She wished she had worn a bra.

It was only supposed to be a short drive through the countryside, so Kayla could catch up with a girlfriend who had moved to a rural property last year. A bra didn’t seem necessary.

But then Kayla had gotten lost somehow, and then her car had started making unhealthy noises before sputtering to an undignified, broken stop in the middle of nowhere, and to her annoyance – and a little worry – Kayla had discovered she didn’t even have mobile phone reception out here.

And then, when Kayla had spotted the gate of what appeared to be a farm, and had set off up the track to seek help, a brief summer rainstorm had started, lasting barely fifteen minutes but managing to soak Kayla to the skin – and to plaster her white cotton top against her large breasts, outlining every detail of their curves and lovingly defining the bumps of her perky nipples. She knew with her buxom body and blonde hair she already risked looking like something between a classic pin-up girl and a bimbo – and a wet T-shirt was all she needed to feel like a fucktoy from a men’s magazine.

But she had few choices, so she made her way up to the farmhouse – passing a dairy barn and a shed of industrial equipment on the way – and knocked at the door.

At first there was no response, and she feared she’d come all this way for nothing.

But when she knocked again, there was a stirring from inside, and shortly the door opened to reveal a tall, unsmiling man, perhaps in his early 40s, with a neat, trimmed beard.

“You’re not expected,” he said, curtly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Kayla. There was something about this man that prompted a “sir” – and besides, she was begging favours, and politeness never hurt. “My name’s Kayla. My car’s broken down, and I don’t have phone reception. I was wondering if I could get some help?”

“Your phone’s not working?” asked the man, frowning. “Show me.”

“Uh… sure,” said Kayla, passing him the phone. “Oh, the lock code’s 3289.”

The man looked at the phone briefly, and then put it into his pocket. “I’ll see if I can fix it,” he said. “The phone’s in the main room. Why don’t you give me your keys while you make the call, and I’ll see if I can bring your car up here?”

“Okay,” said Kayla. She hadn’t meant for the man to keep her phone, and she felt uncomfortable now, but she also didn’t want to offend this man. If she couldn’t get help here, it could be hours more walking to find the next option. She took out her car keys and put them in his hand.

“Good girl,” he said. “Through there.” He pointed down the hall.

Kayla followed his direction. The man left her, heading outside – presumably to go and look at her car. She found the phone in an austere study, with a high-backed leather chair, a desk, and bookshelves. It was an old rotary dial. She was too young to have had one in her house, but she had seen them in movies. The only number she could immediately think of off by heart was the friend she had been about to visit. She picked up the receiver and dialled – but there was no sound indicating the call was going through. The earpiece made no noise, only silence.

She tried again. Nothing.

She looked at the books on the bookshelf as she did. The titles included “Inducing Lactation”, “The Science of Submission”, and “The Bovine Gender”. She supposed the man must be a dairy farmer.

“How are you going, missy?” said a voice, and Kayla jumped guiltily. The man had returned already. He surely couldn’t have been to her car and back already, could he?

“Um, I don’t think your phone’s working, sir,” she said. 

“Isn’t it?” he said. “Not surprising. The wires have trouble when there’s summer rain like we just had. It’ll fix itself in an hour or so, and you can stay around until then. My name’s Jack, you can be my guest.” He looked at her, then looked down at the floor.

Kayla’s eyes followed his. There was a puddle, from her wet clothes.

“You’re making a mess, missy,” he said.

She blushed. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I mean, Jack.”

“Sir will do,” he said. “Get out of those clothes.”

She blushed deeper. “Ah…”

“You can’t stand around in wet clothes,” he said. “Take them off, and we’ll get them dry.”

“Can I borrow some replacements?” she said.

“I expect so,” he said. “Take them off, and we’ll see.”

Kayla felt trapped. Jack was standing in the doorway. He was making no move to give her privacy, and he was clearly losing patience with her delay. She did NOT want to strip naked in front of this man – but she realised now that he had her phone and her car keys and she was exceptionally vulnerable if she offended him. And she *was* dripping on his floor….

“Could you….” she said, making a motion to indicate that he might turn around.

“I’ve seen it all before,” he said, not budging.

Kayla was out of options. Her face bright red with humiliation, she turned away from Jack – the only privacy she could find – and wiggled her shirt over her head, exposing her large tits. Then she slid her cut-off jean-shorts down her legs.

“Your panties are wet too, missy,” Jack noted.

They were. They were soaked, clinging wetly to her vulva, clearly outlining the shape of her pussy.

