The Herd

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This story is pure fiction and in no way reflects true life.  It covers hair cutting and head shaving fetishism but it also covers humiliating and degrading actions and practices towards women.

If you find this topic upsetting then please do not continue reading.


Found guilty as charged.

I stood in the dock waiting for the judge to sentence me.

15 years in a closed correctional facility with no parole
10 years in an open prison in Devon.
I didn’t have to think too hard and chose to serve my sentence at the open prison.

Three hours later I sat on a secure prison bus with three other females also sentenced to serve their sentences at HMP Correctional Dairy Farm.
“Does anyone have any idea what this place is ?” said one of the other prisoners. A young woman who was in her early 20’s.
“I heard that it is a dairy farm and we work as production workers on the farm and in the dairy.” replied another prisoner. She was a large woman in her 40’s.
The prison bus travelled along winding country roads for a further 30 minutes until it pulled off the tarmacadam road and onto a bumpy unmade track.
The sight of the prison appeared as we drove through lush green fields. It certainly didn’t look like a prison but more like a farm with a number of accommodation blocks and office buildings.
The prison bus pulled up outside one of the office blocks.
Together with my fellow prisoners I was escorted to a secure area within the building.
The reception area in the building looked more what I thought a prison should look like.
We stood in front of a large raised desk.
The female prisoner officer stood behind the desk spoke .
“Welcome ladies. This is HMP Correctional Dairy Farm. You have all willingly agreed to serve your sentences as milk production workers here at the farm. You will shortly be processed then taken to your accommodation block. Please undress and follow the prison officer stood behind you.”

I, like the other prisoners undressed and followed the prison officer into a side room.
We all gasped at the sight that met our eyes.
It was a barber’s chair and stood beside the chair was another female prison officer dressed in a white apron.
“Right ladies as part of your sentence you will have your hair shaved. Your hair will be sold and the proceeds will be donated to a local charity. Together with all the other Hucows at this facility you will be sheared on a monthly basis. Is that understood?” asked the prison officer.
“Yes miss.” We all replied in unison.
“First prisoner, Charlotte Johnson step forward.” commanded the prison officer.
The young woman in her 20’s who spoke on the prison bus stepped forward and onto the barber’s chair.
A click of a switch and a loud buzz filled the small room.
The prison officer wearing the white apron placed the clippers on Charlotte Johnson’s forehead and pushed back.
My breath was taken away as I watched the long blonde hair cruelly severed from her head.
The hair collected around the base of the barber’s chair. Within a matter of minutes her head was shaved bare aside from a very short stubble measuring no more than 1/4 inch in length.
“Right Johnson, you’re finished, collect your hair together and place it in this bag.”
She alighted from the chair, gathered her severed blonde hair and stood at the back of the room as instructed.
“Next, Stacey Winters.” shouted the prison officer.
Oh my god that’s me. She’s shouting my name. My legs felt as if they had lead weights attached.
“Stacey Winters in the chair now. I hope you are not going to be a troublesome prisoner.”
“No miss, sorry.” I said as I stepped forward and placed my bare buttocks on the barber’s chair.
Again the click and the buzz filled the small room.
I felt the warm metal of the clippers poised at the top of my forehead and then push back towards my crown.
The cold air suddenly hit my scalp as my hair parted my scalp and fell to the floor.
I had always worn my auburn hair long and up to this moment it had been no shorter than my shoulders.
Stroke after stroke the blades cruelly and ruthlessly stripped the hair from my head, falling across my shoulders and then to the concrete floor.
Within minutes I had been shorn like a farm animal but little did I know what else was in store.
The clippers fell silent as I reached up and felt my shorn scalp, gone was the silky softness of my long locks to be replaced by the rasp of the stubble atop of my head.
“Winters collect your hair together and wait over there with Johnson.”
I did as instructed and watched whilst the two other prisoners were shorn.
“Right Johnson back in the chair. “ commanded the prison officer.
Johnson did as instructed and climbed back into the barber’s chair clutching her bag of blonde hair.
I stood and watched in disbelieve as the officer in the white apron pierced Johnson’s left ear and riveted a large yellow tag to her earlobe.
“Next, Winters get in the chair.
I climbed into the chair clutching my bag of hair and received the same cruel treatment as Johnson.
I could feel the weight of the tag pull on my left earlobe. What on earth was it?

