by Big Kahuna
Why is she drinking from that thing? Melissa wondered. Is that rainwater? The water inside is better, you stupid cow. Why don’t you go inside and wait for Rance to tend to you? But maybe Rance wouldn’t. Maybe milking time was the only time he did in fact tend to his cows. He undoubtedly had other things to do, so had installed this thing out in the yard so that his cows could water themselves.
God, he doesn’t really expect me to drink from that thing, does he? she wondered. It was a stupid question, she knew. She supposed she would drink from it eventually, if thirst got the better of her. In fact she was thirsty right now. But how was she supposed to drink from it? Her lips were probably a good inch or so from the mouth opening of her cow face. Was she supposed to submerge her face deep enough below the surface so that she could slurp it up? She’d drown!
The other cow didn’t seem to be having any trouble, though. She continued dipping the mouth portion of her mask into the water, bobbing her head slightly as she drank. When she had drunk her fill she raised her head from the water’s surface, at which point Melissa realized precisely how she was supposed to drink. Sticking up from the gently rippling water was a translucent, plastic penis.
“Uhhh...” Melissa grunted, the disgusted expression inside her cow head completely invisible to the world without.
The other cow turned and walked away, leaving Melissa to ponder whether or not to drink. Looking a little closer she discovered to her further dismay that there were actually three penises, spaced equidistantly across the trough, so that multiple cows might satisfy their thirst at the same time, probably satisfying Rance’s perverted sensibilities as well. She wondered if he was filming them.
Melissa crawled over to the trough, bypassing the first skyward-pointing dick in favor of the middle one, preferring not to drink from a cock that someone else had just been fellating—who knew where that cow had been? That was a stupid question too, she realized. She knew exactly where that cow had been, and it was highly unlikely that any of Rance’s cows would be carrying disease.
She put her head down into the trough and nuzzled the penile drinking fountain with her flexible snout until she felt it slip through the mouth slit and press against her lips. Sighing, she parted her lips and began sucking on the plastic tube. Cool, clear water flowed into her mouth at once. She reflexively swallowed, enjoying the clean taste.
She continued sucking, forgetting her disgust, taking more and more water into her, replenishing the liquid that had been drained from her earlier. A feeling of relaxation came over her as she sucked, a sense of peace.
Pressure on her breasts, from both sides at once, distracted her from her meditation. Without letting go of her phallic fountain, Melissa turned her head to find that one of the other cows was sucking away at the water fountain, not crowding her, just taking a drink. She turned her head to find another cow doing the same thing. Melissa relaxed and went back to her sucking, happy to have found at least some acceptance from her sister cows.
When she was sated she backed away from the trough, giggling slightly as the udders of the other two cows swung sideways to fill in the void made by her absence. She continued her reconnoiter of the barnyard. Acceptance might be nice, but she had no intention of becoming a member of the herd, at least not permanently.
At the other end of the trough was the exterior door that led out from the front part of the milking shed. She sighed, realizing that even if she had managed her earlier escape, she would only have succeeded in getting out to where she was already allowed. It also meant that the only exit from the milking shed must be through Rance’s office.
There wasn’t much else to the barnyard, except for a gate, which was padlocked shut. The only way in or out was through the pet door or the person door, only one of which she could operate. She went back to her spot by the fence and lay down on the mulch to think.
What options did she have? She would not be able to force her way out, and playing sick would probably just earn her another enema. She could trying escaping through the bars of the fence. It was a tight squeeze but she might be able to make it, so long as she could get her tits through.
But she couldn’t do it now; Rance might well be waiting for her to make the attempt. Besides, with the milking done, what else was there for him to do? She supposed he might be packing and shipping, or perhaps homogenizing or pasteurizing the morning’s output, or whatever else the insane dairyman did between milkings.
He would be busy with his cows at milking time though, that much she knew. Yes, that would be the ticket. As he had used her need to be milked against her, perhaps she could use the other cows’ needs against him. He couldn’t be in two places at once.
All she had to do was wait.
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The opportunity came a few hours later. Melissa wasn’t exactly sure how long she’d waited, having absolutely no way of telling the time, save for the sun overhead and the apparently ceaseless refilling of her breasts.
They were fatter now, larger. She wasn’t sure what cup size they were now, only that there had to be at least one ‘Z’ in there somewhere. He had done something to her in between the time he’d kidnapped her and when she’d awakened: more aggressive supplements, or hormones, or perhaps even more fat in her diet. If that last were the case, none of it was going to her hips. She was skinnier now than she could ever remember being, her body turning every last gram of fat into wholesome, nutritious milk. She wished that she could just will her body to stop lactating altogether, but biology was not on her side. As long as Rance fed her and milked her and provided her with liquids, she would go on making milk indefinitely.
Melissa waited by the fence with the patience of a sphinx, or something that looked very like one. Maggie had left her, probably out looking for mice or other nice treats, Melissa assumed. She saw Rance through the screen of bushes a few times, going to and from his trailer. He never looked their way when he was outside the milking shed, she noticed, as if his cows were of no real importance. Then again she supposed they probably weren’t.
