Brenda needs a real change in her life. After finding an ad on the internet for what seems like a terrible idea, she responds to it and finds herself persuaded to join a small group of women who are lactating for fun and profit. John, the gentleman farmer, promises her she’ll find contentment living and working on his small, exclusive farm. But Brenda doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into when she’s brought down to the barn on the edge of the pasture to see what the real hucows are doing…
This is a 10,000 word novella intended for adult audiences. Part one of two.
Content warning: features erotic lactation, graphic sex, hucow transformation, hucow milking, hucow role play, BDSM themes, erotic dehumanization, strong language, erotic situations not all members of the public will enjoy, and other depictions of adult sexuality. Explicit language and adult only content.
“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.”
The three women couldn’t have been more different in age and appearance except for one fact: they all had enormous breasts.
No, Brenda thought again. Udders. They have udders. Just like I’ll have soon.
The woman in the rocking chair set aside her knitting and stood up. She was topless but was covered up by a pair of cones pressed to her chest. “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.”