A Cow's Tale

Chapter One

 

“THIS seems just a little insane,” Brenda said.

“What part of it?” The man who liked to be called Farmer John grinned back at her.

Brenda waved her arms around indicating the building and land around them. “This. Everything. All of it. The situation.”

John laughed politely. “I’ve found a niche that works and…well, there’s no reason for me to question it.”

The farm they were on was small, almost too small, to be profitable or even to exist squeezed between industrial development on one side and ever-expanding suburbs on the other. It had been a large dairy farm at one point, but over the years the owner had sold of small parcels of land eventually shrinking it down to little more than a few acres with a traditional farmhouse in one corner and two small red barns on the opposite side of the acreage that served as a pasture. They were walking from one of the barns back across the pasture where they were observed by a pair of cows placidly chewing their cud.

“You still have actual dairy cows here?”

John chuckled again. He was significantly older than Brenda, maybe twice her twenty-five years. “Yes. I like to make it seem like I’m running an actual farm here, even if it is more or a hobby at this point.”

“Except for the actual cows that keep you in business,” Brenda pointed out.

“Yup,” he agreed. “Cows like you keep me in business.”

She shivered with fear and excitement at being called a cow. In middle school it had been an insult, just another way of calling a girl fat. Brenda hadn’t been fat by any means while a teenager, but she had been tall and athletic, so the epithet had been tossed her way more than once especially when she started developing breasts that had seemed too large for her thin frame. Eventually she grew into her chest and became perfectly proportional, though the barbs of seventh grade still stung. Now, however, it meant something completely different and she was willingly walking into the label.

Barbara stopped walking. John continued on for two steps before stopping and turning around to look at her. “Do you really call them that?” she asked. “Cows?”

Once again John let out his friendly chuckle. She had a good idea how old he was, but he looked and acted younger. Maybe not as young as she was, but close enough. The way he wore his jeans and flannel shirt made him seem very youthful. “Actually, no. I call them ladies. They call themselves cows, at least among each other. I think it’s one of those instances of taking an insult and turning it into a proud label.”

“Oh, like geek or nerd or fag?”

“Yeah, like that.” He nodded toward the farmhouse. “Would you like to meet some of the ladies?”

To her it seemed too early in this whole process to actually meet a woman who wanted to be a cow, but John seemed to think it was a good idea, so Brenda went along with it. “Sure. Are they in the house?” she asked, confused. A glance back at the barn they hadn’t visited seemed to call to her. She figured that would be where the real business of the farm took place. The first barn he had shown her was set up to milk the actual four-legged cows that wandered around the pasture.

“Of course. You think I have them milk in the barn?”

“Um…yes?” She laughed at her own silliness.

“I’ve converted a room in the house for the ladies. It’s very comfortable. It’s also easier to get to the house rather than having to walk across the pasture to get to the barn.”

Brenda looked around and realized what he meant. There was a long driveway up to the white farmhouse where several sedans were parked. The pasture was ringed by a fence with the two barns inside the fencing. Just outside the fence they were surrounded by trees, a thin line of trees around the farm separated it from suburbia, just thick enough, however, to keep the farm in its own little world.

“They’re in there right now?” she asked nervously. “Won’t they be upset at us interrupting them?”

John shook his head and smiled. “Nope. They’re used to it. You’ll get used to it too. You don’t have any body image problems, do you?”

A firm shake of her head told him no. “Never. Well, maybe growing up, but I’m not that hung up on what I look like.” Then she nervously tossed back her long honey-brown hair. “Except my hair. My one bit of vanity.”

“Good, good,” he murmured. “I’ve got a good feeling about you. You’re the youngest woman I’ve ever had apply but I’m sure you’ll be a good cow.” He looked pointedly at her chest. While Brenda wasn’t ashamed of her bustline, it felt weird having him eye her so explicitly. She stifled the urge to cross her arms over her tits.

“I’m not sure I’ll actually do it or not,” she confessed to him, truly nervous now. Things seemed to be moving too fast.

