Our setting is in the not-too-distant future.  Countries are no longer set by land.  Any group can make a country for itself.  This ideal more than tripled the number of countries at first, but as the pressures of maintaining that increased, new countries began to be absorbed by larger ones.  At some point, it became a game to take over more countries.  The method now is to undermine its leadership and economy, so they have to be absorbed.  This is a story about a continued attempt.

Our main character is Willard Jamison.  He lives in one of the largest countries on Earth.  There are no immigration laws here, as they are so big, they don’t care who comes and who goes.  Therefore, he has little to no patriotism, living a mundane life in an average job with a below average pay.  However, he is about to get personal with country absorption.

Leaving work today, he heads to the transporter.  With a yawn, not from work but boredom, he punches in his apartment code and waits for the transporter to charge up.  “Greetings, Citizen,” the mechanical voices states, “Enter the Transporter.”  Without even looking, Mr Jamison steps in and waits to be converted into energy to be sent across the optical fiber lines to his apartment.  Like any good system, the fail safe will kick you back to where you came if someone else is trying to get into the same transporter as you.  This is not uncommon, and for Mr Jamison, the old lady two floors above him will not be bumped, so he will be.  Let’s pick up on him in real-time…

“Our apologies, Citizen,” the robot voice states, “Your transport could not be completed as requested.  You have been returned.  Please try again in a few moments.”  Willard rolls his eyes as they materialize again, “Seems like this happens once a week now,” he grumbles softly.  Stepping out of the transporter, he can immediately see that he is not back at his office.  “This has never happened before,” he whispers.  I have heard of people getting to the wrong place, he recalls, but that was due to mistyping the numbers.  He looks around the small room, seeing only a computer terminal, a sliding door, one chair, and the transporter he is standing just outside of (of course).  This is very odd, he thinks.

The screen comes to life, with a man’s head on it.  He wastes no time stating the obvious, “Who are you?”  Willard steps away from the transporter.  Its interior lights go out, returning to standby mode.  As he steps slowly to the monitor, he replies, “I’m Willard Jamison, I think…”  The man cuts him off in mid-sentence, “What are you doing here?  This is a restricted area.”  Willard, having seen more action already than in the last year, turns on his heel and heads for the transporter.  The man yells at his back, “No, stop!  Don’t go in there!”  Willard stops in his tracks, “frozen” by fear in the man’s tone.  The seconds feel like hours as the man’s eyes seem to burn into his back.

“Ok,” the man says in resignation, “You will have to do.”  At those words, Willard turns around to see a different looking man.  His face is no longer red in anger but more pale in desperation.  “Here is the situation,” he starts his explanation, “I need you to help us undermine the success ratio of this country.”  Willard’s eyes go wide in disbelief as he listens to the man calmly explain how their takeover will work.  Willard only catches bits and pieces as his brain cannot seem to process the data fast enough.  How did this happen? He asks himself.

“So, your first item is to get properly dressed.  You will go out the door and walk calmly to the right.  The second door on the right should open to you.  Enter and walk over to one of the workstations.  The machine should handle the rest.”  The man looks as if to leave, but stops.  Willard has unknowingly edged his way towards the transporter, maybe hoping to escape the way he came in.  “You cannot get out that way, Mr Jamison.”  Willard stops and looks uncertain.  “We got you in here by breaking the system, but if you try to leave through any transporter, they will hold you in here and never let you go.”  Willard’s brain begins processing that, and though it seems to make sense, he cannot shake the feeling that salvation waits just a few feet away.  The man makes one final statement before the screen goes black, “Enter the door and make a difference in the world…enter the transporter and disappear forever.”

When the door opened, Willard did not know what to expect, but the quiet hustle and bustle was not it.  There were people everywhere, walking around the large main room.  It seems to be circular with doors along the sides and a large vaulted ceiling that looked to be covered in clouds or a mist or whatever effect they had programmed on it.  

As the man promised, no one paid any attention to him.  He figured since that held true, the rest might as well. Gulping softly, he walks calmly to the next door, watching others move all around him.  The first door did not open as he passed it, but it did as soon as he left it.  He looked back to see a rather blank-looking woman walk through it.  He wanted to peek in it, but he did not want to draw attention.  He had to walk “briskly with purpose and control” to the second door.  

As he reached it, the door opened revealing another room, but smaller.  This one appeared to be completely empty.  It had multiple benches with various machines all around them.  He stopped just inside the door so it could close behind him.  He tried to take in the complexity of the room, yet the elegant logic placed into it.  His mind, not accustomed to this, just left him blankly staring around.  Perhaps that is the norm for those that enter, because from the ceiling comes a robotic hand, guided by a track running all over the spaces above him.

