello," she smiled quite pleasantly. "I'm Nurse Lilly. I'll be having a look at you.

Michael heard the door shut behind him. Glancing back, he saw that the guards hadn't left. While the rifle was no longer pointed at him, the woman held it at the ready.

"Go ahead and slip off that gown," the nurse said, picking up a clipboard.

"Um," began Michael, sensing that this woman was more tolerant than the others he had met. "I don't know what's going on, or where I am... Can you just tell me—"

"Hey!" barked the guard behind him. "Do as you're told!"

"It'll be much easier if you cooperate," the young nurse said. "I know, it's embarrassing. But I've seen it all before."

"But," the man delayed, feeling ashamed, "I—I don't have anything on under this."

"That's the way we do it," the nurse smiled, tapping her clipboard with a pen. "Let's go. Chop-chop!"

Michael's face burned in embarrassment as he pulled the gown up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. He covered his crotch immediately, feeling three pairs of female eyes on his naked body. The man hated being barefoot in front of others, let alone completely nude!

"Alright, we'll get your weight and height first," Lilly informed, motioning to the scale.

Not knowing what else he could do, Michael walked over and stepped onto the platform. The nurse adjusted the counter weights until she found the sweet spot, recording the number on her form. He turned around when prompted, and Lilly lowered the height rod to his head. "Okay," she said, with a jot of her pen, "take a seat on the table, please."

He did as instructed, sitting with his hands cupped over his crotch. Inserting the eartips of the stethoscope, the little blond placed the chestpiece on the man's breast. "Try and calm down," she smiled, hearing his racing heart. "Take a few deep breaths."

After recording her findings, the nurse produced a thermometer, placing it under Michael's tongue. He hated the doctor. He hated being nude in this way. Everything about this experience was humiliating him terribly! He wanted to know what was going on.

"What is this?" he whispered after she removed the thermometer and was feeling the sides of his neck. "Why am I here? Who are you people?"

She walked to the counter, ignoring his questions. Returning with a reflex hammer, she began to tap his knee. "Look," she said quietly, "all you can do at this point is cooperate. Just do as you're told, and they'll make it easier for you."

"Make what easier?" he asked nervously, the nurse moving to his other knee. "There was this woman at the bar. Abby. She's involved, right? Where's she?"

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said, jotting down her findings. "But to them, you're just a piece of meat now."

A piece of meat? he frantically thought. What is she talking about?

"Lay back, please?" Lilly cheerfully asked, sliding the leg extension of the table out as the man reluctantly complied. He lay there, staring at the bright ceiling, wondering how he could escape this place.

The nurse, after retrieving a couple of items, stood near his feet. Michael felt something dragged along his right foot, causing him to flinch. He glanced down to see the pointed handle of the reflex hammer moving to his left foot. He pulled back when scraped, hating his feet to be touched.

"Quite sensitive," observed the nurse, producing a pink vinyl tape measure. Holding it from the man's heel to his big toe, she measured the length of one foot, then the other. After the widths of his feet were also taken, she wrote a few notes on her clipboard.

Pocketing her tools, she stepped beside the man on his right. "Hand at your sides, please?" she asked.

He lay there, feeling that if his privates were uncovered, he'd have nothing left. Lilly smiled when he didn't move, taking his wrists in her little hands. She pulled, but he was stubbornly holding them in place. "C'mon, Michael," she said sweetly. "I'm just going to look at your tummy."

He reluctantly let her place his hands at his sides. Fully exposed, he had never felt so humiliated. He glanced at her pretty face as she looked down upon him, before quickly averting his eyes. The nurse placed her warm hands on his pecks, gently squeezing. She worked her way down his ribs and to his navel, her fingers pushing in, feeling his muscles. She traced the outline of his hips, and that's when he first noticed his penis beginning to grow.

"Very good," the nurse said, removing her hands from her patient. She walked to the end of the table, sliding in the leg extension. "Please stand, and we'll get some measurements."

Michael sat up, covering himself before he stood. Lilly produced the tape measure from her pocket and proceeded to place it against various parts of the man: his thighs, calves, shoulders, and forearms were measured, both for length and girth. Made to turn around, his bottom was measured horizontally and vertically. All of his numbers were promptly recorded on the nurse's clipboard. The man was beginning to feel as if he really were a piece of meat.

He felt her little hands clasp his bottom while she was behind him, gently squeezing it. They glided down the back of his legs, kneading as they went, until she was down to his feet. She then stepped around to his front, looking him over.

"Hands to your sides, mister" she smiled, again gently moving them by his wrists. Hi semi-erect penis was then revealed.

"I'm... s-sorry—" he embarrassingly stumbled, feeling her eyes on his penis.

"Just relax," said Lilly. "Widen your stance a bit, please? Perfect."

The man did as asked, and he caught his breath when he felt her little fingers grasp his hanging testes. She examined first one, then the other with bare hands. Now Michael knew all bets were off—at her touch of his privates, his erection was growing. By the time she had finished examining his testicles, he had grown to his full length.

