Carla Cow
Carla frowned down at the inner workings of her car and sighed. Her dad had made sure she'd be able to change her oil, fix a flat tire, and change her own breaks, but he had never mentioned what to do when the car just stopped working in the middle of the road. Nothing seemed to be knocked loose or broken, and Carla couldn't think of what else might be wrong.
She'd been driving to a new house in a new state when she'd taken a wrong turn somewhere - instead of a moderately-sized city, she was in the middle of miles of farmland, trying to find a way back to the freeway when her car shuddered to a stop.
Leaning against the front bumper she tried her cell phone again - no service. So no Triple-A, no roadside assistance, no help. Pushing a lock of her blonde hair out of her face, she looked up and down the road for any sign of civilization. There, about two or three miles down the road, she could barely make out what looked to be a farm house. A good walk away, she decided, but being young and fit it wouldn't be too much of a chore. Not to mention it was her only chance to get someone to look at her car, or maybe call a taxi.
As she walked, she wrinkled her nose at the scent of manure that permeated the air, eyeing the good-sized herd of cattle she passed who were the obvious source. She couldn't understand how people could live smelling that stench day in and day out - give her clean city air any day.
As she approached the house she caught sight of a man leaving a nearby barn. She hesitated a moment, years of caution around strange men ingrained in the common sense section of her brain making her wary, but realization that he might be the only help she could get spurred her forward.
"Hey there!" She shouted, waving at him. "Excuse me, I need help!"
The man looked up and headed over to her with an unhurried gait, taking a filthy rag out of his back pocket and wiping his hands and around his neck with it. Carla tried not to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Instead, she walked to meet him with a more brisk pace.
Once she got close enough to speak easily (and smell clearly the stench of cow and sweat that seemed to emanate from the man's skin like the worst sort of cologne) she pointed in the direction of her stalled car and said, "My car broke down. I can't get a signal on my cell out here - do you think I can use yours?"
The guy took his time answering, tucking his greasy rag back into his back pocket, glancing over in the direction she pointed, until he finally shrugged and said, "Can't hurt. C'mon, I'll show you where the phone is." And without further ado headed over towards the house, not even glancing back to make sure Carla was following.
"Thank you so much," she said, following him. "And I'm really sorry about this. I'm actually supposed to be at my new house by now, I got a little lost on the way. Speaking of, can you point me towards the freeway? I think I can manage to find my way once I'm off these... rural lanes, or whatever they're called."
By that point they'd reached the house, and the man braced one hand against the door while he lifted up one booted foot and started tugging at the laces. Carla stared, not comprehending what he was doing until he'd pried the boot off and let it thump onto the porch.
"Take your shoes off, please," he said, still not turning to face her as he started working at his other boot.
"Oh," she said softly, and managed to slip both of her low pumps off in the time he managed to get the other boot off and drop it next to it's mate. While she carefully set her shoes down on the porch, the man opened the door and headed inside.
"What's your name, by the way?" Carla asked, following him inside and down a short hallway.
"My name's Kyle," he said. Finally he glanced over his shoulder, looking at Carla with surprisingly attractive blue eyes. "And yourself?"
"Carla," she said, smiling. She decided then he wasn't that bad looking - maybe a little old for her tastes, but give him about a dozen showers and clothes that weren't covered in grime and maybe he'd be presentable. However, at her name he'd turned his head back around, giving her a good view of the back of his sweaty neck.
They arrived in the kitchen, which Carla noticed was surprisingly clean, considering the state of the owner. Nothing looked out of place, all the countered scrubbed, and even the sink shone spotlessly. The man, Kyle, tapped the phone which was hanging from the wall and finally turned to face Carla once more.
"Call whoever you need to," he said. "I'm gonna take the truck and see what I can do for your car. Just wait here when you're done, help yourself to some food if you're hungry."
Carla nodded and smiled again. "Thanks again. I really appreciate the help, you're, like, a lifesaver."
A strange tightening crossed Kyle's face, but it was gone almost before Carla even noticed it. He shrugged and headed back down the hallway. "Don't worry about it," he tossed over his shoulder.
Carla let out a frustrated grunt as she slammed the phone back into it's cradle. She'd been trying off and on for nearly twenty minutes, but the phone wouldn't connect to any number. Even the numbers she knew were good, like her parents', or her old job's number, she kept getting error messages from.
Huffing in exasperation (did ANY machine want to work for her?) she picked up the glass of milk she poured for herself and took another sip. Part of her was a little grossed out - the milk was strangely sweet, which she assumed was because it was probably fresh from the cow. She'd have to do a bit of working out afterwards to burn off the calories from pure milk, and she'd heard bad things about unpasteurized milk.
Yet another part secretly loved the taste, and thought about maybe asking Kyle if she could buy a little off of him - she had a cooler in her car, with a little ice it should be fine.