Still staring around, the arm places a collar and leash around his neck.  Without any warning, the arm pulls him over to a bench.  “Hey now,” he starts, “what’re you doing?”  He digs in his heels to stop this, but it is too late.  He is already at a bench, with the arm dragging him onto it.  The machines quickly surround him, holding his arms, feet, waist, and head in place.  He tries to squirm, but a quick acting tranquilizer rends his body limp, only the machines holding him up. “blihnmnktham,” he mumbles, trying to say something but his drugged mouth will not work right.

He sees his body injected again and again.  It does not feel any different, but if the last one was any indication, he is in trouble.  With his senses dulled, he does not notice that his clothes have been removed.  The machines scan him to fit his new clothes on him.  He sits there patiently, unable to put two thoughts together, let alone attempt to stop this.

Shiny latex gloves with exposed fingers are placed on his hands.  Matching miniskirt with built in panties find their way around him. Latex boots that come just below the knee, all of the same material, are slipped and zipped on him.  A bra with extra wide straps over his shoulders and plenty of empty space for his nonexistent breasts is attached, with a head band displaying two small horns with a tuft of hair and ears on top.

The machines pull away and he stands without thinking.  The drugs have left him mostly able to stand.  Looking down at himself, he could not be more confused.  His entire outfit has a cow print on it: black splotches on a field of white.  His latex boots are uncomfortable, as he has never worn ladies’ shoes before.  The miniskirt covers his rear end and his front end, so except for his non-hourglass waist, you cannot tell he is a man.  The ears on top seem childish, along with the gloves, but the oversized bra makes no sense at all.  “This can’t be part of the plan,” he whispers to himself, “can it?”

Almost like an answer, the door he walked through opens up.  A woman dressed like him enters.  She has all the same attire and accessories, but for one major difference, she completely fills her oversized bra.  He cannot help but stare at them.  They are huge!  With the Breast-Limiting Act passed a few years ago, he (like most men) have resigned themselves to staring at photoshop pics, because there are no big-breasted women anymore.

She walks slowly up to him and grabs his leash.  She says sweetly, “Come on now, follow me.”  And with that, she walks back to the door, leading Willard with her.  He shouldn’t be staring at her, he shouldn’t be following her blindly, but then, he shouldn’t be here in the first place.  His body feels funny all over, like it is moving on the inside in places it should not be.  Not really sure what he “should” be doing, he follows her lead and walks slowly out the door into the main room.

He is not really sure how far he walks.  In fact, he does not even notice walking.  It just seems like a natural pace for him, like she knows how to lead him perfectly.  She slows slightly, inserting his leash into a hole in the wall, and continues walking.  He starts to follow her down the hall, but then the leash tightens, pulling him into the wall.  Without thinking he stands there, staring at nothing, thinking how he is starting to feel uncomfortable in his own body (which seems like an odd thought to have, he ponders).

The head set slips over his ears comfortably.  The soft sounds within seem to drift into his head without any obstacle.  He finds his head rolling from side to side as it finds this new beat soothing.  He starts to smile lazily at he finds his will slipping into peaceful thoughts.  But something starts to stir in his thoughts, that he cannot seem to find a place for it.  He thinks he might should resist this, but then it all finds a comfortable spot in his head.

He continues to enjoy the sounds, smiling, rolling his head.  The headset leaves without him noticing, as his leash is released into the hand of the same woman as before.  “Come on, now, baby,” she playful pats him on the butt cheek.  He turns around and follows her, “that’s a good girl.”  The next room has more sounds of movement, but no real talking.  He follows her to a desk, with a heavy-set man sitting behind it.

He rises slowly, like it takes some effort.  Looking at his tablet, he touches the screen and looks at Willard.  Putting out both his hands, he feels Willard’s ears then under his chin.  He makes a click on the tablet.  Pulling Willard’s hands up, he feels those, turning them over, adding another click to the tablet.  He takes time to feel Willard’s butt, making a slight moaning sound but adding no click to the tablet.  He rubs Willard’s shoulders and elbows then knees and ankles, clicking his tablet each time.

Nearing the end of his exam, he lifts Willard’s miniskirt, his panties obviously bulging.  Willard has a distant thought that maybe he is in trouble here, but his mind does not allow anything but peaceful, lazy thoughts to surface.  The man takes little notice, as he clicks “hybrid” on the tablet.  He drops Willard’s miniskirt and taps a few things out on the tablet.  Setting it down, he looks into Willard’s eyes and says, “Now my beauty, time to sing for me.”  Willard waits patiently, smiling without a care in the world.  The man says simply, “1723.”  Deep within him, a feeling erupts that he cannot control, like something inside him just has to come out.  Forgetting anything he ever was, Willard moos loudly and boldly.  He just smiles broadly afterwards.

