Author's note:
This story has been inspired by the premise of another one about hucows in this website that I unfortunately cannot find anymore (if you know it, please write to me to help me provide a proper credit). While the very beginning in similar, the rest (a whole novel) is what I find a more satisfying development. Here's the third chapter. Since I already completed the whole story, from now on I will post regularly.
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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3. The fair
Where do you buy cows? In a country fair. Well, it turned out that this was valid also for hucows. In this case a fair was more like a convention of enthusiasts, but Aidan assured me that everyone tried their best to adhere to the fantasy. A few days after my dream, he asked me to go with him to buy (the technical term for "hire" in this context) the first two cows of his herd. I was beyond excited: it would be just the two of us for a couple of days, and I was coming as future manager of his farm. It was time for my move. We were in the middle of summer and it was sweltering outside. So, between that and the fact that we were going to a sex-themed event, I had plenty of excuses to dress as slutty as I could.
I was wearing a dark purple cowboy hat that contrasted beautifully with my pink hair, cut in a bob and matched perfectly with a short-sleeved blouse with a pink and violet tartan pattern, knotted and partly unbuttoned in such a way that it covered only my bust and showed my cleavage and my tummy, where I sported a brand new dream-catcher belly piercing. For the occasion I hade made myself a pair of very short denim shorts out of normal jeans. They had a very low waist, and I cut out the inside of both the front and back pockets, so that you could see a slice of my butt and thighs. I had also bought a couple of red cowgirl boots. Needless to say that, while we were traveling in Aidan's sports car, he had a hard time not being... Well hard!
"So, how does it work?" I was asking, while licking mischievously a shocking pink lollipop.
"The girl who wants to become a cow signs a contract that obliges her to wear her attire at all times, except when there is an emergency of course, and establishes what her farmer can and can't do. Typically, how often she must have sex with the customers, if she wants to do anal and that sort of things."
"And this is legal? Is it not, like, slavery?" I asked, a little perplexed.
"Oh, you'd be surprised what is legal these days!" Aidan chuckled.
Well, I said by myself, I better find out what exactly is legal these days if I want to stay out of prison!
"So, when you say buy, you just mean hire, right?" I checked, just half-ironically.
"Yes, or buy someone else's cow, if it is allowed in her contract. Formally, it is just a change of employer, but it goes a long way in making the fantasy more realistic for the woman."
"And how long do these contracts last?"
"Usually a year and they can be renewed. Sometimes the renewal is automatic unless one of the parties disagrees. There are a lot of women who just want to forget all about human stuff and live as cows as long as they can. You'll see."
I wondered what it would be like living like that. Aidan had explained to me that between the hormones, the milking and of course the sex, an average hucow had a bunch of climaxes every day. If you forgot for a moment the whole humiliation and prostitution thing, it almost seemed alluring. You were paid a ridiculous amount of money to not have a worry in the world, being pampered and cumming all day. After having that thought, I remember that I blamed it on my anxiety about the future and my horniness. I do not still know if I was right or if being a cow was already an unspoken desire of mine.
When we arrived, it seemed to me that we had just traveled to a parallel universe. The fair was hosted by a big ranch. We parked in a graveled open space, and we headed for a big field filled with marquees, little corrals and a couple of food trucks. It was all like a normal fair. What I was not prepared for, despite knowing full well what the fair was all about, was a couple a naked girls getting off a horse-trailer. They were unmistakably hucows. On their feet they wore the craziest shoes I had ever seen. They were basically heelless calf boots where the platform was a very realistic cow hoof. The rest of the shoe was madeo fcow hide. Their arms were similarly decorated with sleeve gloves, that encased their hands in a cow hoof. For some reason I had imagined that hucows would be fat, but all these girls were perfectly in shape and almost lean, a fact that greatly enhanced the impression that their huge boobs made. They were as big as cantaloupes! A man who seemed their owner, corralled them towards the fair, lazily swishing a crop on their buttocks, already quite red. As if this scene was not already shocking enough, every time he hit them, they mooed. Now, when I say moo, you may imagine a person actually uttering the word moo. You could not be more mistaken. These hucows emitted a sound that was eerily similar to a cow's call, except for the fact that was less powerful and maybe more high-pitched.
"What the fuck?.." I mumbled without even noticing I was speaking out loud.
"Oh, yeah, I forgot!" Aidan said, slapping his forehead "Women who are actually serious about becoming cows have a little device implanted in their upper respiratory tract that, whenever they use their vocal cords, forces the air to go out from the nose and not the mouth."
I must have frowned because he felt that I needed a practical example: he opened his mouth, took my hand and put it in front of it and mooed. I felt that no air had passed through his mouth and I understood and tried myself. I could moo too!
"So, wait, they cannot speak?" I suddenly asked.
"Nope, as real cows." he answered in a revering tone.
As we approached, I could have a better look to these "serious hucows". Even though they were periodically whipped, they seemed to be enjoying all of it, to the point that I had the distinct impression that they slowed down on purpose just to make the crop lash at them.
"Good cows only move when they are prodded." Aidan commented in a low voice, accompanied by the sound of the cowbell they both sported hanging from a big leather collar. Despite the height of the heels, their gait was quite confident and regal, as if they were extremely proud of themselves. As we were passing them by, I noticed that they had a bull ring passing through their nose septum, so big that it reached halfway between their lower lips and their chins. Another tinkling sound drove my attention to their pussies. Their outer labia each displayed three big rings. The weirdest piercings of all, though, were two big triangular yellow tags on the top of their ears. Aidan, one again, answered my mute question:
"They are tags containing the serial number of their contract, a QR-code of their limits and an ID number to identify them." he explained and then pointed to the tattoos on their buttocks and their backs "These are also branded, for further safety. They probably have microchips too, all to ensure that their contracts cannot be modified in a second moment to their damage."
I had to admit, these people were really committed. A part of me wondered who they were actually protecting by making the contracts unalterable. I could see how this ensured that the hucows did not have to do things they did not agree to, but at the same time it made sure they could not change their mind afterwards.
As we entered the fair, we were welcomed by a rather festive atmosphere. Everybody seemed to know everybody. There were shops selling cow attire, both for professional hucows and amateurs, milking machines, themed sex toys, the most expensive cheese in the world (my mouth actually gaped at its sight) and of course, milk. However, most of the space was occupied by various farms showing off their cattle. Aidan, taken with his enthusiasm, took my hand (I think that my heart missed a beat), and we headed confidently toward a stall called "Redhead Angus". Behind a stall displaying milk bottles and assorted produce, there was a small corral, where three hucows, all redheads and in attires similar to those we spotted earlier, were accommodated in what seemed to be a portable version of Aidan's milking stands, only without the part that supported the head and shoulders. They just rested with their elbows on the fence or on dedicate supports. Two of them were being milked and were mooing loudly in what seemed to me an unequivocal O-face.
"Aidan!" called a burly man in his fifties, with ginger hair and a cowboy attire "What brings you here? Should I worry?"
"Eoin!" Aidan greeted him cheerfully "As a matter of fact you should!"
The other did not seem to take the news well as he reached us.
"Really?"
"Not because I'm not a very satisfied customer." excused himself Aidan, raising his hands "I am opening a farm of my own!"
As comprehension dawned on Eoin, he returned to his previous upbeat tone:
