Cow 69

by Bessie Hucow

Having just given birth, Sandra is devastated to learn that she is unable to suckle. Not willing to give up so easily, she does everything in her power to find something that works. However, after trying fruitlessly to find a way, she stumbles on the one thing that will help.

Will Sandra sacrifice herself by becoming a Hucow? How will she react when she learns that there’s more to being a Hucow than just producing cream?


I was completely and utterly devastated. I'd tried for so long to have a baby of my own and now that I had one, I couldn't give it the one thing it needed: mother's milk.

No matter how hard I tried and hoped and prayed; no matter how many "professionals" I brought in, no one could get my breasts to start producing.

The final straw was when my gyno shrugged her shoulders and said that sometimes it just happens.

Bullshit! It may happen to other mothers, but not to me. Not to my precious baby. I was damned if I was going to let her drink that horrible store-bought milk. Nope; not my Mary-Ann. I vowed that I'd find a solution if it was the last thing I ever did.

Stumbling around on the laptop late one night, trying desperately to find something - anything - that would get my breasts to start producing, I was just about to give up in tears when something caught my eye.


It was stupid, I know. Generally I don't venture off the beaten path of the Internet as you really don't know what's out there, but like I said, I was desperate and had nothing to lose.

With unsteady hands, I followed that blue link under the word "Hucow." I had no idea what to expect, but at this point I was willing to try voodoo or witchcraft.

I was presented with a forum full of women who talked about their experiences of being a Hucow. I barked out a laugh as I read some of the posts. A half-an-hour later, however, I was practically crying as I realized that this was exactly the thing that was going to feed my baby. I was finally going to be able to fill the missing piece of my maternal puzzle.

Completely and utterly convinced that this was the answer I'd been praying for, I stayed up until dawn pouring over the very personal conversations of these "cow women" as they sometimes called themselves.

Almost to a woman, they described their situation in the best of terms. Many lived on what was called a "Hucow Farm" where they were dominated and disciplined by a cowboy, who they seemed to revere.

Not only did their accounts of their sexual exploits send shivers down my spine, but it sent naughty tingles through my pussy. By the time I was finished reading their stories, I was so wet that I just had to do something about it.

I laid back in bed and closed my eyes, feeling my ponderous breasts in my hands. What would it feel like to be this magical "Hucow?" Did they really grow enormous breasts that constantly leaked life-giving delicious milk?


About the Author

Bessie Hucow is a cow. She likes doing cow things such as mooing and eating grass. She also likes to write very dirty stories. How does a cow write dirty stories? Simple, she nicked a computer and brought it into her barn where she writes under lamplight in the middle of the night when all her humans think she's asleep.

Why? To bring you the very best stories that a cow can write.

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