Pleasant Moo Farms 3, Chapter 1 [Hucow, Lactation]

This is from the unpublished Part 3 of my Pleasant Moo Farms series. I'm posting it because people ask about the series from time to time. 

Some of you haven't read it. Maybe you have read more of my human gender change fiction. My work is pretty varied so do not be concerned if this isn't your thing. :D Variety is the spice of life. There's more author notes below the chapter. 

"Alex swallowed. Then squeezed. Thin streams of liquid shot from both breasts. She felt the liquid coursing from her breasts, through her nipples, and out into the open air. She winced.

Why did it feel so good?"

——

PLEASANT MOO FARMS 3, CHAPTER 1

It was Nick. Who else could it be? No one else had the keys to their door. Just the two of them.

Alex fell from the couch. She caught her fall with her hands and her tits flopped into the cold wood floor, settling into it, enveloping her toothbrush in cleavage. She smiled listening to Nick fumble with the door knob.

“Idiot.”

Nick was always so intent on getting in that he usually forgot to unlock the deadbolt. Alex listened to the key slip out and tap around the deadbolt before quickly pushing in.

She could already smell Nick’s scent from beneath the door. The creamy velveteen fur around her pussy was wet with her juices. She bit her lip. It had been the best orgasm yet. She felt drunk. She loved her toothbrush. It buzzed, muffled beneath her womanly udders, as if still eager to please, sending vibrations into her generous titflesh. The deadbolt turned. Nick’s hands wrapped around the door knob.

Her soft fur stood on end - not in fear - but in annoyance. How many of her orgasms would Nick interrupt? Alex begrudgingly summoned enough strength to reach for the blanket on the couch. She pulled the blanket over her body. Alex’s mother had made it by hand last summer. Now it covered her new body - she tucked her tail around her right thigh, hugging it. Her nipples quietly dripped milk in the shadows. Drip, drip, drip.

It was not much of a hiding place. It reminded her of building a fort with blankets and sofa cushions as a child.

What would Alex have done if he had found a buxom cowgirl in a pillowy fortification next to his parent’s couch? What would Nick do? What would anyone do?

Nick burst through the door and walked straight into the kitchen and threw a bag of groceries on the counter.

“Wow. Someone actually cleaned up!” Nick barked as he left the kitchen and bolted toward the bathroom in the back of the apartment. He left the bathroom door open and pissed. She remembered what it was like to pee standing up — like it was only yesterday.

Realizing there was no way she could make it to the bedroom unnoticed, Alex quickly fetched the toothbrush from between her tits and switched it off. She hunkered into her fortification. She was on her knees, her ass behind her, her elbows now settled to the floor on either side of her, pressing her tits together, making them leak even more. Nick flushed the toilet and washed his hands and strolled back to the living room.

“Oh, you’re here.”

Alex didn’t answer. Her orgasmic haze rapidly subsided - replaced by the emotion she should be feeling: sheer terror.

“What are you doing under that blanket? Are you sick or something?”

She expanded her throat as much as she could and gave a slight low groan.

“Shit. You sound bad.” Nick took a step forward.

She could feel her pussy behind her, still wet, framed between her thighs. She wanted to cover it with her tail but she didn’t dare move her new appendage. Nick’s presence made her feel her pussy even more. It was there. Undeniable. Behind her. Her folds. Her gash. Her new vulnerability. When Nick was present it, too, became present. She swallowed, conflicted by how much she welcomed that feeling.

“Look…” Nick fell to his knee over her and cleared his throat.

Alex winced and closed her eyes tightly. Go away, Nick! Please just go away.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you last night. I know it’s been hard for you lately, not having a job and all...”

She bit her lip. No, Nick. Wrong! It’s actually become hard to have a job!

“...you had every reason to celebrate last night.” He sighed. “You’ve just seemed defeated lately, and I guess the outward manifestation of that is you’ve been laying around, playing games 24-7 and trashing our apartment like a pig for months”

She should have guessed. Here he was: High and mighty Nick — Mr. Has-Everything-Together — coming home with a fatherly lecture. She rolled his scent around in her nostrils. You actually smell like a pig, Nick. She grunted again, this time in disdain. She sneered. Why don’t you go and take a fucking shower and leave me alone.

