by Big Kahuna
She shook her head again, waiting for him to come up behind her and stick his dick in her, the bell clanking loudly in her rage. He did not touch her. She turned her head, having at least that much freedom to do so, to see Rance guiding Blossom across the padded floor by one of her plastic ears, milk streaming from her tight udders. He led her up to her milking station and locked her head into place, sobs of pain emanating from within the false cow head.
Melissa watched as he washed off Blossom’s udders and attached the chrome tubes to her leaking teats, her answering cry of relief so loud that it echoed off the tile walls, causing Maggie to look up from her snack.
This was all a show, Melissa realized. He was showing her what she could expect if she tried to escape, if she suddenly had to go too long without him there to milk her. Nor was it just her. He was demonstrating what would happen to all of them if something should happen to him. They were completely dependent on him, making him untouchable.
Rance strolled over and removed the yokes holding her thighs in place, and then turned his back on her so that he could attend to Blossom, that attention being another sort of show, one that even Hustler magazine would find too disgusting to print.
Melissa kneeled there, glowering at him from behind her placid mask, her forelegs shaking in fear and rage and helplessness. When she felt she could move without fainting, she slowly backed down the ramp, turned, and padded toward the pet door leading to the barnyard, the bell around her neck clanking softly.
Chapter 12
Even Hucows Get the Blues
Melissa lay in her spot by the fence, thinking about nothing. It was easier not to think. She was beginning to understand the attraction.
Her spot was still shady, but she knew that wouldn’t last much longer. The shadows of the surrounding trees and foliage were shortening, the sun getting high in the sky. She expected that she and her bovine sisters would be forced to head indoors to escape the heat of the day. She didn’t know what they would do in there. Perhaps she might grab a nap in her stall, or just laze about the milking shed, or whatever else Rance’s cows did during the day when they weren’t being milked.
How long before my mind goes? she wondered. It would happen eventually. Nothing to read, no one to talk to, or at least no one who would talk to her, except for Rance, who only spoke in a language she couldn’t understand. How long before she learned to accept what she was? If it looks like a duck....
And how long was she going to have to wear this damn bell? She had to admit it was an effective means of deterring further escape attempts, but it also deterred her from walking around, the constant clanking an unwelcome reminder of her wretched state.
She heard the flap of the rubber door and looked up, Blossom crawling out into the sunlight. She was moving slowly, even for a hucow. Whether that was from the pain of her ordeal or from the humping Rance had given her, Melissa didn’t know. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the freshly milked and freshly fucked cow. Yes, what Blossom had done to her was painful, but what Rance had done in response was tantamount to torture. She watched as Blossom went to the trough for a drink, and then moved off to the furthest corner of the barnyard and lay down, not wanting company it appeared.
Melissa closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze as it blew across her body. It was all so bizarre, this situation. Here she was, lying naked in a simulated barnyard with a plug up her ass, and she was accepting it.
She lay there on the mulch, her slightly flattened breasts arrayed in front of her like a pair of overstuffed throw pillows. Having nothing better to do, she looked about the barnyard, taking in the pastoral scene. A fat bumblebee buzzed by her and continued on its way. Melissa yawned inside her mask, a feeling of tiredness coming over her, an understandable enough response considering her morning. Her head dipped forward once, then came up as she fought to stay awake. This happened several more times, until finally the deepening drowsiness claimed her.
She jerked awake, bringing the oversized plastic head up from the depths of her pale cleavage. She shook it, trying to clear the cobwebs. Nothing had moved while she’d slept, which judging by the shadows hadn’t been for very long. One thing had changed, though. The fear was gone.
It had happened just that quickly, allowing her to see her surroundings with fresh eyes. This was a dairy. That was all it really was. There was nothing frightening here. In fact, when you stopped to think about it, a dairy was about the least frightening place in the world. Hell, they took school children on dairy tours all the time!
Okay, that was a different kind of dairy, but it was still essentially the same thing. The tattooing and the butt plugs and the fake cow heads were all just window dressing. Rance wasn’t an axe-murderer, or even a sadist, really—he was a dairyman, a businessman. And she was his cow, a commodity whose sole function was to give milk. And being his cow, he wasn’t going to mistreat her. That was why the fear had left her.
Rance was running a business, and his business depended on keeping his livestock healthy, which he was doing, judging by everything she’d experienced thus far. He fed his cows, made sure they had clean water, and milked them regularly. He even monitored their bowel movements.
He was not going to hurt her, not unless she gave him a reason to. Yes, she expected he would fuck her, but there was nothing she could do about that. Even if he did, it would probably be the most normal thing to happen to her here. Not something to look forward to, but nothing she hadn’t done before, and almost certainly a less perverted activity than many of those she had already endured.
Knowing all of this made it easier to cope. With the fear gone, she could better concentrate, could better see things as they were, which would be helpful—because she was going to escape.
