A university student learns that a woman can train her body to produce milk even if she’s never been pregnant. She tries and succeeds, then meets a ‘farmer’ who wants her to roleplay being his human-cow hybrid. Little did either of them realize that it would become much more than just fun and games.
How I Became a Hucow, Part 4 consists of the following chapters:
Chapter 10 – How I Married My Farmer
Chapter 11 – How I Adjusted to Living with my Farmer
Chapter 12 – How My Farmer Gave Me Big, Fat Udders
Chapter 13 – How I Got My Ass Branded
Chapter 10 – How I Married My Farmer
As the summer went on, I became more and more convinced that Kyle was the man I wanted to – no, needed to – spend the rest of my life with. We were completely compatible in every possible way, and I knew there couldn’t be another man on the entire planet who would be as perfect of a match for me.
Probably because of that epiphany, I was finding it more and more difficult to put on my chastity belt when I knew we were going to be alone together. I’d come to loathe that thing. I was regularly giving Kyle head now, and had come to enjoy doing so, not so much for what it did for me, but because of how much he appreciated it. Still, I badly wanted Kyle to bring me to climax as well, and it just wasn’t going to happen with my lady parts imprisoned behind that damned belt.
I knew from my religious upbringing that I couldn’t not wear the thing, especially when I desperately wanted not to. I knew we shouldn’t even be doing what we were doing, and I knew if I didn’t wear it, I’d probably lose all control in the heat of the moment. Part of me was deeply ashamed of my immoral behavior, and part of me didn’t care. Still, though, I didn’t know how long I could go on this way, and I certainly didn’t want to have to.
It occurred to me that I could solve this dilemma by marrying Kyle, and doing it soon. Then we’d be completely free to be as physically intimate as we wanted, with no judgement from God or anyone else. I knew from a practical standpoint it didn’t make any sense. I would still be an undergraduate student for another year. He was going to be a doctoral student for the next four years. I wouldn’t be able to have a big wedding due to the lack of time to make all the necessary arrangements. And Kyle and I hadn’t even known each other for a year yet.
I decided to see what the Bible had to say about this. I found what I was looking for in 1 Corinthians chapter 7. It was almost as if the Apostle Paul was speaking to me personally.
8 Now to the unmarried and the widows I say: It is good for them to stay unmarried, as I do. 9 But if they cannot control themselves, they should marry, for it is better to marry than to burn with passion.
I certainly felt like I was burning with passion and on the verge of being unable to control myself.
36 If anyone is worried that he might not be acting honorably toward the virgin he is engaged to, and if his passions are too strong and he feels he ought to marry, he should do as he wants. He is not sinning. They should get married.
This was obviously directed to a man, but the principle was clear, and it worked both ways. Neither of us could claim that we were acting ‘honorably’ toward each other.
I made up my mind that I needed to talk to Kyle about this. By now it was late in the evening, so I texted him, writing, Hey FK ive been thinking abt something and need 2 talk 2 u tomorrow eve. Luv u!!!, followed by lots of emojis of hearts and red lips and the like so he wouldn’t worry. ‘FK’ was shorthand for Farmer Kyle, of course.
Much to my surprise, he responded saying, Great minds think alike. I was just about to tell u the same thing. Its all good! Luv u more!
This certainly piqued my curiosity. I wondered whether he was really thinking the same thing as me or had something completely unrelated on his mind. He wouldn’t talk about it when we drove to work together the next morning, nor at lunch. He did say he was going to take me out to dinner that evening, though.
That evening, we went to a small, intimate Indian restaurant that I’d never been to nor even heard him mention before. It was a weeknight, so it wasn’t crowded, and Kyle requested a table in an out-of-the-way corner. Once we’d put in our food order, I asked him, “Shall I go first, or do you want to?”
He replied, “I’ll go first. I’ve been giving this matter some serious thought and have come to a conclusion. I know this is going to sound rash and impulsive, and it kind of is.” He paused, apparently for dramatic effect. “I think we should get married, and the sooner the better.” And that was it. He just looked at me waiting for a response.
“Was that supposed to be a proposal?” I asked, confused. “If it was, I hate to say it, but it was probably the lamest one I’ve ever heard of. You didn’t even get down on your knee.”
Kyle looked mortified when I said that. “Oh, no!” he replied. “That wasn’t a proposal. I agree, you deserve a much better effort than that. I was only bringing it up as a topic for discussion.”
