"The Cow"

“The Cow”

You wait with the buzzing eagerness you always feel when the farmers lock you into the pillory. An electric pulse flares from your cunt with every beat of your heart, and with every pulse, a wave of electrical signals has your skin covered in goosebumps and sets all the small hairs on your body to standing.

You smell him as soon as the farmers open the gate to your stall. This bull's scent is all sweat and raging testosterone, you can practically smell his need. You can't look back to see him, but you imagine his swollen cock, flush with blood and throbbing, swaying through the air as he stalks up behind you. Then he's standing close, and you can feel the heat of arousal radiating off his body. You feel the soft head of his hard cock press against the lips between your legs, triggering a shiver of electricity that starts at your now-drooling sex and radiates out to your toes, your fingers, the top of your head.

His hands grip your hips, and he plunges into you. You moo—an unconscious, blissful sound—as his burning rod fills you near to bursting, the heat of his sex like a fire in the oven of your own.

Then he's fucking you: a series of deep, savage thrusts delivered greedily, his only goal to satisfy his consuming need to breed you. Every outward movement leaves you feeling empty and needy; every inward thrust makes you whole, fills you with exaltation. You need his seed as much as he needs to sow it. Your need speaks to his, becomes entangled with his, and as much fun as the fucking is—as good as it feels every time his girth fills you to the brim again—you're desperate for the end. All you want is what he wants: the flood of his ejaculate filling your hungry sex.

Your need for cum is so strong that it warps your sense of time. It feels like he's going to fuck you forever, like he's holding out on you, like he's never going to give you what you need. You even start to feel a little angry, your jaw clenching as you do what little you can—restrained as you are—to drive him over the edge. At last, he buries himself deep, and you moan a long, soft moo as he moans and pulses inside you. You can feel his balls twitch between your legs with every pulse. Your greedy cunt squeezes him to the rhythm of his orgasm, milking every drop of semen from the engorged penis held in its grip.

Then, in spite of your tremendous effort to keep his cock inside you, to keep that satisfied feeling of fullness, of completion—of being made whole—he slides out and steps back. Your ass and the backs of your legs feel a sudden chill without his warmth pressed against you. You moan with a mix of desire and frustration as you hear the farmers lead the bull out of your stall.

“Aw, don't worry your pretty little head none, Daisy,” one of the farmers calls to you with a chuckle. While you can't seem to form words of your own anymore, it hasn't been so long since you volunteered for the program that you've lost the ability to understand the farmers' speech. “The boys are all riled up and rearing to go. Got a long day ahead of you yet, dearie.” This last accompanied by another farmer's chuckle.

“She's an eager cow, our Daisy,” says this other farmer.

The first replies, but by then the gate to your stall swings shut, and you can't make out the rest of their conversation. What they're saying now doesn't matter to you anyway. The chemical cocktail they give you every morning and every evening has made it difficult for you to hold to any but the simplest thoughts, and what the farmer said has stuck in your mind, filling you with that electric buzz of arousal again:

More! More to cum!

True to his word, the farmer and his companion return after a few minutes that seem to stretch to eternity, and they have another bull with them. This one shoves his cock into your sloppy, swollen pussy as quickly and with as much desperate need as the first. He fucks you like he's sprinting to the finish, and soon another heavy load of cum floods your cunt. Some of the warm, thick stuff runs down your left leg when he slides out of you and steps back. You hear him led out of your stall, and all is quiet again—until the farmers return with the third bull.

By this time your entire body is wound as tight as a trap, and the moment the bull's rigid member kisses your labia is the trigger that springs your orgasm on you both. He slides into you, and he yelps in surprise as your sex immediately clamps down tightly on his. The stimulation is too much for him, and he's cumming before he even gets a chance to fuck you.

There are more—bulls and orgasms and loads of cum—many more, but you lose count after that third bull, after your first body-quaking orgasm. Your day is long, just as the farmer promised, and you're sore and exhausted by the time the farmer gives your ass an affectionate pat.

“You're a good girl, Daisy, that you are. Now the doc will be in to milk you and give you a checkup before we put you up for the night.”

At the mention of “the doc,” a man you think of as “Bestest Friend,” that needy ball of lust that lives deep in your core expands again, and your cunt throbs with anticipation. You love thee bulls for their urgent need, but it's always to the point with them. Bestest Friend is the only one who plays with you.

After a long day of breeding, that place between your legs pleasantly sore and dripping with cum, it's time to play.