Sighing and wondering if he'd returned with her car yet, she stood. Immediately she had to catch her balance with both hands on the table she was sitting at as the room seemed to swim and lurch around her suddenly.
Suddenly her body started to shake, and she broke out in a cold sweat as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision. Drugged, she realized. The milk was drugged, and somehow he knew she'd try drinking it.
Finally her legs couldn't seem to hold her, but before she hit the floor strong male arms wrapped around her. As she blacked out, her senses were overwhelmed by the scent of male sweat and cow.
Carla's return to consciousness was met with a pain in the crook of her elbow. She hissed at the feeling, and pried open eyes that felt too gunked up and dry to see what was causing her discomfort. Her vision was blurry, but she was able to see the length of rubber that got unwound from her arm, and the band-aid that was stuck to her elbow.
"There you go, sweetie," A male voice said. "All done."
"What's going on?" She asked. Or tried to, anyway - her mouth and tongue didn't seem to want to work, and the words came out slurred.
The male voice shushed her, and she felt a warm hand card through her hair. "Shh, don't worry, everything's fine."
That's when the smell hit her - sweat and the musky smell of cow, and everything came rushing back to her.
Carla whimpered and tried to twist away from the man's, Kyle's, hands. At the movement her eyes dimmed and the world swam again, and Carla had to swallow frantically before she could suppress the urge to vomit.
"Hey, hey," Kyle said again, soothingly. "Careful now, don't hurt yourself. Calm down." Once more she felt those hands on her, rubbing up and down her arms and sides like she was a skittish animal. Despite herself, she could feel the drugs once more dragging her under, and she passed out once more to the sounds and smells of the man who drugged her.
When Carla woke up again the drug seemed to have worked it's way out of her system - she felt a little quivery and sick, but she could move a lot easier, and was able to sit up without feeling the urge to vomit too badly.
Rubbing her arm where she dimly remembered getting injected with something (and who knew what it was?) she surveyed her surroundings.
She was in a small room - wooden walls, wooden floor covered in a thick layer of straw, sitting on a cot barely big enough for one person. In one corner she saw a bucket. There was enough light shining between the slats of the walls to see, but judging by the lack of any sort of lighting fixture, by the time the sun set she'd be as good as blind. The only sort of amenity she could find was a faucet in the opposite corner of the bucket. She took a little comfort in the fact that she was still dressed, but her heart was hammering in her chest.
Carla swung her legs off the side of the cot and tried to stand. Immediately she lost her balance and fell to the ground, cushioned by the thick pile of straw.
She hissed to herself in pain as she pulled up what felt like a suddenly twisted ankle and gasped at what she saw.
Where her toes should have been was a thick brown hoof.
At that moment she noticed her fingernails had also darkened to that same deep chocolate color, and as she felt the nails with her fingers she could tell that they were much harder than usual, and thick, like they were well on their way of becoming hooves as well.
She had to get out of there.
Bracing herself against the cot, she managed to gain her feet - realizing that she could stand as long as she stood carefully on the hooves, like walking on tiptoes. A couple shaking steps forward and she fell against the door. She tried the handle, but of course it was locked. She thumped her fist against the door in anger. Trapped - fucking trapped, and she had hooves for toes.
Her eyes burned with tears, and she brushed them away. She'd panic later, she had to figure a way out.
The next couple hours were taken up trying to pry boards loose, but nothing worked. Finally she collapsed on the cot and pressed her hands against her eyes, willing herself to calm.
It almost worked, but then she noticed that a very fine fur had started to grow around her fingers and across the backs of her hands, and she broke down crying.
She heard the telltale sound of a lock being thrown, and she lifted her hand up to look at the door. The door opened just a crack, and she was up and moving by the time she realized that she had a chance to escape. She was just slightly too late - a pail was dropped just inside the room, and the door had closed by the time she managed to reach it on her changed feet, locked before she could get her hands around the handle and pull.
"You asshole!" She shouted, beating the door with her fists, slamming her shoulder against the wood. "Let me out! Goddamn it!"
Kyle didn't reply. He didn't open the door, or yell back at her, or anything, and before too long Carla tired out and slid to the ground.
She sat and pouted for a long moment, thinking over the unfairness in life. Finally she glanced over at the pail, and dragged it closer.
It was a sort of succotash - a bunch of mixed vegetables in a gallon bucket. She huffed to herself - did he expect her to live off of that one bucket for a week or something? She felt a quiver of fear when she realized that there was a good possibility that yeah, he did.
Still, her stomach was grumbling with hunger, and she reached into the bucket with her changing hands and got out a small handful of the vegetables and brought it to her mouth.