I was thrilled that he also wanted to talk about marriage, but I didn’t want him to know that just yet. As difficult as it was, I decided to not show any outward emotion and play hard to get to see where this went. “Okay,” I said. “How soon are we talking about? We’re both still in school, me for at least another year, and you for another four years.”
“I don’t want to wait that long. I’m talking about before summer’s over and we’re back in school.”
I pushed back, but it was all an act. My heart was actually racing upon hearing that. I’d marry this man tomorrow if I could. “You realize that summer is almost already over, don’t you? So what, a quickie courthouse wedding? You’d deny me the big fairy tale wedding I’ve always dreamed of?”
“I don’t want to deny you anything, Ella. We can do both.”
“So what brought this on all of a sudden, anyway?” I asked him, still hiding my emotions.
“I know I want to spend the rest of our lives together, and I promise, I’ll give you a proposal that’s worthy of you. But once I came to that conclusion, I realized that I didn’t want to waste another day not being your husband. I don’t want to spend another night not sharing a bed with you if I don’t have to.”
“Oh, so this is all because you’re horny. I see…” I said, trying to sound skeptical. “Besides, do hucows even get to share a bed with their farmers, or do they have to sleep in the barn?”
“Actually, yeah, it is because I’m horny,” he replied. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to take a hacksaw to that chastity belt of yours? And the only reason you wear it is because we don’t have a piece of paper that says we’re married. It seems to me that’s an easy thing to fix. And yeah, good hucows get bed privileges. The question is, can you be good?” he asked with a smile.
I didn’t respond to that last question. I didn’t want this conversation to go off on a tangent. Kyle paused and frowned, and then said, “I get the impression that you’re not going to go along with this. I understand. It was an impulsive suggestion. Forget I even brought it up.” He looked utterly dejected, and I felt bad that I was playing games with him.
“May I say what I wanted to talk to you about now?” I asked him, still not showing any emotion.
“Yeah,” he said without enthusiasm. “Sorry; I forgot you had something on your mind, too. Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” I replied, and I looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve come to the realization, Kyle Day, that I will never find anyone as perfect for me as you are, as long as I live. That being the case, I’ve also come to the realization that there’s no benefit to waiting to make a permanent commitment to you. It would be stupid to wait; it would just mean less time being your forever wife and forever hucow. So I just wanted to put that out there for you to consider.”
Kyle just looked at me in disbelief as he tried to process what I’d said. “Wait, how is that any different than what I just said?”
“It’s not,” I replied with a smile. “And just so you know, I hate that damned chastity belt with a passion, even more than you do.”
“So why were you giving me such a hard time just now, when we both want the same thing?” he asked, still confused.
“I don’t know, really,” I replied honestly. “I guess because you weren’t being very romantic about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. I’m all in!” I said with enthusiasm.
It was only after I said that that he broke into a huge grin, came around to my side of the table, and got down on his knees so he could hug me and kiss me while I was still seated. It was a long embrace and a passionate kiss.
Then, before he got up, I said to him, “You know, while you’re down there, you could take care of the next order of business,” as I smiled at him playfully.
He understood my meaning. “But I don’t have a ring!” he protested. “I wasn’t prepared to do this tonight!”
“Do the words ‘strike while the iron is hot’ mean anything to you, Kyle?” I asked. “A ring isn’t going to make me love you any more.”
He got my point, and I could see he was trying to compose himself. He then took my hands in his and looked me straight in the eyes. I could already feel a lump forming in my throat and my eyes starting to water. “Ella, I’ve never been so sure of something as I am of this: My life is so much better with you in it, and I want nothing more than for that to be permanent. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed as I excitedly leaned forward to embrace him. I did it so quickly that he almost fell backwards and I almost fell on top of him, but we caught ourselves and laughed at the almost-disaster. A few other restaurant patrons nearby heard us, or figured out what was going on and applauded us. Self-conscious, we both smiled and waved in response.
We immediately shifted the conversation to practical considerations. We agreed that we wanted to get married before school resumed and share an apartment. That gave us only a few weeks to do everything. Even for a quickie wedding, there was a whole lot to consider and little time to do it. I pulled out my phone and started a list so we wouldn’t forget anything.
