Dairy Production Assistant by Threk

Dairy Production Assistant by Threk

Shyla volunteers to be unbirthed at a farm where the cowgirls are given these pseudo-pregnancies in order to stimulate higher milk production. This goes well enough at first for her and her host, Tilda, with only a couple of bumps, then goes tits up somewhere down the line, with only Shyla ever knowing just how wrong things went.

Work by Kaname that inspired this

Chapter 1

Gentle mooing responded to the clumping footsteps as an overall-clad farmhand lead a waifish newhire between the wooden stalls of a massive barn, the air holding the pleasant smell of fresh straw.

Peeking into them as they walked, the slender lady, Shyla, looked at the “livestock” as she passed.

They were women.

At first glance, anyway; after more than a moment’s inspection the differences were plainly obvious. Most glaringly, they didn’t have human legs; rather their lower halves were shaped more like a cow’s hindlegs. The majority of them were wearing a loose, woolly piece of clothing like a backless sweater long enough to just about cover their backsides, so it was hard to see where exactly the transition occurred, but somewhere under the fabric the smooth skin of their humanoid torsos changed, and the legs that emerged from the garments were instead covered in a sleek layer of fur, terminating in pairs of dark, polished hooves. With only one or two exceptions, the fur was white with large black splodges, just like the iconic Holstein Friesian pattern.

The occupants of the stalls also had long, furry ears like a cow’s, black with the occasional splatter of white to match their legs and hair, through which short horns protruded upwards from the sides of their heads. Plastic tags adorned their ears like gaudy earrings.

Once the conspicuously nonhuman characteristics had been covered, there were more commonly human differences too. While many of the ladies were sitting or lying down on the beds each stall was supplied with, they were all unmistakably big. The smallest one that the newbie could see was still at least 8 feet tall, with busts for which “voluptuous” would be an understatement; there couldn’t have been a cup size in the building that belonged to the first half of the alphabet. Except hers, Shyla thought, slightly self-consciously.

It made sense though, what with the cowgirls’ final unusual feature. From inchoate paunches to gravid spheres as big as she was, they were all some degree of pregnant.

Shyla caught one last glimpse of a cowgirl lying on her back, rubbing the underside of a belly the size of an exercise ball that lifted the bottom of her overstretched sweater to show her uncovered groin. The stalls had doors, essentially making them into little bedrooms, but their occupants were obviously not self-conscious, and it seemed happy to just leave them open.

She turned ahead again, blushing slightly, and looked at the back of the straw-chewing man leading her through this living space. She spoke up.

“You know, Eddie?” Eddie nodded a confirmation she’d remembered his name correctly, “I got the job description earlier when I signed up at the town market, but it’s still rather hard to believe. Can I get the rundown one more time?”

“Sure thing ma’am, most folks that ain’t worked with us before are put a bit off-kilter when they see the farm and the girls for the first time anyhow. Everybody knows in their heads where our produce comes from, but it never quite seems to sink in until they see it. I’ll go over everything once we’re in the office.”

“Eheh, right…” It felt a little dismissive, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. The existence of abhumans, or Semi-Anthropomorphic Humanoids as was the technical term, had been something of a revelation, like, a century ago. Even if their origins were somewhat mysterious, and various forms of research were still on-going, for most people now they were just a fact of life, as was the fact that the bovine varieties were now used extensively in the dairy industry since while they produced less milk than a normal cow, what they did make was of significantly higher quality and value. All the same though, seeing bottles in the supermarket dairy aisle with pictures of cow-ladies on the label was quite different from seeing the well-endowed women in the flesh.

One of the cowgirls in question emerged from a stall as they passed it and began walking in the same direction. Her belly was big enough that her sweater-dress rode up above her hips, while also hanging low enough that its smooth underside covered her privates below the waist anyway. She looked down at Shyla curiously and mooed softly.

“H-hi there,” Shyla waved and smiled nervously.

“Mornin’ Githa,” the farmhand interjected, “sleep well?”

The mini-giantess, Githa, apparently, gave another, stronger vocalisation, and nodded.

“Good girl. I’m just showing the new LIPPS around, don’t let us keep ya.”

Githa nodded again cheerily, and strode on with apparent purpose, giving Shyla a view of the tufted tail swishing behind her as she turned a corner.

“Follow her ’round, might as well show you the milking pens before we get ya settled in.”

Shyla did so, tailing the taller female through a short but wide corridor from the open-topped living area, towards a wall dividing the barn. Githa pushed through a set of double doors, and the trio walked into a large room filled with… oh my.

The noise hit her first, a wave of disconcertingly human-sounding moans, punctuated by the occasional throaty cry of ecstasy, all underpinned by the lower satisfied humming, panting, and the constant whine and thrum of machinery.

Rooted to the spot, Shyla stood gawping at the end of a row of automated milking machines, most of which were currently active.

Shyla watched as Githa entered a cubicle, casually removing her last vestige of clothing to stash on a little shelf, and knelt on the padded floor. With easy familiarity she grabbed a palm-sized device hanging from a curled cable in the corner of the cubicle, holding the plain grey rectangle to the large yellow tag on her right ear until the device beeped cheerfully, and an LED in the wall changed colour. Letting the scanner clatter back to its corner, Githa unhooked a now unlocked pair of milk pumps from the wall, and attached the mechanical mouths to what Shyla could now see were expectantly erect nipples protruding from tightly engorged breasts.

Something in the cups must have detected their attachment, as they began suckling in pulses, and Githa gave a sigh of relief as the first jets of fluid began to spray forth to be funnelled away down the clear tubing. Then she did something else, pushing a few brightly coloured buttons on a touchscreen in the wall to her left, and Shyla heard mechanical movement as something shifted into position, rising under the kneeling woman. Githa leant forwards onto an armpit-height horizontal bar that had swung into position in front of her, and then…

“Mooooo~” The sound was part moo, part deeply satisfied groan, and was accompanied by a wet squish as she lowered her hips onto an unseen implement that Shyla was quite sure was rude in appearance. And vibrating too, judging by the periodic buzzing sound that escaped every time Githa languidly lifted her hips.

Sitting up straight, Githa’s eyelids fluttered as she looked at her observers, tenderly running her hands over her breasts and down over her bulging belly, which as she jostled it, bulged irregularly from some indistinct internal movement.

Transfixed by the sight, Shyla almost jumped out of her skin as a chuckle reminded her that she was not watching by herself.

“Ayup, that’s the bit which usually throws new’uns off the most. Bit off-puttin’ for some, seein’ a lovely lady just stripping bare and hooking herself up to a milker like regular cattle, ’specially when she’s enjoyin’ it quite that much.” The farmhand chuckled again, before brushing past Shyla to lead the way, and she hurried after him. “Varies from girl to girl o’ course,” he raised his voice over his shoulder as they walked down the line of cubicles, where cowgirls in states ranging from calm placidity to substantially and vocally more excited were busy producing the farm’s main export. “But you’ll only be workin’ with the one, so you’ll just get used to whichever one that is.”

“Is it… necessary? We don’t exactly do this for regular cows.”

“Ha! No we don’t. And no, not strictly, but a happy cow produces more and better milk, and at some point someone worked out that the same applied to cowgirls that were, ah, ‘happy’, too. Something to do with the hormones released while being milked gettin’ into a positive feedback loop with the ones released while being otherwise ‘stimulated’. I don’t know the whole science of it.” Eddie turned his head to look at Shyla, and concluded in a tone of crude amusement “Would love to know who the hell came up with the idea though!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted to stay anonymous.” Shyla said dryly. “Not sure I’d want to be known as the first person to test that theory.”

He snorted, “Really is the type of thing you need to be 100% on huh? Just in here.” Gesturing to a door at the far end of the milking area, he ushered her through into a staircase, which they ascended to arrive in a raised control-slash-observation room. Shyla took a seat as they continued conversing while the farmhand rifled through some paperwork piled on a nearby desk.

“Quite. But the livestock, the, uh…”

“… Cowgirls. Hucows works fine too.”

“Right, and the cowgirls are just fine with all this?”

“What, being milked? ‘Course, they need to be milked otherwise they get all full an’ uncomfortable.”

“No no, the, erm, extra stimulation.”

“Ah, yeah, they’re just peachy. You saw how Githa got herself set up, didn’t even need any help. They might not be able to speak English, but they’re smarter than people give ‘em credit for. Some farms,” he said the word ‘some’ as if it tasted of mud, “don’t give their cattle much of a choice. Might not even be allowed outside to mingle like ours are, just automate the whole process, right down to how and when the poor things are moved around the farm, and do whatever they need to to get the right hormonal response and yield. We ease ‘em into it, show ‘em how the contraptions work, and basically let them come to get milked when they feel the need to. Usually we get them started alongside another hucow who likes to make use of the ‘extras’, keeps the new girl reassured, and after a bit of conditioning to show them how it feels, they get to choose how much ‘extra’ they want for the regular sessions.”

“Huh, that’s nice for them. And I guess it’s easier for everyone if no-one’s being forced.”

“You got that right, they may be pretty but they’re about as strong as a bull when they want to be. Anyway,” he finally found the sheaf of documents he’d been looking for, and slapped them down on the desk facing her, “that’s all peripheral to the main meat of the matter, which is where you come in.”

“… LIPPS?”

“That’s right. As you know, we keep a lot of Dairy-breed cowgirls on this farm, and we get a very good yield out of them, but even cowgirls need to be pregnant or recently pregnant to lactate without pumping them full of artificial hormones. However, since calves require resources to raise and resettle on top of drinking the milk that we’re trying to sell, we actually don’t want to keep the whole herd pregnant the whole time. You can keep milking them for a while after birth, but the yield always declines over time. That’s what the LIPPS system helps out with.”

Shyla nodded along as he explained.

“As a Lactation-Inducing Pseudo-Pregnancy Substitute, LIPPS for short, you’ll basically be ‘filling in’, as it were, for a couple of weeks, tricking your assigned cowgirl’s body into thinking they’re knocked up to stimulate and improve milk production.”

“And by ‘filling in’, you mean that… literally.”

“Eheheh…” The man laughed faintly nervously, as if anticipating a hard sell, before continuing, all business. “Yes, the role of a LIPPS is to stimulate the hucow’s womb internally in a way that prosthetics and hormone injections struggle to replicate, and gives a full year at least, often more, of high-yield supply until production starts to decrease. We do use prolactin supplements to keep some of the girls ticking over when they’re not pregnant and we can’t get enough volunteers, but the results just don’t quite compare.”

“Mhm…” She hummed, and looked at the papers in front of her.

SAH (Bov.) LIPPS Fixed Time Contract.

“Similar question to before I suppose; just to check, does this hurt them in any way?”

“Oh no, not at all. They’ve got a far larger capacity than us humans, even taking the difference in scale into account. Takes a bit of getting used to on the first try, but they’re tough, they can acclimatise to a lot pretty quickly, even something as unexpected as an artificial pregnancy.” He paused, appearing to think whether the next thought in his head would helpful if voiced, before conceding. “If anything, they get pretty excited when they know what’s comin’. They might not be able to speak but it’s pretty clear they enjoy it to be honest.”

“In the same way they enjoy milking? Which I would also be up close and personal for?”

The man coughed awkwardly. “Yup. Just part of the job, that.”

“Of course, and how long would it be the job for?”

“Two weeks, ma’am.”

“Long time.” She looked at him sidelong. “Will I be able to communicate? What happens if something go wrong?”

“Yyyes and no. You’ll be given a countdown beacon, one of these,” he placed a smooth black bracelet in front of her, indicating the LCD screen that glowed dimly for two seconds when he pushed a small button, “with a timer to show how much time you have left, and an emergency signal, which you can activate by flicking off the safety cap and pressing the button underneath. Do that, and we’ll be able to locate the signal anywhere on the farm, induce a rebirth, and end the LIPP early. And don’t worry none about the battery; the timer’s got a low power draw, so it’ll last the whole two weeks and then some. Until you use the SOS, I mean, that takes a bit more to juice to get a signal out through all the, uh, stuff, in the way, so that’s single-use.”

He grimaced slightly, “Please try to avoid using the beacon unless absolutely necessary though; the emergency rebirth can be a very stressful experience for your partner.”

“Er, noted, but… if getting a LIPPS out again is so rough, how… I mean, what’s the process for retrieving me at the end of two weeks?”

“Similar, to be frank, but slower and with the addition of a mild sedative to relax them. The emergency method is essentially a massive dose of oxytocin to trigger labour, which isn’t fun for anyone.”

“Right, two more questions I suppose, first- ah, actually that’s answered here,” Shyla gestured to the pay section of the contract, and raised an eyebrow. “Huh, generous.”

“We highly value our LIPPS contractors,” the farmer recited, his eyes unfocusing as if reading from an internal script, “they increase our efficiency dramatically while maintaining livestock welfare, by undertaking a position that can be surprisingly demanding, both physically and mentally, and so for their efforts we believe they should be remunerated appropriately.” His gaze met hers again, and for a moment she wondered if he’d been reading off the wall behind her. She resisted the urge to check. The guy advertising the position at the town market had given a similar spiel after all, but it was good to see it backed up in writing.

The man in front of her added a final qualifying thought, “Like you said a moment ago, you’ll be up close and personal for a good while, and being isolated in that sort of environment takes a special sort of person to go for, you know? Better to make it worth your while. Lot of contractors do come back though, so it’s obviously worth the hassle.”