The first bite was heavenly - sweet and salty, juicy and with flavors she never knew existed in such simple veggies, and that first bite disappeared quickly, as did the second, and the third, and the fourth.
She seemed to go into a trance state, where nothing existed but the food in the bucket and the gnawing hunger in her belly. After a while a pain around her mid section where her dressy slacks were digging into her started to creep in, but using the hand that wasn't shoveling food into her mouth she was able to unbutton and unzip her pants easily enough.
She came back to herself in the middle of scraping the bottom of the bucket with fingers that felt a little too stiff for the last kernels of corn caught in the crease at the bottom.
She froze, eyes wide in amazement that she managed to down an entire bucket of food, and still felt hungry, besides.
She tossed the then-empty bucket away, as if getting rid of the evidence erased the crime, and at that moment became aware of her belly. It had grown distended from all the food inside of it - in fact, she looked pregnant, just days away from giving birth. She sobbed as she gingerly felt the curve of her belly - once flat, but suddenly curved with food.
Depressed, she crawled across the floor to her cot - feeling suddenly too tired and too ungainly to try to stand - and almost rolled in. Hugging her arms around her shoulders, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
She was awoken the next morning by the sounds of the door opening and then shutting again, too quickly for her to wake up and try to rush the door again. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and that's when she realized that her body had changed during the night.
The most minor difference was that the fur had crept up her arms and legs, mostly white but for a few patches of black and brown that got thinner before giving way to skin at her shoulders and hips. She could also see and feel with hands that looked more hoof-like than the day before that her mouth and nose had pushed out into a muzzle shape. But the most distressing change was that to her body - her belly had flattened, but apparently only because her body had taken all that food that she ate and turned it into fat.
Her still-unbuttoned slacks and blouse had become skin-tight, with a belly that pooched out a bit over her waist, and her breasts had swollen uncomfortably too big for her bra.
Carla refused to look at the new bucket - if just one bucket did that to her, what would a second one do? Instead she got up slowly, balancing carefully on her hooves, and drank a little from the faucet. It was difficult for her to move - not only were her clothes uncomfortably tight, but she didn't want to accidentally rip them until she made her escape. At that thought, her eyes glanced towards the door without her meaning to, and landed on the bucket of food.
Once more it was filled to the brim with mixed vegetables, though the current one seemed to have more grains in it, like oatmeal. Another difference was the size - the bucket that morning was much larger, a three gallon bucket.
She immediately felt that ravenous hunger once more - that bucket of glorious food was the only thing on her mind, and when she tripped over her own two hooves trying to get at it, she crawled the rest of the way. She bent over the bucket, shoveling food into her mouth with her hands and eating straight from the bucket all at once, feeling the seams of her shirt around her shoulders give and the back of her pants split and not caring.
By the time she finished, she was balancing the bucket on her distended belly. Her shirt had rucked up under her breasts due to the curve, and as she inhaled deeply to suck in the last little bit of breakfast the hooks of her bra strap finally gave up the fight and released, starting a small domino effect across her entire torso: her swollen breasts, finally free of their confines spilled out, popping buttons down the front of her shirt. Said shirt was already stretched to the limits, and the buttons all down the from sprang free, baring Carla's torso to the world.
She let out a heavy breath of relief as most of her body became free from their constraints, and collapsed backwards into the straw in exhaustion. Like the night before, eating had tired her out, but she didn't feel quite ready to go back to sleep. Instead she ran her fingers up and down the giant swell of her belly meditatively as she stared at the ceiling and let her mind float. She supposed she was in a sort of shock - nothing was making sense, she was eating far more than a human should, and seemed to be turning into some sort of half-human half-animal... creature, so her mind had shut down and stopped letting her panic.
It wasn't that bad, she decided. Things could always be worse. Like she could be -
A sudden pain shocked her from her thoughts, and she winced as her slacks became unbearably tight before apparently ripping away on their own, starting at the hips and moving down, taking her underwear with them.
That's when she realized what was happening - her body was processing the food once more, turning what she had into her stomach into fat.
Even though her body was changing, she was able to sit up enough to shuck her slacks and panties off, and wiggled until she could peel off the last scraps of her shirt and her suddenly tiny-looking bra off. And just in time, too, as her breasts were growing to a gargantuan size before her very eyes.
So focused on her shrinking belly but growing breasts and hips, she gasped at the sudden growth of a long, ropey tail that ended in a tuft of fur - a cow's tail. At that moment she noticed that her ears were changing as well - growing long and curved like a bovine's.
A real cowgirl, she thought, somewhat hysterically and giggled. Then giggled again just to watch the way it made her breasts jiggle.
Finally the changes stopped, and Carla took stock.