We needed to get a marriage license right away, but first we needed to decide where we would get married, in my county or his. We needed to see whether one of our pastors would marry us on such short notice or whether we needed to go to the courthouse to get married by a judge. We needed to tell our families. We needed to choose a date. We needed to buy wedding rings. We needed to line up two people to be our witnesses. We needed to figure out our living arrangements and notify our roommates. And birth control! I needed to get started on it immediately! After all, the whole point of getting married was so that we could have sex. If that meant I was going to produce less milk, we were just going to have to deal with that. We were both already overwhelmed!
We finished our meal and went back to Kyle’s mother’s house and told her. She was happy for us but concerned that we were rushing into things. She asked if I were pregnant, and we both assured her I was not. I didn’t realize it until later, but I’d have to answer that question a lot over the coming weeks, even more than when people discovered I was lactating.
Next, we called my parents, who reacted very similarly, but were less happy and more concerned. I reminded them that thought it might seem impulsive, I’d spent the summer seeing Kyle for quite a few hours every single day, I knew him well enough to know he was the one, and we saw no reason to wait.
I had to have the conversation with them asking them to continue to pay for my education and living expenses. Kyle wasn’t in a position to support me as well as himself during my final year of undergraduate school, and really, my marital status shouldn’t have anything to do with our mutual understanding that they’d pay for me to get a bachelor’s degree. Fortunately, we saw eye-to-eye on this and it wasn’t an issue.
Discussing our plans further, Kyle and I agreed it made the most sense to get married in his hometown, since we were both there already. His pastor wouldn’t marry us without us getting premarital counseling together, which of course there was no time for. A courthouse wedding it would have to be, which meant we had to do it on a weekday, which meant we both had to miss at least part of a day of work. In my case, I was unpaid, so they couldn’t really say no. In Kyle’s case, he would have to talk to Mr. Meyer about it. We decided the Meyers should be our witnesses, and Mr. Meyer told Kyle he could have a half day off if he worked an extra hour the other four days of that week.
Anyway, it was a frantic couple of weeks, but we managed to pull it off. My parents and little brother Liam drove up for the occasion. Kyle’s older sister Chelsea was in residency training to be an Ob/Gyn but was able to finagle a few hours off to attend. We got married on a Friday afternoon so that we’d have the weekend for a mini honeymoon, which amounted to a two-night stay in an elegant hotel. Really, though, we never saw much of the hotel beyond our room.
Sex was clumsier and more awkward than I thought it would be, at least the first few times. With some trial-and-error and some practice, though, we gradually got better at it, and before the weekend was over, I experienced my first orgasm while having normal sex the way God intended. It was such an emotional experience for me to be able to experience that with my husband!
My roommates were pissed that I was going to bail on them on such short notice. When we left for summer break, we’d all agreed to room together for another year. We each had separate leases, which meant they weren’t out any money because of me. I simply wouldn’t renew mine, and it would be the landlord’s problem. But that meant he could lease my room to anyone, at least any woman, if my roommates didn’t find someone on their own first. I apologized profusely, but there was nothing else I could do.
Kyle’s roommate situation was a little different. He had just one roommate, and they had a shared lease, which was also up for renewal. Kyle wanted us to have a two-bedroom apartment, so that we could turn the second bedroom into a hucow barn. Kyle let him know that he wouldn’t be renewing with him, and that one or the other of them would need to move out. The easiest thing for us would be if his roommate moved out, allowing Kyle to keep the apartment. Fortunately, he was willing to that, as he had a girlfriend he wanted to move in with, and the two of them didn’t need a two-bedroom apartment. He agreed on the condition that we help him move out. It made for a busy weekend, moving the roommate out and then moving me in.
Chapter 11 – How I Adjusted to Living with my Farmer
Needless to say, while Kyle and I had each had roommates, neither of us had cohabitated with a romantic partner before, and so there was a lot to get used to. With roommates, we each had our own private spaces, and the default was that we each did our thing independently of the others, despite sharing some living space with them. We each bought and prepared our own food, for example, except occasionally when we’d plan to do something as a group.
Now, Kyle and I were husband and wife, and to some extent, Dom and sub, though we hadn’t formally and explicitly assumed those roles. But the mutual expectation was that as a married couple we did things together by default. We shared the entire living space in the apartment, especially the bedroom and bathroom. We wanted to have shared meals together whenever we could. We wanted to share responsibilities for maintaining our household as well as our relationship. We just had to figure out how we would do that in practice, especially considering that we were both students and Kyle also had a job of sorts as a research assistant.