The man nods from this, as Willard breathes heavily.  Reaching back onto the desk, he grabs a small device.  Walking around behind Willard, he lifts the skirt again and pulls the panties aside.  Without any fanfare, he puts the device high on Willard’s butt cheek.  With a small click, he removes it to leave a ‘1723’ stamped on him.  Returning the panties and skirt, the man turns the device over and brings it to Willard’s ear.  With another click, he is tagged with a small black dot earring.  The man adds another to the other ear for looks, but only one is needed for tracking.  The man sits back down, tapping his tablet again.  Looking at the map, a bright green dot starts flashing near him.  Tapping the dot, it displays in green ‘1723’.  Willard seems to take no notice of this whole operation, as he looks around the room with nothing else to do.

Waving his hand, he says softly, “86.”  He hears the usual ‘moo’ from the woman off to one side holding a leash.  “Take her in with the rest of the herd.”  She walks ahead, “come baby, let’s go.”  Willard follows the gentle tugging.  As they both pass the desk, the man slaps them both on the butt.  86 stumbles into a slight trot, which 1723 follows as well.  Within a few steps, they return to their lazy walk, leaving the man to his desk.

He has not come to expect anything crazier than the last thing, because none of this has ever happened to him before.  So, when she leads him into a giant cafeteria, it did not seem strange.  In fact, Willard could feel his mouth watering.  I was not that hungry, but all of sudden, mmmmm, that sounds so good.  86 leads him up to the line of ladies in front of him waiting to eat.  Each one is wearing the same thing he has on.  In fact, everyone eating in here looks alike.  They have the miniskirts, boots, gloves, and those larger-than-life breasts, which he seems to not have (whew!).  Willard cannot help but stare and smile.  She stops at the end of the line and removes his leash. “Ok baby, follow the other girls and get some food.”  She smiles peacefully at him then walks back.  He nods to her and turns to wait his turn.  The line moves quickly as they step up to receive a tray with many places for food on it.

He slides down the line having it filled by many robotic hands and tubes.  The ladies in front do not say much, as neither do the ones that come in behind him.  They all wear the same outfits, but each looks unique in the face, so I guess I look the same as before, he surmises.  At the end of the line, he grabs the tray like the ones in front of him and walks to a series of tables and benches that fill the room.  He can hear quiet conversations but cannot really make out any words.

Sitting down at the nearest empty table, he is quickly joined by 3 other ladies.  He watches them all sit and begin to eat their food with complete satisfaction.  They do not eat in a hurry, but it is obvious they are there for one purpose.  He has no idea what this goop is, but he begins eating it with the extra large spoon on his tray.  

Hmmm, he ponders, this stuff is not too bad.  It is like oatmeal but with odd flavors.  Trying to place it, the lady across from him says, “The carrots are much better today.”  Before Willard could acknowledge that, the lady next to him replies, “Yes, best I have had today.”  He nods, looking down at his tray.  He sees multi-colored goop and oatmeal and sauces, but none look orange like carrots.  Before he can say anything, they begin another topic on food.

He continues to eat while they discuss food, food, and more food.  In fact, for the whole time they are eating, they only discuss food.  It is always positive and always about getting more and how the texture is different in each.  Willard is a dull person, but he never took that much interest in food.  

As each lady finishes, they grab their tray and rise.  They slowly walk over to a window and drop it off.  The robot must thank them by number, as each one moos proudly as they leave.  As Willard wonders about that, another lady sits down to replace the last one that got up.  Within a few moments, he is surrounded by a whole new set of them.  Curious about the conversation, he lingers briefly as he finishes up.  The conversation starts on food and continues the entire time until he can no longer hear them as he walks away.

He steps to the window and puts his tray down.  As he suspected, the robot from behind the counter removes the tray and states, “Thank you, 1723.”  He moos proudly and turns to walk out the same door all the others have.  He takes a quick glance around the room, seeing the “herd” eating, eating, and eating.  Such an efficient way on doing it, he thinks, no problems, no issues, and honestly, he burps silently, not bad.

The hallway is well lit with smooth walls.  The only sounds are the clunking of the heels of the boots of the ladies in front of him.  As he gets closer to some in front of him, he can also hear the slight squeaking of their latex or PVC outfits.  Trying to not seem like he is lost, he continues to follow all of them in front of him.  They say nothing, but he can occasionally hear some soft sounds from them.  Not really sure what it is, but it could just be mumbling.  

The ‘herd’ keep walking forward towards the broad doors that appear in front of them.  Not knowing what waits but emboldened by the group around him, he plunges into the light with them.  What he sees (again) is not expected.  It appears they all walked out onto a mall.  It looks 3 stories high, with shops and walkways all around it.  The noise is much louder here, as people are walking about.  They are talking of normal business things, normal life things, and seem to be normal people.  