"It's okay," she giggled, seeing his burning face. The tape measure was again produced, this time to record the length of his penis. He had to stifle a moan as the nurse then wrapped the tape around his shaft, measuring its girth.

"When was your last orgasm?" the nurse asked as she recorded her findings.

"Um, I don't... I don't know," he stuttered in humiliation.

"Try to think," she said. "It's important. One day? Two days?"

"About... three days, I think," he ashamedly answered.

This has to be a bad dream, the man was thinking. How am I going to get out of this? What are these people planning?

"Excellent. All done," the nurse told him. "You can get dressed. You've been very good. Thank you, Michael."

He quickly grabbed the garment from the floor, grateful to put it on again. He felt instantly better with his nakedness concealed.

"Wait, please tell me what this is!" the man begged Lilly when the guards took him by the shoulder. "What's going to happen?"

The nurse gave the man a sad smile as he was led out of the room. She thought he seemed nice, innocent, scared. She felt bad for ones like Michael: ones that didn't deserve what was going to happen. Her occupation could be depressing sometimes.

Chapter Three

Auction

When Michael was brought back to his cell, the first thing he noticed was that his clothes were gone. This is all he was left with, he thought, sitting on the bed: a simple cloth gown. His clothes, wallet, and identification were at least a link to the reality he had known only the day before. He figured that's why they were taken away.

The man eventually crawled onto his bed, pondering what to do. The door of the cell was thick and locked; he couldn't budge it. He wondered what the hell that exam was all about. Were these people some sort of sex ring operators, planning on letting people have their way with him? He thought for hours, wondering how this would end.

Eventually, he was brought a bowl of some type of porridge, and ordered to eat. He was hungry and complied, finding it rather tasty. It wasn't long after his dinner that the lights were dimmed, and he was told to go to bed. Again, Michael did as instructed. Uneasy sleep filled his night.

After he awoke the next morning, he was again fed the same meal, then told to shower. As he toweled off and threw on his gown, the door to his cell opened. In stepped the herdstress, accompanied by her two guards. Michael was immediately intimidated by the strong woman, wishing he never had to see her again.

"Good news, bull," she declared, looking him over. "You're off to auction today."

Michael glanced from one woman to the other, not understanding. He was too afraid to ask for details.

"Since you have behaved yourself so far," the muscular woman went on, "I'm not going to shackle you. If you betray my trust, you'll be in chains the rest of your time here. Understood?"

"Yes," he answered.

"When at auction," she explained, "you'll see other bulls that are gagged, in chains, blindfolded. They're in their current situation because they could not adhere to simple rules. Do not talk, do not try to escape, and do as you're told. Understand?"

"I understand," the he said.

"Bring him down," she told the two guards, and exited the cell.

"C'mon," ordered the woman holding the prod. Michael was led down various halls, noticing many doors matching that of his cell. He wondered how many prisoners were in this place.

Eventually, they came a set of double doors through which Michael was led. He wasn't ready for what greeted him: lined up in a single row were eight men, each completely naked, save for those wearing blindfolds, ball gags, and/or chains. Only one other man was completely unrestrained like Michael, the rest having obviously misbehaved. They were young men, each around Michael's age. All were built and in good physical shape. Some where tall, others were short. Each appeared to be Caucasian.

"Off with the gown," ordered the guard, bringing Michael to the end of the line. Reluctantly, he slipped off his garment and handed it to the female. He stared shamefully at the floor, avoiding the looks of the other men.

Three other guards were posted in the room in addition to the two who had brought in Michael. Two of them were armed with rifles, the others with prods. The thought entered Michael's head that these men would have a solid chance if they attacked as one. The problem was that most of the prisoners were chained, rendering them ineffective. He didn't have much time to think, as the doors he had been brought through opened, and in strode the red-haired woman, leading two others.

She talked to them as they approached the line of men. Her tone of voice was friendly, helpful, and more caring than Michael had heard her speak. Both of her companions were female, one older and one younger. The newcomers looked eagerly at the lineup as they approached.

"And here is our current herd," the herdstress announced, starting the women at the far end of the line from Michael. "The ones restrained have acted out in the past. We take great precautions in keeping our customers safe."

"Look at these bodies, mother," the younger woman said, her eyes wide. "How am I ever going to choose?"

"Take your time and look them over, Audrey," her mother advised.

"It's your birthday, I understand," the herdstress said to the daughter. "Happy birthday!"

"Thank you," smiled the girl. "I'm 18 now!"

"A wonderful age," replied the red-haired boss. "Truly, a cause for special celebration."

Michael glanced at the women as they made their way down the line. Most of the men looked down in shame as they were inspected. Not only was the daughter beautiful, but her mother was likewise stunning. Each had dark, straight hair. The mother was of average height, her daughter a bit shorter. Their clothes looked expensive, and they smelled of sweet perfume. Impeccable makeup painted their pretty faces, and perfectly painted nails tipped their fingers. The air of wealth was strong on them.

