I can't stop thinking about being livestock.
I wouldn't start perfect at it, all shy, confused, skin and bones when I show up at the ranch. But I'd be good, I'd take to it easy. I'm too weak and tired to do anything but eagerly gulp down the fortified slurry you feed the herd, plus all the hormones inside. I wouldn't even make it to the sleeping stalls, passing out on a pile of hay with what is technically food dribbling out the corner of my mouth, but I'd wake up in a pile of big soft cows with tits the size of my torso for pillows and I wouldn't be the same after that.
I'd be so eager, I'd be up before all the rest and sweeping the barn clean, helping the girls wake up and get to pasture. I'd guzzle down protein smoothies like a newborn calf and they'd work, too. I'd fill out fast, muscle and fat, and I'd put it to work.The other cows would try to explain that the chores weren't for us, but I wouldn't be able to stop from lifting and moving and running anything they needed around for them until you saw me fall over again from overwork and put a lead on me so I'd have to stay with the herd and just. Eat.
I'd get big fast, I'd want to, I'd see all the other girls and their big soft bodies and their hips barely squeezing through the doorways and I'd feel a way I wouldn't be able to put words to even if I remembered how to make them. It'd feel so so good and you could fatten me up and make sure I was growing in all the right places and all the girls would help, I'm so much smaller and their hormone-thick brains would just see a calf that needs feeding. The nutrition shakes would be good but I'd forget about them the second one of the older cows forced my face into an areola that eclipsed it entirely and I got a taste of her cream. She'd moan and I wouldn't even hear because my whole world would just be hot wetness and soft skin and lips desperately trying to find something I don't even know the word for but I'd know the way it felt right when the nipple pops in and I latch proper.
And god I'd drink. I'd shiver, shake, my legs would kick and my arms would start grabbing and flailing but when they smelled milk the rest of the herd would gather round and my hands would find eager tits and wet mouths and my legs would find pillowy thighs straddling them down to the floor and a different wetness starting to spread between them. I'd gulp and gulp and gulp until my new mama went dry and had to pull away, dripping in a different way, and I don't think I'd be able to stop from crying.
But nothin gets a cow doing anything faster than a weepy calf and I'd have another overfull tit in my face before I could blink and it would just keep going. Sucking and drinking deep and hearing all my new mamas get louder as more and more milk dribbles down my lips onto my barely there tits and they'd swear they could see them growing by the swallow and it'd only set em off more. You'd come to the barn later to find half your cows drained dry before milking and me laid out on the floor, eyes rolled back, tummy bulging, plush lips locked around every tasty part of me.
I'd start producing the next morning, obviously. With what you feed the girls, and how much I drank, there's no way around it. Too much for where my body's at too, I'd wake up with tiny tits stretched past their limits, swollen and puffy and leaking and so so sore. You'd be there though, pushing away the other girls from getting too thirsty, you don't want a repeat of yesterday. One of the stronger girls would have to help carry me to the milkers and I'd finally get to see the building I hear all my mamas making sounds inside all day. You're a good rancher, you keep your girls comfortable, there are padded benches and soft harnesses but there's no mistaking it when you strap me in. This is for livestock.
You'd explain sweetly while you lock the restraints, set the machine whirring to life, let it warm up as the other girls get themselves set up (they know the drill by now, and they have their favorite stalls). You're happy to have me here, really, you are, but it ain't free to feed little calves so I've gotta start giving something back. My big eyes look up at you and I don't understand much but I understand I wanna give you and your soft hands whatever you want.
And oh, I would. Once the milker got warmed up and you spread the lotion on my petal soft brand-new chest buds, the cups would go on and start sucking and the noise I'd make would do something unspeakable to you, not least of which'd be the way your underwear would need changing. You'd only get about a cup and a half outta me that first day, barely enough to fill the bottom of a bottle, but you'd take it home, wouldn't you? You'd sit alone in that big farmhouse staring at that bottle that you know you're supposed to sell, not drink, but you wouldn't be able to help yourself. Me in that barn with all my new mamas sleepin peacefully thinking about getting pretty for you and you'd be sipping my cream like your life depended on it and you'd be licking the bottle because it'd be the best you'd ever had.
