The fertility treatments make you feel fuzzy and warm. It’s hard to concentrate on anything too long. The first time you were led to a trough to eat mealy goop on your hands and knees, you hesitated. A firm spank on your bare ass made you reluctantly bend your head and start munching. The girl (wait, cow) next to you smacked loudly. It felt gross and embarrassing.
Now with hormones flooding your system, the feed tastes so good. You eagerly shove your face into it and basically hoover it into your system. The farmer watching you chuckles. “That’s it, cow bitch. Get nice and plump.” Your face burns with shame but you keep swallowing mouthfuls of the dense protein goop.
Within two weeks, your thighs and ass are noticeably rounder. Your tits—udders—sway more as you crawl around the large barn and the pasture you’re allowed to explore twice a day. Everything feels so hazy, so perfect.
It’s during one of your pasture crawls that you start feeling warmth between your legs. The heat comes on suddenly. Within minutes, you can think of nothing except trying to relieve the ache. Only your training keeps you from reaching a hand down to rub yourself.
The ache grows throughout the day until you’re trembling with need. A farmer comes to round the cows up for their evening meal. He’s the tall broad one with thick hands. He smacks each cow lightly on the bottom as they file past him into the barn. When it’s your turn, the slap on your rump elicits an involuntary moan. It sounds hoarse and lusty even to your ears.
The farmer pauses, looks you over, then shouts to someone in the barn. “Mark Sweetie Pie down for tomorrow, she’s in heat.” Your face burns bright red. You know exactly what’s in store for you, having watched it happen to other cows several times every day.
You can barely sleep that night. The pulsing between your legs is unbearable. Curled on your side in your hay bed, you try to rub your legs together a little. It’s no good, too little friction. Your hands and feet are tied to fence posts on opposite sides of your stall—loosely, so you can move around and sleep comfortably, but unable to touch yourself to relieve your burning need. The farmers don’t rely on a cow’s training sticking when she’s in heat.
When the farmers come to fetch you in the morning, they find you sprawled out, legs wide, moaning. It’s so embarrassing but you can’t stop. You see the tall broad one look directly at the wetness coating your thighs and you shudder with shame. It feels so good, though. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a long, low moo.
He laughs. “Don’t worry, Sweetie Pie. We’re gonna take care of that right quick for you.” You thrust your mound in the air as if begging him to take care of it right then. He laughs again. “Oh no, you horny cow bitch. We need to do it properly so we can make sure the seed takes.”
He leads you to the breeding floor. You can feel your slick juices trickling down your legs. You know everyone else can see it too. The other cows watch passively. Most of them have gone through this already. You look at the bred ones and their faces look blank and dumb. What’s about to happen to you will make you look like them. Just a placid breeding cow.
Your legs tremble as you crawl up on the mounting station. You lay face down on the mounting board and someone brusquely lifts your feet into the stirrups and then cranks them wide so your bare crotch is well exposed. Someone else fist pumps over your udders. You won’t have milk yet but getting milked and seeded at the same time is said to increase fertility. Your hands are bound down by your sides. This isn’t strictly necessary but you know the farmers like the aesthetic of a girl bound and spread, udders hanging off one end and cunt off the other. A slab of fuckmeat.
You’re left in this position for a good ten minutes. They want you to savor your first breeding. Shame pulses through your body. Your entire existence comes down to this. You’re an animal, a breeding cow, a bitch. This is what it means to be female.
When a rough hand finally lands on your rump, you gasp. Remembering yourself, you turn it into a meek moo. Your farmer, as you now think of the broad one, chuckles. “I love a cow’s first breeding,” he tells you. “You’re not really a cow until you’re properly knocked up.” You moo in agreement, face burning. One of the cows watching you clenches her legs together. Your shame is making her drip.
You hear a zipper, then—your farmer’s cock is at your entrance. Your entire body twitches, causing him to chuckle again. He takes his time, drawing his erection slowly around the glistening lips of your cow cunt. Your cow cunt! You moo in shame, this time louder. The humiliation of this is making your entire body ache with need. You’re a fuckcow!
Just as this shameful acceptance of your fate flits across your mind, your farmer impales you on his cock. Fuck, it feels so good! You groan loudly, earning a slap across your rump. You have to moo. So you do, over and over again. Each time he thrusts inside your cow cunt, you moo so loud that it echos from the rafters.
“That’s it, bitch!” the farmer grunts, pumping your hole harder. “Show me how a cow milks seed!” You obey, mooing and gripping his cock with your cow cunt. The pumps work your udders hard. Hormonal lust courses through your body.
You meet the eyes of a cow watching you. Her eyes and mouth are rounded in awe. She looks like a dumb cow. Just like you. “Moooooooo!” you bellow as your cow cunt spasms hard. You cum on the cock breeding you.
This is enough to make the farmer finish. “Fuck, you cow bitch!” he groans, thrusting inside you one last time. You can feel his warm seed coat your cunt walls. Your hole twitches it deeper. You know this is it, you’ve just been knocked up. You stare blankly ahead, udders and cunt still pulsing. You’re officially a fuckcow.
theartofmadeline
stormborns
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
andulkaphoto