"I've only had a bite of bull before," the daughter was saying. "I can't wait to taste more of it!"

"Our meat is expertly prepared, my dear," the herdstress informed. "It'll be the most succulent thing on which you've ever dined."

Michael's heart was racing as he heard them talk. They're going to eat us, he told himself, trying to remain calm. The nurse literally meant it when she said he was just meat to them. He felt like he was truly in a nightmare. How could this really be happening: people sold off as food in one of the biggest cities of the US?

"Oh. My. Gosh," Audrey exclaimed, approaching him. "Look at this one, mother!"

To his horror, the young lady stepped before him, looking him over. Her mother came to her side, their blue eyes scanning the man.

"I'd like to see this one," Audrey decided.

"Step forward, bull," came the harsh voice of the boss.

Michael took a few steps, still staring at the ground. This was exactly his luck, he thought. Of course he would have to get picked out of the nine.

"This is our newest acquisition," the red-haired woman informed, holding out her hand. One of the guards quickly handed her a clipboard. "He arrived just yesterday."

"I love his build," commented the mother, walking around the man. He stood, hands over his privates, as he was scrutinized.

"This is bull number 27," read the herdstress from her papers. "He passed his physical exam yesterday with flying colors. He's 26 years old, six foot one, and weighs 189 pounds. His feet are ten inches in length, four inches at their widest. His penis is seven inches long when erect, and five inches in girth at it's thickest. He's circumcised. His last orgasm was four days ago. His body fat is perfect for his size. There are no tattoos, no diseases discernable, and he appears to be the picture of health."

"That he does," the mother agreed. "Look at his rump, honey. Perfection!"

Michael could only stand there as Audrey went behind him, checking out his behind. "Oh my," he heard her say. "It's so... masculine!"

"Touch him, feel his muscles," the herdstress offered. "This one's quite tame."

The man felt soft hands on his behind, giving gentle squeezes. A couple fingers touched his shoulders and back, feeling the contours. Then the back of his thighs, down to his calves were examined by the two women: pinching, petting, and caressing.

"Lift your foot up," the boss ordered. "Bring it back so they can see."

He bent his right knee, angling back his foot.

"Vey nice feet for a male," the mother said, running the back of her hand down his sole. She took his toes, gently rolling and separating them in her fingers.

"Indeed," said the herdstress. "They will make fantastic stew meat."

Coming to his front, the females proceeded in the same fashion: feeling his arms, pecks, abs, and legs. Ordered to place his hands by his sides, the women gazed at his flaccid penis, but didn't touch. Michael tried to not make eye contact, too humiliated to even think straight.

"Open your mouth," barked the boss. When the man opened, the she placed her index finger on the bottom row of teeth, pulling his head lower to allow her customers to see. All teeth were in place and straight.

"He's perfect!" the daughter said excitedly. "He's the one!"

"She has spoken!" exclaimed the mother. "We'll take him."

"You're going to be very pleased," the herdstress smiled.

"We get to come to the cooking, right?" the daughter asked.

"We allow that, for a bit extra," answered the red-haired woman. "We just have to charge for heightened security."

"And what was that about a trophy service you mentioned?" inquired the mother.

"For a nominal fee," the muscular woman explained, "we offer preservation and full articulation of the bull's skeleton. Or, if you like, any pose of your choosing. This way, your daughter will always have something to remember her birthday by."

"Yes, we'll definitely do that," the mother decided.

Michael beginning to feel sick to his stomach. Meat, cooking, skeletons: it was as if a terrible prank were being played on him!

"Is it true that," Audrey asked hesitantly, "that um... That the bulls are given orgasms before they cook?"

"Yep, that's true," the herdstress confirmed. "Orgasms release pleasure chemicals throughout the body. Not only do some say that it helps with the meat, but it also calms the bull in a time of stress. Every male is milked once directly before cooking. In heifers, two—or sometimes three—orgasms may be coaxed out."

"Sounds like a good way to go," Audrey's mother chuckled.

"We try to keep the bulls as calm as possible," the boss said. "That's why we use an all female staff within The Stockyard: we're seen as less intimidating."

"Do you think," Audrey went on nervously, "that I could be the one to milk him? I've never done that before! It would make this so very special for my birthday."

"We'll see what we can work out," the herdstress said. "Let's discuss payment in my office."

After the customers were led out, Michael donned his gown and was walked back to his cell. Coming back to his senses after his humiliation, his mind was frantic. Escape was now forefront in his mind. He had no clue how long he had to live.

Chapter Four

Preparation

Michael was contemplating, sitting on his bed when the door to his cell opened. His heart lurched! This could be the end for all he knew. He was surprised when Nurse Lilly entered alone, the door closing behind her. The cute little blond had a worried look as she sat beside him on the bed.

"Hi, Michael," she said. "I talked the herdstress into letting me speak to you. She's usually the one who does this."

"What, no guards?" wondered the man.

