---Ramón’s perspective---

Coming down from the roof of my apartment building, I’m tired after a long day of investigating relatively light infractions by Terran tourists.

That Neanderthal girl’s case the other day was quite a meaty mystery for me to sink my teeth into with a very satisfying conclusion. I’d almost wish that I could have more cases like that if it wouldn’t mean an entire neighbourhood being taken out of commission every time(!)

I cross the threshold of my apartment and am immediately accosted by my gigantic wife.

She hits with all the momentum of a 2.3m stuffed toy being gently tossed at me but I allow her to feel like she knocked me off balance.

I let her press me into the closed door behind me and press my face into her enormous chest with her hands at the back of my head.

I take a deep inhale of Jyul’s scent and give a contented sigh. I feel my mind unfrazzle from the long day I’ve just had.

She giggles, presumably from my breath tickling her sensitive breasts through her jumper.

“I missed you…” she says, tenderly.

I look up, barely hindered by her hands attempting to keep my face planted in her bust, and smile “I missed you too, Jyul.” stroking my hands down her back, feeling something very interesting that she’s wearing under her jumper(!)

She grins revealing a set of underdeveloped incisors, four overdeveloped canines flanked by a very overdeveloped set of flat, grinding molars.

She leans down to kiss me, closing her eyes and sliding her long tongue into my mouth.

When she lets me up for air I smirk “Someone’sfeeling very energetic! Didn’t you have a double shift today?”

She snorts “Yeah, well… I had a double shift but, because my species aren’t staminafreak monsters, we don’t allow people to work the deathsentences of shifts that you consider normal(!) I’ve had a long time to recover since I got home!”

I smile “Long enough to change into your playtime outfit at least(!)”

Her mouth falls open “How did you…?!”

“One…” I say, bringing my hand to her back “…your jumper doesn’t slide over your skin or any of your shirts like this, two…” I point to her chest “…you’re headlighting so hard that your nipples are poking my collarbone and three…” I grab her arm by the wrist and raise it to show the string threaded between the III and IV digits of her hand, attached to a bit of black and white fabric poking out from her sleeve “…it’s showing!”

She gives a smack of her lips (the Thrulji equivalent of a tut) before saying “I guess I should’ve known better than to think I could fool a Terran detective! I wish you’d let yourself be surprised sometimes though!”

I shrug apologetically “Not something I can turn on and off, I’m afraid.”

She pouts.

I smile “Have I ruined it? We don’t need to…”

“Yes, we do!” she huffs “I’ve been horny all day waiting for you to get back, so you and I are going into that bedroom and, the moment we do, we are not husband and wife anymore!”

I grin “Alright… though, you realise… ranchers don’t take orders from their heifers, right?”

She lets out a shuddering moan and nods.

“Alright then!” I smile “Shall we go?”

---Jyulbul’s perspective---

As I enter the bedroom, I slide my jumper off over my horns, revealing a skin tight outfit that covers my arms, shoulders and upper back. It’s white with black splotches.

My chest and stomach are left entirely bare.

I slide off my civvy trousers, exposing a bare crotch, bare arse and legs covered in stockings matching my top and suspended from it by strips of fabric on the outsides of my hips.

I give my tail a swish and my ears a little flick.

My owner smiles up at me on his way past.

He goes to a draw and pulls out a partially broken, gold ring with a pin spanning the width of the gap, a yellow tag with some Terran numerals on it, a collar with a bell on it and a bitgag, fashioned to look as much like a halter as possible for a being without a snout.

He beckons me over with a smirk and says “Lets finish getting this heifer dressed the part, shall we?”

I clop over to him and bend down to make it easier for him to reach my face.

First, he picks up the ring and pokes the pin through the piercing in my septum, fastening it and giving it an uncomfortable little tug, then he pokes the tag through the piercing in my ear, fastens the collar around my neck and, finally, picks up the bitgag-cum-halter and presses the bit into my mouth, fastening the straps behind my head.

“There…” he grins, taking the reins attached to my harness “…what a wonderful cow you make as always, mi vida!”

