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.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
9. Don't be scared, just breed.
The next day, we woke up at dawn, the crop lashing at our thighs, more gently than usual though. As I reluctantly opened my eyes and yawned, my suspicion was confirmed: Aaron, yawning himself, was standing on our bed. While we crawled to get up, I was thinking about the fact that the stable hand's lighter hand with the crop could become a problem: how were we supposed to ease into being used to a hucow's proper whipping as Aidan had said, if Aaron held us back? Anyhow our day started as the previous one, with Cupcake's milking and me wishing I could be in her place too. Then, we had our slow, semen-based breakfast for champions, which, unfortunately, did not make us feel any better than the day before. Anyway, I tried to get out of my mind any doubt about us being able to adapt as Aidan had promised: he knew better, I reminded myself. Next, Aaron had a bit of a misfire when he groaned in disgust as we shat and pissed on the floor and he had to wash our insides. We reprimanded him with angry moos and he apologized again, blushing a little in such an endearing way that we had to forgive him immediately. Our mood got even better as he inserted our butt-plugs.
"These are new, custom-made for Aidan." the stable hand declared.
They felt a little bigger than those we had used previously but the feature that impressed us most was a realistic-looking cow tail attached to their base, ending with pink hair in my case and cute tiny brown dreads for Cupcake. We both loved our tails and wiggled them happily.
Finally, we were thoroughly cleaned. I had to admit that the young man did everything perfectly. He must have known, because there was a definitely smug smile on his face when he kissed our foreheads at the end of the procedure. Aaron had not talked much all morning. Not that he was not in a good mood, considering the amount of groping on his part, especially with me. I imagined that it was hard to speak to a cow. Anyway we had no idea of what the day had in store for us, but we had to get used to that: we were hucows, after all, and our farmers would decide what to do with us. Apparently, we had to rest. Lying on the hay, Cupcake managed to fall asleep again. I knew that, according to the information Fergie had provided me, she had to be milked every three hours, which meant that, even though she had managed not to wake me, she had been woken in the middle of the night. For the same reason, we had to have slept exactly six hours, so I was not surprised to be very sleepy. I was just about to doze off with my chin on her back, wondering how her body had decided where to stop producing melanin and leave her skin white, when Aaron lashed our rumps once again. What now?
Both a little dazed, we found out that it was milking time again. Cupcake seemed to disagree and kept mooing quizzically. Maybe Aaron had made a mistake? Annoyed, the man decided to explain:
"Your owner thinks that it is wrong to milk you when you are full, because human breasts stop producing milk when they are. He is convinced that, even though your milk-enhancers try to avoid that, they are not completely successful. So he wants us to milk you every two hours, during the day."
I looked at Cupcake with a lewd smile and she ironically shrugged as if she had said "if I have to make the sacrifice...". She did not cum, though. I hoped we could rest afterwards, but the reason why I was up too was that we had to be fed again. Slop, fortunately. Only then we were allowed to nap. We repeated the cycle another time. Cupcake had the impressive capability of falling asleep whenever she wanted. I, on the other hand, had more difficulty to adapt to this fragmented rest.
After the next milking, the cycle was interrupted. Instead of feeding us, Aaron led us to the two structures covered by cloth that I had seen when we had arrived. Another surprise: I and Cupcake looked at each other quite skeptical. The man unveiled two identical exercise machines like I had never seen. For one, there was a wooden yoke. I, for the life of me, could not figure out how they were supposed to be used. They looked very articulate. Only when Aaron had strapped us on them, he could explain to us what we needed to do. We were in all fours and all our hooves and our knees were fixed rigidly on supports that could slide forwards and backwards. Our neck was enclosed by the yoke.
"The machine has the following cycle: push your forelegs forwards, then push your body forwards with your hind legs, pull your hind legs to your body, push your body backwards with your forelegs, push your hind legs backwards and finally pull your forelegs backwards. Every step must be followed by a loud click of the equipment, that tells you it has locked appropriately. If you don't hear it, it means that you have to pull or push more. I'll give you he time with the crop."
He swished it and we tried to perform a cycle. The machine fought all our movements. Between its strong resistance and us not remembering exactly the cycle, we did very poorly.
"Shit, I gotta punish you now." commented Aaron, still not as remotely disappointed as we were after he had administered it. It had not been harsh as Fergie's, not even close, but was enough to make us moo painfully. Aaron repeated the instructions and we tried again, feeling a much stronger incentive to do it right. And so we did. He kept us at it for several cycles, enjoying himself with the view of our hindquarters going up and down. After that, we had to perform an easier exercise that consisted in spreading fore and hind legs several times. All in all, the two activities were a fairly complete workout and, when we stopped for Cupcake's milking, we were panting heavily and felt every muscle of our body protest.
After we had eaten again, we were brought back to our enclosure and we found the cattle door open.
"Come on, go on if you want to have some air!" Aaron encouraged with a smile, as he went to store Cupcake's milk away.
Excited by this new opportunity, we forgot how tired we were and we went through the plastic strips to explore the garden we had only seen on our way to the rooms where we had been mounted. It was another wonderful sultry summer day. I mooed happily, inhaling the good air of the countryside. Cupcake did not seem to share my enthusiasm. She mooed woefully, jabbed her head at the sun, that was now close to the zenith in the cloudless sky, and then she pointed at one of her white spots with a fore-hoof. Of course, she would get a sunburn! Maybe Aaron had been given some protective lotion? Like she had read my mind, Cupcake went inside the barn and started mooing loudly to attract Aaron's attention. I wondered why she did not just push one of the red buttons, but then I realized that Aidan would have preferred us to behave as real cows, if we could help it. So I joined the mooing, until the stable hand came out of one of the rooms in the barn, rushed to our enclosure, and leapt over it, looking worried.
"What's happening? What's wrong?" he asked, panting.
Cupcake made an aching face and stretched out her left foreleg, which had two big white spots.
"What's wrong? Does it hurt? I don't see anything here." replied the man, after having carefully examined it.
Cupcake then raised her head to the ceiling and mooed again. It took him a few seconds, but finally Aaron understood.
"Shit, of course!" he said loudly, patting his forehead "He even told me! So sorry!"