"No. I know you won't harm me," she replied.

"Look," whispered Michael, feeling hopeful, "you've gotta help me! I know you aren't like the others. Can't you do something?"

"I can't," she answered quietly. "You can't even imagine what they do to people who betray them! I've already been reprimanded for calling you by name yesterday."

"So what," he asked, feeling angry, "you people just kill innocents? You eat them? That's fucking craziness!"

"It's supposed to just be bad people," she answered. "And most of them are awful human beings, so it's not hard seeing them go. But when there's nice ones like you—"

"Help me, Lilly," he pleaded. "We can both get out of here. We'll go to the police! Get this place shut down! Then you won't be in any danger."

"I can't," she sighed. "I'm sorry, Michael."

The two sat in silence for a bit, neither knowing what to say. Lilly wished she could help the man and be a hero, but the risks were far too great. She had heard stories, and they terrified her. The only way to make herself feel better was to see the man one last time. He deserved better than being informed of his cooking date by the herdstress.

"I came here," she said, breaking the silence, "to tell you that... that tomorrow is the day."

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "Tomorrow, what? Tomorrow they murder me?"

"Please, Michael," she advised, "just be good and cooperate. Do as they say, and things will go much easier."

"Lilly, get me a gun," he tried. "Just a gun, and I'll take my chances."

"You have no idea how bad they would make things for you," she told him, standing up. "Please, cooperate for them tomorrow. They'll be humane."

"My life is in your hands, Lilly," he implored. "Please, please help me. I know you're not like them. I know there's something you can do."

She walked to the door, tapping the window. Giving one last look at Michael, the door opened and she left. She would come through for him, he thought. She was a good person; she wouldn't let this be done to an innocent man.

Michael was awake the next morning when guards entered his cell. His heart pounded as he was ordered to follow them. To another room he was brought where he found a rather large woman waiting. In fact, she was the first unattractive female the man had met in his time there. The room was odd, consisting of two sections. The smaller appeared to be a barber shop, complete with a chair, mirror, and counter of shearing implements. The larger portion consisted of a showering stall: white tiled, lined with showerheads, and open to the rest of the room. A table sat in the middle of the shower area, next to which hung an ominous enema bag. Finally, a toilet sat along one wall.

Upon being ordered to disrobe, the man was made to lay down on the table. Face down, he was massaged by the strong hands of the woman. Her touch was firm: kneading and squeezing his muscles until they melted. No words were exchanged as he was rubbed; he could tell this stern woman would have none of it.

Flipping onto his back, his front was massaged in the same manner. He looked for a means of escape all the while, finding none. There were no windows in the room, and two guards were ever present at the door. Every inch of Michael's body was covered by her hands, and when she was done, he even felt a bit relaxed.

His relief was short lived, however. Upon completion of his rubdown, Michael watched the woman begin disconnecting the red enema bag.

"Um, you're not gonna—" he began, laying there, his pulse beginning to race.

"Yup," she answered gruffly, filling the bag from a faucet. "Enemas are mandatory, so don't even start."

He glanced at the guards posted near the exit of the room; they were vigilant, watching him with keen eyes. How he wanted to run away, crash through the door, bust out of this insane place! But, he lost his nerve as the woman returned, attaching the heavy bottle to its hook.

"On your side," she ordered, removing the hose. A small tube was produced from her pocket, from which she squirted a glob of lube onto the nozzle.

Slowly, Michael tuned on his side, absolutely embarrassed. He felt fingers parting his cheeks, and something cold press against his anus."Try to relax," he heard, as it slid into him.

She released the clamp, warm water filling his belly. At first, all he could think of were the guards watching this happen to him: a naked man forced to receive an enema. His embarrassment lessened when he started cramping; suddenly he could only think about how uncomfortable he was. It felt like an eternity for the bottle to empty, his guts churning. He moaned quietly when the nozzle was removed.

He was made to wait in agony, forced to allow the water to loosen him up. For 15 minutes he groaned softly, scared to death that he would accidentally lose control. He went hunched to the toilet as soon as she allowed, the humiliation of it lessened by the immense relief he felt.

Once he was emptied, he was directed to the barber chair. There he sat while the woman flipped on clippers and began shearing him. He watched in the mirror as row by row, his hair toppled off. Feeling it cascading onto his naked body, that was the moment he knew this was really happening.

Once buzzed, back to the showers he was led. Sitting him on the edge of the table, the large woman sprayed him with warm water before producing cream and razors. She lathered and shaved his body in sections, working methodically: his arms, underarms, fingers, chest, and stomach. Then came his legs, as they dangled off the table. He was then made to sit with his heels on the table edge, so she could shave his feet and toes. Standing him up and turning him around, she continued down his back, bottom, and backs of his legs. She bent him over the table, and he felt shaving cream applied between his cheeks. The razor delicately cut through all the hair around his anus. Again made to lay on the table, the woman shaved his pubic hair until absolutely nothing remained. His scrotum, perineum, and shaft were expertly made bare.