“You’ll do it,” he nodded and started walking again. Brenda quickly caught up to him.

“I mean,” she continued, “I can’t imagine my tits actually making milk.”

“Udders,” John gently corrected her. “Cows have udders. And that’s why you have them. To make milk. And I thought that’s why you replied to my ad, because you wanted your udders to make milk.”

Once more Brenda shivered at the idea, what she was proposing to do to herself. This was a much more radical body transformation than what her friends had done with tattoos and body piercings. “Well, I do. It’s just a big step.”

They arrived at the back porch and John led the way up the steps. “It sure is,” he agreed. “But come inside and talk to the ladies. They’ll wipe away any concerns you have.”

He opened the back door, took two steps through a short hallway, and opened an interior door to what looked like a living room. There were three women inside the room. Two on the couch and one in a rocking chair. The one in the rocker was knitting while the other two watched a television that was turned up very loud to cover the noise of the three pumps humming away. All three women were in various states of undress above the waist and all three had soft silicon cups attached to their breasts—no, udders, Brenda reminded herself—as they had their milk extracted.

The three women couldn’t have been more different in age and appearance except for one fact: they all had enormous tits.

No, Brenda thought again. Udders. They have udders. Just like I’ll have soon.

“Brenda,” said John. “Please meet Melinda, Margie, and Mickey. The three Ms.”

The woman in the rocking chair set aside her knitting and stood up. She was completely topless but her udders were hidden by the pair of cones pressed to her teats. “I’m Margie,” she said holding out her hand. The cones had tubes attached to them where the milk was drawn down to a large collection bottle.

“Oh, please don’t get up,” Brenda blurted out. “You’re…attached.”

Margie waved aside Brenda’s concern. “Don’t worry about these things,” she said as Brenda tentatively took her hand. “They aren’t coming off easily.”

Up close the cups and hoses attached to Margie didn’t look any less strange, but the odd thing was she was as covered up as she would have been if she was wearing a bikini top on a beach. The semi-opaque plastic that made up the cups and hoses completely obscured her nipples and hid most of her breast as well. In the background the pump continued to chug along, pulling milk from Margie’s, and the other women’s, udders.

“Does it…hurt?” Brenda found herself saying.

Right away Margie knew what the younger woman was asking. “No, not at all. The first few times I tried it, there was some some…as the doctor’s put it…discomfort as I got used to the pump sucking on me, but that doesn’t last long.”

John politely interrupted their conversation. “I’ll let you ladies talk,” he said as he touched his fingers to the brim of his baseball cap and stepped out the door, leaving the four women alone.

The farmer’s departure confused Brenda. “Why did he leave?”

Margie rolled her eyes. “He wants us to convince you that becoming a cow for him is the best life choice you can make.”

“Oh.”

“It honestly didn’t take much convincing for me,” said the one on the couch John had identified as Melinda. She scooped a remote control off the coffee table in front of her and turned off the television. Her blouse was open and she was wearing a nursing bra, the sort that mothers actually breastfeeding a baby would wear, while the pump collected her milk. The way she was mostly covered and her udders surrounded by circles of material was in was a high contrast to Margie’s appearance. “Once I put the pump on my teats, it felt so good that I couldn’t stop. John actually had to take the pump away from me.”

“I did it just for the money,” admitted the third woman. Her blouse was open displaying her large udders as they were pumped, but she didn’t wear a bra at all. She wasn’t much older than Brenda. “I needed easy money to help me get through college and well…I never stopped, did I?” She grinned guiltily.

“Is the money good?” Brenda asked.

“It’s some extra spending money if you need it,” Margie told her, “but you’ll never make a career of this. There’s no way for a cow to live off just her udders. If she’s a stripper, maybe. But not as a cow.”

“Don’t do it for the money,” Mickey told her. “It’s a nice little bonus, but you have to want to do this because you enjoy it.” She paused. “What’s your motivation?”

“I…I don’t know,” Brenda said.