Or more enjoyable than they’re letting on, Shyla thought. Or…

She nodded thoughtfully, before looking at him askance. “And, last of all… Are there any side-effects?”

The pointed question skewered the man for a moment, and he sagged slightly before rallying.

“Don’t most things? The risks are basically non-existent, but in a few cases LIPPS contractors have experienced minor physical changes, and they were almost always temporary. The details are on this sheet here.”

He handed her a page of small print, which Shyla scanned through, skimming over the list of possibilities and assurances of how unlikely they were.

Hair growth on lower limbs, scalp, ears, eyelashes…

Difficulty enunciating…

Incoordination…

Increased appetite…

Increased sensitivity…

Ah, here we go.

Enlargement of breast tissue. Affects 62/100 adult women acting as a LIPPS for a full 2 week period. Reverts in 75% of cases within 6 months.

“And these effects, unlikely as most of them are, get more likely the longer you stay in?”

The farmer had taken on a faintly disappointed air, presumably expecting her to back out after such a pointed inquiry into medical side-effects.

Little did he know that Shyla had done her research already after first seeing the job posting. While ‘darkened keratin’ for instance was something she could live without, the possibility of certain enhancements had piqued her interest by jabbing her right in her disappointingly skinny body image. She wondered how many of the contractors that came back for another go were doing so for the same reason.

She tried not to look too eager as Eddie answered her.

“Well, yes, but that’s part of why we limit the time to two weeks; gives the biggest boost while minimising the other risks. We actually bring the entire herd in every two weeks to separate the real pregnancies from the LIPPS carriers, so if there are any contractors working, nobody gets missed. They get let out and can go grab their check.”

“Oh? How do you tell?”

“Ear tags. Every hucow gets a permanent ID tag on their right ear, and a temporary tag on the left if they’re carrying someone. Goes through a ring gauge piercing we can just clip them into so they don’t need a new piercing every time.”

“Ah, convenient.” Shyla mused, leafing through the paperwork more for the harmless amusement of letting Eddie dangle than to actually read it again. After a pregnant moment of silence, she grabbed a pen, scribbled her name on the dotted line and slapped the contract back onto the messy desk with a cheeky smile at the pleasantly surprised man. “So, when do we start?”

Almost immediately, as it happened.

Turned out the last round of LIPPSes had left that very morning, with their replacements being put to work not long after! Shyla wondered if the bump Githa had been sporting had in fact been an adult human. Had she had a second eartag? Shyla couldn’t remember, but then again she had been rather distracted at the time.

“Usually you get to meet the last group after they come out so’s you can ask any last minute questions from people with fresh experience, then we get all of you situated in one go in the morning. Since you’re a late arrival though the others are all already in whichever cowgirl they got partnered with, so I’m afraid you won’t get to meet any of your cohort until you’re all back out again.” Eddie said as he led Shyla across a courtyard to a large shed, which upon entry turned out to be divided down the middle by a wall with a single human-sized door, the room they were in looking like a school changing room with the lockers lining the walls.

“Leave all your clothes and belongings in one of the lockers, and you can use the bracelet to lock it by tapping it to the little reader there. The bracelet’ll pair with it to open it up again later, so if you get changed now, then you can join me in the next room when you’re ready. Remember to take a disinfectant shower first.” He gestured vaguely at a cubicle in the corner.

“Ah! Wait wait wait, uh, get changed into what?”

Eddie paused at the door, answering casually. “Your birthday suit o’ course! Can’t have anything inside the livestock that might irritate them or get left behind, and believe me, you don’t need to worry about being cold. There’re gowns if you want to cover up while walking into the next room, but that’s mainly for when there’s a queue of LIPPSes waiting their turn; you’d just be taking it off immediately after anyways.”

“Ahem, right, of course. And I can’t bring anything else in either?”

“Well, there is one thing, if you wanted it. Most leavers say the time flies by like a good nap, but it’s there if you want something extra to do. Back of the locker, there should be a little gadget designed especially to be safe to go in you- in with you, I mean. Recharges wirelessly in the milking cubicles too, so… well, you don’t need me to explain it I don’t reckon. Should be a leaflet or something with it anyway, so if you get ready quick as you can, I’ll be waiting in the insertion room.”

Insertion room. Shyla repeated mentally as the man left. Sounds crass but, not inaccurate I suppose. She rummaged in the back of the locker and withdrew- Not quite as rude as this though.

The white, silicone cylinder was vaguely aubergine-shaped, with an irregularly flared base at the narrower end that curved off in a perpendicular protrusion obviously designed to sit snugly against something an inch or two outside whatever the main body happened to be inside.

Shyla blushed as she beheld the device. If they were trying to downplay the sexual nature of this job, they really weren’t trying very hard. How many other LIPPSes made use of this?! Enough that it was apparently worth it for the farm to keep spares in each locker, but she still wished she’d got here early enough to ask one of the leavers herself.

Then again, she didn’t know if she’d have the brass to ask a stranger something so intimate.

Rooting around in the locker again, she found the aforementioned leaflet, wondering if anything in it would make the blatant sordidness seem worth having the farm workers know for certain that she was getting off inside of her bovine partner, as opposed to presumably just assuming as much.

Scanning over the instructions for changing vibration strength and patterns using concealed buttons under the flat, seamless surface of the base, a couple of cartoonish diagrams caught her eye. One was of a simplified milking cubicle next to a picture of the sextoy, with a symbol like a Wi-Fi icon indicating waves travelling from the former to the latter, a little lightning bolt confirming Eddie’s wireless charging claim. The other image portrayed the bulb getting larger, with a tagline underneath announcing “One size fits ALL!”

An eyebrow twitched, and Shyla flipped over to the last page.

A little printed diagram showed where to hit another button under the silicone skin of the aubergine, hidden away on the shaft where it could only be accessed when not in use.

“Milking synchronisation mode. Detects when being charged by autonomous milking booth, and automatically turns on vibrator function for duration, matching intensity to a function of milk flow. This is believed to improve empathetic synchronicity between LIPPS and their host by conditioning a positive hormonal response to increased milk production, which in turn influences the host’s physiological response. LIPPS may experience some small associated physical changes.”

What drew Shyla’s attention in particular was the diagram, if it could be called that, underneath this passage, scrawled in biro by some anonymous artist who had sketched out a crude but colossal pair of boobs.

They’d even scribbled out the last little caveat, changing it to “may experience some BIG changes”, and included a winking smiley face for good measure.

…

Shyla looked down at her slight figure.

Well, if the farmers were going to put it in the locker for her, who were they to judge if she agreed to take the option they gave her? And it wouldn’t be like they could see her using it. Hell, she didn’t even need to advertise that she was going to use it.

With excitement and apprehension butting heads inside her, Shyla undressed and rinsed herself down, using a generous portion of the special sanitising soap provided to lather herself up from head to toe and leave herself squeaky clean. She opted to cover her modesty with the gown after all, pointless though it may be in a minute, and locked her things away.

Doing her best to hide the bedroom aid behind her back, she entered the next room to find it occupied by two people. Or more specifically, one human and one hucow, the latter of which was completely nude, leaning her arms and head against the wall opposite Shyla as Eddie massaged a furred thigh, an empty syringe in his hand.

Eddie caught Shyla’s quizzical look at it as he deposited it on a metal tray.

“Uterine primer, gets her ready for you. Relaxes some of her muscles temporarily and triggers the umbilical cord growth so she can support you the whole term.”

The hucow mooed impatiently.

“Heh, gets her ready physically, anyway, Tilda here’s been ready and waiting for a new LIPPS for a while now, but there weren’t enough volunteers this morning. We thought she’d be going without ‘till you showed up!”

‘Tilda’ snorted, shaking her bountiful behind as if trying to entice Shyla to hurry up.

“I think I see what you meant about them getting excited. She seems… eager.”

Eddie grinned, gesturing for her to present a hand as he spoke. “Too right. Better not keep her waiting then! Just get into a good position and she’ll do most of the work for you!”

She proffered the one without the toy, and with a click, he clipped a bracelet onto her left wrist, the screen glowing for a few seconds as it began counting down. While Eddie’s focus was on the device, Shyla popped the shaft of the toy between her thighs to hold it. It was hardly secure, but was good enough for her to bring her freed right hand into view to examine the bracelet.

“Y- yeah…” Shyla shuffled awkwardly for a moment. “Could you… Face the wall for this bit?”

The farmhand’s eyes twitched faintly, as if he was resisting the urge to roll them. Of course, this was all part of the job to him, but still, he dutifully acquiesced.

Shyla took a steadying breath, retrieved the dildo, shucked the barely-used gown, and stepped towards Tilda.

Even stood with her legs splayed, the bovine’s buttocks were almost shoulder level with Shyla, who was now getting a very close look at what was under the cowgirls’ clothes.

The black and white fur that covered the hucow’s legs was a silky smooth layer hugging close to her skin, ending abruptly just above her waist, making it almost look like Tilda was wearing cowprint leggings. Despite the fur coat and the hooves tipping the end of her splayed legs, the shape of the callipygian edifice looming intimidatingly in front of Shyla was familiarly human, right down to the puffy lips glistening with anticipation.

The musky scent reached Shyla, reminding her how unaccustomed she was to contact with any woman’s privates other than her own, and surprising her with how unobjectionable she found it. Good thing too, since she was about to quite literally dive in at the deep end.

Tilda’s tail, swishing agitatedly, brushed against and curled around a hand Shyla hadn’t realised she’d extended, pulling it closer. She could feel the warmth radiating from her new temporary home before even making contact with the entrance, which twitched as she touched it. The cowgirl huffed heavily.

With how much larger than her the cowgirls were, it of course made logical sense that the pink slit usually hidden in the recesses of the great buttocks swaying before her would be bigger than a human’s, but even so, it was hard to believe that the trim orifice would be able to handle her whole body. Heat covered her fingers as they slipped easily inwards, stroking the soft, ridged flesh with the wet sound of parting lips.

“Huh…” she muttered, almost hypnotised by the lack of resistance. She’d considered asking if she needed to be lubed up for this, but Tilda was already drenched, clear, slippery liquids dribbling down her wrists. Whether it was due to the primer she’d received, or Tilda was just looking forward to hosting her that much, Shyla wasn’t sure, but the effect was clearly the same.

Eddie cleared his throat softly, still facing the wall.

Right, now or never. Shyla supposed, glancing at the back of the man’s head before sinking to her knees and watching the bare rear loom over her, like an approaching storm cloud covering the sky.

She raised her other hand, still holding the device she was ‘smuggling’ in with her, and eased it in after the first, feeling the beginnings of tension banding around her wrists.

Locking her arms straight, she pushed slowly but firmly inwards, feeling the wet warmth creep up past her elbows. Peering into the dark chasm between her arms, she could dimly see the pulsing donut of muscle that was Tilda’s cervix. It looked impossibly small for what was about to be asked of it. Using her fingertips, Shyla tentatively teased it wider, trying to avoid hurting Tilda. Not that she needed to worry apparently, as the big girl moaned and lowered her hips abruptly, impaling herself on the LIPPS’s locked limbs.

A faint “Eep!” escaped Shyla as her hands plunged unexpectedly deep, and she felt the heat on her face from the ravenous tunnel now inches away from it. Ducking her head down, she caught a glimpse between Tilda’s thighs of her face, tongue hanging out as she panted rapturously, though her view was obscured by the huge breasts hanging pendulously below her, and the gentle curve of her slightly chubby tummy, which… Shyla prodded the inside of the womb inquisitively, lightly at first, then pushing at the dense muscle with more force.

The plush surface barely twitched.

That was… disconcerting.

She knew on a theoretical level how well she’d be hidden, and the idea of being cradled in the tight confines of another, giving her whole body up to them was strangely exciting. However, seeing how little she’d show on the outside even if she tried was… actually slightly scary, and a twinge of apprehension entered her. She looked up into the dark chamber waiting for her, strands of natural lubricant dripping onto her face like saliva from a gaping maw, and she felt an odd sensation akin to vertigo, like the call of the void when stood at a cliff’s edge.

Was she ready?

A moment later it didn’t matter.

Frustrated by the cautious probing, Tilda had obviously had enough of waiting, and let her weight drop. Locked in place between the floor and a weight she hadn’t a hope of holding up, Shyla had just enough presence of mind to catch her breath as the black and white behind descended over her, the tight channel propped open by her arms engulfing her vision in darkness.

Hot pressure rippled down her body, the sounds of the outside world being immediately replaced by the squishy shlicks of wet flesh on flesh, and a thumping heartbeat from somewhere above. An ecstatic moan reverberated around her as she felt the taut entrance of Tilda’s vulva settle around her hips. She couldn’t help but mirror the utterance with a quiet mmph, biting her lip at the feeling of the slippery surfaces sliding pleasingly across her skin, the warmth washing her doubts away.

Tilda sat, the generous curves of her butt brushing against Shyla’s ankles, with the smaller woman’s pert backside almost lost from view between the cheeks of the cowgirl’s own. Her titanic tits were starting to be pushed upwards by the growing bulge in her belly, the stretching muscles trembling with the pleasurable strain.

She took a moment to savour the sensation. It had been so long since one of the little people had let her carry them. It was always so wonderful, and she was always sad when they left again, but she supposed it was just how things had to be. The exact reasons escaped her, but the humans seemed smart; they probably knew best, and she just wanted to enjoy herself. She hoped this woman was one of the more active ones. It was nice enough when they weren’t, but the squirmier ones could be so much more fun.