She had to hold on to that desire, because the moment she let go of it would be the moment when she really would be a cow, or more accurately a hucow. A stupid creature whose sole purpose on earth was to be exploited by its owner. Chattel in the purest sense of the word.
But it would take time. She would watch and she would wait. It meant that she would have to endure more milkings and more enemas and more forced-feedings, and yes, she would probably have to endure having Rance’s dick inside her. But her moment would come. It would have to, otherwise she would become just another cow in the pasture. She would become Buttercup.
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The next milking was a repeat of the first, save that Melissa mounted the milking platform without fuss or delay, not out of a desire to appease Rance, but because her tits were ready to burst.
There was one difference, however. She noticed that the cooler where the milk bottles were stored was empty, except for the half-full bottle that he used to feed Maggie, who was happily lapping up more of the fresh cream. Had he shipped the rest off? Delivered it wherever it was supposed to go? No, that wasn’t possible. She had kept a close eye on Rance’s trailer and truck, as well as the dirt road leading off over the rise. Unless there was some other road she hadn’t seen, no one had come or gone.
That mystery was solved once the forced-feeding began. After popping the top on the final feed canister, Rance checked his watch and then left the room. This was odd, something different in the routine. Movement caught her eye, shadows moving about outside. Melissa concentrated on the windows across from her, but was unable to see anything but blue sky due to their height above the floor. But she could hear well enough that there was something else out there, more than just her keeper.
The slam of a door, muffled but unmistakeable, voices laughing, masculine. Melissa’s mind raced. Were there other people involved in Rance’s enterprise? A second shift coming on? Looking after seven hucows did seem to be a trifle much for one person to handle, especially if he was going to fuck one after every milking.
She closed her eyes, listening as hard as she could, trying to blot out the pleasurable sensations coming from her teats. There was an engine idling—and voices! They were speaking
English! She couldn’t understand the words, but recognized the sound of it. A door slammed again, followed quickly by another one. A delivery van! She’d know that sound anywhere. Someone was picking up the milk that Rance had removed from the cooler.
Did this man know what he was picking up? Was he an accomplice of Rance’s, or just a delivery driver picking up the usual? Did he know that there were seven women on the other side of the wall from him—being forcibly milked at that very moment?
Should she cry out? If the man was a part of Rance’s organization, her attempt might result in the same punishment that Blossom had recently endured, but she had to try. Throwing caution to the wind, Melissa screamed as loud as she could, hoping he would hear her. The sound that emanated from her mouth amounted to little more than a faint gurgle, her throat being otherwise occupied in swallowing her cow chow. She tried again, trying to close her throat, but it was impossible to make any noise above a whisper while being fed.
No, this could not be happening. There was someone on the other side of that wall—twenty feet away at most!—but there was no way that she could cry loud enough to be heard through a wall, above the sound of an engine idling, and over their friendly banter.
Wait, her bell! Surely he would be able to hear that! Melissa raised a hoof and began swiping at the cowbell dangling from her throat, missing it the first two times, but striking it true the third time. The clanging was deafening, at least to her. She hit it again and again, an incessant ringing that anyone with a half a brain would recognize as an alarm.
She stopped ringing her bell, listening intently. Had the man heard it? Would he investigate? She heard the voices again, and then snatches of clear speech. “…new cow…doesn’t like…” This was followed by laughter, and then the slam of a car door. A few seconds later came the sound of tires on dirt. The man was gone.
Melissa laid her head on the T-post, dejected, wondering what would happen next. Would Rance give her the same punishment that he had given Blossom? Would he grudge-fuck her for being a disobedient cow?
The office door opened and Rance walked in, grinning his usual shitkicker grin. He came up to her and removed the strap from around her head and extricated the feed tube from her mouth.
“Vše je v pořádku, holka,” he whispered gently. “Možná příště.”
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He did not fuck her afterwards, that honor being reserved for Cinnamon.
Once the milking was done, the other cows wandered off to their respective stalls, having decided as one that it was too hot outside for comfort. Melissa retired to her stall, seeing little point in witnessing Rance’s version of animal husbandry. She did take a peek through the flap once, surprised at herself for being curious about an activity that should be abhorrent to her. It was the same old, same old. Rance kneeling behind his black and white captive, pumping away at her branded backside.
She let the flap fall back and then settled down for a nap, wondering when her turn would come.
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The fourth milking of the day came quickly enough. She had no idea how long it was between milkings, there being no clocks of any kind in the milking shed. Would this be how she would come to measure time in the future, by which milking it was? How many times a day did Rance milk his cows anyway?
She padded up to her milking station, glad that she wasn’t going to be punished for having tried to alert the delivery driver to her plight. Rance milked her and fed her and watered her, giving her little pats and strange-sounding words of encouragement.
Was it going to happen now? Was he going to fuck her? There would be nothing she could do to stop him. Not that she wanted it. She didn’t want it. It was just the uncertainty was beginning to drive her mad.