It really took some mental adjustment on both of our parts to get used to the idea of sharing a bedroom with a member of the opposite sex. Not mental adjustment sharing a bed – that part was great. Rather, not having our own private space that we could do with as we pleased. Neither of us had shared a bedroom with anyone before, excluding the couple of years we each lived in college dorms. Even in the dorm room, though, Hailey and I could each decorate our respective halves of the room however we saw fit.
But I’d moved into Kyle’s apartment and now shared his bedroom, and it all felt very masculine, which made me feel like it was his space and not mine. He’d moved up from putting posters of athletes and bands and video game characters on the wall with pushpins, to now having framed posters of game animals and old Broncos, but it still looked like a mancave. In all fairness, however, if we’d moved into my apartment, the bedroom decor would’ve been just as gender-specific.
It seemed to me that the obvious theme for our shared bedroom should be Holstein cows, which are the black and white kind and the most common breed of dairy cows. Kyle could hardly argue with my logic, and gave his blessing. I assumed the task of trying to find actual art depicting these cows, whether out in a field or in a barn or whatever. It took a while, but I think the end result was tasteful and worth the trouble.
Kyle and his roommate hadn’t even bothered trying to decorate the common areas of the apartment. Kyle and I agreed that those rooms should be cow-free, well, except for me, of course. We didn’t want to have to explain our mutual preoccupation with cattle to strangers or mere acquaintances. For the time being, I just put up some random paintings that had come bundled with some of the cow art we used in the bedroom.
I made it clear that I couldn’t be the only one doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry and whatnot, not by making any ultimatums or demands, but rather by appealing to Kyle’s sense of fairness. Fortunately, he was, and is, an enlightened man, and realized he needed to carry his share of the burden. It turned out that Kyle was a better cook than me, and enjoyed it more, and so more often than not he took on that role. We agreed that whenever practical, the one who didn’t cook would clean up afterwards, and so I usually assumed that task. We each mostly did our own laundry, but gradually began including the other’s clothes when we did our own.
Even though we didn’t actually discuss it, our physical relationship became very Dom/sub from the get go. Kyle asked me to always wear my hairband whenever we were home together, which I did. He bought me clothes that showed plenty of cleavage, midriff, and thigh, and asked me to wear those as well, which I also did. He would come up to me and start kissing me or feeling me up, or more often than not, both. While he was doing that he’d simultaneously start undressing me, and then he’d do me right there, wherever it happened to be. Or, he’d pull me down to my knees as he unfastened his pants. I quickly learned to keep a hair tie somewhere on my person at all times.
I know most women would resent being treated like that, and many of them would physically resist or lay down the law or whatever else they had to do to send the message that such behavior was not appreciated and would not be tolerated, even from their husbands. But I loved every minute of it. Besides loving the sex just like any newlywed, I loved that he thought he could help himself to me whenever he felt like it, and then did so. I loved that he didn’t ask or act like I had a choice. It made me felt so desired. I considered it a privilege to be the one to keep him sexually satisfied.
Over time, he introduced new techniques and props to his repertoire. He’d have me wear a leather collar with a big metal ring hanging from it, and would lead me to the barn or the bed by pulling the ring or something he attached to the ring like a leash or chain. He’d put me in restraints, for example, coming up behind me and grabbing my wrists and cuffing them behind my back, or chaining me to something in the barn.
He especially liked to hook up the breast pumps and pump me dry while I was restrained, just like an uncooperative cow, and he knew to follow the milk bank’s rules for hygiene and sanitation when he did. He’d lube up and come in the back door, often after first putting a vibrator in the front door. Almost always, though, he made sure that I also climaxed doing whatever we were doing, and I very much appreciated that. He was actually gentile and considerate, especially when I was helpless.
Kyle was otherwise very mindful not to touch my boobs and get them leaking, unless I’d just finished pumping them dry or he actually wanted milk. In the latter case, he’d give me something to catch the drips from the boob he wasn’t sucking on. He knew how much I valued providing my milk to those tiny newborns and didn’t want to waste any. I didn’t mind letting him have some, but I didn’t want it spraying all over the place and be wasted, and he respected that.
Often he’d want to suck on them after I’d pumped. He explained that doing that would trick my body into thinking my baby wasn’t getting enough and make it produce more. Whether that was the cause or not, my output slowly but steadily continued to increase.
Later I learned the term for being always sexually available to your partner is called ‘free use’. I was Kyle’s free use submissive hucow wife, not because he made me, not because he coerced me, but because I wanted to be.
