Chapter 1: Milky The Cow
I was pissed. Proudmore had outbid me on two of the hucows I’d been looking at purchasing. For the second she had raised her paddle just before the hammer fell, just to spite me. I didn’t want to get involved in a bidding war dick-measuring contest. I’m still not sure what I did to earn her ire.
A third Lot; “Milky Jugs” appeared in the stock viewer, her information appearing on the large screen.
5'7", Brown hair, green eyes. I thought whoever gave her the name was pretty unprofessional, but that’s par for the course on these online VR auctions.
I stepped closer to examine the 3D photography of Milky. I paced around the static model, thinking that yes, I much preferred real life auctions where you can see the cow and give her a closer inspection.
Milky looked to be promising stock though, with smooth curves and a healthy, meaty thickness to her (though you couldn’t call her fat by any means).
The text on the screen mentioned extensive training, but it seemed to me a pretty major red flag that nowhere was her milk production listed. She looked like a DD cup to me, but training a non-milker is always somewhat of a gamble with respect to how good of a producer they’ll be.
The auction started, the announcer reappearing in his suited holographic form.
“Lot number 74, Milky-Jugs. Bidding starts at fifteen thousand.”
A few others feverishly bid. Proudmore stayed down. In a real-life, state auction I’d know most of the other bidders and I’d be able to guess their moves and motives. Here I’m a little more in the dark.
“Do I have twenty-one thousand? Five hundred, twenty-one five.”
I raised my paddle.
“I see twenty-one five, do I see twenty-two?”
Proudmore put her paddle up to bid a few times but I was determined to beat her and not lose a third one to her. At some point I think she thought to herself that she’d had enough toying with me, and her paddle didn’t return.
“SOLD! Sir, your account will be debited and your livestock delivered to you soon. Please enter the private room with our customer service to arrange delivery of Lot 74.”
Milky-Jugs arrived three days later in an automated truck. I had it pull up to the gangway pen and brought my new heifer out. She squinted a bit in the bright mid-morning sun as she emerged.
I looked over her body impersonally, just to check her model in the online auction matched the cow I’d been delivered. To their credit they hadn’t misrepresented her, she had the round DD breasts with small, pink areolae from her model. I explored her dainty vagina to find it accommodatingly tight. However the posture and demeanor of the hucow at my feet was worrying.
I signed for her and the truck sped back up the dusty drive. She only had a basic plastic collar, which I replaced with a proper leather collar, with a ring loop and golden bell. As I did so she pulled away a little.
I crouched down to talk to her eye to eye. She wouldn’t meet my gaze, even when I held her head gently towards me. Her thin white plastic ear tag read “Splinter Training Services” in red type.
Attaching a leash to her collar I brought her inside the barn. Rachael (one of my farmhands who also moonlights as a cow) walked up to me.
“I’ve got your new stall all ready hun, you’re next to Cassie,” she said. “Is she alright?” she asked, turning to me after noting her unusual behavior. Milky-Jugs crawled along so timidly, never looking up.
“Help her get settled in, I’ll make a call,” I replied.
“C'mon girl” Rachael said, “Let’s get you to your new home.” It was a free roam period, so some of my other cows - Allison, Siobhan and Kayla - curiously moved up together to see the new arrival.
I called my friend Marcus in the Department of Agriculture to ask about the company that Milky-Jugs was from.
“They’re a new outfit. They take in girls from dubious acquisition companies and only do a quick cash-grab mind adjustment but sell them as trained stock. They rely on subliminal messaging, low quality hypnosis and deprivation to break the girl quickly, but they do a poor job of building the cow in her. It’s legal because they get Animal Powers of Attorney over them from Acquisitions, and they’ve got plausible deniability.”
I thanked him for the information and set to a plan to help my new abused hucow. I approached her slowly, crouching down. She cowered in the corner of her stall.
I spoke to her softly, trying to coax her out. Inching ever closer I reached out as she tried to press herself as tightly as she could into the back of her stall.
I grabbed her far haunch and firmly moved and wrapped my arm around her waist in an embrace, sitting down next to her. I whispered that I wouldn’t hurt her.
For maybe an hour she stood there on all fours next to me, shaking. Eventually the shaking slowed, and then stopped. She collapsed exhausted into my lap and I rested my chin on her sweat-glistened back.
For an eternity we sat there, looking forward out of the stall’s large opening. Rachael brought me a book of names which I read from while stroking her hair, but if she remembered her name she didn’t make any indication to me.
So I just call her “Milky” now. I’m happy to report it’s been a few days since she arrived and she’s now tentatively interacting with the other cows. I may have imagined it but I think I even heard a quiet moo from her yesterday. She’ll also come up to me gingerly for head pats and strokes, which is progress.
Next week I’ll begin her journey to lactation.