But fairly soon, the bowl was empty. I looked up that my owner again. I let out a quiet, “Moo?” Hoping he might give me some more. Instead, he shook his head. "No, not yet," he said. He put another bowl down in front of me. This one contained nothing but water.
For a second, I wrinkled my nose, but my owner wouldn't have it. He placed his hand on the back of my head again, and he forced my face down. At first, I almost aspirated some of the water. But then I started licking, gently poking my tongue down into the liquid.
I enjoyed it. I liked the cool refreshment that started to flow through my body.
"That's right. Drink up. Show me that you can be a good girl. Show me that you will always do what you're owner wants."
Yes, I always had to do what my owner wanted.
I was dazed, disoriented and confused. I would follow this man’s direction because I forgot how to think for myself.
"I'm going to have some fun playing with you next," he said, not that those words had any significance for me. I kept drinking until he nudged me back.
"Are you ready to be milked?"
“Moo,” I said, uncomprehending.
"You know, I would suspect that I could turn a girl like you into a dumb animal, but it's fun seeing you like this, knowing that you're probably in there somewhere, trying to get out. But you can't, can you?"
“Moo.”
Apparently that was the right answer because it made my owner laugh again. Then he slapped my bottom, he pointed towards the living room. "Go," he said.
Obediently, I crawled forward, uncertain. Where did he want me to go? What would he want me to do? It was so much easier when he had me follow him. This almost felt like thinking for myself.
I didn't want to do that.
Didn't he know, I was just a cow? I didn't want to have any ideas on my own.
But then, I spotted a small stool, a plastic tarp, and a bucket. I looked up at him, and why owner smiled, pointing to the mat. I crawled forward, keeping my head low. My hair curtained my face as he sat down on the stool.
"It's time for you to get milked."
“Moo.”
He reached for my breast, squeezing gently. At first, nothing happened, but he started to massage that flesh, working it between his palms. He squeezed and tugged, squeezed and tugged, setting a very easy rhythm.
Something else happened as he worked. I was starting to get wet. I could feel the heat gather between my legs. Part of me wanted to ask him to touch me, but I didn't know how to make that request. After all, I only knew how to make one sound.
Then it started.
Milk splashed down from my udder into the bucket.
"Very nice," he said. He squeezed on my other udder, and more that silky white liquid splashed down into the bucket. I braced myself, keeping my back straight, my haunches up. I knew that this was very important. As a cow, I needed to be milked. I had to make this as easy as possible for my owner.
"You like this, don't you? You like having your place right here, down on your hands and knees. You like being useful for me, and you like being obedient." Those words soothed me. Even as the arousal continued to spread through my flesh, I remained in place. I didn't move, and I didn't struggle.
The bucket started to fill, just a few droplets at a time. But my owner was very patient. He kept working me, squeezing and tugging, pulling and pumping me.
After a while, I started wiggling my hips and wagging my bottom. I wanted him to touch me, to slide his fingers into me. I kept hoping that he would figure out exactly what I needed. The bell hanging from my neck started to jingle.
"Don't move," he admonished.
But I couldn't help myself. The temptation started to overwhelm me.
"What's wrong, girl? Are you getting horny?" I couldn't tell if he was teasing me or not. I doubled the speed of my wiggling hips. That's when he put his hand on my ass. And then I tensed up, wondering if he was going to spank me.
"Just a little bit more, then I'm going to show you what happens to good little girl cows."
I still didn't understand what he intended, but an edge entered his voice. He was serious. If I wanted to please my owner, then I had to be a good girl.
He kept squeezing, milking me. My full udders drained slowly. It almost felt as though I could produce milk as fast as he could get it out of me!
But then, he was apparently satisfied. He nudged me away from the bucket, and he smiled at me, touching his fingers to the underside of my chin. "Come with me," he ordered.
When he stood up, I saw that he had an erection. His cock tented his pants, and it made me lick my lips. I trotted after him as fast as I could, making the bell jingle even more. The sound of his chuckles also hit the air.
He led me into another room, this one equipped with some kind of table. He helped me up onto it, and then I saw the shackles. "Stay on your elbows and knees," he ordered. I obeyed, even as he looped heavy, leather shackles over my limbs.
"Now, this is what's going to happen, cow. I'm going to play with you. And just as you're about to come, you’re going to moo. You’re also going to remember everything.” A wicked grin spread over his lips, not that I understood.
Remember everything? What did that mean?
As a dumb animal, I couldn't possibly comprehend his plan for me. But then it didn't really matter because I was strapped down. Instinctively, I pulled on the restraints, not that it did any good. Strong and durable, they wouldn't budge no matter how long or how hard I pulled on them.
He came up behind me, he unzipped his fly, and then his cock was out. He didn't penetrate me right away. Instead, my owner started to touch me, gliding his finger along my opening. "Someone is wet. I think someone is desperate."
“Moo!”
He was right about that. My body ached for his attention. I yearned for him to touch me, to stroke me, to slide in and out.
He put his hands on my hips. "One more time. What does the cow say?"
"Moo!”
