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Anal

Author’s note:

As absurd as the concept of a hucow is, I tried to take it quite seriously, to delve in the psychology of a hucow and her owner, in search of what this admittedly strange fetish means, at least to me. Therefore, beside the tropes of the genre (kinky sex, humiliation and de-humanization), you will find the musings of a young girl who chooses to become a cow in a quest for true love and a place in the world. I hope that the result is an original and refreshing take on the matter.

All kinds of feedback are appreciated, especially those about grammar, as English is not my first language.

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10. There are udders!

The farm gradually came to life in the following month, as more clients started to visit us. Our days started at six a.m. and were organized in nine time slots of two hours, during each of which we were milked and fed, which took roughly forty minutes. Then we would spend the rest of the time slot in some activity.

The first one was our washing ritual, when we also put on our tails. Due to us being always naked and in contact with stuff that had been outdoor, we also received frequent cleaning in our sexes, with the application, after a disinfecting soap, of a special ointment that contained the bacteria we needed in our vaginas, to replenish our flora under constant attack. Speaking of cleaning, we found out what happened during our menses: we had to wear a menstrual cup which would be emptied during every milking. Since we usually performed mainly anal sex, that did not affect our breeding in any way. It did affect our mood, though: not only we had the usual symptoms of our periods, but we also had trouble satisfying our impressive libido, as the men, clients and farmers alike, were squeamish about even touching our pussies. Men! However, we soon found a solution: we would take care of each other’s needs with a nice clit licking.

The next two slots were dedicated to napping and were followed by an exercising session on the machine that everybody now called “the yokemill”. After that we had permission to graze, unless there was a client. In such case, the free cow usually received her daily massage.

Grazing meant listening to music, just strolling around our corral, having sex with each other or the stable boys, or messing around with a squirt battle or a dance.I loved the latter and apparently Cupcake was not bad herself. She had weird, jerky moves and was so cute when she danced, that I often just watched her. I discovered that her musical tastes where mostly oriented towards reggae and jazzy stuff. It is hard to explain, but even if I did not much like either of those, myself being more into dance music, I sort of liked them too, because they were a window into Cupcake. We also sang together often, even doing two voices when we felt bold and, most importantly, not watched. It was not easy to learn by heart a song, as we had no control on what the cow-jukebox would reproduce, so we had to be a bit patient and work on several of them at the same time.

It was easy to involve Kam and Aaron in these activities, even though they had a lot of work. With the fact that they lived in the farm itself, they often stuck around and hanged with us, if anything, because they got to fuck us. I was grateful for their presence, because sometimes I felt guilty for sneaking out with Aidan. We usually went in the orchard and I asked him if we could graze there too, from time to time. He agreed and that gave him the idea of making us do some supervised work there. Nothing fancy, of course, we were just draft cattle and we often just pulled a small cart, but it was nice. Guests kept us very busy, anyway.

We would usually have at least three of them every day, so there was not much time for grazing, really. Even though every one of them was very different, we had some regulars and I soon got used to being pimped out.

Soon enough I developed my own classification of clients. There would be the ones that liked the idea of mounting a cow, those who just loved huge boobs, the wannabe farmers, the ones who enjoyed our animalisation and asked us to piss ourselves or wear cow gear like blinders and those who were into dominating us and would insult, whip and zap us, make us lick their boots or their asshole (which they had to clean beforehand, though, so it was not much different from grooming Cupcake, albeit her butt-hole was cuter of course). The latter were obviously the worst and I would take the more demanding ones, as my contract, I deduced, left much more leeway than Cupcake’s.

Even though I had developed an armor after my encounter with my second client, being humiliated by clients remained hard, especially because they would be much meaner than the spoiled kid I had serviced at the beginning of my career. The first time I got one of those, I cried in Cupcake’s forelegs, as Aidan was not in the farm. After that, I speedily learned how to take them. First of all, I reminded myself to fake my ankara eve gelen escort discomfort as Fergie had taught me in my very first time with a client. As for the shame, it was Cupcake who taught me how to fight it. With indignant moos and some well-thought gesturing, she made me realize that if anyone should have been ashamed, it was them, not me.