Shyla felt herself being lifted as Tilda rose, pulling Shyla up onto her knees with nothing but the sucking grip of the hucow’s pussy, before being braced against the ground again. The taut ring circling her was compelled to momentarily stretch a few more barely perceptible millimetres, pinching firmly into her as it crested the width of her hips.

Curling up in the overfull womb, Shyla’s own heartbeat was getting louder in her ears as she sucked in shallow breaths of the soupy air, trying to avoid inhaling the salty, syrupy liquids slathering her. She felt a lurch, gravity shifting as her host stood up, and her shins slithered into the snug chamber.

Just her feet left now, bound together by slick netherlips, tickled by the last bit of wind-chill she could feel anywhere on her body. Breathing was actually getting difficult in the muggy atmosphere. She probed the walls anxiously, making brief pockets of space before the womb clamped down to erase them. Large, soft fingers pressed against her heels, and a long, shuddering groan echoed around her as the last visible part of her body was enveloped, pulled upwards and inwards to be packed into the dark organ.

Oh crap, she was starting to feel faint.

Was it the heat? Maybe? No, this was wrong, she couldn’t breathe!

Each harried breath tasted staler than the last, and she fumbled for the entrance that had just sealed over her toes, finding nought but a tough knot of muscle. A thumping was building in her head, and she shoved at the walls surrounding her on all sides, muscles starting to burn with lactic acid from the lack of oxygen.

“E-Eddie!” She gasped, knowing he wouldn’t hear even as she uttered his name.

A foreign object brushed against her wrist, and in the reddish gloom she dimly saw the bracelet.

The emergency beacon!

Fumbling, she pushed a button, lighting the screen up to show the timer, mere minutes into its two week countdown.

She was just feeling for the safety cap when a sharp sting stabbed her in the navel, eliciting a startled yelp before… Calm spread through her like ink blossoming in a glass of water. The pounding in her head subsided, the burning in her lungs and limbs washed away by a wave of revitalising sensation she wasn’t sure how to describe. A sort of… relaxed, well-restedness, making her feel fresh and completely unfatigued, but without any jittery excess of energy. The heat of the womb, while still roasting, now felt soothing, more of a warm bed than a sauna, the pillowy walls squeezing pleasantly as they pressed against her body from all sides.

Shyla stretched experimentally, limbs sinking into the thick layers around her, which shivered as she rubbed them. After a few inches she felt a firmer, tougher layer of muscle atop the more pliant flesh cradling her. It provided stiffer resistance to her attempts to push it away, then a low moo thrummed around her, and it clenched, balling her up even tighter for a few seconds before it relaxed.

Despite the force with which she’d been returned to the foetal position, it hadn’t hurt, and so she simply lay there, listening to Tilda’s heartbeat gradually slowing alongside her own. Odd, Shyla thought, that she could feel so comfortable crammed into a space such as this when sometimes it felt like she could throw her back out just by sleeping on the wrong side of the bed, but she wasn’t complaining.

After a moment’s more recuperation, Shyla tapped the bracelet button again, a dim glow coming to life from the illuminated numerals, and held it to her belly. The ropy shape of an umbilical cord wound its way from her bellybutton to somewhere on the dark walls of the womb.

Of course, the uterine primer Eddie had mentioned.

A sense of embarrassment crept over her, realising how close she’d been to triggering the beacon unnecessarily. This was a strange and unfamiliar situation she’d got herself into, but she’d need to be careful not to be too hasty when it came to her last resort.

After a moment, she heard a voice coming from outside her tiny resting place.

She could forgive herself for missing it at first what with it being so indistinct behind the other bodily noises, like she was listening to someone talking while sat underwater.

“Ma’am? You settling in okay?”

“Yeehhh-” Shyla wheezed, doing a double take at the disconcerting realisation that she’d stopped breathing, and tried again after actually inhaling. Good to know her lungs hadn’t completely shut down. “Y-Yeah! I’m good!”

A wordless moment passed before Eddie’s muted voice reached her again.

“Ma’am, if you’re sayin’ something, I won’t be able to hear ya’, just give two kicks if you’re all set.”

Ah, of course.

She complied, distending Tilda’s belly with a vaguely foot-shaped bulge. Large hands rubbed her through the enveloping womb.

“Good, good. Well then Miss…” He paused, “Yep, that’s about it, you just take a load off in there, and we’ll see you in a couple weeks. Alright Tilda, you’re good to go.”

Her tiny world lurched as the hucow rose, lifting her weight with relative ease. Shyla wondered what the gravid bulge holding her looked like from the outside, then heard a rustling as Tilda slipped back into her woollen sweater-dress, accompanied by a happy humming.

The combination of the soft reverberations, the deep heat, the comfortingly tight squeeze, adjusting to her new umbilical connection, the adrenaline crash now that she’d calmed down, the steadily slowing heartbeat thumping above her, and quite frankly the surprisingly tiring ordeal of being manhandled into an abhuman’s snatch, were all working in perfect concert to make Shyla irresistibly woozy.

Shyla felt herself drifting off as she was bobbed gently by the sway of Tilda’s hips, her host walking off to elsewhere on the farm, presumably to socialise with other hucows both pregnant and ‘pregnant’.

She took a deep, unneeded but reassuring breath of the humid air, sighing as she began to doze. She wondered how long she’d be out for. Highly doubtful that it’d be for the whole two weeks, but if it felt this nice for the whole stint, she was sure it would be over before she knew it. With one hand cupping her petite chest, she slipped into dreams of a new and improved her.

…

Eddie whistled as he continued on his rounds, greeting other farmhands as he headed out to check the irrigation system for one of the adjacent grain fields.

For being a late arrival, the last LIPPS of the day had been more straightforward than expected.

Quite shy for someone who’d volunteered to strip naked and do their best impression of a dildo, but if she’d wanted to cover up until the last moment then to each their own. Maybe she’d loosen up a little during her time inside Tilda.

He’d seen her empty hands before he took up his post staring at the wall, and Eddie wasn’t the type to pry, but he idly wondered if perhaps she’d wish she’d brought the silicone friend along to keep her company after a while.

Back in the insertion room, it had only occurred to him after things were underway that she might have already put it in to avoid having to wrangle it into position once curled up in her new home. He could hardly ask her with her buried waist-deep in Tilda, so after a brief hesitation he broke his vigil to double check. It wasn’t proper, but he nipped around behind the couple to give a last-minute inspection of the LIPPS’s bared behind before it vanished into her host’s.

As he’d expected of her seemingly reserved personality, there was nothing to be seen nestled in her trim slit. Good thing too, he thought. He’d got some effusively positive feedback about them, but those things could be mighty awkward to calibrate properly at times.

He moved back to his corner, although this time he leaned his back casually against it to watch. It wasn’t like he could see the LIPPS as anything other than a growing bulge anymore, so she still had her privacy, he reasoned, and the livestock definitely had no such reservations. You got used to the casual nudity after a while, but it was always a sight to behold to see the cowgirls’ bellies ballooning out as they were filled like this.

The size difference created an odd sort of perspective illusion, he thought. The mountainous swell of a hucow carrying a LIPPS was undoubtedly huge. Obviously; it was large enough to hold an entire person after all. But the dome now sagging between Tilda’s thighs as the other woman was squeezed into it was smaller in proportion to her larger frame, ‘merely’ the size of a late late pregnancy. It tricked the brain into thinking that it had to be smaller than a person, and so in a weird way it ended up looking that way too.

As a matter of fact he knew from experience that Tilda’s belly was a similar size to the real pregnancies that some of the other hucows were carrying, so if anything the other cowgirls should look like they each had their own LIPPS, but they all carried themselves with such poise that the illusion held.

The hucow in front of him groaned through a shuddering orgasm, her belly undulating with faint movement as her new companion got settled.

Eddie smirked, shaking his head indulgently. Same size or not, the cowgirls always enjoyed themselves more with the help of a volunteer it seemed. He doubted they really understood the connection between their playmates and their milk, but after they tried it once they were always excited to do it again.

He walked over to the kneeling Tilda and rubbed her supportively on the back. The big girl smiled dopily down at him. After a minute catching her breath, she straightened her back to thrust her belly forwards, cupping and lifting breasts each bigger than his head off of it as she did so.

“Much obliged Tilda. Now then, can you hear me in there?”

…

“Ahem, uh, Ma’am? You settling in okay?”

Another silent moment passed, the pale surface rising and falling more with the cowgirl’s breaths than by internal movement.

“Ma’am, if you’re sayin’ something, I won’t be able to hear ya’, just give two kicks if you’re all set.”

This time the movement definitely came from inside, an indistinct handprint pushing briefly outwards as the woman braced herself to give her answer.

Heavy breasts slapped onto the top of the orb as Tilda dropped them to rub where her skin had been stretched. A thin trickle of milk leaked from the nipples before Eddie’s eyes.

“Good, good. Well then Miss…”

Crap, he’d been calling her ‘Ma’am’ so much he’d forgotten what her actual name was. Shirley? Shylie? Kylie? … Liza? Shoot. Well it was a bit late to ask now; Miss would do for the moment.

“Yep, that’s about it, you just take a load off in there, and we’ll see you in a couple weeks. Alright Tilda, you’re good to go.”

Patting Tilda good-naturedly on the backside, he stepped back to let her redress, then held the door open for her as they left together, as if the mighty woman needed the help. He watched as she trotted cheerfully back to her room, tail swishing behind her, before he headed off to resume his other duties.

Eddie whistled as he made his way to one of the fields, turning the ignition on one of the farm’s ATVs to speed up the journey. … Lucy? Linda? … Nope, it was gone. Maybe he’d dig out her paperwork to remind himself later, it wasn’t like he needed it urgently. He might not even be the one supervising the LIPPS’s rebirths on the day they were due. He put it out of his mind as the quadbike carried him to the first task of many he still had to do that day.

In the mess of the office, Shyla’s contract sat haphazardly on a poorly organised pile of junk documents and scrap paper. An hour later another farmhand, responsible for most of the office’s state of disarray, deposited a new wodge of old papers on top of the mentally-labelled rubbish pile.

He was about to leave then, when he remembered the farm’s managing director’s ‘request’ to “stop leaving your shit wherever you drop it for someone else to pick up.”

He turned back.

He tidied the pile into a neater, more respectable stack.

And then he tidied it, along with the only written evidence of Shyla’s presence on the farm, right into the bin.

Chapter 2

Tilda returned from a session in the milking barn not long after Shyla had settled in.

She’d been hopeful that her new friend would squirm a bit for her while she released the pressure that had built up in her chest, but she’d been largely unmoving. The cowgirl wasn’t too disappointed though; she knew from past experience that the little humans tended not be too active the first time, even if she wasn’t sure exactly why.

They were probably sleepy or something.

As such, Tilda hadn’t bothered with the extra equipment that she’d been taught to use in the cubicles, letting her charge rest while Tilda appreciating the pleasing suction of the cups attached to her nipples as they drew squirts of cream from her, while the tubing pumped the rich liquid off into the mechanism. Each mechanical mouthful relieved a little more of the pressure within her full breasts, the pillowy mounds tingling as they were drained, sometimes strongly enough that alongside the tugging on her teats and the hot rush of liquid streaming from them, it was enough to make her cum from this stimulation alone.

Not this time though, this time she just bathed in the satisfaction, rubbing her smooth belly.

She hoped that the humans collecting the milk were pleased with her produce; the idea of doing a good job made her happy, like an extra bonus on top of how enjoyable the process was by itself.

Next morning, Tilda woke up, a familiar fullness in her chest having returned, but not enough to get out of bed for. Instead she lay there until eventually the additional feeling of movement in her belly prompted her to get up.

Fiddling with the screen in her milking cubicle, she started up the dildo. Time to see if her new friend was a squirmer.

Shyla wasn’t sure when she woke up, as dreams of sinking into a massive heated mattress morphed slowly into the remarkably similar-feeling ‘bed’ she woozily came to in. Opening her eyes, they were met with a red-tinted gloom, and she was unable to hear much but for a steadily thumping heartbeat above her. She could barely move, but was so incredibly comfortable she could scarcely believe she wasn’t still dreaming.

Yawning, she squirmed a bit as the memories of yesterday returned to her, stretching her legs out of the foetal position.

She was starting to wonder if she should doze off again when gravity changed direction. Her host, Tilda, was on the move. Jostled by the rocking motion, she felt the thick chamber walls rubbing against her. The smooth contact was like a lubed up full body massage, all-enveloping except for a firm lump poking her in the left kidney.

Sliding a hand behind her, she grasped the cylindrical nuisance.

At the muffled sound of feminine moaning, Shyla realised Tilda must be in the process of being milked, and with the smuggled vibrator in her hand, remembered the synchronisation setting.

Fondling her chest, she also remembered the mention of “big changes”.

Nipples hardening in anticipation, she inspects the thing, using the low glow of her bracelet to squint at the icons labelling recessed buttons hidden under the seamless silicone base. Strength up and down, vibration pattern, a lone button she vaguely remembered was associated with the “one size fits all” promise made by the leaflet…

It was hard to see in the dark, but despite her grumbling she found what she was looking for, a button concealed on the toy’s shaft, its position making it impossible to access once inserted.

She pushed it.

Nothing.