Once we had all been shaved and tagged the prison officer led us to the shower room.
Stood together in a large communal shower we showered our bodies and scrubbed our freshly shaved domes.
Looking in the washroom mirror I saw my reflection for the first time since my arrival.
My long wavy auburn hair had gone, replaced with a short ¼ inch stubble. From my left ear hung a large yellow tag similar to the tag I had seen hanging from a cow’s ear.
On the tag in black writing was written
HC 1927
Together with my fellow prisoners I was handed my prison uniform which consisted of a pair of tight fitting black and white lycra leggings and an equally tight fitting black and white lycra top.
The pattern on the leggings and top was not dissimilar to that of a cow’s hide.

Following the prison officer we were taken to the infirmary building of the prison.
“Ladies, my name is Dr Geller. As part of your sentence you will work within the human milk production unit of the farm. The injection I am about to give you will increase your prolactin levels and will kick-start lactation, you will receive a weekly injection to increase and then maintain your milk yield.”
We all gasped.
“Within a few weeks you will notice that your breasts have grown considerably larger as will your buttocks, your body will believe that you have calved ” she continued.
“Whilst you are at this facility you will be well looked after. You will eat good food and plenty of it. Our aim is to make you all into profitable plump milkers.
The fatter you are, the larger your udders will grow hence you will produce more human milk that brings a premium price on the open market.
I may have avoided a 15 years prison sentence in a closed prison but this was far worse.
My body was going to be changed against my will and by the time I had served my sentence I would be unrecognisable.

During the first weeks of my sentence I did not join the herd. Together with the other new arrivals I was shown around the milking parlours. The milking stalls looked exactly like those in a standard cow milking parlour.
I watched as the herd was led into the parlour.
Each Hucow knew exactly what to do, I watched as she entered the pen, unbutton the strip of lycra covering her udders, bend down on all fours and place her head between the pen gates. The gates closed around her head effectively locking her in place ready for milking.
The udders of each Hucow were enormous and looked heavy with milk as they swung below the Hucow’s body.
A milking maid approached the Hucow, wiped her udders with a soapy cloth from a bucket and attached a suction cup to each udder.
The milking machine sprung into action and started to pump milk. I watched as the creamy white liquid flowed from the Hucow’s breasts, along the clear pipes and into a glass container.
This was to be my life for the next ten years.

I together with all the other Hucows worked daily in the fields or the within the prison buildings, cleaning or cooking. The work was hard but we were well feed and cared for just like any other dairy herd.
At 4pm every afternoon the more established Hucows were led to the milking shed to be relieved of their heavy burden.
Within a few weeks of my arrival at the dairy farm I had put on a considerable amount of weight particularly on my hips and buttocks. Where once my slim but shapely hips and buttocks had been I now held a considerable amount of fat that wobbled as I walked. My udders had doubled in size and I had begun to lactate.

The following week I joined the herd.
The 5am bell rang and the dormitory lights burst into life.
The dormitory was nothing more than a long building. Along each side of the building stood 50 beds totaling 100 beds per dormitory and there were 5 dormitories.
As Hucows we had no personal items so we had no need for personal locker space.
I followed the long line of Hucows into the large communal shower block. When I say shower block, it was just a large tiled room with shower heads hanging from the ceiling that provided a constant flow of warm water.
Privacy at the Hucow Dairy Farm was non existent.
After showering I took a clean Hucow prison uniform from the shelving. Only three weeks ago my uniform size was a 10 and now it was a 16, I had put on so much weight.

