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Bronwyn: Seasons Past

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The soothing heat of the bubbly bath water was like the gentle caress of bliss against Bronwyn's body, permeating her fur, her skin, and suffusing deep into her muscles, washing away all her stress and worries. She loved the luxuriousness of a hot bath. It always set her at ease in a way a straight-forward shower simply couldn't.

It also relaxed her mind as much as it soothed her body, and she could let her thoughts wander any which way they wanted to. On this particular journey her mind didn't seem to want to wander all that far, roaming through some of the more recent memories Arthur and herself had made whilst on holiday. A shame it would soon be coming to an end, but it had definitely been well worth it, giving the cowgirl the perfect opportunity to muster her courage to tell and show her human lover precisely how she felt.

Courage that had revealed his own regard for her ran just as deep.

Courage that had led to them making love on the beach for the first time...

Bronwyn's cheeks flushed a furious red as the more intimate details and sensations began rising through to the fore of her mind. She let them linger for a while, revelling in the tender glow of experience, feeling and savouring her body's predictable reaction. The heat wasn't just restricted to her cheeks - it had ventured a bit further south than that. A wandering hand encountered a rather prominent nipple announcing its presence just below the waterline. All the while a distinct need was being stoked within her core.

But she didn't hold those thoughts for too long.

Her recollection continued down the road that had eventually led her to that moment of bliss on the beach; back further to meeting Arthur through work; the way events had unfurled after that had only been half of the story. It had been hard work and toil that had earned the cowgirl the position she held, and she took a justifiable degree of pride in that fact. It was unusual for a bovine Anthromorph with her background in dairy to venture away from the industry at all, much less pursue an actual career elsewhere.

There were very compelling reasons why dairy cows such as herself tended to stay on the farm, not least of which had been her mother's blunt warnings of how unforgiving and harsh the human-run world could be for an unprepared Anthromorph. It was a strongly dissuading fact, but then the reasons that had led Bronwyn down her own path had been equally compelling.

When push came to shove she knew that really, when all was said and done, she'd simply had no other choice.

A rapping at the bathroom door derailed her thoughts with an unanticipated start, spurring Bronwyn to sit up suddenly, sending a wave cresting through the tub full of water.

The door promptly opened and in stepped Arthur with a fresh set of standard hotel-fare white cotton bath sheets. The pair exchanged a silent smile with one-another, Bronwyn grateful for the little gift of consideration, before the cowgirl allowed herself to slide back into the warm bath.

"Here you go." Arthur offered as he placed the towels over the wall-mounted radiator. By the time they were needed they'd be pleasantly toasty.

"Thanks." Bronwyn settled into the tub, submerging herself until all that remained above the waterline and bubbles was her face and her knees.

Arthur looked down on her from his vantage point beside the bathtub. He wasn't sure whether or not the placement of the bubbles had been a deliberate strategic effort on her part, but they certainly did a half-decent job of protecting her modesty. Well, most of it... What he couldn't see was just as enticing as what he could see.

It didn't escape his attention that the bovine belle hadn't really noticed his eyes drinking her in, the expression on her face one of meaningful contemplation.

"You look deep in thought." Arthur offered gently.

Bronwyn turned her head to look up at him, her human's green eyes shimmering with curiosity, "Just remembering." She explained softly.

Arthur nodded sagely with a slight tilt of his head, moving up right beside the tub and sitting down on the cold tiled floor, one of his arms slipping casually over the rim and into the water. His fingers sought out one of Bronwyn's hands, taking careful hold of it and offering an affectionate squeeze as their fingers entwined, "Anything you want to talk about?"

She smiled softly, "Sure. I don't see why not."

Bronwyn began to explain...

-o-O-o-12 Years Earlier-o-O-o-

Cows are herding animals. They always have been, from the earliest times when humans were first learning to domesticate the vast migrating droves, all the way through to modern times, each bound together in a bond of both kinship and community. Herds had remained largely unchanged throughout the time Anthromorphs referred to as The Awakening, and it was still true in the present day, though the concept had evolved and developed somewhat. Large extended families and communities defined the bovine existence even if the nature of their farming had been irreversibly changed.

Sentience could have that effect on a species.

It was as much a fact for Bronwyn as it was for any domesticated cow. She'd spent her calfhood on a farm, growing up amongst an extended family of cousins, aunts and grandmothers, all part of a wider communal herd that their farmer had provided residence for on his farm. She'd shared a home with her mother, a younger sister and two older brothers. When they were old enough her brothers had each left the farm in turn for pastures new - it was how herds prevented their genetic stock from becoming too narrow across generations. Such was the way for males of her kind, some regularly moving from one farm to the next, and it seemed to work out well for the farmers too.

They kept in touch, of course. But they were each a part of their own separate herds now. That had left Bronwyn, her sister and her mother sharing the family home.