I *moo* through my gag causing him to chuckle.

“I wonder how badly…” he smiles, devilishly “…this little cow wants to get milked?”

God, so badly!

Why does he always tease!? The hemming and hawing about whether he will or not is definitely my least favourite part of these sessions!

That said… if he asked me if I wanted him to stop…? If he offered to just start going straight to business…?

I stamp a hoof, give a desperate little whimper and extend my lips, pleadingly, from the gag.

“Oh… looks like she’s very eager for it… but… well, it’s a busy life, being a rancher! I could always just milk her tomorrow, couldn’t I?”

I give a pathetic little moan and shake my head, halfway between a Terran ‘no’ and a dumb animal trying to shake off insects.

“OK, OK…” he smiles mischievously, relenting far faster than normal “…I guess I’ve got time to give my prise cow the attention she needs!”

He walks passed me to our full length wardrobe, leading me by my reins.

If our bodies were the same density, I would be able to stop him dead by simply refusing to move.

In actuality, the enormous disparity between us means that, if I tried that, he might pull me off my feet before he’d even realised anything was amiss!

Real cows weigh hundreds of kilos and (though rendered mainly a novelty, these days, by the introduction of lab grown meat, equal too or better than the real thing, a few centuries ago) could be led around by Humans a fraction of their weight! Those Humans trusting to nothing more than the thousands of years of selective breeding for docility that they had visited on their livestock to keep from being trampled to death!

A good cow is one that doesn’t realise how much more powerful it is than its owner, doesn’t realise what its owner will eventually do to it, doesn’t fight its owner… I want to be a good cow!

He slides open the wardrobe and reaches down to an unbelievably heavy platform, on wheels, with some metal racking folded up on top of it.

With one hand (the other still grasping the reins of my halter) he pulls the platform into the middle of the room, disengages the wheels, pulls up the front section of the frame which locks into place, then does the same for the back section.

He lifts a bar, nearly a [metre] wide with three semicircular curves in its length (one around half the circumference of my neck and, the other two, half that of my wrists), off of a horizontally mirrored one, fixed at the front of the frame.

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He lifts another straight bar from the back, where it was resting about a pelvis’ width above another, fixed bar.

He places the parts he’s removed on the ground and leads me to the back of the frame.

He bends me over the bar, which is quite a bit lower than my hips would naturally want to rest, before picking up one of the ones he just placed on the ground, slotting it on top of me and fastening it in place.

Gently but irresistibly, his hand pushes down between my shoulders, forcing my neck into the hole which is designed to receive and secure it.

As he brings my wrists to their respective divots and begins fixing my upper body into the pillory, I let my mind wander back to when I discovered this fetish.

Ramón and I had been dating about a [year and a half] (me having thrown myself at him, effectively the moment he stepped off the transport(!)) and I was firmly in what he calls my ‘shopping phase’.

It had been [five] or [six years] since the end of the War and, one by one, Terran systems were acquiring the infrastructure necessary to be connected to the galnet.

Every new Terran world, whose internet I was able to explore, introduced me to half a dozen acts that forced me to go through the five stages of fetish discovery (disgusted horror, scrutiny, consideration, curiosity and interest (with the optional sixth stage fascination))!

This one, however… I knew right away that this would be my forever fetish!

It immediately became an obsession!

If the day ever comes where the galaxy calls out for a Hucow expert, I can confidently put myself forward as a leading authority(!)

Of course, when he and I do it, it isn’t strictly ‘Hucow’ but ‘Thrucow’ or ‘Cowljec’ just don’t have the same ring to them!

Cows are not sexy animals… fairly objectively!… They’re dirty, they’re smelly and, least sexily, they are thoroughly nonsapient (with the obvious exception of the bovine uplifts I’ve seen acting in some of my vids, to which none of that applies).

That’s all true and yet… something about making an intelligent being act like a cow… putting a sapient in that position… of making me nothing more than livestock… something about the idea of being stripped of my agency and treated like a piece of meat… well, it just sings to me!