At least she knew it wouldn’t get toggled accidentally by squeezing her kegels a little too hard. She jabbed it more firmly until she felt it click. Jumping immediately to life, the toy started rumbling hard enough that Shyla almost lost her grip. The vibration rose and fell playfully in her hand.

“Ooh baby, that’s strong. I gotta get one of these for me at home.”

Holding it by the base, she inched it past her mons pubis, shivering in delight.

Pausing with the tip teasing her clit, it wasn’t long before she came to a small orgasm.

Curled up like this, it was almost like a teasing foreplay, her lips rubbing against the clenching walls of the womb. Aggravatingly though, the lack of space also stopped the toy from reaching around her very well, being hard to keep it in position with her legs squished together.

Well, it had that curved shaft for a reason, time to make use of it.

With some difficulty, she forced her legs apart. Her back squished into the womb behind her as she pushed at the other side of the chamber to straighten her legs, lifting her ass away from it to create some space.

For as long she could hold the weight, anyway; she was already feeling the strain in her legs, and the pulsing contractions of the womb seemed to be getting stronger. A sensual groan from Tilda thrummed around her.

Hurriedly, she thrust the dildo down towards her nethers, aligning it so the strongly-vibrating clitoral-stimulator part of the base was facing forwards.

Despite being drenched in both Tilda’s and her now own juices, it was still a surprise how easily the shaft slipped into her. She gasped, then moaned in pleasure as it slid in up to the hilt, the flared base completely covering her sex like a perverse chastity seal, and the moulded inner surface hugged against her lips and sensitive button. Her hips bucked at the feeling of the vibrations travelling both through her hood from above, and from underneath it to stimulate her excited clit directly with soft, shaped ridges that contoured perfectly to her folds.

An animated cry echoed around her, the chamber clamping around her periodically as she was bobbed by Tilda’s own gently bouncing hips. She let her legs be folded back up as they started to ache from the effort of uncurling herself.

Her hands massaged her petite chest, teasing the hard nipples. Her presence here was to trick Tilda’s body into producing the cocktail of hormones that would up her milk-output for the farm, and if things went according to plan, Shyla’s own body would be getting some long-desired changes too. Part of her imagined she could feel a tingling warmth building within her boobs already as they responded to the bovine body-shaping chemicals flowing through the umbilical cord.

Unlikely so soon, but it didn’t hurt to fantasize.

Theoretically, the toy now thrumming away in her would activate whenever Tilda entered her milking stand, nominally to improve the hucow’s dairy production. Supposedly, the physical stimulation of Shyla’s movement, paired with the rush of endorphins and other hormones when she climaxed would interact with Tilda’s blood chemistry, increasing the magnitude of her hormonal spikes to raise her milk output even further. If the extra note was to be believed though, then this went both ways, and stimulating Shyla in synchrony with Tilda’s milking sessions would increase her own body’s receptiveness to the chemical messengers too.

Shyla shuddered with delight, her mind wavering indecisively between picturing herself emerging with the bombshell hourglass figure she’d always dreamed of, and thinking about the sordid, BDSM-like idea of being “trained” by pleasure.

She tilted her hips again, rubbing herself against the muscular walls to drive the penetrating shaft a little deeper.

Her brows furrowed slightly.

She couldn’t quite seem to get the satisfaction she wanted from it. It was a nice size, but it didn’t quite reach as far as she wanted, nor was it wide enough to feel properly filling.

She gave a frustrated little huff, before remembering that this was something she could actually change!

“One size fits all” it had said, right? But which button was that?

It had been tricky enough getting it in the first time with the uterine walls pressed so snugly against her, she didn’t imagine it would be any easier wrangling a larger item into position, so Shyla left it in place. Instead, she fumbled at the outer face of the base, her fingers probing the shallow indents that marked the controls.

Strength up and down, those two were easy, but that left a few others, and she couldn’t quite remember which was which.

Shyla muttered an irritated curse as her prodding yielded no results, until she was just mashing buttons to see if there was a combination that- ah!!

She felt a swelling pressure inside her when holding a two buttons simultaneously, and whooped at her little victory.

A happy groan escaped her as the bulbous tip of the device grew inside her, the thrumming shape parting her clenching walls. The vibrations quaked powerfully through her depths, now pressing solidly against her g-spot, and her legs moved unconsciously against Tilda’s womb as the growing girth pushed into her cervix, filling her completely.

Bucking her hips, Shyla rubbed her hands against the hucow’s innards, spurred on by the appreciative sounds of pleasure that echoed around her.

The increasingly round shaft continued to expand, but the entrance to her pussy could only manage intrusions up to a certain girth, and more and more of the length already inside her was exceeding this limit. Like blowing up a balloon that had been poked through a wedding ring, the shaft started to pull the neck of the inflating apparatus in after it.

The flared base prevented the toy from being lost, but it was pulled increasingly tightly against her vulva, making the buzzing between her loins feel all the stronger as the base pressed firmly into her.

The pulsing walls around her gave an extra, external layer of stimulation, and she squirmed against the slippery surfaces for another minute as both she and Tilda built to a peak, before her back arched and she yelled in ecstasy. Then the womb clenched down hard, forcing her into a tight, shuddering ball of sensation, and a long, lusty “Moooo~!” came from all around her as her hucow host came too.

A rush of tingling euphoria blossomed from her navel as a healthy dose of bovine hormones arrived via the umbilical, spreading until the feeling filled her from head to toe. Her hands, crushed to her chest by the contraction, squeezed her small breasts in response to the tingling seemingly focusing on the mammary tissue, lighting nerves up like a Christmas tree.

The vibrations lulled briefly, although Shyla’s body was so sensitive it was still shaking like she was strapped to an electric fence.

“Guh- I- Whoo! That was…” She panted to herself, gulping the air now thickly scented with both Tilda’s and her fluids.

“Oh! That’s a bit, ah! SooOON!” The hardy motor spun up for a moment, sending a jolt of pleasure through her to remind her that the milking sync setting was still active. Her vagina squeezed reflexively, and a solid resistance made itself known when she found that the device was pushing outward harder than she could clamp down. She was fuller than she’d ever been before, her taut tunnel stretched wide with the tension intense enough that it was just shy of painful, and in the gloom she was startled to see a bulge below her navel.

Shyla moaned involuntarily as another rumble shook her, and she squeezed a hand between her thighs to hit the button controlling size.

“Shit!”

As before, nothing changed. The thrum was ramping steadily up though, forcing irresistible sensations directly into her. So close to her last orgasm and approaching another so soon, it was hard to think straight as she flapped at the controls, trying to find a useful combination by chance.

“C’mon, c’m-ack! Fuck-! aaAAH!”

Something she did had an effect, but the opposite of what she intended.

Suddenly, the solid lump in her belly expanded even quicker, ballooning until she was sure it was at least the size of a cantaloupe, pushing her uncomfortably beyond what she’d thought were her limits. The admittedly inessential breath briefly left her, irrationally feeling as if the invader was somehow growing large enough to force the air from her lungs.

To her dismay, the vibrations got stronger too, rising and falling with each peak higher than the last, and if anything the strain of accommodating the juddering shape only made her stressed nerves more receptive.

With imprecise fingers she attacked the buttons again, trying to turn the power down at least, but she must have triggered a specific setting or mode or something because the damned thing no longer responded at all!

She may have only just had an orgasm, but now that her playmate had gone rogue she’d lost what control she’d had left, leaving her at the mercy of both the womb and the unthinking machine.

“Oh GOD!!”

That thought, once crystalized, wedged in her brain and arced across synapses like lightning.

Completely at another’s mercy, forced to cum whether she wanted to or not.

Whining, she scrabbled at the lip of the base, trying the pry it away from her overly responsive clit, but despite the lubrication it was held so snugly against her that it could have been glued to her.

The vibrator must have reached some pre-programmed time limit, as its motor abruptly rose to a wavering maximum.

Shyla yelped, her hand jerking and reflexively slapping against the device, as if it needed any help being held in place. She resisted the inexorably building climax, but it was as if she were being dragged towards a cliff edge by a boulder tied to her ankles, clawing at the dirt for a scant few seconds more before she took the terrifying plunge.

The bracelet on her other arm bumped against her wrist.

That was right, she still had an out. If she needed it. And this was…

It was hard to string two thoughts together, feeling literally and figuratively ready to burst.

Enjoying herself too much was not going to be the reason she called for emergency help, she could handle this, she could enduuurrrre…

A few resilient ganglia had just enough computing power to produce a final coherent thought;

“It should stop when the milking ends anyway. Wh- When-?”

She let go of the cliff edge, screaming gutturally as the overwhelming orgasm ruthlessly wracked her spasming body.

Nnnnnghhhgmmppp…!!

An inaudible wail sent a barely detectable shudder across Tilda’s distended belly.

Yes! Tilda mooed joyously, running her hands over the babybump. Irregular bulges shifted the surface from within, only rising an inch or two before being pulled back into the heavy orb.

It didn’t look like much, but it felt amazing!

She’d got a squirmer! The hucow cheered mentally. And such an enthusiastic one too!

Her buttocks quaked as they bounced up and down, riding the hucow-sized dildo emerging from the floor of her cubicle.

Carrying a human like this didn’t have to be sexual; it could feel just as pleasant when taking it easy, with something about their obscured movements making the weight feel so much more satisfying to have and to hold.

That said, it could definitely work as an aphrodisiac too in the right contexts, and being milked was one of them. Tilda wondered how some of the humans knew to start squirming at just the right time for that…

On her booth’s touchscreen, she lowering a brightly coloured slider to slow the dildo pumping into her from below to a halt. Kneeling comfortably, she basked in the post-euphoria glow as the internal wriggling continued, and the nozzles suckling at her bosom alleviated the built-up pressure.

After another luxuriating couple of minutes, the writhing in her womb was unabated.

Her new playmate was so energetic!

Biting her lip, Tilda cupped her breasts experimentally, sloshing them atop her belly to gauge their fullness.

She normally only got off the once when being milked and then took it easy but, well, it felt like she still had roughly… eh, quarter of an hour to go?

The cowgirl tapped the screen to start up the piston under her seat for another round, smiling at Shyla’s perceived generosity.

If her little friend was so eager, she wouldn’t mind taking her time…

Chapter 3

Upon detecting being carried out of the milking stall, the vibrator trapped in Shyla’s overstimulated pussy finally began to wind down, although by this point Shyla was already a drooling mess. Slowly, she began to regain her senses, dazedly rousing herself from the quagmire it felt like her brain had been submerged in.

Every muscle felt loose, her legs still twitching. Attempting to stand would probably have ended in her flopping bonelessly to the floor.

“Nngghh… S-see? N-not so b… bad.” She stuttered to herself.

She sniffed, pressing her hands to her face before pushing the wet hair plastered to it back up over her scalp.

“Wayyy more intense than I’m used to, but…” Still slightly pleasure-drunk, she giggled lasciviously, “I mean, I could get used to sex like that~”

She checked the light-up display on her bracelet, seeing that several hours had passed while she slept and subsequently came her brains out.

With lucidity’s return however, there was an issue that needed addressing. Despite being inactive, the dildo-device was still immovably swollen.

Forcing her legs apart, Shyla widened herself as best she could, fingers hooked under her thighs into the soft skin around her nethers to spread her vulva further apart. She tensed her core and pushed, bearing down and trying to force the girthy gadget out of herself, but after several minutes’ grunting exertion it was clear that it wasn’t going anywhere.

Even when the womb wasn’t in the way of it re-emerging, which was apparently not likely to be often as the elastic musculature balled her up again, the stupid thing had inflated too wide to fit back out through the relatively narrow entry it had come in.

Incredibly, the external portion was pressed so snugly against her that Shyla still couldn’t slip so much as a fingertip underneath it to touch herself directly. Her initial impression of it seeming like a chastity seal was more accurate than she’d realised, it seemed, although thankfully the touch of a button bringing it to life before it was hastily turned off again proved that she was not going to be denied a pleasant buzz should she want one.

Squinting, she could actually see a new curve to her lower belly, bulging out above her mons pubis. She prodded it, feeling the hard shape resist her fingertips, and was surprised at how little discomfort the mass was causing. It was hard not to be aware of its presence, filling her so thoroughly with even the narrowest part being intimately felt where it thrust into her, and creating a titillating friction when she moved, but she’d half-expected being stuffed to cause a bit of soreness at least.

The soothing properties of the womb, perhaps?

On that note, perhaps it was the lingering effect of the dopamine she’d been awash with, or the pervasive sense of comfort, but she was not as concerned about this problem as she may have been otherwise. In other circumstances this could have been an embarrassing hospital trip, but in here… Well, she wasn’t going anywhere either, and taking it in and out every time she wanted to use it in these cramped confines was a hassle that the designers probably hadn’t intended.

Basically, it could wait until she’d been rebirthed.

It’d be embarrassing to get the farmers’ help she was sure, but she was hoping that when the time came she’d be more thrilled with the new bustline she’d always wanted.

Idly, she groped her currently unsatisfactory chest. No visible changes yet, obviously, but there was a tingle that might indicate good things to come. Or it just felt nice, and she continued lazily rubbing herself with a lopsided smile, tweaking the occasional nipple as she stared half-lidded into nothing.

All the while, the steady thumping of Tilda’s heartbeat counted away the seconds.

It was… hypnotic… the ponderous noise making her thoughts grow sluggish.