And farm life was easy. The Awakening had drastically and permanently altered the relationship between farmers and their livestock. Sentience carried with it an entirely different duty of care as far as the farmers were concerned. Humans still had need of dairy - the world couldn't have been weaned off millennia of dependency on such short notice - but it was obvious that the once docile beasts could no longer be merely kept out to graze, treated as mere animals. Something had to be done. Entire dairy herds had soon come to live in poorly built shanty towns where grazing meadows and pastures had once existed, more durable housing pending. For many farmers it had presented a sudden and seemingly insurmountable expense, testing their means to breaking point. But to the more astute businessman it had presented ample opportunity. Ideas take root readily enough when change becomes a necessity, and those with a business-driven mind-set will always find a way to make a profit.

The cows could and did still produce milk fit for human consumption, though with a somewhat different composition compared to the breeds that had not been altered by The Awakening. The opportunity for the farmer lay in the minutiae of marketing, and the premium that could be attached to the Anthromorph produce as a result. It soon began to reap its own rewards. In exchange for the milk and all profits from its sale the farmers could afford to provide the herds with a substantial roof over their heads, all the food they needed, and all else that was required for the general welfare of the herd.

The idea had worked and the rapid uptake had quickly forged it into the practiced norm. Farms became thriving little townships in their own right and everybody benefitted.

It really was an easy life.

It was also a simple way for a dairy cow to make a living. From onset of puberty, gaining the permissions of a heifer's family, the farmer would start adding certain hormonal supplements to their food in order to prepare their bodies for eventual milking. To most non-bovines the idea of being given such strong body-modifying drugs probably seemed near unthinkable, almost like they were given no choice, but that simply wasn't the case. They could choose. But most just opted to go along with it because, well, what else would a dairy cow do? It was in their genes, it was what they'd been bred for. Even after The Awakening it was still a part of their very nature, an ingrained part of their culture, if it could even be called that. One genetic aberration didn't undo generation after generation of selective breeding directed towards a single purpose. It was a calling, and all who took part did so willingly.

After a few calving seasons worth of this treatment and once a heifer was over the age of consent the farmer could then offer them a choice; have a calf of their own or begin taking the next stage of supplements, ones which simulated the calving experience and induced lactation.

Bronwyn's mother had discussed it often and repeatedly with her from a very young age, as mothers were prone to do with their young. She knew that her mother had opted to have calves of her own from a relatively young age. The farm's herd had a comparative handful of different bulls to sire their young, and her mother, tracing a proud heritage down a purebred line, had opted to continue the family tradition and picked one of two bulls who matched her shorthorn breed.

The bull had given her four calves in total, Bronwyn being the eldest female and third oldest of them all. Given the nature of the community calves were largely raised by their mothers and grandmothers. Fathers were generally present, provided they didn't move farms, but they were regarded more as social figures than family members - best kept that way lest they move on in search of a new herd. There were exceptions; instances of a male being directly involved in family life, usually in cases where he'd fall in love with a given cow or two. Things could get rather complicated at that point with alpha and beta females, and creating their own sub-herds... Thankfully that had been a rather rare occurrence on Bronwyn's farm. Sure, it could all seem like a rather impersonal affair, but it was what it was. She knew her father, but she regarded him as more a friend or authority figure than an actual parent.

The early onset of puberty for Bronwyn had seen her begin the preparation medication at an age well below the average. A young bloomer of prime purebred stock, her career in dairy seemed set and laid out before her to be a very promising and productive one.

By the time she was at the age of consent there were no suitable bulls of Bronwyn's breed during her first viable season, though if she were truly honest she didn't want the responsibility of a calf yet anyway. But the overwhelming desire to contribute to the community for both her family and for herself was an ever-present factor. She moved on to the second stage of supplements as soon as she was able, the first batch having left her fully developed, the second batch would begin to induce the actual lactation.

It was a heady feeling for Bronwyn, taking those first steps into adulthood proper and waiting for her milk to come in. It was like a rite of passage for most if not all the cows in their community. She felt excitement as she looked forwards to her first milking, but she was also incredibly nervous.

Most of the experienced cows were milked together in a communal parlour by means of fully automated machines. Bronwyn had been there countless times with her mother as she grew up; the whole place felt very much like a luxury spa retreat. The cows were treated well, even pampered if they wanted to be by an attentive staff, making it a pleasant daily or bi-daily part of their routine depending on their individual habits. First timers however were generally milked in private by a milk maid or man so their initial production could be monitored. Typically it all happened by hand to ease them into the experience.

Bronwyn's first was a farmhand by the name of Mal. He was friendly enough. He was reassuring. And the very first time that the cowgirl had entered his little private milking room he was quite possibly the most intimidating figure she'd ever encountered.

He was human, and in Bronwyn's world view that pretty much meant he couldn't help but exude authority. He wasn't particularly large by bovine standards, a fair bit shorter than the average bull. But he towered over Bronwyn by a head and a half, his shoulders were broad and imposing, and he carried himself with a cool confidence that left no doubt that he was in complete control of the situation.

Bronwyn wasn't sure whether it was supposed to set her at ease, reassuring her of his expertise, or to simply cow her into submission.

Either way she held herself in the doorway to his parlour in naught but an overly long robe, knees almost trembling with nerves but locked in place and firmly refusing to move due only to her sheer determination.