I’ve often fantasised about a very different variety of Terran to the one we actually got, being our conquerors!

These Terrans would be far less willing to relinquish the spoils of their conquest! I’d have been herded into a pen, nude, along with all of the other Thruljex who looked like they’d make good bed slaves.

A dark mirror of Ramón would come striding along the cages, his face twisted with gleeful malice as he inspected his choices of reward for his service.

I’d catch his eye through the throng, he’d point to me and I’d be pulled out of my cage and given to him as a warbride!

Then he’d take me home and make me sleep in a cage with only hay for both fodder and bedding!

Of course, I’m not an idiot!

I would never in a million years trade our conquest by compassionate rebuilders for one by ruthless oppressors!… That doesn’t stop it being fun to fantasise about though!

My upper body secure, Ramón returns to the rear of the frame and I feel his warm, powerful hands grasp my left leg, at the joint just above my hoof.

Irresistibly, my leg is pulled to a specific point in the frame and metal is closed around it, locking it into place. There is enough room for my leg to move but not for it to be withdrawn.

He repeats the same action for my other leg.

I struggle, experimentally, finding I have been utterly deprived of all mobility.

I’m entirely at his mercy now.

Not that I’m ever not at his mercy when we’re alone together but… being stripped of my agency like this… it, ironically, makes me feel very free!

“Well, now…” the Terran smirks crookedly, setting a chair next to my frame “…shall we get started?”

---Ramón’s perspective---

My wife now locked into her frame, I turn my back on her and step slowly to the wardrobe to her rear.

I retrieve a silver bucket and a device with two long, clear, flexible tubes, ending in two clear cups with rubber rings covering their rims, coming out of it.

I return to my wife’s side, set the pail beneath her pendulous, lilac ‘udders’ and take a seat.

I hold the pump with its outflow nozzle positioned over the bucket, place one of the cups over her left nipple and turn it on, creating a suction seal.

Immediately she begins thrashing and *moo*ing through her gag, in protest.

I power down the pump and feign confusion as I stroke her back and say “What’s wrong, girl? I thought you wanted to be milked(!)”

More pitiful *moo*ing is the only answer I get.

“What could be the problem, I wonder? Could it be that my prize milker… doesn’t actually want to be milked(!?)”

Her next *moo* is almost sobbed.

I feign realisation as I say “Aaaaah… I know what the problem is!… You don’t want the pump! Do you, girl!”

She gives a confirmatory *moo*.

I pop the cup off of her nipple without equalising the pressure, leaving a lovely, light bruise.

“Nooo, no no no no no! She wants me to use my hands for this! Of course!”

I bring both palms to her left breast and begin a firm but gentle downward, kneading massage.

She gives a (very uncowlike) moaning sigh and I see her whole body relax.

After a few moments have passed, a stream of opaque, pink liquid starts to stream down, ringing gently as it splashes against the metal of the milking pail.

Once that breast seems like its exhausted, I repeat the process for her other ‘udder’.

Fully mature Thruljec women (for evolutionary reasons beyond my understanding) are permanently capable of lactating.

Jyul, however, due to the regularity with which she makes me stimulate her like this, produces milk in quantities and of richness that is far from normal, exceeding even the figures for nursing mothers, at least in quantity (I’ve never tested for how she stacks up in terms of fat/protein content(!))

Of course, like ‘Hucow’, ‘lactate’ is a misnomer.

There isn’t actually any lactose in the liquid she produces, lactose being a deathworld molecule, but the equivalent protein isn’t very pronounceable to my Terran tongue and sounds very pretentious to use as a verb (in both Spanish and Thrulji)! So, ‘lactate’ serves!

I pick up the bucket with a litre or so of pink milk at the bottom.

Walking to Jyul’s front to allow her to see me, I bring its rim to the level of my mouth and tip it upward.

I take several deep gulps of my wife’s still warm milk.

When I bring it down again I see her looking up at me, awaiting my verdict.

“Hmmm… It’s a little watery…” I say, honestly “…I don’t know if anyone would want to buy milk this weak!”