“Can I…” she said, intending to ask if she could leave then on.

“Off,” Jack said sharply, and his voice left no room for disagreement.

Humiliated, Kayla pulled off her panties, leaving her naked. 

Jack stared at Kayla’s nude body, his eyes very deliberately travelling over her tits, her belly, her cunt, down to her feet. She felt like meat on display. 

He thoughtfully reached down and collected her discarded clothes, balling the wet fabric in his hands. Then he looked back at her tits.

“I was mistaken,” he said. “I’ve got nothing that will fit overgrown udders like those.”

Kayla felt her cheeks burn at the degrading comment – and at the realisation he intended to leave her nude.  

“Could I have a towel?” she begged, trying to cover her breasts with one arm and her pussy with the other.

“You don’t need one,” he told her. And Kayla saw, with fear and shame, that Jack now had a visible erection straining at his pants.

She stood there, awkwardly, exposed, not knowing what to do.

“And now there’s the matter of the puddle you’ve made,” said Jack. “I expect correction, apology, and discipline. Do you understand what that means?”

Her mind worked. She understood the three words, of course, but what did *Jack* mean by them?

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry I made a mess, though.”

“That’s a start,” he said. “But first let’s start with correction. A good girl corrects her mistake, by fixing it. Get down on all fours and clean up the puddle.”

Blushing, Kayla got down on the ground next to the puddle. Being on all fours while nude was somehow even more humiliating and degrading than standing. She looked at the water, and wondered how she was supposed to clean it up.

“Can I have a towel or a cloth or something?” she asked.

“I told you, you don’t need one,” he said.

“No, I mean to clean the puddle,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to mop it up.”

“You’ve got a tongue, don’t you?” he said.

She stared at him. Was he serious? That was ridiculous. 

But Jack wasn’t smiling, and he was looking over her, and there was still no way out of the room, and his erection was all she could think about.

She made a little whimpering noise, stuck out her tongue, and began to lick up the water.

As she licked, she became aware of a further embarrassment. Her pussy was getting warm and wet, and her nipples were perking up. She couldn’t believe her traitorous body. How could it be getting *aroused* from this? She was in *danger* – nude, and vulnerable, at the mercy of some kind of pervert!

But her cunt wasn’t interested in being reasoned with. It just got warmer, and wetter.

She licked until the puddle was gone – all in her stomach now – and looked up at Jack for approval.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now you apologise.”

“I’m sorry I dripped on your floor, sir,” she said.

“Not like that,” said Jack. “Try, I’m sorry I was a stupid cunt who made a mess, sir.”

She felt her cheeks burning further. She wanted to argue – but more than that, she just wanted to get through this. “I’m sorry I was a stupid cunt who made a mess, sir.”

“Good cunt,” said Jack. “And last we have the discipline. Children get spanked. Cunts get slapped. Ask me to slap you.”

“No,” she said. “Slap me? That’s crazy. Please, just give me back my clothes and my phone and my keys and I’ll leave… I said I’m sorry… “

“I don’t slap any cunt who doesn’t ask for it,” said Jack, “but the water you’ve tracked in here may have damaged my phone, so I’m keeping your phone and all for damages. You’re free to go, but you’ll be leaving exactly as you are now.”

She thought about it. She couldn’t even see the front door past Jack. She thought about walking nude down the road – maybe for hours. She thought about knocking, nude, at the door of another house. Maybe with another man inside. Maybe a man who was worse than Jack. Maybe she wouldn’t make it that far. Earlier today, if a truck had come past, she would have thought they could help her, but now she pictured a trucker spotting a naked big-titted woman walking by the side of the road. She might be raped. She might never be heard from again.

She looked up at him, lower lip quivering, and said, quietly, “Please slap me, sir.”

“Please slap me, sir, I deserve it,” corrected Jack.

“Please slap me, sir,” repeated Kayla. “I deserve it.”


His hand cracked across her face – but it wasn’t a bruising blow, just a shocking one. It made her gasp – and it made her pussy flush with wetness – but all it left was the warmth of blood beneath the skin, with little real pain.

“Stand up,” he told her. She obeyed.

Before she knew what was happening, he reached out and grabbed her left tit with one hand, and with the other hand he moved something toward her nipple….


It was a metal clamp! He had put a clamp on her nipple. She moved her hands to defend herself….

“Don’t you dare touch your tits,” he told her. “That’s what sluts do. I don’t ever want to see you touch your own tits on my land. You even think about touching your tits, you’ll be running naked down that road, hoping you find someone who takes mercy on a disobedient naked slut, you understand?”