"Relax." The man smiled warmly as he approached Bronwyn, reaching out and lightly taking a hold of the lapels of her robe, pulling them open slowly. The cowgirl felt a little self-conscious being essentially undressed by a male, even if he was a different species. But he was a professional, she reassured herself as he moved around behind her, lifting the robe from her shoulders like a gentleman taking a lady's coat. She didn't have anything that he hadn't seen before.

"You'll be fine." He promised her softly. Bronwyn let him slide the garment free from her arms, leaving her standing there awkwardly, topless and exposed. But he didn't seem to be paying her much mind, stepping away and hanging the robe up for her on a vacant coat hook. When Mal returned back to Bronwyn he kept himself behind her, his hands returning to her shoulders and offering a gentle, reassuring rub as she turned her head to regard him, "No need to be so tense. I won't bite."

Bronwyn nodded slowly, forcing herself to take deep calming breaths, "So how do we do this?" she asked meekly with a voice full of anxious uncertainty.

"Just make yourself comfortable," Mal gestured towards a bed against the wall opposite. It amounted to little more than a slightly padded examination table that would probably have been equally as at home in a doctor's office, "We'll work it out from there."

"What, no set technique?" Bronwyn's curiosity overcame her nerves all at once. She had been expecting something very different, though she honestly wasn't quite sure what that had been, "Not like they used to do it before the... You know."

She'd anticipated something perhaps more akin to how her ancestors had been milked in the time before Anthromorphs.

"Well, if you want to be on all fours like your bestial ancestors that's fine," Mal chuckled wryly with a cheeky wink, "Most prefer to just lay on their side though..."

He broke out into a grin as the cowgirl blushed, embarrassed by her own misconceptions. Carefully, placing her palm flat against the padding and hoisting a knee up over the edge of the table, she lifted herself up onto the "bed", opting to lie on her side and make herself as comfortable as she could. The rubbery outer lining of the thin, firm padding felt cool even through her fur, though it was in no way unpleasant. It was soothing, in a way.

Finally a little bit more relaxed Bronwyn allowed herself a moment to take in her surroundings. The small room was a rather clinical affair; glossy white-tiled floor, plastered walls that seemed barely even lime-washed. It was Spartan really, but all perfectly clean and serviceable. There was a window on one wall, the outside world bright but blurred through frosted glass, a metallic off-white set of blinds casting horizontal shadows across the floor.

Mal himself had moved off to one side, his back to the cowgirl, fussing over a wall-mounted sink.

"Cocoa or coconut?" he asked without turning to face her.

Bronwyn was confused, "Pardon?"

"My hand lotion." Mal turned and held up two lotion dispensers, "Which fragrance? Stops me from rubbing you raw."

"Oh." She couldn't help but wonder precisely what difference the fragrance would actually make, "Cocoa."

Mal nodded, setting aside one of the dispensers and using the other to deposit a large glob of lotion into one of his palms. Bronwyn watched him closely as he rubbed it into his hands.

"You're new here, right?" she asked.

He nodded again, hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair and pulling it over in front of the bed, sitting down and eying Bronwyn up. Presumably he wanted to sit so that they were both at the same level - it made it easier for him, obviously, and it made his towering frame seem far less imposing. It didn't escape Bronwyn's notice that he'd also pulled a large bucket out from under the bed, placing it to catch her milk.

Settled down comfortably the human then urged Bronwyn to shuffle closer to the edge of the bed with a simple hand gesture. She obliged, following his lead, coming to rest still on her side though with her bosom now protruding a little way over the edge of the padding, seemingly lining up with the catchment pail below.

"You've done this before?" the uncertain cowgirl inquired.

Mal chuckled as if the question were utterly ridiculous, "Many times." he assured her, placing his hands on her breasts and offering a firm press into the giving surface of her globed bosom, as if testing their resistance to his efforts.

Bronwyn gasped, the sensation catching her completely by surprise. Sure, she'd touched her own breasts before - the temptation to inspect herself during her first supplement run had been something she was instructed to give in to; it was important that she knew her own body well. Plus it was fun - but nobody else had ever laid their hands on her in anything other than a medical capacity. Inspected, prodded, tested... But never firmly squeezed. It felt good. Very good, like the most natural thing in the world.

She could feel her nipples hardening. She'd been warned by her mother that her first time could potentially prove... Arousing. But this was so much more than she'd been expecting.

"Everything okay?" Mal's concerned voice overcame her distracted thoughts.

"Sure..." Bronwyn mumbled quietly, "I was just expecting it to be a bit less... Pleasant."

Mal's mischievous smirk didn't go unnoticed, "I try to be a bit more gentle. Really doesn't pay to rush these things." He explained as his hands pressed into one of her breasts, one having moved beneath to support its weight whilst the other pressed into her soft furred flesh from above. The effect was a series of straight-line massages all heading down towards her waiting areola, though he seemed to be deliberately avoiding actually touching it yet, "Besides, I find it's less stressful on my cows if they're not being tortured. Especially my first timers." he winked.