She knew it was time when the other cows got up and began heading for the milking shed. They did this singly sometimes, perhaps whenever one of them felt the need for a good amble about the barnyard, but now they moved together as a group. Melissa followed, but veered off toward the trough at the last moment. She drank from the plastic dick, keeping an eye on the trailing cow until her black and white rump disappeared through the flexible pet door. Melissa continued drinking, waiting to see if someone would look back through the door for her. No one did. It was time to make her move.
Hurrying, she started toward the rear corner of the milking shed, her replenished milkers wobbling almost uncontrollably. They felt so heavy and full. She really did need to be milked, but there would be no better time to escape.
She reached the juncture of fence and building in good time, despite the twin encumbrances slung beneath her. She had chosen this side because there were no windows in the back walls of the milking shed, no way for Rance to see what she was attempting. Would he come looking for her when he realized that she wasn’t there, or would he think that she was playing another waiting game with him, and that she would eventually come to him of her own accord. She had no idea, but if he came outside to find that she was gone, he couldn’t very well look for her and leave his other cows unattended. That was the plan.
She realized at once that climbing the fence was not an option. It would be difficult enough climbing with clubbed hands, but the design and shape of her rear hooves presented too much opportunity to slip off the tubular metal rungs of the fence. That meant going between them.
Hurrying, she slipped her left leg through the gap in the rungs, which was at a comfortable height. So far, so good. Things were looking up. Now all she had to do was slip her other leg through, then the rest of her body, and then finally her ridiculous plastic head. After that she would be home free.
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&nb
sp; “EHHHH…!” Melissa cried, barely able to breathe.
Rance looked down at the sight before his eyes, his newest acquisition, half-in and half-out of the cattle fencing, both forelegs flailing uselessly, her head practically buried in the almost spherical udders that were wedged between the rungs of the fence, distended teats sticking out almost comically. He shook his head, amused. They always tried this, and they always got stuck. When would they ever learn?
“Hloupá hucow. Jsi v pořádku? Uvázla jsi?”
Melissa didn’t understand his words, but she understood his tone well enough. The fucker thought it was funny that she was about to suffocate in the press of her own tits. I hope my milk turns sour, you fucking shitkicker! she screamed inside her head.
Rance bent down and took hold of her forelegs and pulled, the only way to extricate a hucow when she was wedged in that tight. Melissa came forward with a squawk, landing on her abused udders, which nonetheless supported her weight until she could get up on her hooves. Rance waited patiently while she pulled the rest of her body back through the fence and into the yard, and then turned and walked back into the milking shed, apparently unconcerned that she might try it again.
Melissa crawled forward, angry and embarrassed, but more than that she felt impotent. Rance did not in any way see her as a human being. To him she was a hucow, an animal to be exploited, beneath thought or consideration. She wondered how long it would take before she would see herself the same way.
She crawled through the exterior pet door, past the already occupied milking stations. The fourth one was empty—Blossom? She turned her head to the left to find that the pet door across from the corresponding milking stand had a metal bar in front of it, making entrance or exit effectively impossible. The flexible flap shifted once or twice behind the bar but did not open, its occupant unable to wedge her hoof in far enough to pull it back.
“Ohhhh….” came a muffled wail from within Blossom’s stall, causing Melissa to stop in her tracks. What was happening? Why was Blossom locked up? Was she being punished? She suddenly remembered her earlier assault. Was it Blossom who had attacked her? And now she was being disciplined by not being allowed to express her milk? That was so unfair! She felt bad for the poor cow, despite the memory of those hooves pressing down on her tits.
Melissa continued on to her milking stand at the end of the line, trying to block out Blossom’s plaintive wails. She crawled up the ramp without hesitation. What would be the point of resisting? She needed to be milked, and Rance was the only one with the power to do it. Did she want to end up like Blossom, in the dark, bloated breasts expanding even further in her agony? Not hardly.
Rance locked her head and legs into place and then cleaned off her teats, the feel of the warm washcloth exciting her despite her revulsion. A few seconds later she felt the chrome tube latch onto her left teat, her milk gushing out of her. The process was repeated a few moments later on the right one.
She let her body melt into the sensations, needing this after the pain and embarrassment of her failed escape attempt. It felt so good to be milked.
No! she screamed at herself. I must not enjoy this! She opened her eyes inside her helmet, trying to blot out the good feelings. This was why the other cows were all so docile. He had addicted them to having their tits emptied, and was now feeding that addiction. She needed to stay focused, to remember that she was not a dairy cow despite all evidence to the contrary.
She kept her eyes open, doing her best to ignore the constant tugging at her teats. It would be best if she focused her mind elsewhere, distract herself. The trouble was there was nothing to distract herself with. There was nothing ahead of her except for a blank wall and a milk cooler. She looked at the bottles arrayed within. They looked like quart bottles. Eighty dollars a pop, if he was selling to others at the same rate that she had been selling to him. He might even be getting more, since he could assure quality.