The warm pressure began to feel dreamlike, filling her head with cotton. She didn’t even notice when her bracelet stopped glowing as the display went back to sleep.

After an indeterminate amount of time though, she jolted, suddenly bright and attentive.

Her room was stationary, but she heard a loud gurgle from somewhere above and behind her, its volume amplified by her proximity. Slosh. She supposed Tilda was eating.

Weirdly, there was none of the grogginess associated with being roused from a long nap; it seemed that she was either fresh and awake or floating in a fugue state. Even alert as she was, she felt she could have slipped from one state to another with little effort. It would have been so easy to just let the time slip by.

Part of her found that little scary in an existential sort of way; a call of the void whispering sweet nothings to just sleep her time away.

It wasn’t like she had much else to do in her isolation, but for the moment, she didn’t feel like dozing, so just listened to the organic workings surrounding her. Softly kneading her tingling breasts, Shyla closed her eyes to the ruddy gloom, barely noticing as the seconds slipped into hours, and she drifted off again.

Of course, there was no chance in hell of rest when Tilda went for her second milking of the day, and Shyla’s silicone companion whirred to life, once again unresponsive to attempts to deter it from bringing her to one earth-shattering climax after another.

And so a sort of routine began to form. Shyla dozed, her body kept in comfortable stasis for hours at a time, until the cowgirl went to do what cowgirls did on a dairy farm, draining her full udders while Shyla’s presence ensured that Tilda’s bosom would be feeling the pressure again in barely half a day.

The LIPPS was doing her job well, the extra hormonal and physical feedback from Shyla’s shuddering throes of ecstasy leading her hucow home to seek relief from the milking machines twice or even three times a day, which in turn caused the milking synchronisation mode to fire up each and every time, for however long it took for Tilda to be satisfied. Even Tilda’s own sounds of appreciation would have been drowned out by Shyla’s wild hollering had it not been muffled by the dense layers of muscle enveloping her.

Shyla couldn’t even hold out for the battery to die during these prolonged sessions, as the milking cubicle wirelessly charged the device’s hefty internal power cell even as it was stimulating her.

However, during the long stints when she wasn’t busy being fucked silly, it turned out that if she wasn’t just sleeping the time away, it was actually… Mind bogglingly boring.

Pleasant, yes, but there was not much in the way of mental stimulation that didn’t arrive via her genitals, and it was oddly difficult to find a middle ground between fully alert and all but comatose.

She could let herself be lulled into a stupor, but sleeping the day away felt like a waste of time somehow. She could indulge in increasingly easy-to-reach orgasms so strong she could hardly remember who or where she was for a short while afterwards. Or, she could sit with nothing to turn her attentiveness to until cabin fever began to gnaw at her, and she had to resort to the other two options to avoid going stir crazy.

She wondered how the other LIPPSes coped. They probably weren’t overthinking it as much.

Eyes weren’t much help, although she noticed that when Tilda went outside, presumably in nice weather, she could actually see a bit more of her cramped abode, the sunlight filtering through the womb as a slight orangey-red glow, like when she held a torch to her fingertip. It was still dark, but she was accustomed to it, and could actually see the outline of her body against the illuminated inner walls. If she fought against them for enough space to look at the uterine surface properly, Shyla could actually make out the indistinct patches of shadow created when something pressed against the belly.

Usually, this was Tilda’s arms, as she loving stroked the human-sized bulge, but occasionally hands belonging to another hucow would fall upon her, rubbing her through the taut skin, and Shyla listened in as the two women mooed happily at each other. They presumably got more from the conversation than Shyla did. She did call out a few times to see if she could interject in any way, but they seemed to react more to squirming, if only with simple appreciation.

The soft weight of the mammaries resting atop her cast a shapely shadow too when the light was directly overhead.

When not in the sun though, she only had the senses of hearing and touch to occupy her. So, searching for a way to her mind active, she listened. Mostly all she could hear was the gurgling, sloshing sounds of her host’s full stomach and her ever-present heartbeat, with a muffled backdrop of the other hucows going about their days, although intermittently the muted voice of some farmhand would get through if they happened to be close enough when talking to each other or the livestock.

The audio was all perfectly conducive to dozing, but did get a bit repetitive, and while properly awake she was quite effectively isolated, so it didn’t take long for Shyla to turn to her toy to pass the time. While she couldn’t turn it off during milking, she could still use the controls outside of that to experiment with the different vibration patterns.

On one occasion, she tried leaving it on the lowest setting, making a game of seeing how long she could resist before either turning it off or finishing herself off. She held herself on the brink for enough time that when Tilda went to get milked and the stronger setting kicked in automatically, the long-awaited climax hit her so hard and fast that she actually blacked out. Not that this stopped the vibrator, and her body continuing to twitch through additional orgasms despite her consciousness having temporarily vacated the premises.

Tilda for her part was quite happy with her daily groove.

Her output was up by 5% after merely three days! Tilda didn’t put a number on it, but could feel she was making more, and could feel her prodigious chest getting weightier every cycle.

Unlike her passenger, she didn’t spend that much time snoozing in her room. Rather, out in the green pasture, she enjoyed the company of the other cowgirls, mooing sociably with her friends as they watched the farmhands at work, or showing off their passengers for the others to admire. Whether her fellows were pregnant for real or had their own artificial companions, almost every one of them enjoyed a nice belly rub, with those of them that wore dresses lifting them up to expose the smooth, warm skin underneath.

Tilda was one of the more active members of the herd, cantering laps around the outer limits of the field when taken by the desire to move, huffing as she felt Shyla being jostled by the motion. It was rather fun to feel the human’s weight being bounced about inside her, creating a delightful rub of flesh on flesh as Shyla slithered against her snug confines. The occasional jogging sessions had a similar effect on Shyla herself, the full-body massage pairing with the undulating pressure, which nudged at the vibrator’s base. Despite how firmly lodged it was, it wasn’t completely fixed in place, and so the rhythmic squeezing inched it to and fro to create a deep friction that inevitably left Shyla feeling aflutter.

By the end of the first week, Tilda’s breasts were starting to test the limits of her dress. Sideboob peeked out despite the garment’s voluminous capacity as the pumpkin-sized pair reacted to her body’s enhanced endocrine system, fooled into working overtime by her pseudo-pregnancy. The cream-laden chest weighed heavier on her belly, which had in fact contracted slightly as her innards had acclimatised to their cargo, ratcheting inwards one unnoticeably tightened muscle fibre at a time.

In the imperceptibly diminishing space, Shyla’s room was being taken up by something more conspicuous. After a particularly vigorous run around the paddock, Tilda had worked up a sweat. Lugging around a whole human was tiring after all, and the exertion caught up with her quicker than it would have had she been unburdened, no matter how easy she made it look.

Wanting to take some weight off her hooves, she rolled onto her back. Lying there, a prodding sensation rippled the surface of her stomach as her enclosed companion tried to reduce the amount of contact with Tilda’s sweltering insides, largely unsuccessfully. Sympathetically, she tugged her dress up to expose her belly to cooling open air.

As Shyla’s world tipped sideways, enough sunlight filtered through the declothed dome to illuminate her and confirm what she’d been blindly feeling for the last two days.

Looking down at herself, Shyla saw two plump mounds, squashed up against her thighs.

Whooping victoriously, Shyla fist pumped, inadvertently punching the surrounding tissue and making Tilda jump at the unexpected twitch on the surface of her belly. The hucow relaxed again after a moment when she felt the happy wiggling that followed, Shyla doing the closest equivalent of a celebratory dance she could manage while balled up.

“Ohh m-” Shyla croaked, her voice a little rusty, and coughed to clear her throat. “Ahem. Oh my God, yes! ‘Big Changes’ was right!” In the low light she squinted at the improvements, feeling the slippery globes flop in her hands.

A grin spread uncontrollably across her face as she cupped her bosom, jiggling the newly-jigglable assets with a crude giggle. She yipped as she touched her nipples, a tingle spreading through the rest of her sensitive boobs… Yes, boobs! No longer mere mosquito bites, she actually had proper boobs!

They felt like… Cs? Maybe Ds? Hard to say, she wasn’t experienced in gauging anything curvier than a dinner plate.

She checked her bracelet. Roughly a week to go. And if she was average now…

She wiggled excitedly. Patting the squishy walls gratefully, she called out, though more for herself than a genuine attempt to communicate.

“Doing well girl! Doing damn well! Keep up the good work!”

A shadow swept overhead as Tilda rubbed her belly, mooing cheerfully as if she had heard the compliment.

A cloud covered the sun, and Shyla’s world lost what scant illumination it had had.

The heartbeat above her slowed as Tilda nodded off, but Shyla was still too pumped to want to join her. Her imagination was churning out images of her supermodel-like rebirth, like a big-breasted butterfly from her cocoon. She’d be able to stand alongside her co-workers without feeling like a stringbean, she could get those dresses she’d never had the cleavage for, she’d be able to turn heads at the bar for a change, she’d…

Inevitably, her mind wandered to some of the cruder things that could be done with her new rack and a dollop of self-confidence. After a while longer staring at the dark womb walls, one hand crept down to start her toy up on the lowest setting.

It’d be firing up on its own once Tilda got back to her schedule, but the mind-rattling experience was welcome now that it was bearing juicy fruit, and an early celebration never hurt anyone…

Next Thursday, Shyla was woken by a commotion.

Shaken roughly to and fro, she felt the swinging sensation of being taken for a run, but hard enough that it seemed Tilda had broken into a sprint. Uterine muscles clenched around her to hold her close and steady.

After a few minutes of this abuse, she yelped as she was suddenly lurched sideways.

There was a distressed mooing coming from her host, and by the way she was being swung under the bulk of Tilda’s body, she deduced that the hucow was now on all fours.

“Guh! Wh- What’s happening out there?” She spluttered, then wheezed when she felt Tilda’s considerable weight settle partially on top of her.

For a moment she wondered frantically if a hucow bull had somehow got where he shouldn’t, and was now helping himself to the fine females of this field. It was embarrassing enough being involved in Tilda’s self-stimulation, even if she had acclimatised somewhat, but the idea of being a third wheel, directly in the firing line of whatever an opportunistic abhuman might pump in to join her was downright humiliating.

Fortunately, she didn’t feel anything nudging against her from the other side of the sealed cervix, but that didn’t tell her anything about what was causing the cowgirl’s consternation.

Groaning in the clenching space, there was nothing she could do to work out what was going on, let alone help, so all that was left was to grit her teeth and wait for Tilda to resolve things herself…

Tilda had met a new friend that morning.

She’d been leaning against a fence post at the border of the paddock she and the others were allowed to roam, when a bark startled her, coming from the black and white dog that had appeared by her side.

One of the farm’s working dogs had some spare time it seemed, and had managed to worm its way under part of the wire mesh bordering this particular paddock. Tilda had been wary at first around the unknown animal, but was eventually disarmed by his playful demeanour. He must have barely outgrown puppyhood, filled with infectiously excitable energy that tempted the hucow into playing along, and so the furry friend orbited her as they frolicked together as best as her cumbersome load would allow.

Occasionally he would shoot off as a black-and-white blur to investigate the other cowgirls in the paddock, but he seemed to have taken a liking to Tilda, returning for scritches and, crucially, to play fetch. Tilda sometimes saw humans playing with their canine companions in the empty field next to hers, and copied one of the things she remembered in particular, picking up a fallen branch from one of the trees by the fence and hefting the thing halfway across the paddock. Her superior strength sent the stick flying further than most humans could manage, much to the dog’s delight.

After an hour or so, Tilda sat down for a breather, stripping off her warm dress and casually depositing it on the grass next to her. The dog sniffed it curiously, panting and looking up at her as she watched it with a smile.

A moment later, it had grabbed the fabric in its mouth.

Wha- no! Give that back! Tilda reached to retrieve it. The dog however, thinking this was a new game, immediately snapped into an action-ready stance, and before Tilda could even touch the garment, had bolted out of range before pausing to see if she was giving chase.

She did, rising to her hooves and thudding heavily after the cheerful rocket, mooing indignantly. Her firm belly swung as she ran, though it was not as off-putting as her now unrestrained breasts, which she had to clutch to her chest to prevent them from bouncing too uncomfortably.

Though still faster than the average human, she couldn’t quite keep up with the dog, which shot off with her dress flapping over its back like a cape.

After a full circuit of the field, Tilda was getting irritated, but her quarry was cornering itself at the boundary fencing. Accelerating victoriously, she saw it turn to look at her almost smugly with its mouthful of ill-gotten garment, before crouching low to the ground and scrabbling at the base of the wire mesh.

Its head and shoulders squeezed under the hole in the wire barrier the farmers had obviously missed, hindlegs kicking the dress behind it as it was pulled through into the hedge on the other side.

With only moments to spare, Tilda leapt forwards, catching herself on her hands and knees to avoid crushing her belly as she skidded over the grass and her outstretched left hand plunged through the gap. Her fingers felt soft cotton and closed around the retreating fabric. An instant later, her face felt wire mesh drawn taut as her momentum carried her headfirst into the fence, shaking the whole structure.

The wooden posts next to her cracked, and there was a rattle and ping of wires being pulled free.

Slightly dazed, she pulled her hand back, the jolt having yanked the dress free of the startled canine’s jaws, only for the loose mesh to jab into her wrist, not hard enough to actually break her tough skin, but painfully enough that she instinctively stopped tugging. She mooed her upset, able to feel her human cargo awake and squirming confusedly, and tried to move to better extract her arm.