Bronwyn's nod was slight, virtually imperceptible, her attention focussing almost exclusively on the feeling of his hands against her fur. Mal concentrated on massaging and squeezing her breast, his careful drawn-out motions proving incredibly diverting. The cowgirl could feel a rising pressure inside her chest, but it wasn't a sensation she was at all familiar with and it didn't feel like it was anywhere near being released.

"Shouldn't you be..." she began to ask before an unexpected whimper cut her off, followed by a surprised gasp. The palm of Mal's upper hand had momentarily brushed across her stiffened nipple, providing an almost jolting shock. The cowgirl's tail swished back and forth behind her as if trying to signal her agitation to the world.

"Shhh." Mal urged Bronwyn as he continued, "Trust me."

Her reply was a half-lidded silence so he opted to just keep going. Bronwyn could feel her heart begin to throb urgently in her chest in eager reply to his careful ministrations, seeming to fuel a fire within. The cowgirl's breathing began to grow more rapid and deeply drawn, and a distant part of her mind barely seemed to register the humid heat rising between her thighs.

The mere trickle of a thought gathered momentum, before crashing through her mind like a wave of revelation.

It brought her back to reality with a start.

"Mal, I'm..." Bronwyn began uncertainly, "Is this supposed to..." she could feel the beginnings of an intense blush as it flushed through her cheeks, obvious and visible through the pale fur.

Mal was looking back at her with a strangely neutral expression.

Bronwyn, blushing furiously, looked down towards her chest, watching the way his hands worked. He began using both of them in tandem, pressing firmly into her breast and drawing them down in a slow spiral towards her nipple, though he was careful to avoid touching the tender skin of her areola. The change in pace sent a shiver down the cowgirl's spine, and she caught the faintest wisp of the musky scent that was her own arousal.

Mal gave no outward indication that he was aware of it, though. Was the human sense of smell really that weak? Or maybe he was just ignoring it? If his touch got this kind of reaction from every cow he laid his hands on then he must've long-since grown accustomed to it.

The thought simply melted away as he continued working on her breast. The sensation was rising to the point where it became dangerously close to being bliss. Within minutes Bronwyn's increased rate of breathing had turned into openly panting.

Then Mal's fingers pressed deliberately into her areola. Bronwyn closed her eyes as they rolled back into her head, the helpless cowgirl letting off a long, lusty moo as an orgasm took control of her body.

"Good girl." She distantly registered Mal's coo as he kept on applying pressure. As she slowly came down from her high she couldn't help but find it strange that he'd praise her for an orgasm.

"Thanks, but I..." she stopped mid-sentence as her senses returned to full acuity, her ears twitching as she caught air of a new sound; liquid impacting the inside of a metal pail. Bronwyn opened her eyes, looking down. With the distraction of her orgasm she hadn't noticed that Mal had carried on throughout, fingers working away at her areola. She could see that he was drawing out her milk! The sight turned up the corner of her lips in a pride-filled smile.

She'd done it! She'd actually done it!

And his hands still felt really, really good...

With a contented sigh Bronwyn allowed herself to relax fully into the experience, entertaining herself with the thought that whenever the human farmhand was done he still had her other breast to work on.

Needless to say, that wasn't her last orgasm of the day.

-o-O-o- Present Day -o-O-o-

Arthur sat in contemplative silence for a moment or two, trying to wrap his mind around everything Bronwyn had just told him. He'd known a little bit about the general history of The Awakening, the time when Anthromorphs had first appeared. But he was ashamed to say, with the event preceding his birth by more than just a few decades, he'd never actually picked up any of the specifics. Sure, they were taught in school about the impact it had made on human society and how life had adapted. But that was about as far as it went. So much went unexplained.

So everything Bronwyn had told him had been something of a revelation. And on top of all that there were the cowgirl's own experiences...

"And was that normal?" he asked when his mind finally caught up.

"Which bit?" Bronwyn asked amusedly as she leaned forwards, soaping up the calf of one of her legs.

"The person doing the milking inducing an orgasm."

"Well," Bronwyn slid her leg back under the water, cleansing the suds from her fur, "you've seen how doing it by hand usually affects me."

"That's not what I asked." Arthur frowned, unsure as to whether or not she was deliberately trying to avoid answering the question.

Bronwyn took on a knowing smirk, appreciating how quickly and how frequently he managed to see through her playful attempts at deflection to pick up on the roots of the issue. It was one of the qualities she admired in Arthur; his ability to see through the crap and keep his eye on the ball.

So she rewarded him with a straight answer, "I had no reason to think it wasn't normal. After all," she pointed out, "it was my first time being milked."

Up until that moment in her life everything she knew of the process had been revealed through her mother's recanted experiences or gleaned from the time they'd spent in the milking parlour. But that had been when she was only a calf. Through her early and mid-teenage years, no longer bound to her mother's hip and daily routine as she began to explore her burgeoning independence, the relevant memories had readily faded into mere snapshots and snippets of information.

And even if her memory of every discussion and experience had been perfect she'd never been present for anybody's first milking. Everything she knew about that had been learned anew or rediscovered through discussions with her mother as her own first time had approached.

"And you went back for more?"

Bronwyn nodded, a multitude of memories passing before her mind's eye, "Every day..."