She quickly did the mental math, the distraction helping her to stay focused. The last milking she had measured, before being kidnapped, had been forty-eight ounces—a quart and a half. Multiplied by eight milkings per day, that put her output at three gallons per day! Figuring conservatively, if he was selling at her original rate of two dollars and fifty cents per ounce, times three gallons per day, times seven cows, that meant his dairy was netting six thousand, seven hundred and twenty dollars a day.
Every day.
“Ung…” Melissa said, her eyes widening in shock. She projected the numbers further, accountancy always having been her strong suit, and came up with a figure that was just short of two and one-half million dollars per year. With no employees and ridiculously little overhead, and every last bit of it tax-free. He was making a fortune.
The sound of clanking interrupted her train of thought, Rance standing in front of her, hanging the feed canister from the hook above her head. She accepted the feed tube without fuss, knowing that there would be no point in refusing, and waited for him to begin her forced-feeding. He popped the top on the canister, the thin gruel immediately filling her mouth. She swallowed distractedly, her mind consumed with the business end of Rance’s enterprise.
Was there that much of a market? There obviously must be or he wouldn’t have brought her into the herd otherwise. Her degree was in business, and every business major knew that you don’t increase capacity if you don’t have customers. Everything about his operation pointed to a moneymaking concern, right down to the cast-glass bottles. Hell, he even had a baseball cap! Did he have t-shirts and coffee mugs, too? Thermal carafes?
Did his customers know that the milk they were buying was essentially stolen? Would it matter to them? That might even be part of the cache, milk from rustled cattle. Free-range and all of that.
She had to give him credit. He had apparently carved out a niche business, with almost no overhead and a tremendous upside. Add to that his product was neither regulated, taxed, or inspected. Of course he couldn’t apply for federal subsidies, but then you couldn’t have everything.
But he did have them, his cows, locked up tight and entirely dependent upon him. A perfect life for most men. He didn’t even need a girlfriend what with having seven pussies to choose from, his very own bovine harem. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? He was getting that and more.
Rance unstrapped and removed the feed tube when she was done, and then slipped the cookie into her mouth. She wondered when he would try to slip her something larger. When he came back around again it was to insert the water hose, regular as clockwork.
She gritted her teeth around the hose when he slipped the enema tube inside her again. Was this how it was going to be at every milking? Public evacuations and urination? She did need to pee, and she supposed she was going to. Better to do it here than in the mulch. He filled her up again, cutting off the flow after he thumped her belly, leaving her there with her distended gut hanging almost as low as her depleted tits.
“Prrt?”
Melissa felt soft fur rub against her stomach. Maggie? she said silently. No, go away! Get out of here!
“Ahoj, Maggie,” said Rance, leaning in to pick her up. He held the cat against his chest as though he had raised her from a kitten, scratching her head in a way that Melissa knew she liked. “Máš hlad, kotě?” He went to the cooler and removed an already opened bottle from it, Maggie reaching a paw out to stroke the glass container. He put the cat down on the floor, where she began to wind about his ankles while he retrieved a largish saucer from atop the cooler. He put it down next to her and filled it with milk.
Melissa watched, horrified, as her cat began lapping up the milk, untroubled by concerns over its origin. Et tu, Maggie? she said inside her head.
Rance left Maggie to her lunch and came over and massaged her belly, the sloshing sounds from inside her battling with Blossom’s wailing. How much longer was he going to make the poor girl wait?
When Melissa could stand it no more, she let her urine go, but this tim
e without tears, only remorse that she was doing a private thing publicly, and because all choice had been taken from her. Rance removed the enema hose and cleaned her up once her liquified shit had been evacuated. She wondered if he was going to release her or fuck her. She wasn’t sure if she really cared anymore. It all depended on whether his next action would be to remove the yoke from around her neck, or to go and clean up Moo-Moo. He did not remove the yoke.
She heard him say the usual soothing things to the cow next to her, heard the scrape of metal signaling that she was being released from her confinement. Melissa waited patiently for her fucking, Blossom’s pained wailing an eloquent counterpoint to her sadness.
Rance finally came around to face her, whereupon he gently undid the strap holding the watering hose in her mouth and removed it. When this was done, he removed the yoke from the back of her neck, then turned the t-post sideways and guided it down inside the milking station, removing the obstruction between the two of them. “Něco pro tebe mám, Buttercup,” he said, reaching a hand down to his belt.
Was he going to make her suck him off? She had already resigned herself to it. She was used to having things shoved into her mouth by now—what difference did it make if it was plastic or flesh? She opened her mouth inside her mask, hoping that he would at least come quickly.
A low, clanking noise rang in her ears as she felt something being strapped around her neck. A bell! Melissa shook her head at this indignity, which only served to set the bell clanging wildly.
“—OH!” she said loudly, her immobilized tongue entirely unable to make to make the ‘N’ sound. Incensed, she reached out to strike him with her hoof, but he was already too far away, walking back around behind her. Great, was he going to fuck her now, too? Her legs were still locked in place. He could do as he pleased.