During this milking she was given a treat, in the form of freedom, at least for her hands and feet. Once she began feeding, Rance bent down and removed the screws holding her left hoof on, followed by the right hoof, after which he released her feet. Oh, the joy! To be able to flex her fingers and toes, cramped after so many hours of confinement.
She relaxed and enjoyed the milking, stretching her fingers and arching her feet, grateful for this small amount of consideration. She listened to the music and allowed herself to savor the feeling of being drained, the lessening of pressure, not to mention the weight.
How much am I producing now? she wondered. She was undoubtedly producing more, by the feel of things. Her breasts were larger than they had been, though she didn’t quite measure up to the rest of the herd. Rance was doing everything to a schedule, very likely maximizing his herd’s output, and her udders along with it. In short order she would likely be producing at least as much as the rest of them. He had once said that he was a conscientious dairyman. His hucows were certainly proof of that.
She endured her enema with calm stoicism, which was entirely lost on her captor, her ability to express herself being locked away behind a plastic mask. But she was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t a pose. The truth was that the enema actually felt good. Well, maybe not the expanded belly or the tummy-thump, but there was no denying that she felt a bizarre sense of peace afterward.
When she was done, he locked her hands and feet back in their hooves and released her. She backed down the ramp, wondering which one he would choose to play hide-the-little-cowboy with. It was Moo-Moo, as it turned out.
Melissa padded out to the barnyard after the others, feeling a bit miffed. Was there something wrong with her? Of course she didn’t want Rance to fuck her, but this was all very confusing. Did he not find her attractive, even as a cow?
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The next milking was no different than the previous one, save that he did not release her hands or feet. He also did not fuck her, opting for Bluebell this time. Was she going to be last in line? Not that she wanted it, but this was turning out to be some kind of psychological torture.
One thing did occur to her, however: Rance’s sexual behavior with his cows was always the same. Once he had made his choice, he would simply kneel behind the girl, drop his pants, flip her tail up, and get down to business. Perhaps he felt that receiving oral sex from a hucow was somehow unnatural.
She joined the other cows in the barnyard, going back to her spot by the fence. The sun was setting now, a red and yellow Texas sunset putting the finishing touches on her first day as a fully-fledged hucow. She relaxed her back against the warm metal of the fence and closed her eyes.
Was this what every day was going to be like? Truthfully, it wasn’t a bad life. It was boring, sure, but there was a certain cache to it. She was safe here. There were no worries about food or shelter or bills. She wasn’t even lonely anymore, there being others like her nearby. No, not like her—just like her.
She watched the sun set, her alabaster and black body bathed in the dying twilight. After a bit the others went in, but she stayed, preferring the solitude, the stillness and the quiet.
I could probably escape now, she thought lazily. No one would notice if she slipped through the bars and left. It would still be a tight squeeze, but her breasts were probably sufficiently softened to allow them and the rest of her body to get through. But the bell would give her away. If Rance discovered her missing, he could easily find her on a moonless night with his eyes closed, just by following the the clanging. She really should have waited before making that first ill-considered escape attempt; watched and learned the routine. Yes, it would have meant getting fucked a few times, but she was going to get fucked anyway.
Wasn’t she?
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Dewdrop received the last cowpoking of the day. It was late in the evening; Melissa didn’t know how late. They all mounted their platforms, were hooked up, force-fed, given their cookie, given water, given yet another enema, cleaned off after urinating, and then turned out to their stalls for bedtime.
Melissa watched through the flap as Rance took his liberties with Dewd
rop. He was certainly potent, she had to give him that. Six times in one day was asking quite a lot of one penis. He must have testicles the size of lemons, though she hadn’t seen them yet.
He left the room once Dewdrop was cleaned up and freed. A few seconds later the lights went out, the milking shed lit only by the light of the glass-fronted cooler, which sometime during the evening had been fully restocked.
So this was a day in the life of a hucow. She laid her head down upon the expansive softness of her bosom, the only thing she had to use for a pillow, the bell around her neck fitting neatly into her cleavage.
This was the quiet time, no activity of any kind. Was Rance in his trailer, watching his big screen TV and icing his balls? She could hear Maggie outside, yowling. The overfed feline probably hated it out there. She was an indoor cat, and it was apparent that she could not get in, even through the exterior pet door. Rance must have barred it, or blocked it, a reasonable precaution against predators. It might be the twenty-first century for the rest of the world, but parts of Texas still hadn’t caught up.
She closed her eyes, thinking about what it was to be a human cow. There were worse ways to live, she supposed. To be fair, Rance hadn’t really mistreated her, at least not by hucow standards, which was what she was to him.
Not a bad life, no, but it was no life for a human being. She was not going to become one of his herd. She would watch and wait, and when the time came she would escape.
Unless he broke her first. With six hucows to his credit, the odds were arguably in his favor.
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The day was not done, however. Unsurprisingly, Melissa was awakened by her breasts in the early morning. They were throbbing, the milk within pressing outward, making her udders hard and hot.