Then he pushed forward, thrusting deep into my body. The walls of my pussy clenched around him, but that didn't stop my owner. He drilled down, thrusting all the way in. And then he stopped for just a heartbeat before pulling back, almost all the way. Thrusting and pumping, he worked me until I was panting.
My body was hot, my skin moist with perspiration. And yet, I couldn't move! I was strapped down and helpless. But as I got closer to an orgasm, it started to come back.
Psychology.
My name.
Everything I believe.
And I remembered exactly what this man had done to me, how it all started on the stage in front of a bunch of drunk college students.
"Speak, girl!"
I opened my mouth, ready to talk to him, but just one sound came out, “Moo!” I screamed that sound at the top of my lungs as an orgasm exploded through my body. Hot ecstasy seemed to flash through every one of my veins. I couldn't help myself. As I tried to jerk away, that only drove his cock deeper into me. I struggled with all of my might, only to wait for that moment when he climaxed with me, thrusting and pounding into me.
Then he finally pulled back, finished.
"There's my good cow," he said, patting me on the head.
I didn't dare open my mouth again, knowing full well that I was trapped in my body—programmed as his cow slave.
The End
Human Petting Zoo
Lawyers are amazing. With the right words in the right order on the right document, they can totally manipulate the law. Of course, most people don't see this. They don't know about the hidden world of human pets. They don't know about my world.
Before any of this happened, I had no idea that lawyers could be so powerful. I never imagined that my squiggled signature could change everything.
By writing my name on a piece of paper, I could forfeit my rights as a person. Since signing, I've learned new meanings of humiliation. As far as the law is concerned, I'm not a person anymore. I'm chattel, a piece of property.
My owners can do whatever they want with me. They can punish me. They can put me up for auction. Naked, I'm routinely exercised to make sure I'm firm and fit. Obviously, I'm not allowed to wear clothing anymore. Clothing is for people. I'm not people. I'm whatever kind of animal my owners decide.
I try not to think about it, but I've been trained as a kitty, a dog, a pony, and worse. I know how it feels to scamper through the grass, chasing after a red, rubber ball. I know how it feels to dart along the carpet, desperately trying to catch a red dot. As a human, I obviously know that I'm never going to be able to catch a speck of light, but that doesn't matter. It pleases my owners, so I try not to think about it. I do my best to behave like any other pet. I know how it feels to pull a wagon. I know how a bridle can taste, and it's easy for me to remember the feel of a bridle around my face, the cold touch of metal near my cheeks. Those are the easy parts. Some of my pet training has been way harder.
This is my life now. If I'm a good girl, maybe I'll be allowed to sleep on the floor. If I'm bad, I go into a cage. I eat out of bowls on the floor without using my hands, let alone any kind of silverware.
Of course, when I first signed that document, I thought it was going to be the beginning to something new. In that sense, I guess I was right. Before my training, I was a brat. I lived as the kind of girl who believed the world owed her everything.
It was easy. In high school, I was the prettiest girl. Maybe I wasn't the most popular, but that didn't matter. Seriously, I could tell that all of the guys in high school wanted me. They would stare after me. I could leave them panting with nothing more than a smile or a wink. Whenever I walked into a room, all of the boys would instinctively turn to me. And I would be able to read those expressions so easily.
They were little more than animals to me, easily controlled and manipulated.
So after high school I did the only logical thing I could. I decided to become a model!
But here's the problem. Sure, I was the prettiest girl at my high school, but that doesn't mean anything when compared to all of the other girls. I got my head shots taken, I went to a couple of photo shoots, but I quickly developed a reputation.
Frankly, I believed that all the photographers should just take one look at me and understand that I was something different, something special. I was going to be a supermodel. My name was going to be written in lights in all of the major fashion centers across the planet.
When I looked at my face, I didn't see just a pretty girl. No, I saw someone special, someone absolutely unique.
It's a shame no one else agreed with me.
At first, my agent seemed willing to work with me. But more and more, I could sense that he didn't really care about my career. That's why, one day, I decided that I had put up with enough. I demanded a meeting.
I marched into his office, bypassing his secretary. I sat down, I crossed my legs, and I held my back straight. "Charles, we need to talk. You're not doing a very good job as my agent."
At this point, he had been on the phone, not that I bothered to give him the chance to excuse himself. With a sigh, he glanced over at me, sitting there, like some spoiled princess. "Hey, I can't talk right now. I'll send over that paperwork as soon as I can." He clicked his phone off and turned to me, leaning forward, his elbows on his desk.
"Stephanie, you're not supposed to just barge in here."
Bristling at his criticism, I narrowed my eyes. "Charles, you're not doing a very good job as my agent," I repeated. Pouting at my lips, I wanted him to feel guilty. He was letting me down. I expected him to behave like all of those other high school boys who chased after me, willing to do anything.
I was still eighteen, and I looked incredible. From my shimmery blonde hair to my bright blue eyes and my perfectly shaped breasts, I knew that I had everything necessary to become a model. From the the poise and attitude, I could do it.
I just needed this idiot to let me through the door.