Willard stops to take it all in.  The hustle and bustle seems so foreign after spending a day at work in quiet and then some non-disclosed time back with the others.  He just looks around at the people and stores and watches them all move around him, like he is not even there.  He turns enough to see the doors he just came out.  Posted in clear print, he reads to himself: Do not enter: She-cows only.  He then whispers the word that he had on his tongue this whole time but could not voice it: “She-cow.”  With more confidence, he says, “I’m a she-cow.”  

The voice behind him replies sweetly, “Yes, you are deary, but could you move over some, please?”  Willard turns around to an elderly couple weighted down with bags.  Again, they seem like normal people, like they are here shopping for the day.  Without thinking, he bows his head and backs out of their line of apparent motion.  They continue walking on, with the lady reaching out to “pet” Willard’s arm.  For whatever reason, the eyes or voice or the touch, Willard gets all warm and fuzzy from the encounter.

Trying to look natural, he starts walking with the crowd.  At this point, he notices more about himself.  First of all, he is swaying his hips way more now than ever before when he walks.  But whenever he tries to stop it or control it, he stops walking.  It is like he cannot walk without swaying.  The good news though is that the boots feel much better now, and he thinks they might be designed to match the way he walks now.  

When he looks down, he does not see his gut from all the hours at his desk and on the couch.  It is gone.  He has a flat stomach, slimming waist (hourglass shape?), like a woman would have: and not just any woman, a woman in good shape.  His arms and hands are now hairless, so there is nothing showing that makes him look masculine at all.  

Speaking of looks, I wonder if I look different now.  Seeing a mirror in one of the stores, he turns to walk in it.  As he starts to walk across the ribbed carpet, his boots seem to lose their footing.  Starting to stumble, he stops and backs up.  Not seeing anything but the rug, he tries it again.  Again, his boots will not make a firm step on it.  Backing up again, he starts to make a run at it.  Before he goes forward, he feels a tug on his choker collar.  With the sound of a click, he looks around to see a uniformed officer facing him.

The officer takes a device and scans his earring.  Making a tap on his screen, he roughly pulls the leash, causing Willard to stumble behind him.  He walks quicker than Willard is used to, so he sways and stumbles his way behind him.  Willard says, “Uh sir, what is going…” The officer turns around and slaps something on Willard’s mouth, the hard plastic u-shape fills the space between Willard’s teeth.  The outside sticks out like a mouth piece of some kind.  With his jaw stuck open but the space inbetween filled, he cannot talk.  “Shut up, Bessie.  No cows in stores. No cows talking in public.”  Willard tries to process that as he is roughly lead back down the street.  More people are watching now, as he follows the officer back to the She-cow area.

When they arrive, he walks Willard over to a wall of rings, where other cows are standing at attention, facing the wall.  Jerking him to the wall, the officer grabs a ring off the wall.  It has a small cable attached to it.  It is not completely whole, as it is missing a small part of it.  The gold color makes it look like a…oh wait, is that a nose ring?  Willard can only watch as the officer clips it onto Willard’s nose.  Any thoughts he had were wiped, as the brainwave scrambler puts all conscious thought to rest.  Willard stands facing the wall like the other She-cows.  He is the only muzzled one, but none of them notice as they blankly stare at nothing.  The officer unclips the leash and walks away.

Coming out of the fog from a scrambler is like being in a deep, deep sleep and someone trying to wake you up.  It is hard to process anything, and you just go with the flow until your brain kicks back in.  Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. That sound seems familiar. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Oh right, the boots.  Willard starts to sense the world again, as the She-cows press all around him.  Each one is pushed tightly against another, as they slowly move down the hallway.  There seems to be little order here, as they all just push one another gently down the narrowing hallway.

While time has no meaning, Willard can sense two things very acutely.  One, he is very hungry again.  When was the last time I ate?  And two, his chest feels so heavy right now.  It is like he is carrying a heavy weight around his neck.  He tries to pull his hands up to his chest, but they are locked against the She-cows around him.  The soft sounds of the mumbling they all do, coupled with the clunking of the boots, make it all seem eerie.  No one is panicking, and they all seem to be at peace with their predicament.  All he can do is look down to see if he can see anything.

Willard’s mouth would drop open if he wasn’t still muzzled.  Forgetting about it, he moans softly as he looks down.  Just inches from his face are the largest set of breasts he has ever seen in person.  They are two mountains of curved, soft, feminine flesh.  He tears his eyes away to see which She-cow is pressed so tightly to him that all he can see is her…wait a second, he thinks, we are all facing the same way.  Gulping loudly, even with the muzzle, his stomach does a flip.  Oh no, his heart skipping a beat, those are attached to me!  