She mewled. It was a metal clamp! On her nipple!

“Stop being a little baby,” he said. “That one’s barely biting. It’s not any tighter than it needs to be to grip your teat – and believe me, I do have tighter ones.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. He was right, of course – most of the pain had been the shock and surprise of it going on. It wasn’t too bad now – even a little pleasant – although it DID hurt.

“Now the other one,” he said, and a moment later she had a clamp on the other nipple. She squealed and squirmed. She wanted to pull the clamps off – but he had been deadly serious when he said she wasn’t to touch her own tits, so instead her arms hovered in a pathetic little posture, raised to her shoulders, poised to grip her breasts, but prevented from doing so.

This done, he attached a chain to each clamp – and suddenly Kayla realised she was *leashed*. Leashed by her tits. And it was confirmed a moment later when Jack pulled on the chain. Kayla shrieked as the clamps tugged on her nipples.

“You won’t get pulled if you keep up,” he told her. “We’re going out to the barn, so you won’t mess up the house more. You can wait there.” 

He tugged again, and Kayla eagerly hurried to follow. He led her out of the house – and Kayla was abruptly aware that she was completely nude, outdoors, being led on a tit-leash towards a barn for animals. She tried to pause for a second, to reassess how she’d gotten into this – but Jack just pulled hard on her tit-leash, and she squealed, and hurried to follow him.

The barn was clean and well lit. There were no animals in it at present, but a couple of stalls appeared to have recently held cows. There were a number of short metal poles in the centre of the barn that she assumed were for tethering animals to. He led her over to them.

“Back on all fours,” he told her.

“What? Why?” she protested.

He didn’t answer, just pulled down hard on her tit leash. She shrieked, and dropped to all fours. 

He knelt beside her. “Let me see your hands,” he said. Confused and scared, not thinking, she lifted her left hand – and, in a flash, Jack wrapped a simple leather strap around it, and with a CLICK, secured it to a metal pole. 

She stared at it in disbelief – and while she did, Jack grabbed her other wrist and did the same. The connections were at ground level, so she couldn’t stand up.

“What the fuck?” she swore. “You can’t do this! Let me go!” She tried to free herself, but she couldn’t reach the connections on the leather straps, or the mechanism by which they attached to the pole, and nor could she slip her wrists free of the tight bonds. 

Jack stepped back, and pulled her phone out of his pocket. “I’ve been having a look at this,” he said. “And it seems to me you weren’t supposed to be on this road at all. You got lost, and came a long way off your path, so no one’s actually going to come look for you here. And once I go down to the road and tow your car back up to the property, there’ll be no sign you ever even stopped here.”

“Please, no!” Kayla wept.

Jack laughed. “Don’t you fret, missy,” he said. “I’m no killer. Murder’s not on the table. We’re just going to make a little adjustment to your life, and I’d bet money you’re going to end up happier.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kayla.

“Well, you undressed for me with barely any argument,” he said, “and then you licked up that puddle. And if you don’t think I saw how your fuckhole got wet from doing it, then you’re mistaken. You’re a born submissive, missy. You’ve been waiting all your life to be put in your place, and now you will be.”

“No…” moaned Kayla – but her pussy was saying something different. With every word, she was getting wetter. He was right – part of her *did* want to be put in her place. Part of her had enjoyed every minute of stripping, crawling, being led around by a leash on her tits.

“And with giant udders like those,” said Jack, “I reckon your place is to be a cow. And I can help you with that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kayla.

But instead of answering, he grabbed something from a hook on the nearby wall – then moved over to her, forced her mouth open, and attached it to her. It was a ring gag – a circle of metal in her mouth, preventing her from closing her jaw but providing access to her mouth and throat. Another leather strap running around the back of her head secured it in place.

Now she could only make incoherent animal sounds, and drool.

“It’ll be a little while before I take that off, missy,” said Jack, “because I’ve run out of interest in what a cunt like you has to say. But when I do take it off, I want you to remember this – the first sound out of your mouth, and the only sound I want to hear, is “mooo”. Like a cow. Get it wrong, and you’ll live to regret it. Understand?”

She looked at him wide-eyed. Surely he wasn’t serious. 

He slapped her.

“Understand?” he said again.

She tried to say “yes” – but it only came out as an incoherent noise, so she nodded her head.

“Good cunt,” he said.

He moved around behind her, and cuffed and secured her ankles to more poles, leaving her on all fours with her legs somewhat spread. She thought about fighting, and using her legs to kick, but even in a situation where she badly hurt him or incapacitated him, she’d be stuck leashed to these poles with no food or water. So she let him restrain her.