Aidan, on his part, always asked me how it went with the clients. Even if Cupcake strongly disapproved, I always made happy moos, even if I did not really enjoy myself, because I knew that my contract was not tailored on me, but on his ideal hucow and it was to be expected that I had to adapt into it. Besides, I wanted to make him proud of me. What helped me the most, though, was the realization that the unpleasant service requirements usually came all together. If a client wanted something that was no fun at all for the cow, he usually wanted most of the similarly taxing stuff. There were things like that in Cupcake’s contract too, as some were just part of being a hucow. So the fact that I had a more lax contract, made me the first choice for those people, who then steered away from my more sensitive friend. Every time I went into a breeding room with them, I knew that I was protecting her and then I felt I could take anything.

Speaking of weird fetishes, we found out that our jizz-based diet was a big turn-on for some clients. Aidan even started to sell porn videos made of footage from the cameras in the barn and the ones mounted above our troughs. Moreover, his fake semen alone proved to be a huge hit and he started to produce it to sell too: his genius had spawned yet another successful business! In the end, he did manage to nourish us only with jizz. It sort of became an acquired taste. He never explained why it did not make us tired of tasting the same thing every day. Maybe it had to do with the fact that we had to eat our daily ration of grass (namely an always varying salad). Anyhow, my mouth now watered whenever I smelled semen and I was even able to feel the difference between different people.

The feeding schedule had been another thing that had seemed so much harder to adapt to. Producing milk, though, made us always hungry and so eating often was more than welcomed. It did take a long time though. A little more than four hours a day went away just staring plastic cocks and trying to catch their ejaculation with our mouths, without spilling it. Now I understood why Aidan had made them change their aim randomly: that way, eating was much less boring, because you could make a game out of it. Indeed, I and Cupcake started to challenge each other. We were lucky that Aidan was so thoughtful.

The best part of our first month, anyhow, was of course finally producing my own milk. My boobs started to feel different after two weeks. At the same time, the pump would extract from me a yellowish dense liquid that little by little became more white and diluted. Soon I could finally join Cupcake in the milking machine, for my utmost joy, albeit it was not that fun to wake up in the middle of the night to be milked. Anyway, Fergie was right, it did feel good.

It was still going to be a bumpy road, though. I had irritations, for instance, and the amount of milk that I produced was small. Aidan said that it tasted greatly, though, so I was happy. The only disappointment was the size of my udders and the length of my nipples. The first increased a little, the second not at all. Cupcake managed to reassure me by telling me that it had taken her boobs three months to become real udders and she was still struggling with her nipples too. I asked her what size of bra she wore before the transformation and it turned out that she had started with breasts smaller than mine, so I was kind of hoping that mine would be even bigger than her cantaloupes. Also, I started worrying about them becoming saggy under the weight, but Aidan explained to me that the milk-enhancers stimulated the growth of connective tissue, the production of something called elastin and reinforced the muscles sustaining them: all of these effects helped to keep them up even better than the natural ones.

As far as relationships went, I and Aidan were doing great. I had become the center of his world, just as I had hoped. He had discovered manual labor and he was loving it. Since I was his manual labor, I was pretty happy about that too. He spent most of his days with us, sometimes relaxing on the hay with me. He talked about stuff and I listened to him, mooing my advice when he asked me things, just like we used to do when I was his ward. Cupcake tried to give us some space, but I did not want her to feel excluded, so sometimes I just tackled her and hugged her so that she had to stay with us. After all she was the second most important person in my world and I wanted her and Aidan to get along. I also urged him to be more affectionate with her.

For both Aidan’s and my surprise, Penelope became quite involved in the farm gaziantep escort too. She was a frequent and rather unwelcome presence in our stable. I was still confused about this, but Cupcake kept telling me that she did not seem to be suspecting anything about me and Aidan seemed to agree. She was just so hard to figure out! She could be cruel with us, but then again, with Cupcake too, and, at the same time, seemed to value us greatly, dispensing smiles and cuddles. Also, she continued to require my services for her pussy from time to time and soon recruited Cupcake too. When she spread her legs for us, she would use the crop on our rumps and insult us, then, after her climax, she would dote on us, which made us think that, for her, the insults and the whippings were just role-play.