The next few minutes just float on by, as Willard’s mind is at its wits end.  He cannot even begin to put all this together right now.  He just mindlessly follows the “herd” through the narrowing hallway.  He clunks along with the other She-cows.  He moans softly in tune with them.  What happened to me?

Eventually, it becomes single-file, each She-cow entering one-at-a-time to the opening.  As they enter, they are directed to one of 5 pathways by what could only be termed as a “cowboy.”  The man looks to be well over 6 feet tall.  His leathered vest, chaps, boots, and hat make him the spitting image of every cowboy picture or movie Willard had ever seen.  He even had on blue jeans (I think that is what they are called).  The man had a lasso coiled in one hand that he used to turn She-cows to each pathway.  Willard, still staring at him, feels the rough lasso on his left arm, directing him to one of the stalls on the right.  Without any other communication, the cowboy goes back to his duties, with Willard clunking away.

He sees the She-cow in front of him stop and careful place one foot, then another on a conveyor belt.  Her boots lock into the clamps on the bottom and her hands slowly glide along the hand rails.  She stands in place as she rolls with the machines away from Willard on a moving sidewalk of sorts.  Learning from before, he tries to follow her lead.  Stepping with his left, then his right, he feels his boots lock into their position with a clank of metal.  His hands at his sides fit around the railing that slowly glides past him.

Looking around, he sees a complicated factory of tubes and robotic arms with endless lines of She-cows moving through it.  His wrists tug at him, so he looks down.  At some point, he has been, for lack of a better word, hand-cuffed to both railings.  The railings are now lowering, causing him to bend over.  The boot restraints are spread apart enough and thick enough that he cannot really bend his knees.  Within moments, he is bent in half, facing the conveyor belt below him.

Still unsure of what is happening, he finds this position causes his new breasts to slip out of their bra.  Embarrassed, he tries to push them back in, but his hands are still attached to the railing at the wrist.  He then finds himself staring at them just jiggling and bouncing beneath him. They look so big and round and playful and what is that?

He now sees two tubes coming from each side of him.  They move up and down and stop under his giant nipples.  Without any warning, they rise up and attach themselves to him.  They must be ultra sensitive, because Willard jerks back in pain.  He cannot move anywhere, so they continue to press up on him.  Tears come to his eyes as they begin to pinch him roughly.  The pain becomes almost unbearable when suddenly it lessens considerably.  In fact, it starts feeling good.

Opening his eyes, he is met with another sight he never in a million years thought he would see.  Like some strange barnyard animal, Willard was being milked.  The tubes continue to suck out the pressurized milk in him.  Each second, he could feel a greater and greater relief.  He even noticed them shrinking in size with each minute he was attached.  Willard would moo if he could, but all he can do is moan loudly.

With no concept of time, but it could not have been long, the tubes are removed.  Willard is raised back up by the railings.  The handcuffs are removed somehow (missed that again) and the end of the line is close by.  He sees She-cows swaying out of the room ahead, their breasts considerably smaller.  He takes a quick glance at his and they easily fit in his bra.  In fact, the material nearly covers them now in a much more modest way.  Interesting, he thinks to himself.  With a clank on his foot, he steps onto the floor and follows his fellow She-cows out.  What a day this has been, he smiles to himself.

Within a few moments, he recognizes his surroundings: he is back in the cafeteria.  Having been here before, he falls in line with the others.  Waiting and scooting patiently, he works his way down the line, getting his tray of “food.”  Like before, he is joined at the table with 3 other She-Cows.  He grabs his food to eat, only to realize he cannot.  Uh oh, he thinks, I’m still muzzled.  Looking around the table, none of the others have noticed, so they keep eating.  Sitting up straighter, he looks around the room for help.  He scans the cafeteria filled with the organized chaos of feeding She-Cows.  A rather short, portly man is walking nearby.  He is dressed like a cowboy, like the other man in the milking area.  Before he can stand, he makes eye-contact with him and holds up his hand, as if to say: I’m coming.

He saunters over and pulls out a tag reader.  Tugging Willard’s cheek slightly, he scans the ear ring tag.  He hears a beep then says, “Hmmm, you have been a naughty bovine, haven’t you.”  Willard just looks up at him, wondering how he can answer.  The cowboy looks back down at Willard oddly.  “Ok,” he starts, “I think you may need a little more training.”  He punches a few things on his device, then scans Willard’s ear tag again.  “There we go,” he says proudly, “Got you set-up.”  Still not sure how to react, he grunts softly.

The cowboy puts his device away, and takes out another one.  Holding it up to Willard’s mouth, he steadies his chin.  Pushing the device inside the muzzle, it shrinks enough so he can pull it out.  Willard smacks his lips and exercises his jaw.  The cowboy puts the muzzle and remover back into his belt compartments.  “You just enjoy your vittles, darling, and someone will come take care of you later.”  Willard nods, “Thank you.”  The cowboy tips his hat and walks away.  Without another thought, Willard dives into his food, starved like never before.