Chapter 12 – How My Farmer Gave Me Big, Fat Udders
Kyle and I both wanted me to have huge udders, at least big enough that I could reach my teats with my mouth and could suck my own milk out. Mr. Meyer had a hormone that would do that, but I couldn’t in good conscience take those while donating my milk, and helping those poor little newborns had become very important to me.
For the sake of the babies, it was strictly against the milk bank’s rules to donate during or after taking any drugs, supplements, hormones, etc. that weren’t on their approved list without clearing it with them first. I obviously couldn’t tell them about Mr. Meyer’s illegal hormones. Whether I could get away with not telling them was beside the point. We had to find a way to do it naturally.
Kyle made a more conscious effort to try to fatten me up in general, working on the assumption that at least some of it would go to my boobs. But he also got the idea to try to increase their capacity by not letting me pump them or express them when they were full. He knew that when they got to a certain point, I’d become desperate to relieve the pressure, and if I couldn’t pump them, I’d take matters into my own hands, literally. If I had to stand over a sink and squeeze the milk out by hand, I’d do that.
So one late one Friday afternoon after we’d gotten home, he announced that we would be having a high protocol RP session all weekend and told me to get into my full hucow costume, minus anything that covered my boobs, pussy, or ass, and report to the indoor barn when I was ready. I was excited to see what he had planned and quickly went and did so.
When I got to the barn, he was already there, dressed in his farmer costume and wearing a mischievous expression. He then said to me, “This weekend, Ellie Moo, you’re not going to lactate until I’m good and ready to milk you. You’re not allowed to pump, or squeeze your boobs or pull on your nipples or do anything else that’ll start the milk flowing.
“But I know what a naughty cow you can be, and that you’re going to have a hard time obeying me. Therefore, I’m going to have to keep you in restraints, so that you have no choice. Turn around and put your arms behind your back.” I complied, and he cuffed my left wrist to my right elbow and vice versa. “Now turn back around and face me.” Again, I did as he asked.
Kyle went to the closet and pulled out some kind of strange rack made of metal tubing that I’d never seen before. It was box-shaped, but open on one of the long sides, and with one of the ends longer than the other. He put the long end over my head so that the tubing was resting on my shoulders and the box was in front of me. He used some additional tubing he had and put it horizontally behind me and padlocked each end to a side of the box. Now my boobs were enclosed in a cage that protruded much further in front of me and to the sides than seemed necessary. The tubing was far enough apart that you could reach in with your hand, but mine were now cuffed behind my back.
“This is to keep you from being able to press them against anything to get them started,” he explained. “Now, when were you planning to pump next, Ellie Moo?”
“Actually, I was going to do it now, before you intercepted me. They’re already pretty full.”
“Good. Let’s see how long you can go before they start leaking on their own. Let me know when that starts happening. For now, you’re free to roam the apartment and do what you want. I’ve set some towels on some of the chairs; please use those if you want to sit.”
“I’ll try to be a good cow, Farmer Kyle,” I said to him.
“I know you’ll try for a while, but all of this is necessary for when you stop trying.”
There wasn’t much I could do with my hands cuffed behind me and my boobs in a cage, so I just went to the living room and sat on the sofa. Kyle proceeded to make us a lactation-friendly dinner, and then he called me to the kitchen table where he hand-fed me. He encouraged me to overeat and praised me for each additional bite I took after I said I was full. The experience was sensual and arousing.
My boobs were getting uncomfortably full now, but I knew Kyle wasn’t going to do anything about it anytime soon, so I returned to the sofa and watched him play video games for a couple of hours. Kyle paused the game to use the bathroom, and by then my udders felt like they were about to explode. I took advantage of the solitude to test my boob cage. I stood and twisted my upper body from side to side, seeing if they’d smack the sides of the cage. They didn’t. I got down on my knees and bent forward so I was lying on top of the cage, but my teats didn’t reach the floor. I rocked forward and backward, to see if I could get them to hit top of the cage. No dice. The cage worked exactly as Kyle designed it.
Kyle returned while I was still down on the floor trying to find a way to get my milk to start releasing. “I knew you were going to be a naughty cow, Ellie Moo, and you didn’t disappoint. Now, I’ll have to punish you. Get up off the floor and return to the barn.”