I followed the long line of Hucows to one of the five milking sheds. I stood in line and watched my fellow Hucows have their udders attached to the milking machine and emptied .
It was soon my turn.
The gates opened allowing the previous occupation of the cradle to exit. I took her place, I unclipped the strip of lycra covering my udders. My huge udders fell from the opening in the lycra top and swung down heavy with milk.
I bent down on all fours and placed my head through the gap in the cradle bars. The bars tightened around my neck locking me in to the milking position.
I felt a strangers hands wipe my udders with what felt like a warm soapy cloth.
Those same hands attached suction cups to my nipples and then I felt it, my first experience on the production line.
The cups manipulated my nipples and the milk flowed from my udders.
Aside from the fact that the process was deeply humiliating the milking of my udders felt surprisingly pleasant. Within a short period of time and much to my disappointment the suction cups were detached from my nipples, the gate around my neck opened allowing me to stand and walk from the milking cradle. My udders felt surprisingly light.
That was my first experience in the milking shed and I could not wait until the 4pm milking bell rang.

I had been at the dairy farm for a month and I sat in the dining hall having just finished my lunch alongside the other Hucows. The sound of a klaxon filled the room.
“ Has it been a month already? “ asked one of the older Hucows sat at my table.
“Yes, come on girls, shearing time.” replied another.
I followed the more experienced Hucows out of the dining room to a large barn like building.
“Here we are again ladies, the shearing shed, I think I will have my highlights touched up.” said a very large elderly Hucow with a giggle.
I joined a very long queue of what must have been 500 Hucows. All of us had the same amount of hair on our heads and non of us had hair longer than a ½ inch in length.
After waiting in the queue I finally reached the inside of the barn.
The sight that met me made me shudder.
A long line of 20 barbers chairs ran the length of the building. Hanging from the ceiling above each chair ran an electric cable, attached to that electric cable was a set of very large sheep shearing clippers.
The queue waiting ahead of me grew shorter. I watched as each Hucow sat in the chair and was efficiently and ruthlessly sheared.
I soon reached the head of the queue. I felt a prison offer tap me on my shoulder with her baton.

I ran to the waiting vacant chair. No sooner had my bum touched the barbers seat the large clippers touched my forehead.
Forehead to crown.
Forehead to crown.
Forehead to crown.
Nape to crown.
Nape to crown.
Nape to crown.
Left temple and around my ear.
Left temple and around my ear.
Left temple and around my ear.
Right temple and around my ear.
Right temple and around my ear.
Right temple and around my ear.
The barber tapped me on my shoulder.
“Finished Cow…….. GO.”

I ran from the shearing shed and into the sunlight. Before my prison sentence I would spend 3 hours in the beauty salon having my hair washed, conditioned and trimmed. My head had just been shaved in less than 30 seconds.

Before returning to my work in the fields I ran to the communal bathroom.
I looked at my reflection in the large wall mirror.
I had been sheared shorter than my initial entry cut. All my hair had gone. I had been shorn to the wood. My scalp was totally devoid of hair, not even a short stubble.
I raised my hands to my eyes and sobbed.
“Too late for tears now.” said a prison officer who was now stood behind me lifting my ear tag to read my Hucow number. “Get back to work 1927, you should have thought of this before committing your crime.”
The months dragged by with the same routine.
Work, milked, sheared, work, milked sheared.
The years passed and I grew larger. My udders now hung low and without the support of my lycra top they hung almost to my waist. My hips and buttocks were now so large that I no longer walked but I did what we so affectionately call at the farm ‘The Hucow Waddle’
I may have escaped 15 years in a closed prison staring at four walls but I had sentenced myself to a lifetime locked in a Hucow’s body.

5 responses to “The Herd

  1. Stacey,
    You do seem to know my weak spots all too well. I loved the story, and the ‘udder’ humiliation that your namesake underwent at the Farm. These human animal stories always seem to get my juices flowing, if you catch my drift. Alright, pardon the puns. Honestly, nicely written, and wonderfully erotic. And, of course, lovely to see you writing.
    All my love,
    Claire xxx

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