The meal ends as it should, with him mooing at the cleaning robot.  What a day, he thinks, it is all like some kind of dream.  He obediently follows the cows in front of him as they are herded into another factory room.  As he takes in the machines and sounds, he feels arms on him.  Looking down, metal arms with plastic hands work to remove his clothes.  Not objecting to this, he lets it strip him.  The arms return with a curious sight.  The pants that he sees are similar in color to the ones he lost, but they are softer, more like silk than latex or PVC.  The foot area is what concerns him, as they are shaped like the hoof of a cow.

Not sure how to react, he tries to step back, but has to regain his balance as the plastic hands lift and push his left foot into the pants leg.  His foot slides easily into the leg, feeling very good on his skin.  He can’t help but smile.  His toes and foot are arched like a ballerina when they reach the “foot” area.  The material down in that area is harder and more like plastic.

As the hands reach for his right foot, he balances on his “hoof”.  Certain he would fall, he finds the wider base stable, even though his toes are useless.  Before he realizes it, the other foot is now a “hoof” and he has cow pants on.  Rubbing his legs with his hands, he can feel the silky material hold tightly to him.  His unit seems out of place, as it bulges the front of them, but as a hybrid, he knows it is safe.

Even so, the injection he received below the belt is surprising.  The pain is gone just before he can yelp.  The feeling though lasts longer than he would have liked.  The pressure of his pants becomes less as his unit shrinks before his eyes.  The shock on his face cannot be hidden as he watches it become less than half its size.  What did they do?  He wonders.

As he stares, his shirt is placed on him.  Threading his hands in the sleeves, the same material greets him.  Having not looked at it previously, he does not notice the modified gloves until too late.  His hands are forces into a point, extended out.  Looking at them, he sees another set of hooves where his hands were.  Oh no, he frets, I can’t do anything with these.  Messing with his new hooves, he notices the shirt covers down to his pants but does not connect.  His breasts are covered completely now, but this material provides no support.  “The good news,” he chuckles, “I was just milked so I don’t need much support.”  I really can’t believe I just said that and was serious, he thinks.

His long hair is tucked into the hood of the shirt, with too small floppy ears on either side.  Trying to mess with the hood, he can’t seem to do anything with those hooves.  Distracted, the pain in his lower back shocks him.  He feels what could only be described as a needle in his lower back, at the base of his spine.  He feels his spinal column bend over, forcing him onto all fours.  The pain stops soon after, leaving him looking more like a cow than he would like.  Trying to stand up straight, he finds that he can’t.  Looking between his legs, he sees a long thin tail with a tuft at the end coming from above his rear end.  How about that, he looks in disbelief, I really am a cow.

He feels the familiar cattle prod on his butt, so he slowly walks on four hooves out of the “stall.”  It just seems so weird to be doing this.  The only way to describe his motion, Willard thinks, is lumbering.  As he nears the door, one of the technicians pets him on the head and rubs his back.  Oh, that was nice, he thinks cheerfully.  The tech states his number, so he immediately replies with a loud “moo.”  The tech gives him a playful whack on the butt, and Willard trots awkwardly out the door into the light.

What greets him is beyond what he ever thought possible: a giant green field of grass and flowers with nothing but blue sky and white clouds above.  The air smells so sweet, as he meanders into the field with the other cows.  All of them on all fours, mooing softly and happily to each other, they wander around the field.  He bumps into some as he walks unsteadily.  They usually “moo” back or nuzzle each other…no animosity here.

As he walks closer to a flower, it looks like a dollop of cool whip on it.  He gets closer to it examining it.  The smell overcomes him, so he licks it.  The sweet taste of sugar explodes in his mouth.  MMM, he says loudly, taking another lick.  Within seconds it is gone and he moves onto another.  If he were to look around, he would see them all doing that.  Every cow licking and eating their flower treats.  This is so gooood, he thinks, I could eat…this all…night.  He moos sleepily.  Maybe, he starts, stumbling to his knees, I better rest…first.  

And with that, Willard collapses into a deep sleep in the meadow.  As we pan the field, we see all the cows have fallen into a peaceful, deep sleep.  It almost makes you want to stay and catch a few winks, too.

When Willard awakes, he tries to get up but can’t.  It is at this point he realizes his surroundings: the blue sky, green meadow, herd of cows – wait, herd of cows?  Willard looks around at the scene and feels completely at home yet confused at the same time.  Eventually, the events of yesterday catch up with him and he stands slowly.  Still confined on all fours by his tail, he lumbers along the field.  He is not sure why, but he has the desire to walk slowly around the field.  He finds his stability is off considerably, as his breasts are enormous at this point.  They must have grown exponentially over night, and he can feel every bit of it.  Ow, he thinks, they are so heavy and full right now.  Walking around on “hooves” and jiggling like this hurts.