I should explain the barn. It’s a second bedroom in a rented apartment, so we couldn’t make any permanent changes to it or do anything that would damage the walls or the carpet, but we wanted it to have that rustic dairy barn feel to it. Kyle had covered the carpet with thin plywood, and then covered the plywood with wooden planks. He assembled a frame using 4x4 lumber inside the perimeter of the room to provide attachment points, and made a low wall inside the room that I could see over while on my hands and knees. He hung lengths of burlap from the top of the frame to simulate wooden walls.
I returned to the barn as ordered. He thoughtfully fastened knee pads on me, and then he continued. “Since you like being down on the floor so much, return to the position you were just in.” I kneeled down, and leaned forward until the front of the cage was flat on the floor. He then chained the cage to the low wall and padlocked it, preventing me from getting back up. Next he attached a spreader bar to my ankles, forcing my legs wide apart, and then he applied lube to a vibrator, inserted it, and turned it on the lowest setting. I knew it would be enough to get me aroused but nothing more.
So now I was on my knees, bent over and resting on my boob cage which was chained to the wall, with my hands cuffed behind my back, my legs spread wide, and a vibrator up my snatch. My udders were painfully full and dangling under me. Probably the slightest touch would now cause milk to stream out, but there was no way to do that, and they continued to fill with even more milk every minute.
“Please milk me, Farmer Kyle,” I asked him as sweetly as I could. “My udders are very full and painful.”
“No, Ellie Moo,” he replied. “You want them to get bigger, don’t you? We need to expand them by leaving them full as long as possible. Besides being bigger, you’ll also be able to go longer between milkings. If they’re too painful, I’ll turn up the vibrator to compensate. But we’re going to wait until they start leaking on their own. You let me know when that happens. Just moo and I’ll hear you.”
The vibrator felt good but mostly left me sexually frustrated. Before long, the pain from my boobs outweighed the pleasure from the vibrator to the point where I couldn’t stand it, but I still wasn’t leaking. “Moooo!” I called out to my farmer.
Kyle returned to the barn. “You’re not dripping yet, Ellie Moo. What’s the matter?”
“Please, please milk me, Farmer Kyle! I’ll be a good cow, I promise!”
“I already explained that to you, Ellie Moo. I’m not going to milk you until you start leaking.”
“Then please turn up the vibrator,” I requested.
Kyle went around behind me and turned it up a notch. “Thank you, Farmer Kyle,” I said.
Under optimal conditions, I might be able to get a weak orgasm from the second speed, but not with my boobs in agony. Still, it helped some. About a half hour later, I mooed for Kyle again and we repeated the process. I managed to barely get a mini-orgasm right after he put the vibrator to position three, but that was all. Another half hour after that, I was about to call him again because of the pain when I saw the first couple of drips of milk. I was almost overwhelmed with emotion knowing I’d finally get some relief. “MOOOOOO!!!” I called.
Kyle came and saw the drips on the floor. “Good girl, Ellie Moo!” he exclaimed. “Now, the only reason why I’m not leaving you this way for a while is because I don’t want your body to think it doesn’t need to produce as much. So, I’m going to pump you completely dry now.” He secured the suction cups to my teats and immediately milk started flowing freely, even before he turned on the pumps. But he turned them on anyway, and then also began massaging and squeezing my udders, making the stream stronger than I’d ever seen it. The lessening pressure on my udders, the massage, and the continuing effect of the vibrator gave me a pretty good orgasm while he was doing that.
“You like that, don’t you Ellie Moo? It feels good being milked, doesn’t it? Really good,” he said, and I readily agreed. Then he turned up the vibrator to position four, the highest setting, and I writhed in ecstasy and had climax after climax as my boobs continued to empty. Finally, as the milk stream began to lessen, he turned off the vibrator and removed it. He then got on his knees and proceeded to bone me from behind, putting his hands on my hips and thrusting. I was so aroused at that point that it sent me into the most satisfying orgasm of the evening as he released his load. I had the presence of mind to moo instead of moan while this was going on, heightening the effect for both of us.
After that, Kyle gently released me from all of the restraints, as he kissed me and caressed me and repeatedly praised me and told me what a good cow I was and how proud he was of me for enduring that. It just melted my heart for him to touch me that way and to hear him say that. Kyle repeated this process for the remainder of the weekend, every time my udders filled up with milk, and again every weekend afterwards when we were both free. He’d change up the details of our roleplay and the restraint devices to keep it interesting. He also made sure I stayed very hydrated and filled with rich, fattening food.