One day I noticed that Cupcake seemed quite pleased with herself, after one session with Penelope. I asked her what had happened and she told me that Penelope had let her see her naked body, even allowing the cow to play with it. I glared at my mate and she hastily assured me that she hated Penelope and my pussy was cuter anyway and I forgave her. After all, I knew she was just horny all the time and only wished to see more bush, from time to time. She was not the only one. I had been curious about female clients, for I had the impression that they would be a nice variation, but none of the women present at the inauguration had come yet. What would they want from us? How would the sex be?

Speaking of women, I really enjoyed sex with Cupcake, which we had almost every day, before going to sleep. By now I knew her body much better than my own, as she did mine. However, the source of our reciprocal ability of giving pleasure to the other one was much deeper. We did not require so many gestures to communicate anymore. It was uncanny just how much we seemed to read each other’s mind just by looking in the other one’s eye. Of course, expressing facts was impossible that way and we became masters in finding tricks to do that, inventing also shortcut gestures for common words and people (Penelope was grimace and big boobs!). The things our eyes communicated were what I might call emotional sentences.

We learned that every story we wanted to share contained a sequence of emotions, like a sort of soundtrack, that was often left behind in spoken language, especially because, even when it described them, it just lacked the wealth of shades necessary for a one-to-one translation that our eyes had. Of course, when one speaks, their eyes do say something about their feelings, but I realized that, before then, I had never paid enough attention to it. Therefore, we could somehow say more now than we used to before becoming cows!

This discovery proved extremely useful. We both had our blues, from time to time. Mine were mostly connected with my past, while Cupcake would not talk about hers. So I began to share my story, as hard and scary as it was, in part to explain to her what was going on with me and vent a little, when Aidan was not around, but also in the hope that she would tell me what was going on with her and allow me to do something about it. Just like Aidan, when I finally did, she hugged me, kissed away my tears and listened to me. She did not try to console me, cheer me up, tell me what to feel or how to deal with it. She just showed me that she ached with me in the most truthful way, by looking at me. Every time I felt my anguish, she would stay with me and ask me to talk about it, if I felt like it. It was going to bring pain to her too, now I knew, but she would not back away nonetheless. Our bond could not be compromised by anything that had happened to me.

It is hard to explain just how much that made me feel better. Not only, somehow, this way she managed to carry on her shoulders part of my pain, but I also felt as connected to another person as I had felt with Aidan. Also, I discovered that, when I had talked with my trauma counselor, using words of course, I had had a very different experience. I had told him facts and how they made me feel me now. With Cupcake I would describe the same facts, but I would have to include the emotions I felt then and I had to wear them on my face. I did not act, I just remembered them so vividly, it was like reliving them. That way I began to see that my family, my friends, were still very much with me.

On her part, Cupcake, she revealed, was feeling a little lonely. She patted on my chest and made the gesture for Aidan (touching our collar). After she had patted hers, she just shrugged. Without thinking, I told her she had me, which earned me a warm and thankful smile, but of course did not resolve the matter. It had been a bit superficial of me, I realized.

Our consolidated routine changed around the sixth week, I believe: I had stopped keeping count of the days as soon as I started producing milk, which was all that I was interested in. I was rimming Aaron’s ass, feeling sleepy on our hay bed, while he was sitting on my ankara gerçek resimli escort face, supported by his knees. The rocking movement that his ass transmitted on my head, pushing me on the hay as Cupcake slid his shaft back and forth in her butt-hole, and the warmth of his body did not help me stay awake. He just had to feel horny when we usually had our nap, didn’t he? Then, as I stifled a yawn, I heard somebody mooing, and it was not Cupcake. Aaron stopped the shagging.

“Don’t worry, Aaron, I got this, you just have fun.” said Penelope’s voice.