He sees one of the She-cows heading out the door on the other side, so he figures it is time to be milked.  As he walks that way, he sees someone walking towards him.  Describing her is not easy, as she looks like a Dutch milk maid from milk commercials he has seen.  She has on a medium blue dress with a white apron.  Her white bonnet with blue trim matches perfectly.  Her shoes are not wooden, but they look like they could be.  She has a pail in one hand and a tablet computer in the other.  As she comes closer, he notices her outfit is shiny.  He can hear her squeak with every walk.  He then feels his unit start to grow and bulge his pants even more when the thought comes out, “Latex.”

Her blue eyes to match, she softly puts her hand around his neck, “Morning, baby. Sleep well?”  Not sure how to answer this strange lady, he simply nods.  “Good!”  She sets down her pail and taps her tablet.  “Well, it seems like you need some more training according to your record yesterday.”  He is worried at that statement, wondering what is in store for him.  As she kneels down next to him, she says softly, “Which is to be expected, right? Willard.”  He cannot contain his surprise and blurts out, “You know who I am?”  She puts her finger to her lips, “SShhh, not so loud. They have mikes in the meadow.”  He looks around suspiciously, but then hangs his head in shame.  “Don’t worry, Willie. That is why I am here.”

She puts the pail under him, slipping the right breast out.  “Now, I am only going to milk you part way.  As part of extended training, you have to be hand milked along with other duties.”  He did not like the sound of that, but the feel of her fondling him made him all the more happy.  “Now,” she said, “Every time I squeeze you, I say key words like: compliance.”  Willard’s brain fires off repeatedly with that one word as she sends some milk into the pail.  His thoughts are soon wrapped around that one word with just a few squeezes.  “Now,” she adds, stopping the milking to just rub him, “In this mode, you have two utters that we use for control.  When you are walking on two feet, they are called breasts.  You have multiple modes, so be aware of them.”

Willard nods and asks the question he had been wanting to ask someone since yesterday, “What am I supposed to be doing?”  She smiles knowingly as she moves the pail to the other utter. “Yes,” she begins, “I am your inside contact. My name is Esther, and you will follow my orders.” As she said orders, she milked him gently. Willard's mind again fired off on that phrase, beginning to lock him into complete obedience.

“Now, here is what you do,” she continues, “You will be a She-Cow, doing everything you are asked to do. Everything you are told to do. In a couple of days, I will bring you a special pair of gloves. Once I have them on you, I will tell you the rest of your mission. Okay?” Willard nods obediently, since unsure of what he was to be doing.

Nodding again, she concludes, “Now, you better go finish getting milked and then it is off to breakfast. Enjoy your day and I will see you tomorrow, Willie.” He smiles back at her, as she turns to go, he feels to desire to walk the other way, following all the She-Cows he had seen earlier today. Mmm, he thinks, a good milking and breakfast do sound good.

The rest of the day goes a lot like the day before. He is fed and milked multiple times throughout the day. Both experiences are quite enjoyable. He has not started to talk during the lunch time, but then he is not really sure what else to say: all they talk about is the food quality and quantity. He got to experience the “bathroom” machine today, which was not pleasant, but at least he knows his manhood is still attached tightly to him and it works fine.

At the end of the day, he is run through the machine that puts his feet and hands into the hoof-shaped legs. He feels the tail being inserted, which forces him to walk on all-fours. The only thing different was the shot that made his manhood shrink up. He was worried about it, at first, but the “toilet” experience fixed his fears.

As he lumbered out into the field, Esther walked up to him before he took his first lick of the “whipped cream” flowers. She does not have her pail with her, but she is dressed in the same outfit as the day before. As she inspects him, she says softly, “Ok, tomorrow, when you are put into the pasture outfit, your front hooves will be equipped with a brain scrambler.” Before he can protest, she continues on, “Don't worry, it will not kill the person, but it will scramble them up for a few days, which is just what we want.”

As she walks around him to check his parts that are hanging down, she adds, “The president of this country wants a fresh glass of milk tomorrow night, and you will be providing it for her. I will give you more details tomorrow, but all you have to do is hold your hooved hands up to her ears at the same time, and the electrical device built into them will do the rest.” Willard nods absently, as he is thinking mostly of sleeping at the moment, but he thinks he has it...maybe.

Stroking his head gently, she comments as she walks away, “You are the best bovine I have ever trained. Such a cutey!” And with that compliment, she walks back to the control room, which sits on the second floor of the pasture room and looks somewhat like an air traffic control tower...right in the middle of a green field.  She is not even in her usual spot in front of a computer screen before he is curled up on the synthetic grass, asleep.