Margie shook her head. “Uh-uh. We need a real reason or we won’t let you into our little club.” She sat back down and waited expectantly. The sound of the pump working filled the air with background noise. Only Brenda was on her feet; she felt like a guilty schoolgirl called before a disciplinary committee. She could see the suctions cups gentle pulsing on the three women’s udders, shaking slightly with each pull. They all looked completely calm, serene.

“I…I…I’m curious,” she admitted. “The idea of my breasts…my udders making milk…well, it turns me on.”

“It’s a sexual fetish for you?” Melinda asked.

“Maybe,” Brenda said. “I guess that’s the way to put it.”

“There’s a definite sexual component to having your udders used this way,” said Margie. “Take a baby out of the equation, take even the nourishment of a partner as the motivation away, and what do you have left? Sexual pleasure.”

“Is that…wrong?” Brenda asked.

Melinda shook her head. “It couldn’t be more right. Would you like to try the pump?”

“I…I don’t think I should without John’s approval.”

Margie laughed at her. “We’re the ones who do the approval.”

As they spoke Mickey detached her cups from her udders and moved to the other side of the room where she pulled a set of cups and hoses from a shelf where others were stored. She didn’t bother to close her shirt. Brenda couldn’t look away from her exposed flesh. Her udders were huge, much larger than Brenda’s, and they were topped with teats that were thick, long and red. Surely, Brenda thought, there was no way that was natural. It made her wonder if her much smaller tits would ever grow to match the other women’s …the other cows.

“I think we can give you a trial run,” Margie said as Mickey hooked the hoses up to the pump. “We want to see how you respond to the pump first. Take off your shirt.”

The two cows wearing shirts were ones that buttoned up the front. Margie was topless. Brenda wished she had thought ahead and hadn’t worn a pullover shirt. It was too late for second thoughts now. She pulled her shirt over her head exposing her rather plain and utilitarian bra. The group waited expectantly. In one smooth movement Brenda lifted her bra up over her head as well.

“Very nice,” Margie murmured as Mickey handed the suction cups to Brenda. “Hold these against your tits.”

“I thought you liked to call them udders,” asked Brenda.

“They’re tits until you’re a real cow,” she was informed. “Here’s the suction adjustment.” Mickey turned on the suction and abruptly Brenda found her nipples pulled forward into the cups. It wasn’t painful, just unexpected. She gasped at the sensation. It was different enough from a mouth, like from a lover, but it wasn’t at all unpleasant.

Looking down she saw her nipple pulled all the way forward, further than she could have imagined, into the cups. There was no milk, of course. She wasn’t a cow. Not yet. But the way her nipples distorted was mind-blowing. Without warning the suction abated and her nipples retracted. There was a pause for a second before the pump kicked on again and her nipples were drawn forward.

“Feels good?” Melinda asked.

“Umm…yeah. It’s not painful.”

“Then it’s not turned up high enough,” she said. “You need to have it just to the point of pain for it to really work.”

“You use a pump long enough, a month or two,” added Margie, “and you’ll start lactating on your own. But we’ll give you a dose of Farmer John’s special hormones to jump start you.”

“Okay,” breathed Brenda. Her head was spinning slightly. The new experience was exciting and exhilarating. Mickey dialed up the power on Brenda’s pump and she gasped as the pump pulled fiercely on her tender flesh.

“Wow,” she said as she stumbled a bit.

“Here, let me help you,” Mickey said, guiding her down to the couch. “Losing your balance?”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect that.”

“It doesn’t happen when you do this every day. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not sure if I want to get used to it. I like the way it feels,” Brenda admitted. What she didn’t tell Mickey was what she was feeling in her loins. There was no denying that her panties were getting wet and sloppy. She was almost embarrassed. Almost.

“That’s good,” Margie told her. “You’ll do well.” The three cows were watching Brenda intently, something she didn’t immediately notice because she was too enthralled with how her tits were being used by the pump. When she looked up she discovered them studying her. “What?” she asked nervously.

“Enjoying it?” Margie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you always watch?”

“It’s exciting to see a new girl start down the path to being a cow.” She paused and licked her lips. “Are you turned on?”