“I appreciate you cleaning up. And I appreciate that--” He paused. “Hey?”

She shifted her ears. Hey-what?

“Are you drinking something under there?”

Oh fuck. She opened her eyes just in time to see two growing puddles of her own fresh milk breaching the edge of the blanket and flowing into the light.

“Are you drinking...milk? You’re fucking spilling it everywhere! I swear to God you need to get your shit together.” Nick pushed the lump on the floor in disgust.

And it came alive.

Alex lunged from underneath the blanket, tits swinging. “My shit is together you fucking prick!” Milk sprayed in every direction, onto the couch, the floor, and Nick’s cross trainers. Nick fell on his ass and scraped for the floor behind him in desperation.

“Holy fucking...COW!”

“I may be a fucking cow, but at least I’m not a pig listening to people get off in their bedroom.” Nick scrambled for the door and she leapt to cut him off. Nick fell back to the floor and cowered. The blood ran out of his face.

Alex stood in the doorway over him, elbows out, fists on her hips. She was shorter than Nick now, but from the floor she looked positively amazonian, especially with the size of her tits and her long brunette curls flowing behind her. She flicked them out of her face and pushed her chest out. “As you can see, I’ve got bigger problems than a fucking pizza on the floor.”

Nick eyes darted between each of Alex’s perky, dripping breasts. He held a hand up, shaking.

“Please...please don’t…please don’t…”

Her tail swept back and forth angrily. “Please don’t what? Spit it out, Nick!” Alex snarled.

“Please don’t...Please don’t kill me!” He covered his face.

Alex’s face fell. She stood for a moment looking at Nick cowering before her.

She snorted. Then giggled sweetly. Then she began to laugh. She laughed long and hard, deep from her tummy, sending waves of vibrations through her breasts and thighs.

Nick’s fingers parted. He watched her. And listened. Then his face contorted. “A-Alex?” He knew that laugh.

Alex stepped back towards the door. Nick pulled himself to his feet.

“Alex! You bastard!”

Nick grabbed her around the waist and planted a foot and pulled her into the living room. Alex could feel his power taking him down as she fell plumply to her ass, locked in his embrace. Nick was strong and he gripped her hard around her midsection, his shoulder pressing painfully into her right tit so that her nipple stiffened, spraying milk out into the room like a lawn sprinkler.

“Really funny, Alex. Take this ridiculous costume off.” Nick grabbed Alex’s left ear in his right hand. He pulled.

Alex wailed in pain. “Mooooo!”

——

Thank you for reading!

I'm on the fence about continuing Pleasant Moo Farms, though I have written a significant chunk of Part 3. I'm happy with the first sections and thought I would share in case people would enjoy it.

The world of PMF is actually incredibly elaborate — and it has posed some creative issues for me. Basically, it's a world I fall into and see 1,000 potential plotlines. I follow each and compare them and think and inevitably get overwhelmed by the potential choices. This is a problem authors face sometimes.

There are two major camps to any kind of work. You, as even being part of this Patreon, are the second, so don't worry. ;) The first camp is, the moment someone buys a book they own you, they own the plot, and can kind of abuse the artist or talk shit about process — fortunately these are very few. The second are people who really bask and enjoy in the process, who are along for the fun, etc.

There is a creative process involved to any work, I believe, no matter how conventional. And there is life shit you as a person are juggling, too. Every single person is in a state of juggling sometimes. Every one. Life poses challenges and if it's not a plotline you are figuring out it's your sick dog, or the rice burning on the stove, or someone at work making a move for your job, or a sink hole in the yard. I am not saying this for myself as a writer, but more broadly: people deserve a lot of love. It's a wild world. Sometimes it is okay to go easy on yourself for a second. You don't have to have it all figured out. It would be impossible to do so.

In the lead up to the New Year, a day I largely see as arbitrary, this feeling shows up. Before the madness starts again, I welcome this December 30th.

And, if I'm fair, I say all of this to ease my conscious about not finishing this book yet — this book about a guy changing into a buxom, milk-dripping cow woman.

It's a strange world, too.

If I can post more of this, I will. — BL QUICK