Author's note:
IMPORTANT: I put chapter 12 in the BDSM category, so if you have not read it there yet, I suggest you do before continuing with this one.
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.
From this chapter on, I will attempt to do the same (albeit in less detail) with ponygirls.
I hope that the result is an original and refreshing take on these matters.
All kinds of feedback are appreciated, especially those about grammar, as English is not my first language. Also, if you decide to give me a low score, please, take a minute of your time and tell me in a comment what you did not like!
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13. What ponygirls run for
The first day of the new year, I was brought back in time to the past one, for I was woken up by the sound of an alarm clock instead of a crop. I was sleeping with my face plunged in Cupcake's black dreads, that combined the soothing effect of her smell and protection from the light. When I raised my head to protest for the disturbance, almost reaching for the snooze button, I found Aaron sleeping in his overalls next to Cream Pie, who, up until a few moments before, had been resting with her head on his chest. I mooed inquisitively and she told me that Aaron had resolved to sleep directly with us, so that he would not lose time going home and then coming back a few hours later. With the lack of sleep we were both suffering from, it was a miracle that we managed to understand each other.
Cupcake decided that the commotion was worth opening her eyes. Cream Pie smiled a little questioningly and we knew what she meant when we both nodded. Then many things happened fast. A naughty snigger appeared on Cupcake's face, Cream Pie lunged her head towards Aaron's boot and I grabbed Cupcake from behind, to prevent her from making the terrible mistake of waking up Aaron with the crop as a prank. She moo-groaned and dived between my udders to get back to sleep. I knew that, even though she had just a few minutes before Aaron was up and about, she would still be able to doze off and that earned her a kiss on the head.
In the meantime, Cream Pie had managed to undo Aaron's overalls with the sole use of her mouth, an impressive feat if you ask me. Then, with a satisfied smile, she pulled down his underpants and began to lick his cock. She had changed so much from the day she had come! Now she was a real cow, just like us, perpetually horny and not ashamed of it.
She took her time and savored his member, before properly sucking him. He must have been really tired, because he came in her mouth without waking up. Cream Pie looked at me wondering if we should not just let him sleep. I knew I wanted to, but it was a terrible idea. We had to be milked. My udders were aching and, judging by her restlessness in my arms, also Cupcake's. So I rolled her over, while she protested with annoyed moos, and we all began to lick Aaron's face, like cows would do. This worked, because he woke up with a groan, looking really dazed:
"What the fuck?" he mumbled.
We all mooed, causing him to squeeze his eyes.
"Don't do that!" he begged, getting up, massaging his forehead.
After spending a lot of time rubbing his eyes, he took the crop from Cream Pie's mouth, who had been nudging him with her head, and stretched his arms. As she displayed her ass, he began lazily whipping us and we crawling to the fence. To avoid falling asleep while the milking machine worked on us, he did not sit down and stared at us blankly the whole time. On my part, I was looking at the pony, who was sleeping on her own hay bed. Why did they not let her sleep with us? As I squinted my eyes, the answer became clear. There was a big dildo protruding from the wall. Why was she allowed to fuck herself? She also had a drinking trough! Then I remembered the conversation I had overheard between Ava and Daria and finally I understood its meaning: ponies could not be fed sperm. In hindsight, it was obvious that she would not be reared in the same way as us: she was a different kind of animal, after all.
Aaron deliberated not to wash us now and do it after our naps. We could not agree more. He slept with us, in the hay, even allowing us to use him as a big, warm pillow. The rest of the morning went on in repetitions of what had happened so far. We did not even eat properly, but it was not a problem: during the party we had had more than enough semen to last us till noon.
Routine was established again by none other than Ava, in case there was any doubt. Whereas Aaron looked a (hot) mess, she was impeccable, her makeup as fierce as ever. She was wearing an attire mocking the traditional elegant British horse riding outfit. Her riding boots and leather gloves looked normal, but her tweed hunting jacket, black and neon pink, was all patched up and covered in studs and was so long that served as a dress. Instead of breeches, she wore fishnet stockings. Finally, she had a leather collar that featured a bow-tie made of metallic mesh. She woke up Aaron with the crop, making him curse:
"Come on, man, these cows need milking and, by the looks of this, some discipline! And for fuck's sake, holster your cock!"
Cream Pie had already found her way back to the man's member, which was limp and looking almost as exhausted as him, and was now staring at Ava with intense hatred. We were milked and a little hastily washed. As we drank our semen, now ejaculated by two plastic penises at a time, to compensate the meals we had lost, we watched Ava leap over Fudge's fence and wake her up with the crop. Fudge whinnied! I was so amazed that I got a squirt of sperm in the eye, which now was burning. I wondered how they managed to force her to emit that kind of sound. Even though Fudge's neigh was quite different from the real thing, resembling more like a person's impression of it really, forcing it looked a way more complicated job than forcing someone to moo, because you could not just get away with something relatively simple as forcing air through the nose at every vocalization.
Ava was now holding Fudge's jaw in her gloved hand and had pulled her close to her face. The pony looked extremely intimidated, for Ava's satisfaction.
"You are dressed like a horse, as if it was Halloween. You may have deluded yourself that being a ponygirl is just that and fucking weirdos." she was telling her, full of contempt "But I'll show you the truth, you will become a horse, not pretend, I will transform you in the most beautiful animal in the world, a wild, free rider of the steppe, strong and yet elegant. People will admire you, will cheer for you and all of them will be so enthralled by your beauty that they will pay dear money just to spend a few minutes with you!"
Fudge opened her eyes wide, as mesmerized by Ava's, and gaped a little. At that, Ava smiled and kissed her, driving her head to hers, with a passion and a smugness of somebody that had just conquered the queen of the ball. I had to admit that her speech caught me by surprise. She was not all discipline after all.
When we finished, we were corralled at the feet of one of the wooden pillars that supported the loft, where Fudge had been put on a sort of sling that ran under her chest and stomach and was hanging from the ceiling by a chain that split in four to grab every corner of the fabric. Her limbs were dangling helplessly, while a strap between her hind legs prevented her from sliding off the harness. We were put in line, waiting for our turn with the thing. I was first and so had a good position to admire her body.