-o-O-o- 12 Years Earlier -o-O-o-

A few weeks had passed since Bronwyn's first milking. Ever since then she'd gone back to see Mal at least twice per day. It had become part of her ritual, slotting neatly into her daily routine with comfortable ease. By the end of the first week she'd considered upping it to three-a-day because she was starting to feel overfull and uncomfortable as her regular milking times approached. But she'd put it off for the time being until she was sure it would be necessary.

"Mal?" Bronwyn called as she walked into the man's milking room. Another cow, looking rather red in the face, pushed quickly past her and headed out of the building. She shot a strange expression Bronwyn's way, looking for a moment almost as if she were ashamed.

Alone, Bronwyn uncertainly called out the human's name again, "Mal?" she moved over to the doorway that led into his little side office. Peeking in she could see Mal sitting at his desk, but gazing blankly out of the nearby window into empty space. He didn't seem to notice her, and from what Bronwyn could tell he appeared a little flustered.

"What?" he snapped, turning his head to look in the cowgirl's direction. She was a little taken aback by the venom that erupted when he spoke, but his expression quickly changed when his eyes fell upon her, softening significantly, "Oh, hi Bron. Back for another?"

"You bet!" She tried to sound chirpy, but Mal still seemed to hesitate, looking almost forlorn, "Everything alright?"

"What? Oh, no. It's fine." Rising to his feet Mal grabbed their usual lotion of choice from the far corner of his desk, "You know, you're a gem in an otherwise dull day." he smiled warmly at her, slipping an arm around the bovine belle's shoulder as he drew level and escorted her into the other room, leading the way towards the bed. Bronwyn moved as directed, Mal's hand sliding down the length of her arm as she climbed onto the padded examination table, catching her hand for a moment and lifting it to his lips. He placed a tender, gentlemanly kiss on the back of her fingers.

Bronwyn blushed through an appreciative smile, taking off her gown and assuming the usual position lying on her side, "That's not true."

"It is." Mal insisted as he pulled up his chair, sitting down in front of her so they were eye level, "It's been a rough day."

"Oh?" her eyebrow piqued.

"Oh, nothing for you to worry about." Mal dismissed the question with a wave of his hand, "So, shall we begin?"

With the slightest of nods Bronwyn assented, laying her head flat against the examination table's cool padding. She was on that bed for an hour or more, but her mind had been elsewhere for most of that time, quickly getting lost in pleasure. She didn't notice when her milk stopped flowing. She didn't notice that Mal kept on going regardless. But by that point she didn't really care.

-o-O-o-

When Bronwyn returned home later in the day she stepped through the door and was greeted by the sight of her mother, arms folded across her chest and looking rather displeased. The younger cow was caught off-guard, having expected her mum to still be at the parlour herself. She dared to cast her eyes briefly across the face of a nearby clock, realising with surprise just how long she'd actually been out.

Bronwyn tried to read into her mother's gaze, but years of maternal practice had made her completely incomprehensible when she chose to wear that particular mask. One thing Bronwyn did know though, as the silence drew out like a blade, was that it always meant trouble.

It was her mother who eventually put an end to it by speaking.

"How was the parlour?" she asked evenly.

Bronwyn knew better than to tell a lie at this point. Her mother wouldn't have believed it anyway, "I didn't use it."

"You're still being milked by hand?" it was phrased as a question, but the tone was heavy with accusation. The elder cow clearly already knew the answer.

"Come on, mum." Bronwyn had known this lecture was coming. It wasn't the first time that it had cropped up in conversation between the pair of them since the younger cow's first milking. Her mother had a very strong sense of propriety - one she'd often disdained that her eldest daughter didn't share, "It's not a big deal."

As always the elder cow was unwilling to budge on the topic, her face tightening into a frown, "Most first-timers only visit them for the first week, Bronwyn. Then they start using the communal machines."

"Well," Bronwyn crossed her own arms under her bosom, mirroring her mother's expression and obstinate posture, giving physical expression to her own stubborn streak, "I don't like the machines."

"Have you ever used them?"

Bronwyn huffed and rolled her eyes. They both knew that she hadn't, and now they both knew precisely where this conversation was heading.

"That's a no. Look, sweetie..." Bronwyn absolutely hated it when her mother did that. It meant she was about to be unbearably patronising, or on the verge of delving deep into a mother's well of emotional blackmail. Possibly both, "I know how good hand milking can be. We've all been there. It can be orgasmic when it's done right."

"Mum!" she really didn't want to think of her mother enjoying it that much.

But the elder cow carried right on regardless, as thoroughly indefatigable as always once she was on her soapbox, "And I know that can be addictive. But milk is your livelihood. You shouldn't make it about sex."

"Sex?!" Bronwyn fumed angrily, uncrossing her arms and clenching her fists, "Nobody mentioned sex! And so what if it feels good, mum? It's my milk, why shouldn't I _enjoy_giving it away?"

"Darling, please..." her mother pleaded, genuine concern breaking through her otherwise disapproving mien, "I know you're being tended to by that Mal." She said the man's name as if it were dirty, like some sort of obscene curse, "The other girls have been telling me some strange things about him. Things he's tried to make others d-."