A sharper pain lanced through her left ear when she tried to pull away, something had caught on the fence! Suddenly, unexpectedly trapped, she cried out in distress. Her free hand fumbled at her ear, and felt one of her tags snagged somehow on the metal mesh.

Trying to reduce the pain stabbing through her ear, she lowered herself closer to the ground, inadvertently squashing her belly under her, although she hardly noticed. Wincing, she focused her vision, realising a moment later that what she could see was the dog shaking itself off and cautiously moving nearer.

She yelled inarticulately, trying to shoo it away from her and the arm still stuck on the far side of the fence, but it barked loudly at her in response, compounding her rising panic as it kept creeping closer.

The animal was tiny compared to her when standing, but in her incredibly vulnerable position the approaching predator was terror-inducing, sparking a primal urge to get away.

Eyes flicking wildly between the dog and her trapped arm, Tilda grabbed the mesh pinning her arm with her right hand, wrenching it upwards and whipping her left arm free. The dog bounded for the dress dragged along with it, probably with misguided playfulness, but it was enough to spook Tilda into pulling away with her entire body, and she gave a short shriek as a stinging pain slashed through her ear where her ring gauge piercing was torn free.

Scooting back on her haunches with her eyes watering, Tilda glowered through the fence at the dog, which looked disappointed that playtime was apparently over. It sniffed at the ground thoughtfully.

Then, nosing at the undergrowth, it picked something up.

Panic subsiding, Tilda frowned with a new spike of indignation as she saw the tag and metal ring gauge hanging from its mouth, a couple of bright red spots of blood spattering the yellow plastic. Her hand flew to her ear, and she winced as the sore area throbbed at the touch. Her earring! The humans gave her that!

… On the other hand, there was no way she was sticking anything back through that evil little passageway to retrieve it. So, she just glared, stroking her belly soothingly as both its occupant and her own heart rate slowly calmed down. After a short staring contest, the dog at last gave a low wuff, retreated to the far side of the hedge and disappeared from view.

Ohhh, that wasn’t very nice. Guess his idea of fun isn’t quite the same as mine… Tilda ruminated morosely. She held up the dress and groaned at the sight of a gash right down the middle. It must have caught on the fence when she pulled it under.

Putting it on experimentally, the tear stretched wide around her curves, revealing a large portion of her upper belly and an absolute chasm of a cleavage, the light pink of her areolas peeking titillatingly in from the ragged edges. She hmmed at the sight of the damage, oblivious to the provocative nature of her look, and resolved to give the garment to one of the farmers. The humans would be able to fix it or get her a new one, they were smart like that.

She was slightly more embarrassed that she’d lost the ear tag they’d given her, and felt more hesitant about telling them. She’d quite liked the decorative ornament too.

Although, she reasoned ponderously as she walked back to her room in the barn, at least it was the on-and-off one that that puppy took; they’d probably be more upset with me if I lost the other one. Tilda wasn’t completely sure why only one of her earrings stayed in place permanently, but she knew for a fact that the one that she’d just been relieved of was something she only got to wear when she was carrying a human in her tummy. Tilda had wondered about that before, and concluded that it must be a special present for doing a good job.

Well, now she felt guiltier for losing it.

On the plus side, if they were going to take it out again then really she’d helped do some of their work for them! Besides, they’d probably give her a new one when she got a new partner in another few months. She nodded to herself, satisfied with the logic, and rubbed her belly affectionately.

It’d be a shame when this girl had to leave, Tilda always enjoyed carrying them, but this one was such an excellent squirmer during milking that Tilda would surely miss her when she was gone. If only she was allowed to hold onto them for a bit longer…

Back in her room, in front of her mirror, she inspected her injured ear. It wasn’t as bad as it had felt actually. The wound running from the piercing to the outer edge of the furred flap was remarkably clean, and had already stuck neatly back together as blood clotted and the healing process began. It’d probably be good as new in no time.

Her mind was taken off the aching appendage by a ticklish sensation as the torn edges of her ripped dress shifted, brushing her nipples and reminding her that it’d been a few hours since her last session.

Changing into a spare, Tilda carried the damaged dress with her, intent on handing it over to one of the farmhands as apologetically as possible while en route to the milking station. She wanted to unwind, and this would be a good first step to forgetting this unpleasant fiasco.

Shyla meanwhile squirmed gently, getting comfortable after the commotion and remaining entirely oblivious to its cause, and its consequences yet to be felt.

At long last, two weeks had passed since the LIPPS insertion.

Tilda trudged in a queue of cowgirls down an aisle, penned in by metal bars. She morosely recognised this part of the farm, sad that her time with her wonderful little friend had come to an end.

She stepped through a gate into a section big enough for one hucow at a time, the path forking ahead of her with each option currently blocked by another gate. Tilda may not have known what an airlock was, nor a cattle crush for that matter, but she knew what would happen next. The mechanical gate clanged shut behind her, locking her in by herself as expected. Next, the metal thingies in the wall would get close to her head for a second, and then the right-hand gate would swing away, channelling her towards the same room she’d first met her friend in. She sighed, closing her eyes as the boxy devices scanning her ears for their own arcane reasons beeped in unison. And at last would come her least favourite part of the process.

Giving birth wasn’t even that hard for her after the farmers jabbed her with that little needle, it was getting used to being without her wonderful filling until the next one came around that left her feeling so depressingly empty inside.

She hugged her belly protectively as the gate ahead clattered.

Opening her eyes she stepped- she paused, taken aback by the open gate on the left.

Mooing uncertainly, she looked at the farmhand supervising the automated system on the other side of the metal bars penning her in.

“Come on now, get a move on!” He said, not unkindly. His eyes flicked between her asymmetrical aural adornment and the grimy screen in front of him, confirming its claim of;

ID TAG DETECTED. LIPPS TAG NOT DETECTED.

“Back to the main paddock for you, girl. Don’t worry ‘bout yer pals, they’ll be back with you soon as they’re finished up.”

Tilda left the corral with a growing spring in her step, taking her out into the sunshine once again. Maybe I get to keep her for longer this time? A grin spread across her happy face as she joined the other cowgirls milling in the field, unaware that she was the only one of them still carrying a human passenger.

Unable to contain herself, she skipped around the perimeter of the field, so overjoyed by the idea of keeping her squirmy little friend that it never even occurred to her that it might have been a mistake.

Shyla pushed at the womb walls, struggling to manoeuvre around her breasts, which had grown generously to take up significantly more space in her cramped room. Her arm squeezed past the squishy orbs and she checked the time. An hour and a half left.

Of course, Tilda had already gone through the sorting process, but Shyla didn’t realise that her timer was lagging behind the actual schedule due to her late arrival on the first day.

She heard an indignant noise from Tilda, and was jostled by a bout of sudden activity. What now? So close to the finish line? … Well, it was probably nothing; her host had bounced her about numerous times, she was sure she could just wait out the final stretch.

What had happened, was that while jogging around the outskirts of the paddock, Tilda had seen a familiar face.

To be honest she’d largely forgot about her missing tag by now, but the dog on the other side of the fence was easily remembered.

She rushed towards the fence, trying to reach it. She’d teach it a lesson, she’d… she wasn’t sure what exactly but she’d do something! She hit the fence, which creaked but held, the dog just sitting there as if mocking her.

Tilda backed up, stamping a hoof similarly to a bull preparing to charge, before doing just that. At the last moment though, she leapt! The dog tensed as her running jump sent her flying towards it, and in an instant had bolted in a panicked bid to escape the bovine meteor.

Her soaring arc almost cleared the fence completely, but she just clipped the top of the barrier, sending her tumbling through the hedge. She rolled to avoid crushing her belly, which bulged slightly as her passenger pushed hands and feet out trying to stabilise herself after being put through a spin cycle. Tilda’s mind was still focused elsewhere though, and ignored the wriggle to chase the canine scrabbling in the undergrowth, away from her fellows behind her, and into the fields covering the hillside ahead.

One field after another passed underfoot, hopping gates and hedges in pursuit of the dog that, to be quite honest, she’d lost track of after the first two or three.

A while later, Tilda had got herself turned around.

She’d managed to get onto a backlane somehow, which had turned into a dirt path, which had turned into another field she didn’t recognise, and she wasn’t quite sure where she was going anymore. She was tired though. She could see a town a short way away, but that could wait. The paddock she was in had a nice large tree in it, and under its shade, she sat down to take a nap.

As time passed, the surface of her belly started to get livelier.

The timer on Shyla’s bracelet had hit zero a little while ago, but still nothing seemed to be happening.

“Hello? I think it’s been two weeks now, it’s time for me to come out now, right?”

No response. But that was not a surprise; no-one had been able to hear her till then. It was fine, she’d be fine, they couldn’t practically get every LIPPS out at the exact moment their timers said they would… but something should be happening right? Tilda was asleep, surely she should be getting ready? They couldn’t have forgotten her, that was impossible, but… there was that commotion earlier, maybe something HAD gone wrong, and how would she know?!

Tilda rolled over in her sleep, mumbling to herself and idly squeezing her belly. Shyla yelped as she rolled, then groaned when the womb tightened around her, and lost her nerve. Exposing the button on her bracelet, she activated the distress beacon.

The glowing display changed from 00:00 to show a battery icon, flashing as it started to drain. She gulped, and called out again, pushing out with as much strength as she could manage to help the farm staff see where she was.

Tilda’s belly rippled indistinctly, not a sound escaping to be heard by the absent audience.

Over a mile away back in the main office, an alert stuttered into life.

George, one of the older employees, who had in fact been the laid-back soul made to “tidy” the office two weeks ago, looked at the readout on the receiver quizzically.

“That’s odd, shouldn’t be any of those beacons still out to be activated.” He pondered aloud.

Jack, a fresh intern, was less relaxed. “But, someone must have one, they could be in trouble! That’s what those mean, right?!”

“Jack, Jack, we sorted the entire herd earlier today, and we don’t get new contractors in ‘til next week; the only things those cowgirls are carrying are smaller cowgirls.”

“But-!”

“‘sides, listen to it.” The tone crackled like static, its strength wobbling irregularly. “Those bracelets are strong enough to give a clear signal from anywhere on this ranch. ‘til they run out of juice anyway. Signal this weak’s gotta be coming from offsite.” He fiddled with the room’s main computer until a map appeared on the screen, marked by a red dot roaming shakily as the receiver struggled to triangulate it. “Y’see? It’s coming from town, or thereabouts, and if we check our register from when we sorted the girls earlier today…” A list of names and IDs scrolled across the monitor. “… Not a single abhuman unaccounted for.”

“Oh.” Jack looked mildly crestfallen, so after moment George threw him a bone.

“Can’t blame you for wanting to be sure though, good to be careful.” He said, somewhat hypocritically. “But it’s probably just one of our volunteers wanting a souvenir. We had that last year, whole bunch of the dang bracelets went missing and it turned out they’d just been taken home by the LIPPSes.”

“Didn’t you get them back?”

“Nah, not worth the trouble. These things ain’t that expensive.” George rattled a bucket of sticky, not-completely-dried-yet examples. “We’ll re-use most after steam-cleaning ‘em, but we can take losing a few. On that note…”

He tapped away at the keyboard again, bringing up a list of all the bracelets registered with the system, one coloured a warning red.

“We’re likely not getting than one back, so-” The highlighted line disappeared as he nonchalantly clicked through the “Are you sure you want to forget this device?” pop-up.

“Out of sight-” The map marker vanished, and he approached the handheld receiver meant to home in on the distress beacon at closer ranges, and flicked a switch on the back.

Unlike the source of the signal, currently yelling into the cramped, muffling womb walls of her wayward host, the locator went silent. “-Out of mind.”

With nobody looking for it, the charge on the offending beacon slowly ticked down, holding the horrified attention of the one wearing it. Shyla paused her kicking to stare disbelievingly as the battery icon ran out, the last of the paltry light it had to give her going dark with a sad little beep, followed shortly by an ear-splitting scream.

Tilda woke up, eventually, to the feeling of Shyla’s struggles. Rather than recognising the desperate writhing for what it was, the pleasant sensation just paired with the heavy fullness of her chest in a reminder that she had gone a whole day without being milked, and it was time to get home.

Hooves clopping along the road surface, her return was far faster once she’d met a human riding a bicycle through the back lanes who had helpfully led her back to the ranch. There had been some confusion getting the woman to realise what she wanted, mooing pointedly as she gestured at her incredibly engorged breasts, which hadn’t been helped by the distracting flurry of movement from her passenger at the sound of another person’s voice.

I know, I want to get home too, she’d thought as she gave her twitching middle a subduing squeeze, but save that energy for the machine building. She was half-correct, though with only the milking shed in mind had sorely misinterpreted which home Shyla wanted to get to.

Waving goodbye to the helpful woman at the farm’s entrance, Tilda looked around furtively.

She didn’t see any staff around, which was for the best in her eyes; she didn’t want to get in trouble for her little excursion. She knew it had been naughty to run off, but where was the harm really?

Something pushed firmly against the inside of her cervix for a few seconds, before the natural tension of her womb snapped the immobile knot of muscle back into place without so much as a second thought from Tilda.

Letting herself in through one of the big front gates, the hucow headed straight for the milking barn. A few curious glances from her fellows cattle watched her pass while she found an empty cubicle.