The next day is the same, as is the next. He seemed to think that he had something to do yesterday, but nothing changed, so he kept doing what everybody else did: eat, milk, eat, sleep, eat, milk...wait, did I already say milk? Anyway, Willard was finding a safe comfortable spot in his new home.

When he sees Emma coming out towards him, he trots over to her. She gladly pets him and starts her exam while talking softly. “The gloves were delayed, but I have them now.” She slowly pulls them out of the pail. They look nearly transparent and would easily fit over his hooved hands. “Ok, we are a day behind due to some problems in getting them to me, so tonight will be you night.” Willard nods absently, enjoying the attention and sound of her voice.

“So, it is simple,” she says softly, pulling the hoof covers over his “hands.” She looks him in the eyes, “You put both hooves over her ears and an electrical discharge will scramble her brains enough to let our team take over. We will pull you out after we have control.” Willard continues to nod to her. She kneels in front of him now, “Ok, let's make sure you got it, because this is the reason you are here. We do not want any slip ups. It took us a year to get me in place and nearly as long to get you here.” She leans back a little, saying to herself, “Well, not you exactly, but you know what I mean.”

Willard is just enjoying the show. This absolutely gorgeous woman is spending all her time with him. He has never had a woman spend so much time with him. This is wonderful, simply wonderful. Wait, he thinks, she is saying something again, should I be paying attention?

“...just put her hooves over the ears.” Willard can visualize now what he is to do, so he does it. Holding up his hooves, he puts them over her ears. With little sound and almost no light, the hooves completely discharge into her. Every neuron in her head fires at the same time, her eyes rolling in the back of her head. She slumps to the ground, face first in the ground.

Another milk maid walking by sees this and comes closer. Willard, unsure of what to do or what just happened, backs away slowly. The new milk maid raises her hand and says soothing, “It is okay, dear, just relax, it is okay.” Grabbing Willard gently by the collar, she holds him close, “shhh, it is fine. You don't know what you are supposed to do, do you?” Willard shakes his head, fearful of what might happen. The milk maid smiles warmly, “Well, it is actually a good thing.”

She continues, “As milk maids, we have to check all parts of you she-cow performances. That would also include your mating abilities.” Willard is still confused as she points down at Emma laying on the turf with her butt thrust up into the air. “You see, Emma is wanting you to mount her so that she can check your output capacity.” Willard looks down at her with some worry on his face. The milk maid picks up on that and adds, “And some of the milk maids do not enjoy it, so they take a brief sedative during this part of their job. Emma is just taking a little nap.”

The milk maid looks around and then gets down on all fours, her dress squeaking noisily. “I tell you what,” she says looking over her shoulder, “The she-cow I was checking is still not feeling up to this, and I was actually hoping that she would. I personally enjoy this part of my job.” Willard, still confused, finds his body moving into position behinf her.

“That's it,” she says softly, “Just let your training take over and do what comes natural.” Willard comes behind her and puts his hooved arms down by her side as he rears up a little on his “hind” legs. He can feel his manhood (or whatever it is called now) stretching the material on his pants. He starts to grind her latex covered butt. “Now, don't worry about the dress I am wearing,” she says in giving more instructions, “it has a hidden slit in the back for...oh...uh, yeah, that's...it. Well, you're not very big are you.”

Any other day, Willard would be crushed, but today, he is humping a latex-dressed woman in an open field, and he feels great! He starts to go faster and faster, matching the rhythm started by the milk maid. “Now...uh...as you get...uh...close, you will...uh...lose some mental...uh...power, temporarily making you...uh...more cow-like.” As she finished speaking, he finished. He unloaded into her, mooing very loudly. He did not even wait to finish his load, before he had pulled out and walked away from her. She shakes her butt slightly, then sits up, “Yep, like every other guy in my life...ah well, at least I get paid for this.”

As Willard wonders off, the milk maid calls the tower, “Willie checks out fine, but Emma looks pretty pale.” She leans over to check her pulse and breathing. “We better get her inside, something does not seem right.” The tower operator replies, “I thought I saw a flash of something a few minutes ago...do you think we had a static discharge?” The milk maid shrugs her shoulders after she gets up, “I don't know, but get a medic out here just in case.”

While all this plays out, Willard wonders out into the pasture, awaiting his next milking and feeding. For some reason, he thinks, I am really really hungry all of a sudden.

Epilogue
Emma never fully recovered from the shock, as planned by the engineers, but since it was the wrong person, their country will have to reschedule another takeover. Willard, or Willie as he prefers, enjoys everyday now. He was a wonderful life that could not be any better. He will be called on to fulfill his training in the months ahead, but for now, he is content to eat and be milked every day, just like all his she-cow sisters.