Bronwyn was grinding her teeth by that point. Furiously she yelled, "Just drop it, mum!" her mother took a step back as if she'd been slapped. Bronwyn took a few calming breaths to bring her temper back under control before she continued, "Please." She sounded almost apologetic, "I can take care of myself."

A rainbow of emotion flashed through the elder cow's eyes, and for a moment to Bronwyn it seemed as if her mum was about to say more. Instead, though, she bit her lip, "Okay."

"Thank you."

Bronwyn quickly retreated to her room.

-o-O-o- Present Day -o-O-o-

Arthur poured a full jug of water over Bronwyn's head, depriving her of the sagely afro and beard of suds she'd carefully crafted for herself and earning a flick of water from the bathing cowgirl in return.

"Meanie." She pouted playfully.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but the smile never faded from his lips, "So your mother had concerns about Mal?"

"Yep." Bronwyn wrung what was left of the soapy water out of her platinum fronds, "There were some pretty odd rumours going around about him. Something about the way _most_of his first timers seemed to take a lot longer to stop using his services before joining the rest of the herd in the parlour."

Arthur wasn't entirely sure why that would be an issue in itself, but he knew that she was going somewhere with this, "And that's bad?"

Bronwyn nodded, "Mum thought he'd been using me for sex."

Arthur's eyes went wide as the penny dropped, "And had he?"

"Did it sound like we'd been having sex?"

Arthur gave it a moment of thought. From what she'd told him it sounded like the only thing they'd done together was the actual milking, "No..."

"No, we hadn't..."

Bronwyn seemed to stare off into the middle distance, lost in thought.

-o-O-o- 12 Years Earlier -o-O-o-

Weeks managed to slip quietly by and before Bronwyn knew it an entire month had strolled clean passed since she'd first set foot in Mal's little private parlour. The weekend most recently gone had been notable to the young cowgirl not so much because it was a while month after her first milking, but more because Mal had taken both the Saturday and the Sunday to venture off the farm for some reason or other. Bronwyn hadn't been properly milked since her last visit to the human farmhand on the Friday evening.

It had left her feeling sore, full and overly engorged. She'd managed to alleviate some of the pressure herself, but she'd stubbornly refused to attend the communal parlour and use the milking machines, partly to spite her mum and partly because she simply didn't want to. Instead she'd merely done what she could for herself and waited for Mal's return the following week.

First thing on Monday she'd been up, out of bed and trotted as fast as her overdeveloped physique would comfortably allow straight down to the farmhand's secluded parlour.

"Mal?" she'd all but bounded straight through the door and into his office, only her sense of propriety and common courtesy halting her at the threshold.

"Bron?" Mal rose from his chair, rounding his desk with a welcoming smile, "Come in!"

The cowgirl stepped in with a warm smile of her own. Mal stretched out his arms towards her, inviting Bronwyn into a hug. She accepted it readily, though when the embrace pulled her tight to him, compressing her breasts against his torso, she let out a startled moo and winced.

"Jeeze," Mal took her by the shoulders, encouraging her to take a step back. He'd felt her hard nipples pressing into his chest even through the layers of their clothing, "are you smuggling peanuts or something?"

Looking down at her chest he reached for the robe tie around her waist. Bronwyn made no move to stop him as he loosened it and pulled the front open. His eyes went almost comically wide as he took in the sight of her full bosom. The bovine belle's breasts seemed visibly larger, tight and swollen, her nipples hard and darkly flushed.

"Gods." He slowly reached out, taking a breast in each hand and gently lifting as if weighing them up, "You look full."

Bronwyn's breath hitched in her throat. Even the gentlest of his touches was an overwhelming sensation that made every muscle in her body flex. She wasn't entirely sure whether it was pleasant or painful, "I haven't been properly milked since you were last here." She confessed timidly.

"Awww, poor thing..." one of his thumbs lightly brushed across an areola. Bronwyn let out a surprised moo and a shudder. Mal seemed intrigued by how strong her reaction to his touch was.

"Come lay down." He beckoned her over to the bed as he let go.

Whilst she climbed on to the examination table and tried to make herself comfortable Mal went back into his office to retrieve their usual lotion. Whilst she waited for him to re-emerge she began to run her own fingertips gently around her pert nipples, trying to soothe them. It didn't help much, and the added stimulation actually seemed to make her expel a few creamy drops of milk.

As soon as Bronwyn noticed she then began to openly press into her areola, turning a few small drops into running rivulets that traced their way through the short, soft fur of her chest, clinging to her arcing contours until gravity overcame them, sending milky droplets dripping to the floor.

"Ah ah." Mal took her by the wrists, pulling her hands away from her breasts. She hadn't even noticed that he'd returned, "Leave it to the pros."

He pulled up his chair and quickly rubbed some of the lotion into his palms.

"You'll be more sensitive, Bron." He explained as he placed his hands against the taut, supple globe of one breast, "But I'll have you sorted in no time at all. Just close your eyes and relax."