Wouldn’t you know it, my boobs did grow quite a bit from repeatedly doing that, and more and more, I found emptying them of milk to be sexually stimulating. All the while, my milk production steadily increased as well. Before long, I was up to a G cup and could easily suck my own teats. I was now so easily aroused pumping or sucking milk that often I had to consciously stifle orgasms when pumping someplace where I could be overheard, and had to always wear a ball gag in case I couldn’t.
Kyle fattened me up, too; I was now up to a slightly plump 140 pounds [63.5 kg]. He loved looking at my expansive cleavage and watching the tops of my huge boobs jiggle when I moved, even when wearing a bra. Of course, he had plenty of opportunity to do that; they were quite visible when I wore the lowcut tops that he wanted me in when were home together.
Now that I could suck my own teats, usually when he wanted to do so, whether I was either dry or full, he’d work on one while I did the same to the other.
Chapter 13 – How I Got My Ass Branded
I looked into what would be involved with getting branded on the ass with a cattle brand, so that I could be forever marked as Kyle’s hucow. I wanted to be branded, not tattooed, because that’s what they do to cattle.
But I learned you really can’t make a brand both visible and aesthetically pleasing on human skin. On cattle and horses, the brand burns off the hair follicles, and so no hair or fur can grow there, resulting in a contrast of color. But since humans aren’t fur-covered, once the scar heals it’s close to the same color as the undamaged skin around it. The only real difference is the texture. There are things you can do to cause a scar like that to become raised, but to raise it enough to be visibly obvious makes the scars rather ugly, in my opinion.
I didn’t want a tattoo of a cattle brand, either. I thought doing that wouldn’t look like a brand at all; just a cryptic tattoo of an odd shape or letter or two that no one would understand if they saw it. Not that I planned to show off my branded ass, but if I ever did, it would matter to me.
I concluded that I needed to discuss this with Kyle. I filled him in on what I wanted to do, what I’d learned, and what my concerns were.
Kyle mulled it over for a bit, and then said, “I understand what you’re saying about a single-color tattoo. But what if you were to get an artistic, multi-colored, 3D looking tattoo that looked like a fresh cattle brand? I think something like that would really pop!”
“I hadn’t considered that,” I admitted. “That idea has some potential.”
“I have another idea about a tattoo you could get,” Kyle admitted.
“I’m listening,” I replied.
“I was thinking about you getting a tattoo that looks like you have a cow tail. It would sprout out just above your ass crack, would go up to about your waist, and then curve back down onto one of your cheeks. Maybe even down your thigh some. That would be so hot to see while I’m pounding you cow-style.” (What we call ‘cow-style’ is known as ‘doggy-style’ to just about everyone else.)
“Oooh… I like that idea!” I exclaimed. “If I can’t have an actual tail, that would be the next best thing, I think. I want to do both! A tattoo of a brand on my left cheek and a tail on my right cheek. What would you want your brand to look like, Farmer Kyle?”
“I’ve already thought about that. My farm would be called ‘Day Dairy Farm’, and the brand would consist of the letters ‘DD’. The letters would be arranged diagonally and would overlap slightly. At the widest part of each D, there would be a little line protruding on the right. That would make the D’s resemble a pair of boobs with the protruding lines looking like nipples. Plus, the letters ‘DD’ would kind of have a double meaning as well. What’s the first thing you think of when I say ‘double D’?”
I laughed. “Clever,” I remarked. “I like it.”
We talked about it some more and agreed that the tail tattoo should run about halfway down my right thigh below my ass cheek. Wearing a bikini bottom, it would be visible both above and below the fabric. I couldn’t wait to get both tattoos!
The milk bank had rules about donating milk with a recent tattoo or piercing. I would have to use a state-licensed tattoo parlor that used single-use needles and single-use dyes, I couldn’t donate milk produced during the eight days after getting the tattoos, and I would have to pass a fresh blood test before I could resume saving milk to be donated. None of that was a huge deal, but I figured I’d get both tattoos at the same time so I’d only have to go through it once.
Kyle made some digital sketches of roughly what he wanted the tats to look like to show both me and the tattoo artist. I liked them, and the artist said he could work with them and enhance them to show us what the final result would look like. Several days later he sent us his results, and we both thought they looked amazing. It wasn’t going to be a problem for him to use single-use needles and dyes; it would just cost us a bit more.
