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.
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10. There are udders!
The farm gradually came to life in the following month, as more clients started to visit us. Our days started at six a.m. and were organized in nine time slots of two hours, during each of which we were milked and fed, which took roughly forty minutes. Then we would spend the rest of the time slot in some activity.
The first one was our washing ritual, when we also put on our tails. Due to us being always naked and in contact with stuff that had been outdoor, we also received frequent cleaning in our sexes, with the application, after a disinfecting soap, of a special ointment that contained the bacteria we needed in our vaginas, to replenish our flora under constant attack. Speaking of cleaning, we found out what happened during our menses: we had to wear a menstrual cup which would be emptied during every milking. Since we usually performed mainly anal sex, that did not affect our breeding in any way. It did affect our mood, though: not only we had the usual symptoms of our periods, but we also had trouble satisfying our impressive libido, as the men, clients and farmers alike, were squeamish about even touching our pussies. Men! However, we soon found a solution: we would take care of each other's needs with a nice clit licking.
The next two slots were dedicated to napping and were followed by an exercising session on the machine that everybody now called "the yokemill". After that we had permission to graze, unless there was a client. In such case, the free cow usually received her daily massage.
Grazing meant listening to music, just strolling around our corral, having sex with each other or the stable boys, or messing around with a squirt battle or a dance.I loved the latter and apparently Cupcake was not bad herself. She had weird, jerky moves and was so cute when she danced, that I often just watched her. I discovered that her musical tastes where mostly oriented towards reggae and jazzy stuff. It is hard to explain, but even if I did not much like either of those, myself being more into dance music, I sort of liked them too, because they were a window into Cupcake. We also sang together often, even doing two voices when we felt bold and, most importantly, not watched. It was not easy to learn by heart a song, as we had no control on what the cow-jukebox would reproduce, so we had to be a bit patient and work on several of them at the same time.
It was easy to involve Kam and Aaron in these activities, even though they had a lot of work. With the fact that they lived in the farm itself, they often stuck around and hanged with us, if anything, because they got to fuck us. I was grateful for their presence, because sometimes I felt guilty for sneaking out with Aidan. We usually went in the orchard and I asked him if we could graze there too, from time to time. He agreed and that gave him the idea of making us do some supervised work there. Nothing fancy, of course, we were just draft cattle and we often just pulled a small cart, but it was nice. Guests kept us very busy, anyway.
We would usually have at least three of them every day, so there was not much time for grazing, really. Even though every one of them was very different, we had some regulars and I soon got used to being pimped out.
Soon enough I developed my own classification of clients. There would be the ones that liked the idea of mounting a cow, those who just loved huge boobs, the wannabe farmers, the ones who enjoyed our animalisation and asked us to piss ourselves or wear cow gear like blinders and those who were into dominating us and would insult, whip and zap us, make us lick their boots or their asshole (which they had to clean beforehand, though, so it was not much different from grooming Cupcake, albeit her butt-hole was cuter of course). The latter were obviously the worst and I would take the more demanding ones, as my contract, I deduced, left much more leeway than Cupcake's.
Even though I had developed an armor after my encounter with my second client, being humiliated by clients remained hard, especially because they would be much meaner than the spoiled kid I had serviced at the beginning of my career. The first time I got one of those, I cried in Cupcake's forelegs, as Aidan was not in the farm. After that, I speedily learned how to take them. First of all, I reminded myself to fake my discomfort as Fergie had taught me in my very first time with a client. As for the shame, it was Cupcake who taught me how to fight it. With indignant moos and some well-thought gesturing, she made me realize that if anyone should have been ashamed, it was them, not me.
Aidan, on his part, always asked me how it went with the clients. Even if Cupcake strongly disapproved, I always made happy moos, even if I did not really enjoy myself, because I knew that my contract was not tailored on me, but on his ideal hucow and it was to be expected that I had to adapt into it. Besides, I wanted to make him proud of me. What helped me the most, though, was the realization that the unpleasant service requirements usually came all together. If a client wanted something that was no fun at all for the cow, he usually wanted most of the similarly taxing stuff. There were things like that in Cupcake's contract too, as some were just part of being a hucow. So the fact that I had a more lax contract, made me the first choice for those people, who then steered away from my more sensitive friend. Every time I went into a breeding room with them, I knew that I was protecting her and then I felt I could take anything.
Speaking of weird fetishes, we found out that our jizz-based diet was a big turn-on for some clients. Aidan even started to sell porn videos made of footage from the cameras in the barn and the ones mounted above our troughs. Moreover, his fake semen alone proved to be a huge hit and he started to produce it to sell too: his genius had spawned yet another successful business! In the end, he did manage to nourish us only with jizz. It sort of became an acquired taste. He never explained why it did not make us tired of tasting the same thing every day. Maybe it had to do with the fact that we had to eat our daily ration of grass (namely an always varying salad). Anyhow, my mouth now watered whenever I smelled semen and I was even able to feel the difference between different people.
The feeding schedule had been another thing that had seemed so much harder to adapt to. Producing milk, though, made us always hungry and so eating often was more than welcomed. It did take a long time though. A little more than four hours a day went away just staring plastic cocks and trying to catch their ejaculation with our mouths, without spilling it. Now I understood why Aidan had made them change their aim randomly: that way, eating was much less boring, because you could make a game out of it. Indeed, I and Cupcake started to challenge each other. We were lucky that Aidan was so thoughtful.
The best part of our first month, anyhow, was of course finally producing my own milk. My boobs started to feel different after two weeks. At the same time, the pump would extract from me a yellowish dense liquid that little by little became more white and diluted. Soon I could finally join Cupcake in the milking machine, for my utmost joy, albeit it was not that fun to wake up in the middle of the night to be milked. Anyway, Fergie was right, it did feel good.
It was still going to be a bumpy road, though. I had irritations, for instance, and the amount of milk that I produced was small. Aidan said that it tasted greatly, though, so I was happy. The only disappointment was the size of my udders and the length of my nipples. The first increased a little, the second not at all. Cupcake managed to reassure me by telling me that it had taken her boobs three months to become real udders and she was still struggling with her nipples too. I asked her what size of bra she wore before the transformation and it turned out that she had started with breasts smaller than mine, so I was kind of hoping that mine would be even bigger than her cantaloupes. Also, I started worrying about them becoming saggy under the weight, but Aidan explained to me that the milk-enhancers stimulated the growth of connective tissue, the production of something called elastin and reinforced the muscles sustaining them: all of these effects helped to keep them up even better than the natural ones.