Finally, once again sitting, shaving cream was applied to his head and face. She shaved is head bald. His eyebrows were taken, along with his face stubble. Finally, his neck was cleaned. In the end, not one hair could be seen on his body. He didn't receive a single nick or cut from the expert hand of the woman.

Michael was then thoroughly washed. He was scrubbed with a rough, exfoliating cloth over his entire body. He felt like a dog, up on the table as this stranger bathed him. When the suds were rinsed away, he was incredibly clean and smooth. He was towel dried, and without his gown, led out of the room.

The air felt cold on his nude, hairless skin. His body looked foreign to him, the last vestige of his former self gone. He covered himself in modesty as he was marched through the halls, his heart racing. Brought to a set of double doors, Michael was taken aback when they opened. Petrified, he had to be sternly pushed into the room. He knew he had reached his final destination.

The industrial kitchen was huge! Cabinets, sinks, counters, appliances: all gleamed in stainless steel. The oven was gigantic, the most prominent object in the room. An ominous orange glow issued from behind the glass window of its door, filling Michael with dread.

A small crowd, standing near a wheeled table, looked over as Michael entered. A female, middle-aged and attractive, inspected him as she adjusted her white apron. The herdstress stood with the customers who had chosen him the day before, while three armed guards positioned themselves in the room. With a click from the door, the man knew he had just locked him in.

"Yay!" clapped Audrey, when Michael arrived. "He looks so different!"

"Aw," observed her mother. "The poor thing looks terrified."

Michael could only stand in place, aghast at his surroundings. He could see racks of knives as he glanced around. Oversized pots, pans, trays, and platters were neatly organized around the room. Huge grill racks hung from the walls, along with a collection of steel spikes, each longer than a man. Multiple wheeled tables were pushed into a far corner, each ready to be topped with man-sized cooking apparatus. Next to the oven was an upright, giant metal tube; the glass door of which revealed another spike, vertically waiting to impale and roast.

"Come on," the chef said, waving in Michael. "I won't bite."

The man took a few short steps toward her, his knees feeling weak. She looked him over with pretty brown eyes. She may have been nearing 40, but Michael would have found her quite pretty in any other circumstance.

"He must be a shy one," the chef smiled at the other women. "C'mon. Over here, please."

Michael warily approached, noticing a rectangular tray atop the table. Measuring four foot by three foot, it could easily accommodate a man. "Please," he nearly begged. "What's... How are—"

"Shh," comforted the chef, coming beside him. "Don't you worry. I promise, I'm going to take very good care of you."

"But, you're not really—" the man's voice was shaking, "I mean, you don't... c-cook—"

"It's going to be so easy," the chef said softly, rubbing his back in consolation. "You just need to be brave a little bit longer. No pain from the guards, no unnecessary suffering for being disobedient. You've been the perfect bull all this time. It's going to be beautiful, and you're going to be making this young woman so happy."

"This... This is f-fucking crazy," he gasped, his eyes darting around.

"Just relax," she soothed. "I promise to be gentle. So, so gentle. I have a lot of experience with bulls, and I'm going to make sure you're comfortable every step of the way."

Michael glanced at the others in the room. They were tense, waiting to see what would happen. The guards had advanced a few paces, prepared for any disobedience.

"Now," the chef said, "I need you to climb onto the tray. On your hands and knees, please. Be careful, it's slippery."

Michael looked at the surface of the tray, seeing that it was slick with a thin coat of oil. He couldn't believe what he was doing, as he carefully maneuvered himself onto the tray. Its shallow sides contained the man perfectly as he assumed all fours, trying not to slide on the slick surface. The top of his head faced the women, his eyes staring shamefully down. The giddy clapping of the daughter again sounded when he was situated.

"Excellent," said the chef, gathering a bottle and a large brush from a counter. "So, Audrey, I'll walk you through how a bull is prepped. First, we're going to liberally drizzle oil on his backside."

Warm liquid began dripping over his back as Michael stayed in position. He saw it begin coming down is arms and pooling around his hands. Down his bottom is was poured, running along the backs of his thighs. Little drips began trickling down his sides, plopping to the tray. She continued drizzling along his calves and feet, the smell of coconut filling the air.

"And now, we're going to spread the oil with a brush," the chef explained, bringing the soft bristles over every inch of Michael's backside. He caught his breath when they found their way between his cheeks, and he could barely hold still when they caressed his feet.

"Look at him shimmer!" Audrey observed with excitement.

"Yes," said her mother. "The oil certainly adds definition to those muscles."

"Very good," the chef said, satisfied when he was glistening. "Go ahead and lay on your back, feet facing toward the oven."

Carefully, Michael sat on his bottom. He lay back on the cold metal, trying to avoid looking at the women staring at him. He felt the chef take his ankles, placing his feet on the lip on the tray. Above was the bright ceiling, at which he stared. He desperately wanted to wake up from this terrible dream.

