Another Wee in the Barn...

Several weeks into barn life, the toll it was taking on my body was becoming apparent. Going into the barn I had been young and healthy. It was true I had been clueless to the horrors that waited for me here, naive and although as a submissive, eager to please, in no way prepared for the harsh realities of becoming a hucow.

The milking ritual alone was degrading, humiliating and painful.  Just a few short weeks into my stay, my health was clearly failing, and my appearance was deteriorating. As I often stubbornly refused to "MOO" I was silent except for the squeals and screams that were not muffled by a gag or a cock in my mouth.  I was being dehumanized, milked daily by a machine that tore at my nipples and made them ache and burn constantly. I had been left in the barn, to literally live like an animal.

Men came and went to watch my milk extraction and to observe my daily punishments, intently paying attention to how I reacted to being punished and whipped, but most of all to experience my eager mouth on their cocks. I had become pathetic in my desperation to suck cock because that is when the torment eased, when I had a cock down my throat, or a wand at my clit, then I was allowed some precious moments of respite when I was done, Praise often heaped on my bent head, my mouth aching, my belly full of some man's seed, sometimes the only "meal" I would get that day.  I would be led back to my pen and left to curl up on the straw bed, allowed a rough blanket that was available for some sort of covering. In this way, it was a very short time I was dirty and smelled like an animal, moved like one, and somehow I think I probably was becoming one as well.

Infrequently, every few days or so, when my odor and appearance became even too much for my sadistic husband and owner to stomach so I would be given a bath of sorts, dipped into an antifungal, the chemical dip killing whatever lice, fleas and pests I had accumulated, since the last, bath. The next phase of the ritual I would be removed from that trough and eventually led to a crude stall, with a shower overhead, and a metal basin, allowed to stand and be scrubbed, then hosed down. The water temperature was tepid at best, but now and again, icy cold.

At these times, depending on which farm hand was in charge of my intimate ablutions, my hair would be washed,combed and brushed, then quickly braided into a rope of hair that flowed down my back. Cold and uncooperative, I would be urged into a mesh sling that lifted me off the barn floor, so pubic hair could be removed along with any under my arms, the sling designed to keep my thighs spread and my arms lifted behind me, giving access to soft tender places that would be painfully waxed. The sling kept me still and in place while the humiliating process of hair removal progressed. Those long ago words of my husband, I wouldn't like the sling often echoed in my head as I didn't like it all. My helplessness increased with the dizzying sensation of being held up off the barn floor, legs and arms dangling.

A few weeks into my barn stay, in the middle of this degrading and dehumanizing grooming, my husband, the man I now recognized as my owner, approached.  Not daring to look up unless told to do so, my chin was cupped, he knelt down in front of me, asking me if I liked my new life. My mouth was filled with the large ball gag, the thing pushed in deeply so my lips were stretched and drool, dripped down onto my tits and the floor. I was unable to answer and only my eyes reacted rolling toward the back of my head, my peripheral vision catching sight of barber clippers, then a painful tug on my scalp and set of shears that quickly hacked my braid off at the nape.

Confused for only a moment before the clippers were turned on, then passed over my head several times, while long strands of my remaining hair, once thick, healthy and curling in auburn waves, was shaved off in strips, falling around me as the crude shaving of my head continued.  My owner, still holding my chin steady, eyed me intently while the faceless farm hand shaved my scalp. Smiling with that cruel twist to his lips, my husband informed me it was time I was given a tail.

Whimpering deep in my throat, tits hanging, heavy, aching, feeling as if they might burst, as I had not been milked since the night before I suffered this new humiliation. Clips had been attached to my nipples to keep any milk from escaping as with my deteriorating health, milk production was down, but still nipples would leak until the pressure eased if I was not milked in a timely manner. It was my fate that my stubborn body filled my tits daily, leaving them hot and swollen as if they would split in half if the milk was not taken.

Still hanging in the sling, unable to brace with palms or knees, someone handed my owner the tied off braid of my hair that had been cut from my head. A thick leather handle of his flogger was tapped against his palm as he continued to access me, his gaze running over my skin, taking in the welts, sores and  broken skin. His smile only broadened. He nodded to the farm hand that was finishing up, and with little warning I was lowered to the barn floor, the sling released, leaving me to scramble to my hands and knees, head down the chill of the air, cold and unpleasant against my bare skin and scalp.  Arching up as  I had been trained, offering an easy path to both cunt and ass, I moved as expected, toward the platform and the milking machine.  The handle of the flogger began to slap a rhythm against my flanks, clashing with the ringing of my bell that hung beneath my chin. Obedient and almost eager at this point, I climbed up the short steps to the milking platform, the knowledge that soon the milk would be drained, the ache in my tits eased, and if I pleased the cock in my mouth I would be allowed to rest once more.

The process didn't go quite as smoothly as it should have and my heaving flanks bore the brunt of my reluctance. My tits  were so full and sore, I balked as they were handled, the clips removed from my nipples then pressed into the suction cups. But soon the low hum of the milking machine reached my ears a second before the suction tugged at my nipples. My sounds of pain and distress, muffled by the ball gag, echoed around us as one man tended the machine and another held a thick stout club. The sturdy bars were adjusted and closed around my neck, holding me in place.  I continued to drool, the ball gag still stretching my lips and filling my  mouth. Confused and frightened, becoming restless, and fighting against the machine, the power was increased, until the pain was nearly intolerable.  I wanted to rear up and crawl away but there was a man at my head and one at my rear, and with my nipples being so strongly pulled into the suction cups of the machine, I was trapped.

Endless minutes later, my shrill muffled screams still echoing around the barn, sobbing and near collapse, the machine was turned off the cycle complete and my nipples released from their suction cup prison. My tits hung down like deflated balloons.  My nipples were red, sore and obscenely elongated from the milking. The man at my head tapped my cheek to get my attention, focusing through tear filled eyes I could see it was my owner. He showed me a short stout club, and my hair, my rope of braided hair. He had twined it around one end of the club, then smiling he announced, "your tail."

Howling in agony, as the club was pushed up my ass, the thick flanged shape settling past a broken anal ring. This new pain slammed into the ache and throb at my nipples, settling at my clit, bringing a rush of heat and lust that defied logic and shamed me. Head hanging, the ball gag finally removed, I was allowed to leave the platform and paraded down the middle of the barn toward my stall. My bare scalp taunting me as I felt the swish and swing of my braided hair teasing at my thighs.

I was another step closer to becoming a cow in truth, rather than a woman at all.  But for all of that, on the way back to my pen, it became apparent, as first one man then another, tugged me over to them. I was going to be used, possibly by every bull that entered the barn. Helplessly, sporting this new humiliation that was my tail, something that burned, stretched and ached as it rode painfully in my ass, with head down, dumbly and obediently, I complied.

It seemed this new addition was adding to my appeal as a heifer. Moaning with renewed pain and humiliation I slowly made my way back to my pen. My deflated udders starting to fill once more. My owner tugged at my lead rope with a whispered comment to me as the opening to my pen came into my line of vision.  Now "MOO" he ordered... whimpering, my head hanging, the soft tones of the bell ringing marking my slow progress back to my pen, in desperation, I began at last to "MOO" in a frantic effort to find relief from the barn.