"Look, Stephanie, you've only been to a couple of photo shoots, but you're already developing a reputation as a prima donna. You can't keep this up. If you really want work, you need to settle down. You're just getting started. People don't want to work with you if you can't behave yourself."
"Don't you dare talk to me like that," I snapped, waving my finger at him. "You work for me. You do what I say. I’m the talent here, and you're just some paper pusher."
At that point, most agents would have let their clients go. Charles, however, was a different sort of man. More entrepreneurial.
"Stephanie, if you really want work, then I have one more opportunity for you."
"What is it? It better be good,” I sneered, not at all impressed.
Clearly suppressing another sigh, he took out a key, and he unlocked one of his drawers. Okay, so maybe I was intrigued. He took out a large set of documents, and he dropped them in front of me.
"A couple of months ago, I got an offer from this company. They are looking for models. Frankly, I think you'd be perfect for this opportunity.” Something in his expression shifted. "Stephanie, this is going to be a long-term project. I'm not sure you're really up for it. But if you are determined to do this, then you need to start signing."
In that moment, it finally dawned on me that if I didn't take this opportunity, I might not be a model at all. A shiver of dread ran through my body, not that I allowed my manager to see it. Someday, I intended to become an actress as well.
Keeping my features neutral, I picked up one of the pens, and I started signing. "This project better be good."
"It'll be like nothing you've ever experienced before," he told me, smirking ever so slightly.
It took almost an hour to sign every single document. Obviously, I didn't read even a single page. What was the point? I had signed other releases before. Clearly, this company was just paranoid when it came to legalities.
"What now?" I asked when I finally dropped the pen.
"Go back to your apartment. I'll send a representative by to discuss the details with you."
"You can't tell me now?"
"All I can say is that this is going to mean a big payday," he told me truthfully.
Considering some of the bills I had to confront, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe I could swallow my pride for just one project. After all, every artist has to pay her dues.
Feeling better, I got up, and I sauntered out of his office.
As I got into my crappy car, I leaned back and smiled. I turned on the radio, and I thought about everything I would do with this big payday. We hadn’t discussed specifics, but I never worried about that. I was beautiful and flirtatious. I was cute, and I could pretend to be sweet. Clearly, I was going to do great things.
Excited, I drove home. I was thinking about hitting the mall. Maybe I should pick up some new outfits. Then again, most of my credit cards were already maxed out. No, I did the responsible thing for once, and I drove back to my place. Back inside, I locked the door, and I decided to celebrate in a decidedly different way.
I stripped off my blouse, a little miniskirt, my shoes, and my socks. I went back into my bathroom, and I filled the claw-foot tub. Once the water was nice and hot, I dipped my toe in. Then I slid the rest of my body down and I relaxed, closing my eyes and thinking about all the wonderful things that were going to happen to me.
I just knew it.
Back in high school, I never did much reading, but I remembered one of my teachers talking about this book. It talked about how the secret to life was simply wanting it. If you expect good things to happen to you, good things will happen to you. That idea intrigued me.
Eyes closed, I slid my hand down beneath the waterline. I spread my legs, and I pressed two fingers along my opening. I smiled, thinking about the different boys I had dated. They all wanted the same thing. They all wanted to see me naked.
Ironically, I was a very good girl in high school. Sure, I made out with a couple of those boys, but I never really gave them anything. It was
so much better to see them begging and panting, desperate. Sure, a couple of them told lies about what happened between us, but I didn't care.
It just added a hint of danger to my reputation.
Touching myself, I thought about Xavier, one of the soccer players. He literally got down on his knees and begged me. It was so sweet, I thought. That's the kind of power I always wanted to have. I wanted to be able to walk up to any man, to be able to poke him and tell him what to do. I wanted to be able to dictate his actions, to change his beliefs simply by smiling or flirting with him.
Xavier had been so pathetically desperate. He would've done anything for me. I could've ordered him to kiss my shoes. I could've made him clean my room or wash my car.
He would've done it!
That idea got me hot. I was already wet from the warm water, so I slid my fingers down, gently rubbing my clitoris. That spot was already engorged. Yes, the idea of getting this new project definitely turned me on. It was going to be awesome. It was going to be fantastic. All of my dreams were about to come true!
Right before I could come, someone slammed on the door.
I nearly jumped out of the tub, but then I settled back down, reminding myself the front door was locked.
They knocked again, louder this time.
"Go away!" I shouted. That was my mistake. If I haven't said anything at all, those people might've assumed that I wasn't home and simply left.
If only…
They knocked again, the sound booming through my small apartment.
Aggravation clawed at the back of my brain. I couldn't tolerate this sort of bad behavior. Who did these guys think they were? Cocky as always, I let my anger fuel my decisions. I got up out of the tub, still frustrated because I hadn't yet climaxed.
I toweled off, I grabbed a robe, and I marched over to the front door.
Just as I was about to open it, I heard the lock click.
Wait a second. What just happened?
Someone picked the lock, but I realized that a heartbeat too late. The door opened, and I retreated back. My reflexes were good enough to save me from getting hit in the face.
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