"Before we oil his front," the chef instructed, "we're going to apply a tension ring."

Michael glanced nervously to see what she was talking about. The chef approached on his left, holding a black band. She quickly placed it under his scrotum, stretching it up and over his flaccid penis.

"Ohh! What does that do?" Audrey asked.

"Tension rings are used to keep bulls erect," the chef explained. "Once he begins to become aroused, it'll keep the blood in his penis."

"They also help produce more powerful orgasms," the herdstress informed.

"You're not getting anything out of me," Michael muttered, though he began to feel a twinge in his penis after the ring was applied. With all his being, he didn't want to become aroused, but these women focusing on his penis made it incredibly difficult. Feeling warm oil begin drizzling from his chest down to his groin definitely didn't help the situation.

"And again," the chef said, "we coat him evenly with the brush."

The bristles passing along his chest felt good, but Michael tried to ignore it. He knew the orgasm was essential. Maybe that was his one chance, he thought: no orgasm, no oven!

It wasn't so easy remaining calm when the brush was passing over his privates. It felt wonderful, and even with all of Michael's resistance, he was slowly growing. Soon the chef moved on, and he relaxed. He tried to banish any sexy thoughts from his mind, keeping his eyes focused on the lights; he didn't want to see these women surrounding him.

Down his bare legs the chef worked, making them shine. The tops of his feet were next, and Michael flinched terribly when the bristles found their way in between his toes. He heard giggles about his ticklishness from the onlookers.

"Excellent," said the chef, setting her brush down. "Now, we must restrain the bull in place."

Michael's heart lurched when he heard this! He peered to see the chef retrieving a length of rope and bringing it to his side. The other women watched in fascination as the chef took Michael's left leg, bringing his bent knee back toward his chest.

"Today we're going to use a frogtie," she informed. "This is quite useful for both bulls and heifers."

Before he knew it, the rope was wrapped expertly around his ankle and thigh, binding them together.

"Now, see the groove on the bottom of the tray?" the chef showed Audrey. "We run the rope through, under the tray to the other side. Then we tie his right leg."

"You have got the best job!" declared the daughter, following the chef to Michael's right leg. She watched as with a few wraps, tugs, and knots, the man's other leg was bound. Not only could he no longer straighten his legs, but he could no longer close his knees.

"And finally," the chef went on, gathering much smaller lengths of rope, "his wrists are secured to his ankles."

The tying completed, Michael was now completely helpless. His legs were pulled back and open wide, leaving both his bottom and genitals embarrassingly on display.

"And last but not least," the chef said, coming to stand next to Michael's head, "we finish basting him." She rubbed her hands together, having taken a handful of oil. She glided her hands around his bald head, and gently covered his face. The man was now glistening from head to toe.

"That is quite a sight!" exclaimed the mother, approaching Michael. "God, he look delicious!"

"What part do you want to try the most, mother?" the girl asked, gazing down on her birthday present.

"His rump, for sure!" she answered hungrily.

"His tenderloin will be phenomenal," the chef offered. "His ribs, too!"

"His muscle is lean, simply superb," the herdstress observed, happy with her luck at obtaining this specimen.

Michael couldn't believe people would be talking about another human like this! He tested his bonds, but they were tight. Glancing at the guards, he saw they were much more relaxed with him restrained. If only he could slip these ropes... Get to a gun...

"I want to milk him," Audrey said, eying his penis. "Can I milk him now? He doesn't look very excited, though."

"Sometimes when they're nervous," explained the chef, "bulls don't get excited right away."

"Almost always," the herdstress said, "visual stimulation helps." She approached one of the guards, speaking a few words.

Michael heard the doors unlock and saw the guard leave. He squirmed and fought with his bonds, thinking me might have a chance with the door no longer secured and one guard gone. He hoped against hope, but nothing; he was stuck fast.

"Oh, I like how he struggles," Audrey clapped.

How Michael was beginning to wish he could get his hands on her! She may be a beautiful 18 year old, but she had to be pure evil.

"Next up," the chef told Audrey, "we insert the thermometer."

Adrenaline hit Michael when he heard that word! He guessed where she planned on putting it, and already having one object up his rear that day had been enough. With all his strength, he flexed his muscles against the ropes; they didn't give an inch. Why had he allowed himself to be tied up? he angrily thought.

"Yes, herdstress?" came a familiar voice from outside the door. Michael ceased his struggling when he heard it.

"You may enter, nurse," called out the red-haired woman.

Michael's humiliation reached a new high. He'd give anything for Lilly to not see him like this. But then he had another idea: maybe she'd help! If she saw what they were doing, she would have to come to her senses.

Lilly took a few steps into the kitchen before seeing the bound, naked man. Her eyes grew wide, and she couldn't help but stare in momentary disbelief. Seeing a cooking in progress shed light on the harsh reality of what she was really part of.

"Come in, nurse," her boss said. "No need to be shy."

Michael and the nurse made brief eye contact as she walked past. What he saw most in her bespectacled eyes was shock.