She gives a pitiful *moo*, even though I know the humiliation is part of the kink for her!

I place down the pail and stroke a hand over the cow patterned fabric at her shoulder.

“I wonder how much I’d get if I sold her…? A ranch can’t stay in business keeping dairy cows that don’t produce good milk, afterall…”

She begins wildly thrashing and gives desperate pleading *moo*s at the mention of selling her.

I ignore the sudden outburst to continue “She’s got good conformation… a lovely bloom… I’d wager she’s got good marbling…”

Her protests intensify and I act like I’m just now noticing as I grasp her horns, force her to look up at me and say “I’m sorry, girl, I just don’t see what else to do! You’ve got to earn your keep and, if you’re not giving milk, then…”

A great, lowing *moo* is the only vocalised response she gives as she lifts her cow tail and gives her hips a pleading wiggle (as much as her restraints allow).

I pretend to have a moment of inspiration as I say “Of course…(!) There are three things cows are useful for, aren’t there(!)”

I reach under her to give her right breast a squeeze “Milking…” I stand and begin walking around her before giving a light smack to her (generously proportioned) left buttock “…meat and…” I bring my hand to cradle her cute little, dripping pussy “…breeding!”

She gives a wonderful quiver as I rub her mostly immobilised crotch.

With my left index finger, I trace around the edge of a circle she has tattooed on her left buttock.

In the circle are tattooed the initials ‘RSV’.

The tattoo was a compromise… she wanted me to actually brand her with a hot iron shaped into the inverse of my initials… my counteroffer was to suggest that we could get a stamp of my initials and a palette of ‘permanent’ ink. The tattoo was where we landed as a balance of safety and permanence!

“No… you’re right… I could never sell my best girl! Not when there are so many other fun uses for you!” I smirk and begin unfastening my belt.

---Jyulbul’s perspective---

I helplessly stare ahead as I feel Ramón’s powerful, warm hands clamp my hips.

The left one that he offered to help me up, all those years ago, the right that he didn’t have at the time… together they render my hindquarters immobile far more effectively than the frame I’m locked into!

I feel something long, warm and hard pressed between my buttocks and I give a contented sigh.

I am a piece of meat and nothing more… if my owner wanted to sell me, that would be his right!

But… for today, I have managed to convince him that I still have value enough to be worth the fodder I consume and the barn space I occupy.

I want to be a better milker for him but… well, if he’s happy with just using me as a breeder, I definitely won’t complain(!)

I drag the brush of my tail across his chest, tenderly, letting him know what the brand on my arse already tells him; I’m his! I’m his big dumb cow, for him to do whatever he likes with!

He answers this by dragging the hard, warm thing downward between the lips of my pussy.

He doesn’t insert himself immediately, just lets our respective organs touch.

I want him inside me but… that’s not my decision to make! I’m just a cow!

Finally, his tip finds my opening and he pushes, slowly, inside.

I’m so distracted by the sensation that I almost forget to *moo*… almost!

The bell at my neck rattles as he begins his penetrating thrusts into his property… his meat… his cow!

Stars, this is fulfilling!

A third of a lifetime, belonging to this man, and playing livestock for him is just as thrilling now as it ever was!

A hand is removed from my rear to grasp my horns and yank back my head. This causes me to moan, loudly and my spine to bow downward.

Yes! Use me! I’m yours! I’m nothing more than meat for you to fuck! Just a breeder!

Breed me!

His body seizes and I’m brought to orgasmic ecstasy by the rich, thick milk that he gushes inside me!

---Ramón’s perspective---

I awake with a very large, very light woman cuddling into me.

Jyul still wears her cow costume, though absent the piercings and harnessgag.

Her radiant, mauve eyes open and she beams.

“Morning, mi vida… you got work today?” I say, sleepily

She gives a Terran shake and answers “Nope… you’ve got me all to yourself!”

I smile “In that case… why don’t I make us some breakfast? What do you feel like?”

She thinks for a few seconds before deciding “Definitely pancakes!”