Taking a seat, she scanned her one remaining ear tag, and a “charging” indicator LED lit up, going unnoticed as Tilda shuddered with joy at the feeling of her passenger beginning to kick energetically.

Without a doubt, her human friend was one of the best squirmers she’d ever had, and now she gets to keep her for even longer! Tilda hummed happily as she went through the familiar motions of attaching the suckling rubber mouths of the machinery to her swollen teats. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d done to be given such a reward, but she wasn’t going to complain.

Of course, she’d let her toy-come-passenger go when the other humans eventually made her, but she wanted to savour it for as long as she could until then, and if they didn’t prompt her, then… well, she certainly wasn’t going to rush them. Maybe it was due to how much milk she had made? She wondered, sighing in relief as the sight of cream squirting into transparent tubing eased the pressure in her chest. In that case, she’d just have to do her best to keep up the good work. With a few more touches of the controls, a pneumatic hiss came from the cubicle’s fucking-machinery moving into place under her, the girthy tip brushing against her eager slit. She’d be happy to spend as much time in this stall as necessary, and she was sure her partner wouldn’t mind either.

Shyla gasped when she felt the remote-controlled toy fire up, providing instant clarity on where she was now.

Her body had actually been heating up already in anticipation, having become synchronised so thoroughly with Tilda’s. She was sure that her bucking reactions only spurred Tilda on, but the mere massage of the womb clenching and rubbing against her skin would have been enough to get her hips rocking; the aggressive, inescapable vibrations stimulating her most sensitive areas made sitting still physically impossible.

Her brain was running a mile a minute. Clearly she wasn’t supposed to still be there; two weeks had passed, and even if the timer was off the beacon had done nothing. Had there been a mistake, a malfunction? Had they lied to her?

It couldn’t have been on purpose, she denied, that would be kidnapping! They’d never get away with it for long before people came to check on where the volunteers had gone! But the alternative… Oh God, that might be worse. If it wasn’t on purpose, then there might not be anyone who knew that she was…

Her frazzled mind conceptualised the idea of being trapped for good and got stuck. Less than one of the cattle, less than a person, she’d basically be a bodypart of the livestock herself! Her body spasmed again, and she felt an unfamiliar addition to the heat and slippery wetness of her prison as the first hot dribble of milk leaked from her own breasts. She’d wanted larger boobs and had got her wish, but now they may never see the light of day.

The electric, unwanted arcs of pleasure from the dildo assaulting her nethers wrapped themselves around the masochistic visions of her fate, forcing her towards an crescendo as unavoidable as her new life.

“No! Nonononoplease! Pleeeaaazzhmmpphh!! Nngghhh!!”

Tilda’s excitedly pulsing womb clamped pillowy flesh inwards over Shyla’s face, though the begging continued inarticulately nonetheless as she came. Her toy didn’t need her to be able to move to do its merciless work, after all. The flawless curve of Tilda’s stomach rippled with suppressed, all but negligible movement as Shyla thrashed, wailing into the smothering inner walls encasing her, just the unseen, anonymous contents of one more gravid belly in the herd.

Chapter 4

Jack had just finished his sixth week on the ranch.

Treading as stealthily as possible in work boots, he approached a hucow he’d noticed acting oddly.

While watching one of the paddocks, he saw her with her sweater-dress pulled up to her chest, doting on the enormous swell of her belly. This wasn’t unusual, but when Sergei, an older farmhand, arrived on the scene to mend some damaged fencing, she had yanked her clothing down to cover herself almost guiltily, then slunk off to the far end of the field.

The giant women, Jack still had difficulty thinking of them as livestock, rarely seemed uncomfortable around the regular humans, but this one definitely seemed to be avoiding contact.

Poking his head around the wide trunk of an oak, he saw her leaning with her back to the tree and to him, dress hiked up once again over her smooth belly. She was making slow, focused breaths while she rubbed the surface, as if meditating to relax the taut shape, and as he watched an unevenness emerged. Wide bulges appeared, which the hucow began to playfully grope at with a pleased expression.

Jack looked at the lone ear tag she was wearing, softly reading the name aloud.

‘Tilda’ jumped at the unexpected voice, swiftly tugging her dress down and hugging her gravid middle like she was shielding it from view. Hooves scudded over the grass, but she lacked the grace to get to her feet and cover herself simultaneously, so mostly just bounced herself in place, sending jiggles through her prodigious assets.

Jack took a placating couple of steps back as he came into view, hands raised and open.

“Woah woah woah, easy! You’re okay… just wanted to check on you.”

Tilda watched him warily, almost eye-level with him despite sitting down. Well that wouldn’t do, and Jack searched for some chatter to put her at ease.

“You’re looking pretty far along, must be one of the largest pregnancies I’ve seen yet!” He was about to express sympathy for the weight she must be carrying, but she protectively huddled it closer at his words. He couldn’t see the protesting movements this triggered within the compressed dome, but he could see the light blush that the wriggling caused.

Oh, was she… self-conscious? The hucows didn’t usually have much concept of nudity other than feeling cold, but maybe this one was an exception? Jack changed tack. “I mean, you carry it well! Looking great, really!”

Tilda gave a slightly wary, but pleased sounding moo as she eyed up the relatively fresh hire. After a moment her face lit up with recognition; this was the charming young man who’d fixed her dress for her after she’d torn it a few weeks back! He’d been so nice and reassuring then too, letting her know that she wasn’t in trouble… Maybe he’d be understanding again?

Glancing around, Tilda bared her stretched belly, mooing with inquisitive shyness. This is my human friend, I’ve had her for a while… I didn’t want to get in trouble, but can she stay as Mine?

Jack smiled, encouraged by the perceived breakthrough, reaching forward to rub the warm skin. “See, beautiful! It looks gorgeous on you.” He looked down at the belly he was stroking as Tilda bounced cheerfully on the spot and mooed exuberantly, presumably grateful for the compliments. She really was big, like he’d said; voluptuously plump even by hucow standards, utterly engorged with milk and life. And her unborn calf, cradled by hips as wide as two of him stood shoulder-to-shoulder, must have been about ready to leave. Two wide bulges in particular squished softly under his hands, looking almost like a covered copy of the titanic mammaries resting atop her belly. Heh, a smaller third bulge between them could have been a head too, but Jack shook the amusing idea from his own. Hucows may be better endowed than humans, but he was pretty sure they didn’t have to deal with breasts each bigger than his ribcage while still in the womb. Probably a rear end, or twins, even. The cowgirl tensed, seemingly unthinkingly, and the bulges vanished under the now smooth surface, leaving Jack only able to feel the sturdy swell of her taut abs under the overlaying pudge that disguised the rock-hard muscles.

He looked up to see Tilda smiling down at him, still slightly uncertain. Then he noticed her ear.

…

It didn’t have a tunnel earring to put the LIPPS tags through! Not that she needed one right now, clearly, but still.

Delicately, he leaned forwards over her belly to inspect her ear, and Tilda made an apologetic noise. The injury had healed well enough that Jack didn’t even feel the scar under the black fur, only seeing the hole where the piercing used to sit.

“Tunnel must have slipped out somewhere, not to worry though, I’ve got some spares here…”

He rummaged in his coveralls’ pockets, retrieving a conical applicator ending with a metal ring. Tilda’s eyes followed the shining silver circlet as Jack nonchalantly brought it past her face.

There was a slight sting as her piercing was stretched by the widening cone being pushed through, then relief as the skin popped into the groove on the circumference of the earring.

Jack removed the applicator with a click, looking satisfied with his work while Tilda felt the addition to her ear.

“There you go, you can have that one for free!” He chuckled.

Tilda was slightly overwhelmed by the gesture. A new earring! It’s so beautiful, and a gift! The feelings piled on top of the gratitude she already had for the kind young man.

“Oof! O-okay there!” Jack wheezed as Tilda grabbed him into a tight hug that lifted his feet from the ground, pressing him against her bare skin close enough to hear the gurgle of her stomach.

Want to thank him, but how…? Hm. He’d said he’d loved her belly, right? And he was a boy, she was a girl… A simple solution occurred to her simple mind.

Tilda looked around for any onlookers, and seeing none, pulled her dress down to cover herself.

“Whhf?!” This time with Jack still under it.

“Wai- whahappammpph!” The intern, suddenly held snugly in place by surprisingly sturdy fabric, had barely a moment to process what had happened before large, strong hands gripped his behind and lifted him upwards.

Sliding over warm skin, he was shoved head-first into the even hotter crevasse of the cowgirl’s cleavage. “W-woah there girl!” He shouted, or tried to, his words smothered by the steamy chasm pressing tightly against him from all sides except the sternum below him. His arms, raised in response to his ascent, had been stopped by the cowgirl’s bosom, and were now stuck wrapped around her like the underwire of an organic bra. He tried to pry them free, but the beanbag chair-sized pillows laying atop his arms and down his back could have been filled with lead for all he could move them.

“T-Tlldhh…” Jack mumbled into one boob, unable to even see out from between them as he searched for what little air made it into the depths of the sweat-scented valley. He felt dizzy as the cowgirl stood, his mind muddled by the slick warmth, the inescapable soft pressure, her strong but unmistakably feminine smell going right to his hindbrain, and the friction of the huge swell beneath him jostling against his groin as she walked. A scattered memory came to him of being told that while the ‘cattle’ didn’t speak English, you could be pretty sure what they wanted once they tried to let you know. He groaned, reasonably but no longer entirely sure that this hadn’t been what the more experienced farmer had meant.

Tilda staggered to her feet, looking herself over. There were a couple of raised ridges where Jack’s legs straddled her stomach, but aside from that nothing looked amiss, and she began moving with purpose back to her room. As she walked, she grinned to herself at the feeling of something hard beginning to poke her belly, and lightly squeezed her boobs together over the concealed figure wiggling partially between them… Actually, feeling them again, they felt rather full. Tail swishing behind her swaying hips, she changed course towards the milking shed.

Jack gasped he was pulled from the grip of the twin globes, sliding in a slightly sweaty streak down the front of the now fabric-free belly. Face flushed, he looked blearily around, recognising the padded interior of a milking cubicle.

He’d barely looked back at Tilda before he was pulled into a kiss that covered most of his lower face. Fumbling blindly, he pushed against soft, heavy masses before his hands were yanked downwards by Tilda tugging roughly at his overalls, the buttons popping open as the outfit was pulled clear of his arms.

The kiss ended, and he squeaked as the cowgirl continued undressing him. “Waitwaitwait!” His workboots, socks, coveralls, and the trousers underneath came free in a tangled bunch. “I don’t KNOW if this is apPROPRiate!” The tanktop was pulled away, as were the boxers hiding his embarrassed erection, now standing to attention. “I’m still in my probation period!”

Tilda cocked her head quizzically, not quite following. There was a pause where she waited for him to continue, and Jack looked around nervously, considering the probability of unemployment if caught running naked through the farm. Ah, he wants to not be seen. Cute~ Tilda concluded with a supposedly knowing smile.

In a swift but gentle movement she lifted then swung him beneath her, laying him in the centre of her cubicle with feet towards the entrance, then carefully lowered her hips onto his.

Jack gasped as the immense weight settled. Tilda kneeled, the soles of her hooves poking out from under the sleekly black-furred buttocks squishing on contact with his pelvis and the ground to either side of him, enveloping him from the navel downwards, and his cock was pressed against the entrance to a soft slit of wet heat. Her thin tail wrapped playfully around the back of his head as she ground her hips up and down his shaft while she faffed about attaching the machinery to her chest.

Raising her ass, Jack got a brief look between her thighs at her pink lips, twitching in anticipation, and the belly hanging low over his legs, before she aligned herself with surprising precision and sat squarely on his upright member.

With great care for a creature her size, the colossal rear began to bounce. Part of him had thought that they couldn’t possibly be compatible with the size difference, but her folds gripped him firmly, enveloping him in an almost unbearable heat, and he fought to hold back moans that might draw unwanted attention.

Tilda looked back over her shoulder at him with a pleased look, flushed red. Despite his worries about doing anything in the first place, he’d been oddly concerned about reciprocating, so the chivalrous side of him was surprised but likewise pleased that she was getting pleasure from him too. He was above average, but he’d seen the size of the cubicle’s regular fittings, not to mention the size of the LIPPSes he knew the cowgirls could take. He correctly figured the milking apparatus was helping as it suckled at her tits, but wasn’t to know about the extra enjoyment Tilda was getting from the writhing of an invisible third party.

Giving up on his reservations, he grabbed at the callipygian boulders slamming into him, gripping the quaking hips and thrusting upwards with all the fervour he could manage. Tilda’s tempo increased, and he was sure that he would have a cracked pelvis were it not for the padded floor taking the brunt of the force now.

“Oh God, oh God-” He swore as he felt himself getting closer. Tilda groaned a long, low moo, fingers running through her hair while the others roamed the indistinct bulges rising from her belly. Jack, focused as he was, barely noticed the bovine refrain, hearing only the underlying cry of a luscious lady reaching climax. “Ffffuck, FUUCK!!” His own orgasm rose rapidly in response, and forgetting himself, he shouted loudly, back arching as hot ropes of cum spurted into the cowgirl’s depths.

Tilda’s behind hit the floor with a heavy thud, pinning him down and grinding slowly back and forth with him still inside her, milking every last drop from him while the pair panted.