"Yes, ma'am?" she asked, standing dutifully in her blue scrubs.

"We seem to be having a problem with this bull becoming aroused," explained the herdstress. "Since I believe he's taken a liking to you, I'd love to have you stay and observe. Perhaps it will ease his nervousness having you present."

"Yes, ma'am," she complied, unable to fully conceal her reluctance.

"Oh wow!" exclaimed Audrey. "Mother, look at this thing!"

"Oh my," her mother said, "that certainly is quite a thermometer!"

Michael looked between his legs to see the chef holding what he could only describe as a steel butt plug topped with a dial. The chef drizzled oil on it before they approached him.

"N-no... Please!" he gasped, shuddering at how bulbous it looked. "Don't. Don't put that—"

"Bulls hate the thermometer," smiled the chef. She pressed the cold metal to Michaels bottom, gently swirling it against him.

"Look," the man began, yearning to retreat. "I-I'll do anything. Please! Don't!"

"The trick is to slowly apply pressure," the chef told Audrey, who was watching intently.

"No! S-stop!" he begged, as he felt the chef pushing with more force. Utterly helpless to protect himself, the man had never felt so violated.

"And when you feel less resistance," she instructed, "you give it a firm push."

"Oh god... OH GOD! UGGHHH!" grunted Michael, the thermometer filling his rectum.

The nurse averted her eyes, pity filling her heart for the man.

"Perfect!" the chef exclaimed, tapping the dial at the entrance of his bottom.

"Look at that cock!" the daughter exclaimed, staring.

"Audrey!" admonished her mother. "Language!"

"I'm 18, mother, "she smiled. "And it's my birthday."

The thermometer, pressing against Michael's prostate, was a sensation the man had never experienced. The pressure had made him instantly hard, and he looked down to see his penis thick and still growing. The band around it did its job, making him bigger than ever.

"Very good," declared the herdstress, impressed by how suddenly her bull had grown.

"Okay," said the chef, "let's bring him over to the oven."

"What? W-wait. No!" Micheal began, as she walked to the head of his table. Unlocking the wheels, she began pushing the man toward certain death. Lifting his head, he watched the glowing door grow closer from between his shining feet. He came to a halt a few feet from it, trying again in vain to wiggle free.

"Nurse?" called out the herdstress. Perhaps you can help further. I'd like this bull to have something to look at: a reward since he's been so good for us."

The nurse gave a quizzical look, not sure what her boss was saying.

"Go on," the red-haired woman told her, "take off those scrubs."

"Um, ma'am?" the nurse suddenly looked bewildered. "Is, is that really—"

"Nurse," the herdstress sternly glared, "I said off!"

The young lady glanced at the others in the room, knowing that her boss' word was absolute. The guards at the door watched, ready to enforce their master's order.

Come on, Michael silently pleaded. Go for a gun! Do something!

Disappointment filled him when she bent down, untying her shoes. She kicked them off, followed by her top. Next, her pants were slipped off, leaving the girl standing in a white tank top, panties, and socks.

"Tank top and socks: off!" ordered the boss. "You can leave on your underwear. I believe our bull will be mostly interested in your feet, anyway."

Michael burned in humiliation, watching Lilly remove her top. Her little socks were pulled off last, and there she stood: a petite, blond-haired, bespectacled, sexy girl in her underwear. To say she looked uncomfortable would be an understatement.

"So, our bull here," the herdstress began, "seems to think he can deny us an orgasm. Though, looking at the state of him now, I'd say that's debatable."

Giggles, chuckles, and the little claps from Audrey filled the room.

"Unfortunately, an orgasm is a must," she continued. "Perhaps our lovely nurse will provide enough incentive."

Lilly stood with her arms crossed, feeling incredibly awkward. She only hoped there wasn't more embarrassment to come, or worse!

Chapter Five

Milking

Michael knew what they were going to do next. He knew he had to resist them, but he also knew that his erection wasn't going to subside on its own. Something about the fullness of the thermometer wouldn't allow him to relax. Everywhere he looked were pretty women, and even seeing his own glistening, bound, naked body was arousing. He tried to clear his mind.

"Alright, here's some oil for your hands," the herdstress was saying to Audrey. She stood beside her young customer, ready to guide her through the process. They were between Michael and the oven, ready for the most important part of the day.

The proud mother stood on Michael's right, excited for her daughter. Audrey had led a sheltered life when it came to boys, though she had always expressed great interest in them. When she had asked for a bull for her birthday, her mother agreed; it was a perfect present to usher in her new womanhood. The cost was great, but she felt that the gift killed two birds with one stone: Audrey got all the bull meat she could want, and she also got the chance to experience male anatomy at its finest.

"Now, to properly milk a bull," explained the herdstress, "you have to stroke slowly. When you see the scrotum drawing close to the body, stroke even slower still. This bull hasn't had an orgasm for five days, so we can expect a healthy volume of semen.