Bronwyn gave a nod, closing her eyes as he'd instructed and settling down as well as she was able. She could feel the slight flex of Mal's fingers as his hands began their work. For once he didn't hesitate in going straight for the ultimate goal, delving directly into touching her areola with a gentle but consistent push of his fingertips. Bronwyn let of a pained whimper at first, but when her milk started to flow any discomfort was promptly overwhelmed by a feeling of pure nirvana, as if all the outward pressure was finally being released.

But beyond all of that she could also feel the rest of her body responding as it always did to his touch. Her fingers clutched at the edge of the examination table, nails digging tightly into the foam-filled padding as she felt her fire being stoked. If the heaving of her chest and the way the muscles in her body seemed to tense and flex hadn't telegraphed it loud and clear for Mal to see then Bronwyn's lusty moos and whimpers should've been truly unmistakable.

She relished it.

The cowgirl's mind vacantly took note of a new pressure resting on her hip, though it took a moment or two for her to become fully cognisant of the sensation. And yet she could _feel_that both her breasts were still being milked. When she felt something warm flick over her nipple she finally opened her eyes.

Mal was there, working at one breast by hand, but with his lips tightly locked around her other nipple, suckling. His free hand had rested itself at her hip. The warm flicking she felt across her nipple was his tongue, she realised, as her head rolled backwards with a contented groan. She'd never endured any feeling quite like it. She'd licked and taster her own nipples before, of course, during some of her own private self-stimulating sessions - curiosity could be a very potent driving force. Though to have somebody else do it, allowing them to have full control over the situation, to not know what they were going to do next... Gods, it was divine! So she resigned herself to simply holding his head close to her bosom and letting him work away at it.

"Mal..." she panted airily.

He stopped his sucking, releasing her nipple with a wet smack of his lips and pulling back just far enough so that he could speak "Just relax, Bron. You can be yourself around me. Just enjoy this..."

He was back on her breast before she could even consider a reply.

Bronwyn's fingers caressed the back of his head as he continued. When the hand at her hip moved to her exposed inner thigh and began to lightly trace its way upwards she held no other desire than to let it happen.

His fingertips came to a stop when they reached the moist heat of her core, guarded only by the thin barrier of her underwear. Not that it stopped Mal; he promptly pulled the pale garment to one side without giving it much care, Bronwyn whimpering in anticipation as much as need. He brushed his fingers deliberately across her clit. She trembled, so he did it again. And again. And again.

The helpless cowgirl lasted less than a minute before her body exploded into Orgasm.

Bronwyn didn't even notice he'd stopped until she could fully re-gather her senses. She opened her eyes slowly and looked down at him.

"Roll onto your front." Mal instructed her.

She willingly obliged, turning over and making herself comfortable. She hadn't been in that position for more than a few seconds when the man grabbed her underwear in both hands and promptly pulled it all the way down her legs. She watched him intently as he then unzipped his own trousers and lowered them along with his underwear. Bronwyn's eyes widened at the sight; his was the first erection she's ever seen. Standing proud and firm, she wasn't sure how well it compared to the average for humans. But it certainly seemed capable...

Mal climbed onto the examination table, taking position behind and above her on all fours.

"Spread your legs." He instructed.

She did. Moments later he was directly over her, palms coming to rest on the padding of the bed just above her shoulders, either side of her head. She watched him from the corner of an eye, sure that she knew what was coming next but anxious all the same. She felt the hot length of his shaft rest for a moment in the cleft between her buttocks, hard and throbbing with his desire. He moved down a little bit further, the cowgirl beneath him letting out a gasp as the head of his member pressed briefly against the hot, wet outer lips of her sex.

A whimper of anticipation turned into a drawn, needy moan of lust as he slid himself slowly into her from behind.

It was Bronwyn's first time, and there was a little part of her mind that registered she should probably wait - stop all of this from happening as it was. But another part, largely overwhelmed by stoked hormones and every sensation that presently wracked her body, reasoned that he was already inside her, that she was ready for this - committed to this - and that she was going to enjoy it. Before she'd even finished the thought she felt his groin come to rest flush with her backside.

He pulsed within her and she flexed around him.

The fit was tight, but the feeling delicious.

Mal only waited a few seconds, hilted completely inside the cowgirl, before pulling almost all the way out again. His next inward stroke was so deep, so deliberately forceful, Bronwyn grasped the edges of the bed and gave out a lascivious groan as she heard his pelvis impact her buttocks. She knew on some instinctual level that the male was asserting his dominance, signalling his intent to take her, to claim her as his own.

The bestial side of her lust craved it.

Mal was quickly thrusting in a fervour, every hilted penetration punctuated by a grunt of need, returned in kind by the cowgirl beneath him crying out a feeble whimper into the thin padding between her body and the examination table.

A smug smirk turned up the corner of the man's lips as he drove on, using Bronwyn's body for his own satisfaction. Forceful, rampant, needy sex; he craved his orgasm and she was his means for achieving it.

The way that it made the helpless cowgirl writhe and moan beneath him was just icing on the cake.

It didn't take long.

Moving his hands down to her waist, Mal clenched Bronwyn tightly, fingers digging into the flesh just above the flare of her hips. He used the leverage it gave him to pull her to himself as he gave one final, deep thrust all the way to her centre.

