Heifer Transformation - Tumblr Posts
Heifer Haven
It was such a funny little name. You really didn’t understand it, considering the fact the place seemed like a dairy. You’d done your research. You knew a cow couldn’t produce milk, unless stimulated through hormones or delivered of a calf. The former was little more than an artificial means of messing with the creature’s biological clock. The latter would render the farm’s name null and void, since a heifer is a virgin cow. Was it just an affectation or did the owner of this place really mean for the farm to only be for heifers? Of course, you didn’t know, and it wasn’t really for you to wonder about in the first place. All you knew was that you were here to test the quality of the product and write about the farm’s practices on your blog.
The farm’s owner was a kind and straightforward woman with broad shoulders and long flowing black hair. She started you off in the field, touring along the border of the property and pointing out all the cows grazing in the distance. Next came the milk room, where she showed you how the pump machines she utilized worked and the best way to milk the cows’ teats without causing undue irritation or pain. Then she showed you the barn and pens, where the cows would sleep during inclement weather and the winter months. You were happy to see she’d laid them with straw and other forms of bedding that would prove harmless and comforting to the herd. As a whole it was definitely one of the best dairies you’d seen. There were absolutely no signs of any form of abuse. The woman seemed to care very deeply for her herd.
Lastly, she led you to a small wooden stand, where a series of empty glasses sat waiting on the side.
“Now for the best part,” the owner said with a playful smile, “the sampling.”
“Sampling?” you return.
“You’ve never had a glass of real milk before, have you?”
“Um….”
“I mean before it’s pasteurized,” she clarified. “If you think you know milk, you’ll change your mind, after you’ve tried some of this.” She made her way behind the stand and crouched down to pull up a plastic tube that she placed inside one of the glasses. Then she twisted something from behind the wood and you watched as the frothy white substance poured out into the cup. When it had filled, she cut off the flow, then offered you the cup. “I guarantee it’ll change your life.”
You looked dubiously at the drink.
“Oh, would you relax? I’ve drank unpasteurized for years. It won’t kill you to try a single glass.”
“I have always wondered what it’s like,” you admit as you come closer and take the cup from the lady. You sniffed the glass carefully. It didn’t smell any different than your usual cup of milk in the morning. Then you took a sip, just a tiny one. The milk was thick and rich with a sweet creamy texture, nothing like what you’d bought in stores before. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you fought and ultimately failed to suppress the moan of pleasure that built in your chest and burst out your mouth.
The farmer beamed at you. “Told you it was better.”
You went after the milk with far more gusto this time, letting the froth coat your lip in a moustache as you did your best to swallow every last drop. Each gulp was a symphony of flavor on your taste buds. You moan again as you pull the glass back regretfully from your lips and lower it to the stand. Your nostrils flare as you snuffle, fighting to take in as much of that heady aroma as possible along your lips. With every breath, you enjoy more of the smell and a goofy smile crosses your face as you grin dopily at the farm’s owner.
You feel a peculiar warmth in your nether regions as you lick your lip with your broad tongue, brushing against your nose and moistening it as well. “Moooore?” you ask, heedless of how your voice has deepened. You sway briefly on your feet, feeling suddenly unsteady. You crouch to try to lower you center of gravity, but that doesn’t do you much good, and only seems to make your pants feel all the tighter as you lean heavily onto the wooden stand for support.
The woman is only too happy to provide. She holds a glass up to you and your nostrils flare again as you shove your face into it, licking and swallowing as much as you can. Any that spills, you just bow your neck down to lick up with your broadening tongue. Off in the distance, you can just make out the sound of the herd lowing to one another. Your ears flicker in annoyance as your fingers fumble weakly on the hard wood, scrabbling across its surface as they grow thicker and darker. A slight tickling sensation draws your attention down to your arms, where you notice a rigid dusting of hair. A strange sense of familiarity overtakes you as you look down at your hands. You think you’re supposed to see these strange pink things, but … all you see is a black mass. But … that’s what you’re supposed to see, … isn’t it? You work your jaw and smack your thick rubbery pink lips together as you struggle to gather your thoughts. A curious euphoric fog is clouding your mind as you feel thick calloused hands run over your head, rubbing at an upper corner. You groan in pleasure, and it comes out as a gentle low.
So good. So nice. Nice to just … relax and … and ….