"This is what I'm having for dinner tonight, mother," Audrey exclaimed, looking at his penis. "It's so long and thick!"

"His testes will be tasty as well," the chef offered. "The nurse made special note of their size and health."

The young girl's hands went to Michael's scrotum, her fingers feeling for his testicles. He tensed as she took them, one in the fingers of each hand. She rolled them about, making the man catch his breath.

"Be very, very gentle," the herdstress advised. "They're quite tender and delicate."

"Oh yes, I am," she reassured. "They feel lovely. So plump!"

"They are quite plump," agreed the herdstress. "Aren't they, nurse?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lilly replied, ashamed. "They're very healthy."

"Go ahead and take the penis," the boss said. "Grip it loosely, and run your hand slowly up and down. Allow your hand to glide on the oil."

Audrey rubbed her hands together before taking Michaels shaft, gently squeezing it. It was all he could do to not moan at the sensation. His heart raced as he thought about the consequence of losing control. Lilly, his one hope, was right next to him! She had been singled out, embarrassed, and must have felt threatened. He had to believe she would help.

Michael felt Audrey's grip loosen. As instructed, she slowly began stroking his penis. The other women in the room gathered closer, watching the birthday girl enjoy her present.

"How does it feel in your hand?" her mother asked. "Is it how you imagined?"

"It feels so hot," her daughter answered. "It's warm and slippery. Veiny. The head is so big and shiny! It looks more enticing than I ever imagined!"

The man looked over at Lilly, imploring her silently for help. She only stood, not knowing what to do and too afraid to make a move. Michael couldn't gaze at her long; the sensations from Audrey, coupled with the sight of the nurse, made for a dangerous combination.

"When he ejaculates," the herdstress instructed, "allow it to spill on his belly. His semen will make a lovely natural glaze."

"Why do we stroke so slow?" Audrey asked. "I thought tight and fast is what they like."

"It doesn't matter what the bull likes," answered the herdstress. "We milk slowly, building them up. Our aim is to coax out the most semen with a powerful orgasm. It's nearly torturous to some bulls, especially the ones who achieve orgasm quickly. For them, we start and stop milking multiple times."

"Do you think this one will be quick?" the girl wondered, as she stroked.

"This one appears to be a fighter," smiled the red-haired woman, impressed by the girl's interest. "But they all orgasm eventually."

"And then he goes into the oven?" the girl questioned eagerly.

"He goes right in, yes," the boss answered. "When the bull orgasms, the body is flooded with a cocktail of chemicals. The brain—which is quite a delicacy—will be chock full of them. He'll therefore become relaxed and at peace, at least for a few moments. You'll see that we work fast once his semen is extracted; we want him cooking before any of it wears off."

"P-please... stop," Michael whimpered, looking with horror between his legs at the females. Both their words and utter disregard for him was terrifying.

The beautiful girl simply glanced at the man and continued on with her agonizingly slow pumping. His scrotum cinched up in pleasure when he caught sight of the girl, watching her hand around his penis. Breathing hard, he looked around for something to take his mind away from the sensations. Unfortunately, it seemed everywhere he looked, a beautiful woman was looking down on him.

"Oh, look!" Audrey said, "There's clear liquid coming out of the tip!"

"That's pre-ejaculate, dear," explained the red-haired woman. "That means you're doing a fantastic job."

Lilly, do something, Michael willed, as he tried to control his breathing.

"Nurse," he heard the herdstress say during his internal struggle, "Why don't you turn around for us. I'm sure the bull would love to see your behind."

Despite his better judgment, the man looked over to see Lilly comply with the order. She turned her back to him, revealing a small, firm bottom in black panties. Her legs were curvy. Her calves, sexy and round.

"Slow down a bit, Audrey," instructed the herdstress. The girl stoked him even slower, the head of his penis oozing with pre-cum.

"Lilly," he pleaded, "don't... Don't let them do this."

"The scrotum is constricted," the boss observed. "We're proceeding quite nicely."

The girl ran the fingers of her free hand over Michael's scrotum. "The skin is so soft," she observed.

"Please!" Michael cried, feeling Audrey caressing his testes. "D-don't do this to me. I didn't do anything... to deserve this!"

"The scrotum is very tender," chimed in the chef. "It'll cook up quite well."

"Very, very slow now," came the herdstress' voice. "Very loose grip. Just graze the shaft."

"Please," Michael begged, almost to himself. Looking down his body, he realized he simply was just an animal to these people. The things that made him a person were gone: his name, clothes, dignity, feelings, freedom. He was now a trussed up bull being prepared for dinner without mercy.

The chef approached the man, knowing she could help to obtain the desired result. It was normally her duty to milk the bulls, and she thought it a shame that she didn't get to work on this one. He was so docile, which was rare. Some bulls yelled, screamed, cursed, and swore vengeance as they were forced to orgasm. Others seemed to go along with it willingly, only to become irate once the milking was complete. She rarely had bulls like Michael: scared, humiliated, begging for help; the