The fur spread to cover her whole body in what Carla recognized to be a Holstein pattern, though she didn't know the exact name. The only part of her body that was left uncovered was her breasts, which had become so large that they were resting on her thighs as she sat. And speaking of thighs, hers had swelled as well, becoming thick and meaty. She had a potbelly that still managed to look dwarfed by the size of her chest, though was enough to be considered fat.
Though eating had tired her out, the transformation afterwards exhausted her, and she made her way to the cot the same way she did the night before, crawling on the ground, her tits big enough that they were brushing straw to the side as she went. After getting in the cot groaned under her weight but held.
It wasn't long until she was sound asleep.
It seemed like only minutes later that she was wide awake.
Her tits hurt. She touched them gingerly and winced - they were swollen even larger, but somehow unnaturally so. They were hot to the touch, and veins stood up across the surface. She needed help.
She tried to stand up, but her breasts were just far too large and incredibly heavy - she was forced to crawl on all fours to the door, her tits so swollen that they dragged on the ground down to the concrete floor beneath the straw. She had to crawl carefully in order to keep from landing her knees on top of a tender tit.
When she finally reached the door she stretched her arm out to pound it with her fists, and shouted "KYLE, Help me!"
At least, that's what she tried to shout. What came out of her mouth was instead, "MOO! Mooooo!"
She slapped her hand over her muzzle, shocked. But then her tits gave another stabbing pain and she started pounding at the door again, lowing at the top of her voice.
Finally she heard a muttering, Kyle's voice saying, "Alright, alright, I'm coming."
She sighed with relief, and managed to drag her weighty breasts away from the door just before he came in, carrying a big wooden apparatus under one arm and a large steel bucket under the other. Without looking at her, Kyle set up what Carla then saw was a padded sawhorse in the middle on the room and placed the bucket to the side. That done, he turned to eye Carla, hands planted on his hips.
At that moment Carla remembered her nudity and blushed. But the heavy ache in her breasts was too much, and as long as Kyle helped her, she would tap dance naked with boob tassels if that made any difference.
"You're about ready to pop, aren't you little girl," he said in that country drawl of his. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you real quick." He headed back out, ruffling Carla's blonde hair affectionately as he did.
Carla lowed softly, waiting impatiently for him to return. He wasn't long, though - he returned only a couple minutes later, this time carrying two tall metal pails in each hand, and a very short stool under his arm. Setting them down against one wall, he clapped his hands together and grinned at Carla, eyes shining with excitement.
"Alrighty, let's get started." he said. He took a couple steps over and hooked both hands under Carla's shoulders and heaved, dragging her over to the saw horse. He let her drop on one side, and before she could move he stepped behind her, and that time wrapped his arms around her middle, just under her breasts and lifted once more, resting her belly against the top of the sawhorse so that her breasts hung over the side. Then he grabbed one of her arms and secured it to one end with a padded cuff, and then did the same to the other side.
In that position, she was able to hold herself mostly up with her feet, and there was just enough room underneath each tit for him to slide the bucket.
As Carla watched him rub lotion from a tub he pulled out of his pocket over his hands, Carla began to have a sneaking suspicion just what he was going to do.
"You know," he said, sliding the stool over and sitting on it in front of Carla. "A lot of people think country folk are stupid, uneducated, and not willing to change. Well, I'll let you know that that cocktail I injected you with yesterday was invented by the Jones' boy, who was raised just down the road."
He grabbed a nipple and massaged it, squeezing down the nipple to the very tip with his fingers. Carla groaned as a stream of milk shot out and pattered into the bucket.
"You see, even though most of us around here grew up drinking cow's milk, we've all sort of developed an addiction to human breast milk. It's sweeter than an angel's tear, best thing ever. But fully human women can't produce enough for the whole town, even if all the women were producing all at once. So we started turning young, lost ladies like you into partial cows - still have that oh-so-sweet taste, but can produce more than any single human ever could."
As he milked the ache in her breasts was gradually soothed, and she could feel the weight difference as the swelling went down.
"Now you're doing pretty good for your first milking," he said, standing up and emptying the full bucket into one of the tall canisters. "Probably going to fill three of these, and most of the fourth all on your own. We might have to mount you with one of our young bulls we've made, see how much we can increase production."
Carla was almost asleep by the time he finished, lulled by the sensation of being milked and the sound of Kyle's voice. It took her by surprise when he released her arms, and she fell softly back to the straw, her body too heavy to stand.
"Good girl," Kyle repeated, bundling the sawhorse and the empty milking bucket under his hands and grinning. "You're going to have a long, productive life here.
"Now stay there, I'll bring in a bucket for your lunch."
AN: Wow, I pounded this story out in less than a day - it must have really wanted to be written!
So, I got a question for you guys - Kyle there mentioned bulls... should I write the male version of the TF, or just leave that to the reader's imagination?
As always, I welcome constructive criticisms: there's no way I can improve if I don't know what's wrong!