I worked out with him when to schedule the procedure, and then the tattoo artist asked, “Which tat do you want done first?”
I was confused by his question. “What difference does it make?” I asked back.
“It doesn’t make any difference to me, but the difference to you is that you’re going to go around with only one of these on your butt for a while. So which do you want first?”
“You’re saying I can’t have both done in the same session?” I asked.
“You can, but I’m sure you don’t want to. While it’s healing, you’re not going to be able to sit or lay on it for a while. After a few days, you can start doing so very gingerly and carefully if it doesn’t hurt too much, but you’re going to want to put your weight primarily on the other side. If you get both done at the same time, you won’t be able to put weight on either side. In other words, you won’t be able to sit at all, or lay on your back, for at least a couple of weeks. That includes riding in a car, sitting on the toilet, and so on. I’ve never had a client who’s been able to do that successfully.”
I then understood what he was saying. It hadn’t occurred to either of us that sitting was going to be a problem, but it made perfect sense. I thought about it for a moment. I knew the tail was going to be more of an issue since it was going to go from my waist to halfway down the back of my thigh. I thought it might be better to do that one second, so I didn’t have to put weight on it when I was getting the brand done on the other side. “I’ll do the brand first, then,” I told him.
But Kyle had other ideas. “Not so fast,” he said. “You know, winter break is coming up soon. We’ll have a month off between semesters. That might be the opportune time to get the tail tattoo. The downside is that you might not be up to going home or anywhere else for Christmas.”
I considered that for a minute. As much as I loved my family, I loved Kyle far more, and he clearly wanted me to have a tail tattoo. I wanted me to have a tail tattoo. I could skip seeing my family on Christmas one year in order to do that. “You’re right, but that’s okay,” I said to Kyle. “Let’s do it then.”
And so, right after my last final exam in December, I had the cow tail tattoo applied to my ass and the back of my thigh. I was going to have to lay face down on the back seat of a four-door passenger vehicle or on the floor of the cargo area of an SUV or van to get home. No way did I want to try to climb into the back seat of Kyle’s two-door Bronco, and while the seat was supposed to be able to be unbolted and removed, the bolts were apparently rusted and he couldn’t remove them. He had to borrow his mother’s car to get me home from the tattoo parlor.
I spent the next few days lying either face down or on my left side, on either the bed or the sofa. Kyle was wonderful; he waited on me hand and foot and took care of every want and need that he possibly could. The pain wasn’t too bad except for the base of the tail that was directly over my lower spine. I guess the padding between skin and bone is a lot thinner there.
After a few days, I began sitting up with most of my weight on my left butt cheek. It was especially hard to find a position where my lower spine wasn’t pressing against the back of sofa, and I kept forgetting and putting weight on my right cheek. But gradually, it became more comfortable and easier.
We’d each told our families that we wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them that year, but Kyle’s family didn’t let that stop them. His mother and sister and the Meyers all made Christmas dinner and then brought it to us to eat together with us at our apartment. Kyle was blown away and thanked them profusely for their thoughtfulness, but everyone laughed and told him it had nothing to do with him; they were doing it for me. I couldn’t tell if they were kidding or not, and I don’t think Kyle could, either. Either way, we both very much appreciated their kind gesture.
By the time classes resumed in mid-January, I could carefully sit on both cheeks, though I still preferred to sit mostly on the left one. By March, I was ready to get the cattle brand tattoo on my left cheek, and arranged to do that just as spring break started. Since I had to again interrupt donating my milk for eight days, I decided to have my septum pierced for a nose ring at the same time, since piercings required a similar interruption. I’d have about nine days before classes resumed, but the tat was much smaller and only on my cheek, not my thigh or lower back. By the time the semester was finished, and I’d graduated with a B.S. degree in health sciences, I was pretty much back to normal.
Kyle and I were both thrilled with the finished products. I’d decided to get a modest nose ring, not some huge thing like a cow would have. I still wanted to be able to be discreet about my hucow lifestyle if the situation called for it. I especially loved the cow tail, and lingered in front of our full-length mirror admiring it every time I was naked or only wearing panties or a bikini bottom. When I wore a miniskirt or a pair of Daisy Duke shorts, which Kyle preferred anyway, the bottom of the tail could be seen going down my thigh. Every time I was dressed like that and walked away from him I could feel his eyes lingering on my tail; if I turned around to look, he was always grinning like a fool. I loved it!