“The hell was that?” A masculine voice floated over from elsewhere in the big barn.

With the return of post-coital clarity, Jack remembered the precarious situation his employment was currently in. “Shit! Tilda, lemme go!” He hissed as he wriggled unsuccessfully against her weight. “I can’t be seen like this or I’m fired for sure! … Do you understand?! Get up!”

Tilda looked ponderously forward at the bare feet and shins poking out from under her, and an ear twitched as it picked the sound of approaching footsteps out of the racket in the milking shed.

An “Nnph” escaped Jack as the grip of her pussy slid up and off of his softening shaft. “Th- thank you, now- hwerk!” He made an undignified noise as Tilda stood to the side, then lifted him by the hips and spun him 180 degrees before stepping back over him.

Thighs like greek columns towered upwards, splayed enough to show the puffy vulva dripping excitement onto his chest, while her bare middle jutted as a great dome that eclipsed his view of the rest of her.

It was only for a moment, then she descended again. Her hips aligned with his once more, and things went dark as the gravid belly smashed him into the padded floor.

He grunted, instinctively trying to raise his hands to grope at the heavy shape, but Tilda grabbed his wrists to tuck them out of sight underneath her, pinning them to his sides. The damp fur around her nethers tickled him as she rocked her hips, humping slowly for her own gratification, dragging her clit against the firmness of his body while her soft vulva tantalisingly rubbed the length of his spent manhood.

Tilda’s breathy sigh of pleasure arrived at Jack’s ears muffled by the mass of flesh covering him. So did all other sounds at that moment, from the almost silenced whirring of the machines to the cacophony of exclamations from the cowgirls being milked.

One muted voice in particular was hollering like he’d never heard from the hucows before; he might have been concerned had the quiet screams not carried the same tone of ecstasy as every other vocalisation in the barn. Jack briefly wondered which hucow it was, but with the pressure on both his heads, his mind was spinning, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to tell if they were at the far end of the building or right on top of him.

The mystery abhuman sounded almost pleading as it babbled incoherently, presumably wanting more, but Jack didn’t waste any more energy trying to interpret the inaudible “words” he knew he wouldn’t be able to understand, and his attention was directed elsewhere as the footsteps arrived.

Jack wheezed shallowly, praying that this wouldn’t be how he ended his probation period.

He couldn’t see them, but he imagined the other farmer turning on the spot, mulling over where his shout had come from.

“Hey girl, you see any other folks around here just now?” He made out after a moment, unable to identify the voice.

Tilda mooed a negative, and her belly wobbled slightly atop him as she presumably shook her head. Getting a “Hmm,” back. Her torturous gyrations continued, and despite the peril, Jack felt himself hardening again in response.

His heart thudded in his chest. Tilda’s prodigious buttocks were large enough to cover him down to the knees, but his legs were still visible behind her! All the man would have to do was look around her and they’d be busted!

“Nobody doing nothing they shouldn’t be?” The voice asked, but perfunctorily.

Tilda shook her head again, then gave a pleased “Hahh~” as Jack’s now rigid member raised itself enough to be slipped inside her. Her butt began to bounce with a little more gusto, and Jack felt a faint shudder from under layers of fat and muscle as her unborn calf or calves kicked inside her. God, if it was half as tight inside her womb as she was wrapped around his dick… he didn’t know how the LIPPSes handled it. The sidenote of a thought was quickly discarded as he felt Tilda taking him in to the hilt.

“Ahem, didn’t think so.” The out-of-view voice cleared its throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

After a minute or so, not that Jack could easily focus on the precise timing, Tilda leaned backwards to lift her belly from his body, letting him fill his abused lungs while continuing her rhythm.

Blinking to clear his eyes, he watched a moment as his length vanished repeatedly through descending lips and behind the soft curve of her mons pubis, then looked up.

The enormous swell of her belly’s underside blotted out much of his vision, and he raised his now-freed hands from between her thighs to massage the magnificent mountain of flesh.

A pleased moo sounded Tilda’s appreciation.

Jack couldn’t hear the hucow that sounded like they were cumming so hard they were screaming anymore, but the sounds of Tilda’s pleasure were more than enough for him, and it wasn’t long before the two of them were arching their backs in climax, his length throbbing in tandem with her inner walls as they brought each other to new heights.

Their rhythm slowed as they came down, Jack looking up and rubbing at the twitching surface of her belly. Her titanic tits spilled over either side of the solid shape, and he watched the cream flowing through the clear tubing from the cups suctioned onto her no-doubt sensitive but out-of-reach nipples.

They sat comfortably for a short, quiet while. Well, Tilda sat, anyway, the sheer width of her sleekly furred hips, now damp with sweat, enveloping his.

The milking machinery continued to hum, and after a few minutes, she rose enough for his manhood to slip flaccidly from her with a wet schlrrp.

Thinking things were coming to a close, Jack prepared to prop up his battered body, only for Tilda to simply shuffle him backwards a couple feet.

His eyes followed the muscles and tendons of her inner thighs, taut with the effort of holding herself aloft over him, towards the glistening folds being lowered towards his face. Ah, it seemed his job was not yet done.

Tilda was quite pleased with how her thank you had turned out, and was very glad with how much both of them had enjoyed it. With a little help from their squirming third friend, of course, but her boytoy had done marvellously nonetheless.

She was barely halfway done being milked; her output was gratifyingly, if a bit inconveniently, huge these days, and her female friend was still wriggling away, so it was a shame that she sensed that the male human was tired now.

She began to shuffle him out from under her so she could finish by herself, when she jumped abruptly at the sensation of his mouth making contact with her nethers. A startled moo quickly devolved into delighted squeaks and moans as Jack nibbled, sucked and licked at and around the sensitive nub she’d inadvertently presented to him, making full use of his hands to grip her cheeks while teasing both of her thoroughly lubricated holes with dexterous fingers.

Tilda’s legs gave out, with the majority of her skull-crushing weight thankfully being supported by her own shins, folded under her as she knelt. The cubicle had a vibrator that she’d made significant use of before, but the softness of Jack’s tongue, the organic eagerness to please, carried an entirely different experience that the machinery just couldn’t match.

Hugging her belly, the delicious internal squirming intensified, and she marvelled at how these genius little humans always seemed to know exactly what she needed.

Out of sight of both parties, and entirely unknown to one of them, Shyla bucked uncontrollably.

She’d been trapped for weeks, though she’d long since lost the ability to keep track of them, stuck between two terrifyingly mindless extremes. Tilda’s body exerted a sort of pull, lulling her if she let it into a deep torpor, which hadn’t been so bad when there was a set time limit, but now sleeping the days away felt like the womb stealing her life one hour at a time, even as it sustained it. On the other hand, she was barely able to hold onto lucidity when she was awake, overwhelmed by the sensations ravishing her hypersensitive body.

Her breasts had grown as promised, and then kept growing when she remained subject to the flow of hucow hormones, expanding beyond anything she’d desired to soft beachballs. The gradual alteration hadn’t stopped at size either; the tender, veiny orbs were firmly plump with the milk they were now producing. Though reluctant to acknowledge it at first, the growing pressure had compelled her to release it, gushing between her fingers as she squeezed her aching nipples. At least it had been her choice at first, now it was only a matter of hours before her chest was full enough again that the mere rub of the uterine walls massaging her mammaries would be enough to tease a torturously hot trickle from her teats.

She sat in a shallow pool of it, the expressed cream seeping into the creases between her body and the tiny chamber. It would have filled the womb by now had it not been slowly reabsorbed by it, though that hadn’t stopped the sweet secretions from inevitably getting in her mouth. She hated that it was delicious.

Hearing Tilda moan, Shyla was basically as much of a sex toy as the vibrator still thrumming inside her, degraded to something less than human. She knew that struggling only spurred the hucow on, but when they entered the milking cubicle and the unremovable dildo automatically went into overdrive, she physically couldn’t hold herself still. And now, by the sound of the more masculine grunting joining in, she was even being used as an unwilling third in a threesome.

That had been an unkind moment of hope, having another human get so close to her, only for her begging to seemingly go just as ignored as before.

She hadn’t been eloquent exactly, her vocal chords a little rusty at forming proper words, and with the vibrator’s forced orgasms wracking her body and mind at full power, her wailing was part plea, part inarticulate scream of raw emotion.

Still though, to get no response at all? Did he not hear? Did he not care? Did he just not understand?

Among the few thoughts she could consistently hold onto was the desire to be free, warring with the certainty that it wouldn’t happen. Whether she accepted her new place as a helpless, squirming belly-filler, or spent every waking moment resisting each inevitable climax to fight against the claustrophobic prison, screaming for help that could never hear her, her torment would continue for as long as Tilda’s uncaring innards refused to release her.

Jack’s legs wobbled as he leant against the paddock fencing.

After his exhausting session of being flattened by one of the livestock, she’d kindly scooped him up in her arms, still naked but at least hidden by the combined pile of their clothes, and carried him past unaware onlookers to the hucow communal washroom.

He’d anticipated having to sneak his way into the staff showers, so the bright bovine had saved him stress. Being found getting wet and naked with a cluster of the women he was supposedly a caretaker of would probably be almost as bad for his employment as being caught fucking one of them, but fortunately that seemed unlikely. Getting used to their charges’ casual nudity was one thing, creeping on them in the showers was an unspoken faux pas. Then again, being surrounded by a small crowd of the rotund mini-giantesses looking curiously down at you while just as wet, soapy and naked as you were, was a recipe for a different kind of stress altogether.

It was surprisingly reassuring when Tilda pulled him protectively into her side for a moment to ward off the others’ attention.

Then they’d got dressed, and he’d followed her out to the sunny field; she with a spring in her step after a job well-done of thanking the sweet little human so thoroughly, and him on slightly tenderised legs, wondering what precisely had lead him to this point.

He’d pulled up next to George, also taking a break. The man struck him as, well, not a slacker, but after seeing how he dealt with things like the faulty beacon from when he first started, definitely more casual about how things were done.

“Afternoon.” The man drawled nonchalantly.

“A-afternoon.”

“… Haven’t chatted with you in a while, how’re you finding things? Nothing too hard to handle?”

“Uhh, nope, little intense sometimes, I guess, but all good! Just smooth sailing!”

George raised an eyebrow, turning to Jack with a quizzical look that had him regretting his choice of adjective.

Just then, Tilda approached from the grassy side of the wooden barrier, mooing a greeting and looking slightly bashful at having left him behind.

“Ah, erm, hey there Tilda! Doing alright?”

George watched her nod happily, then stand looking between the two men.

“Learning the girls by name already, huh? Or is it just her?” He asked cheekily.

“There’s a couple hundred-”

“Three hundred and eighty seven.” The more experienced farmhand coyly corrected him.

“R-right, not a chance just yet then! I can recognise some though.”

“Mhmm, well she seems to have taken a liking to ya.”

“Uh, yeah, she had some… difficulty during milking earlier,” Jack felt his mouth running on autopilot, “and I helped her out with it.”

George was grinning at him knowingly, but there was no way- “I see, sounds like it could have been…” His eyes looked Jack over for the first time, lingering for an instant on his slightly pained stance. “…‘intense’.”

Jack felt the heat of a blush stealing over his face.

“… How long’s your probation period got left?”

Blinking at the left turn in conversation, Jack stalled before answering. “Er, another two and a bit weeks.”

“Right. Well, if there’s problems that needs fixing, I’d say you’d be best off finding help yourself rather than taking a crack at it on your lonesome. If anything goes wrong because you don’t know what you’re doin’, you could get in some serious trouble.” The wooden beam they were leaning on creaked as Tilda’s belly nudged it. “Hardly needs saying, I’m sure, but better to play it safe. ‘til you’re off probation, anyway.”

“… Fair enough… thanks for the advice.”

Another pause went by, George looking up at Tilda, who in turn was glancing between the two with mild concern. Then he added a little extra.

“Well, I’d still recommend exercising a bit more care, but if she wanted your help, then no harm in it I suppose. Just make sure you’re not takin’ on any problems bigger than you can handle.” George finished, entirely straight faced. He hadn’t winked, but Jack was sure he could almost see one there in spirit… or maybe he had a guilty conscience playing tricks on him. Either way, George addressed Tilda directly. “A’right, git, you. You ain’t in trouble, and neither’s your little friend.”

Jack smiled reassuringly up at her as she looked to him. “Go on, enjoy the sun while it’s out.”

Looking a lot happier, Tilda turned to walk over to a bunch of other cowgirl basking in the sunlight, giving them a last wave goodbye as she did.

Jack watched her hips sashaying as she went, and the words about problems too big to handle bounced about his head.

“Big is right…” he muttered.

“Hm?”

“Sorry, I mean,” he corrected himself at a normal volume, “some of them seem pretty far along, there ever any issues with that?” George hmmed for a moment.

“Nah, not really. Abhuman pregnancies can vary massively between individuals compared to ours, so we’re pretty hands off when it comes to monitoring the real pregnancies. We do keep an eye on the mothers’ temperaments, but honestly it seems like they know their bodies better than we do. Sure, we’ll help them with the actual process, but we don’t induce birth just to keep a schedule.” They both looked towards Tilda’s receding figure. Her belly swung casually before her, with neither of them having the faintest clue that it hid the doomed Shyla, spasming with lingering aftershocks of pleasure and burbling semi-coherent pleas for help. “No, they know when they’re ready. They can take as long as they like.”