What was happening? I had to wait for the stable boy to cum inside of Cupcake to find out. Since Aidan had taught us, or rather his crop eloquently had, that we must avoid showing any interest in what was going on in the farm, we pretended that we were just taking care of each other. We were both lying on our bellies, Cupcake in front of me with her hindlegs spread and I behind, cleaning her butt-hole of Aaron’s semen. By chance, though, we were oriented towards the prefab office inside of the barn, where Aaron was heading as soon as Cupcake had finished licking his cock clean. Penelope had to be inside of it too. He had closed the door and nothing was happening. I had already begun to distractedly play with Cupcake’s pussy rings with my tongue, while she wiggled a little, stifling a moo-laugh, when Aidan entered the barn and came to greet us.

“Good morning, girls! You are already up to play?” he said with a loud, cheerful voice.

We both raised our head, smiled and mooed naughtily. He leapt over the fence and kissed us in the forehead and put Cupcake’s tail back in place. I kept looking him in the cutest way, hoping he felt in a sharing mood, since I was not allowed to ask.

“Oh, great, you are here!” Penelope said, behind him. When he turned around, she yelled vivaciously “Surprise! Happy anniversary!”

And there she was, Reagan, now a hucow, her tanned skin now the color of the cowgirl hat Penelope was wearing that day, vermilion, an unusually bright shade for her. Reagan’s shoulder-length hair was now styled in two pigtails, decorated by light-blue ribbons. Her cow hide was cream and her bull ring and pussy rings were golden.

“Holy shit! You bought me a new cow!” he gasped gleefully, making my stomach twitch. I had forgotten all about their anniversary.

He approached her and kissed her, as she threw her arms around his neck. He was whispering something to Penelope that made her quite joyful. Cupcake hugged me from behind, mooing softly. Not curious about the newcomer anymore, I turned around and found comfort between her udders, where I could silently shed my tears in private, while she kissed my head softly.

“So that’s the mysterious thing you have been doing lately!” Aidan was now saying.

“Yeah, I wanted her to be ready for our special day.” she replied.

“Wait… You mean…”

“She already produces some milk. She is three weeks behind Gumdrop, but if she proceeds as fast as she is, we are going to have ourselves a lot of milk in our hands!”

“Wow, I mean… Wow!”

“Also, I’ve had her learn how to do anal, both active and passive, and she’s been doing well with the easing into a semen-based diet too.”

“So there was some semen missing! It was you! How in the world did you pull this off? I mean, there are no farms around here!” asked Aidan, very impressed.

“Oh, she’s been transformed yesterday. Before that, I just made sure she was appropriately pierced.”

“You are very committed, huh? Most hucows need to be supervised for their transition.” commented Aidan, now addressing Reagan.

“Well, yes and no.” answered for her Penelope, keen on bragging, “You see, we are actually saving her life. She’s been in rehab for the last month and I paid for a special package so that they would let me have her trained. Don’t worry, though, no nasty stuff is coursing through her veins anymore.”

“Ah, this is a great idea, actually!” approved Aidan.

“Yes, precisely!” replied Penelope, gladly “That’s what I told her. She gets to stay away from drugs, to earn some good money, disappear from the radar of the bad people she had consorted with and then, after a few years, be ready to resume her modeling career with a nice new set of boobs!”

“And what’s the name of this gorgeous cow?”

“Well, I thought that with her fair hair and the other cows already with sweet-themed names, her name should be Cream Pie!”

Aidan laughed, amused.

“That’s just genius! Well, welcome to our herd, Cream Pie!”

I heard a slap and a surprised moo.

“Oh, yes, she needs to be broken in a little. I was thinking I could supervise that, since technically I’m her owner.”

“Sure, sure, but today, you are mine!” exclaimed Aidan “Aaron, why don’t you put Cream Pie with the other cows?”

Sensing that the attention was now directed to us, Cupcake rolled us over, ending up on top of me. She pretended that she was kissing me, while instead she hastily lapped away my tears and made a “z” sound, to suggest that I had fallen asleep. It was a good idea: Penelope would think that my puffy eyes were due to my lack of sleep. I yawned loudly on purpose and we both sat on the bed. I rubbed my eyes with my foreleg for good measure, when they opened the gate.

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