A loud detonation sounds as the zipper on your pants breaks apart. A warm, sloshing mass is swelling, pressing tighter and tighter against your expanding girth. You don’t mind, though. It’s too good just enjoying the woman’s ministrations. She smells so wonderful. It makes you feel warm and safe as you nuzzle her gently.
“That’s right,” she coos into your ears. “Good girl.”
You hardly even register her words, too lost in the euphoria of her touch and the swelling fog that derails your train of thought. You shudder as she nurses and pulls ever so gently at the horn that’s starting to emerge from your skull. Another few breaths and the constriction on your chest is suddenly relieved as the sound of shredding fabric tears through the air. The woman reaches down and pulls off scraps of white cloth, the shredded remains of your shirt, but all you can think of is the loving caress and the question of why such a thing would be on you in the first place. It doesn’t even smell like you.
The woman stops to peer into your eyes and smiles. “You’re coming along very nicely.”
You don’t understand the words, but you don’t mind. You nudge at her with your long, thick neck and toss your expanding head as your ears flick again. She soon gets the message, and you feel that wonderful touch on the other side of your head. A second horn bud soon emerges to join the first. You shudder in pleasure as the warmth becomes more pressing against your belly. You’re dimly aware of a faint sloshing and a distinct sort of pressure starting to build down there. You’re loath to ask, but the question needs to be answered. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable, after all.
You kick back with one of your legs and low softly as your ears drop behind your head. She seems to understand, nodding her head and passing behind you. You crane your neck, which feels surprisingly flexible, and watch as she lifts your rear hooves and pulls off the offending pieces of cloth that have been keeping you from feeling the familiar pressure of the turf. A loud popping sounds as more cloth breaks free and falls. She reaches up to reclaim it, brushing your wide, bony hips, which leads to more tingling as a long ropey tail launches out from your rear. It flicks casually left and right, leaving you with a sense of repetition that eases that twinge of fear floundering in the back of your head.
You lick your broad velvety nose as the lady cuts away at the band that’s been biting into your waist. It finally breaks free with a satisfying snap, allowing that uncomfortable warmth to slosh down low to the ground. The pressure has built so heavily that you can’t think about anything else. The tall grass tickles against the protrusion and you low with need. The woman smiles and walks back to the wooden stand, while you drop onto all fours, looking patiently and trustingly at the lady that has been so very kind to you. She withdraws a stool and a large bucket. She places the bucket beneath you, then lowers the stool onto the ground by your withers. She pats you once on the side, then begins to pull at the sensitive sack that had been so tightly pressed against your body before. You hear the distinct sound of high pressure liquid striking metal as she pulls. Relief floods you as the pressure begins to ease. Her hands aren’t even cold.
“Good cow,” she utters. “Good cow.”
Over and over again, she repeats. It’s almost entrancing as you stand there, leaving your tail to flick in the wind. You low gratefully to her as the pressure continues to ease and your eyes widen Your pupils expand into broad ovular pieces that flick left and right as your nostrils flare. You smell your milk. You smell the sweet scent of fresh grass, and your stomach rumbles at that smell. Actually … you’re pretty sure you feel … four rumbles?
“Good cow.”
Euphoria rushes over you again and the confusion is gone. You chew the grass with thick, flat teeth, grinding it to paste and swallowing happily as the green leeches out of your eyes to be suffused with a rich dark brown. A light tingling near your rump is the only source of discomfort as the image of the farm’s brand engraves itself harmlessly on your flesh. You low gently, and the herd responds to your call. It is questioning, suspicious. They don’t know you yet. But that is right. You must earn your place with them.
Suddenly, the woman is standing in front of you, pail in hand as she smiles at you. “Go on, then. They’re waiting.”
You blink a few times as you look at the kind smile with innocent, unthinking eyes. You approach her, nuzzle her hand briefly, then turn and lumber your way across the field.
The woman smiles as you walk off and she whistles pleasantly to herself as she pulls out a fresh insulated container from behind the stand to dump your milk into it. “Score another for the herd.” She smiled then as she flipped her phone open and hit the speed dial. “Yeah, Jack? Tour went off without a hitch. This one’s a real producer. You still looking to add some studs to your herd?” She nodded at the response. “Yeah, I’ve got plenty of wet cows for the season. I’ll see about having your breeders ready, after the next tour.”