“Good cows need documentation,” he said, and he took out a phone – *his* phone now – and began to photograph her. This involved shots of her drooling ring-gagged face, a series of photos of her large tits – which were still clamped, and hanging down beneath her – and then a humiliating series of photos of her cunt, where he first spread her labia and teased out her clitoris, and then opened her pussy wide with a speculum, before moving on to her anus and similarly forcing that to gape open for the final picture.

It was the most humiliating thing she had ever experienced – and particularly so when he showed her the last photo of her cunt. She was so wet that he had photographed a long, sticky string of cunt drool hanging from her pussy lips and dripping all the way to the barn floor. She moaned with shame.

“You’ll need a cow name,” he said, looking at her. He took a leather collar, and fixed it round her neck, then hung a cowbell from it. “Something like Buttercup, because of your blonde slut-hair” he said to himself, thoughtfully – then snapped his fingers. “Yes. You can be “ButterCUNT’. Do you like your new name, Buttercunt?”

She shook her head, no – so he slapped her and asked again, so this time she nodded and made sounds to indicate that yes, Buttercunt was a wonderful name.

Next he pulled up a set of metal tanks and rubber hoses. He reached down under her and removed the clamps – and Kayla – or at least the cow formerly known as Kayla – squealed. The blood rushing back into her nipples hurt worse than the pain of having them crushed!

Jack just chuckled. He took the hoses, which ended in long glass tubes, and reached back underneath “Buttercunt”. He held one of the glass tubes against Kayla’s left nipple, and pressed a switch – and with a thick, vacuumy “THOOMP”, the tube suddenly sucked Kayla’s nipple forcefully into it. She squealed again – although this wasn’t painful, as such. It was just having her nipple vigorously sucked on – possibly painful if her pussy was dry, but actually deliciously enjoyable while she was this wet.

Jack took a second tube, and repeated the process for her other breast. Buttercunt moaned sluttily.

The tubes began to alternate bursts of suction – first left, then right, then left again. Kayla looked down and saw that her nipples had been sucked fully two inches up the tubes, and stretching further on each pump. They really did look like cow udders now. They sucked rhythmically – THOOMP, THOOMP, THOOMP – and Kayla – Buttercunt – moaned again. It felt *good*. 

And not just the physical sensation, but all of it. The restraint. The powerless. The feeling of being reduced from a human to an animal. The degradation.

Buttercunt watched as a thin splot of white liquid squirted from her left tit into the tube. Milk?

“Colostrum,” said Jack, anticipating her curiosity. “You’ll need to be dry-milked for a while, Buttercunt, before your body learns to produce milk like a good cow. I’ll try and keep you horny through it, or else you’ll find it becomes painful pretty quickly.”

She moaned with degradation and lust.

“And now let me show you what else cows are good for,” Jack said. He moved behind her – and she heard the sound of a zipper being opened. Then he knelt between her legs – and a moment later she felt his cock push into her dripping wet pussy.

She lost control. She felt herself starting to buck her hips against Jack’s cock. He was raping her – she should be struggling and screaming – but she was SO horny. She couldn’t think past the feelings in her tits and cunt. And was he her rapist – or her owner? Farmers looked after their cattle. He would be looking after her from now on. She wouldn’t have to make choices about jobs or money. She just needed to produce milk and moo.

“You’re a whore, Buttercunt,” he told her, as she bucked against his cock. “You’re a whore-cow, who needs to be milked… and bred.” And that only drove her more wild. She slammed her whole body back against him, as best as she could, impaling herself on his cock as the machine continued its unceasing, degrading abuse of her tits. She heard herself making a slutty animal noise with her mouth, and hoped he’d hear it, understand what it was, what it meant.

He did. He reached out and removed her ring-gag, still fucking her.

“Do you have something you want to say, Buttercunt?” he asked her.

She did.

“Moooo….” she said, clearly, in a thick, slutty voice. “Mooo….” And she pounded his cock deep into her cunt, again and again.

“Good cow,” he said. “Good Buttercunt.” And with that, he orgasmed.

The thought occurred to her as his cum flooded her womb that she had had men ejaculate inside her before – but this was the first time she had ever been *inseminated*…..

And then she orgasmed too, mooing as loudly as she could, and Buttercunt knew that Jack was right. She had found her place in the world….


If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book The Milk Industry – Stories of Hucows and Lactation, available at my creator site for $3.99 USD. Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free content! (Click here to view in store.)


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