Bronwyn let out a pleasured cry as she felt the human hold himself there.

He grunted, and with force he erupted, sending molten threads of his need to her very core in hot, throbbing bursts.

All Bronwyn could do beneath him was take what he had to offer, panting to catch her own breath as he took her, as he filled her.

She felt the very last throb, and then it was over as quickly as it had begun. Before she could utter a single word Mal was pulling out.

Even lying down Bronwyn could feel the way he'd left her legs trembling. She'd need at least a few moments to gather herself together before she felt sure enough to move. That gave her abundant time to mull over precisely what they'd just done; every motion, every movement, every moment.

A contented smile worked its way across her features. She looked at Mal, already to his feet, dressing himself and fastening his belt. He returned the smile she offered him, retrieved her robe for her and passing it over as the cowgirl moved to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"You'd best go so I can clean up." He suggested as she donned the robe and tied it about herself, "Don't tell anybody about this."

She nodded, not daring to imagine what her mother would think if she found out. Bronwyn didn't want word getting back to her at all. But then at that moment it didn't really seem to matter, contentment and self-satisfaction foremost in her mind.

"I love you." She offered to Mal.

He tendered a light touch, fingers caressing her forearm for a moment. It was a few seconds longer before he spoke, "See you tomorrow."

With a nod and a smile Bronwyn departed the parlour and headed home.

-o-O-o-

Bronwyn's mother was waiting for her again the instant she stepped through the door, a conflicting look of concern and displeasure smouldering lightly behind an otherwise impassive veneer. When she spoke her tone wasn't accusatory, but rather deliberately devoid of any emotion at all, completely cool and collected. The mixed signals immediately put the younger cow on the defensive.

"You were gone a while."

Was that a statement? A query? An accusation? Bronwyn couldn't decipher it at all so she chose not to answer. Besides, they'd had this conversation before. The silence that descended was heavy and uncomfortable, the young cow and her mother simply eying one-another without words.

Bronwyn noticed her mother's nostrils flare as if she'd caught scent of something. The cowgirl realised she'd been standing still for too long... Her mother could smell sex on her.

Her mum's eyes went wide, "Good gods, Bronwyn..." she gasped, "Tell me you didn't..."

Bronwyn's temper flared, irritated by her mother's prying, to the point where her anger actually overflowed, "As a matter of fact we did, mum! And you know what? It was wonderful! I enjoyed it, and I'd do it again!"

"Oh Wyn..." her mother sighed with a disbelieving shake of her head.

"No, mum!" Bronwyn wasn't going to just stand there and be patronised, "I love him, okay? And he cares about me!"

She didn't give her mother the chance to respond, pushing her way beyond the elder cow and breaking for her room.

Bronwyn's mother let her go, not moving from the spot, looking completely crestfallen. Things were well and truly out of her hands now.

-o-O-o- Present Day -o-O-o-

"Was it love?" Arthur asked, kneeling beside the bath and running his fingers through the fine fur of Bronwyn's back, lathering up some shampoo and attending to the spots she couldn't have easily reached on her own.

The fact that it was also doubling up as an improvised back massage as well wasn't something that either of them minded, especially not the overly relaxed cowgirl.

"I thought it was." She signed contentedly as his fingertips worked with insistent pressure into her shoulder blades and the muscles of her upper back. They were often left tense and uncomfortable, so any chance to soothe them was exploited and relished.

Though there was one point Arthur wanted clearing up, "Did he force you to...?"

"Oh, no. It was fully consensual. I meant it when I said I enjoyed it."

Bronwyn let off a short sigh when Arthur's fingers made one of her shoulders pop; an incredibly satisfying and soothing sensation.

"So what happened after that?" he worked his hands a little bit lower.

"Well, the next day..."

-o-O-o- 12 Years Earlier -o-O-o-

Bronwyn returned to Mal's parlour the next morning well before her usual allotted appointment. After the way things had gone with her mother the day before she thought that there was a fair bit they'd need to discuss, so arriving early had seemed only prudent. She felt sure that if they could get things in order, maybe have him talk to her mother and explain the situation properly, then maybe she'd understand? The other side of things was that she simply wanted to see Mal.

It was a sunny day outside at least, and that did wonders to lift her mood. She'd never liked falling out with her mother - the two were typically very close - but the elder cow had a stubborn streak as thick as old leather, at least as far as Bronwyn was concerned, and it was all too often a point of contention between them.

When she reached the parlour Bronwyn was surprised to find the door closed. Usually it was wide open when she arrived, especially when it was warm and sunny out, or at least partially ajar.

Her curiosity was a passing thought as she reached for the handle and pushed her way through the doorway.

What she saw there stopped Bronwyn dead in her tracks.

Mal was lying on his back on the examination table, being ridden cowgirl by a, well, cow girl.

Bronwyn's hand flew to her lips as she gasped, her eyes wide. Neither the human nor the other bovine Anthromorph seemed to notice her. At least not straight away.

"Mal..."

The human turned his head to the side, seeing Bronwyn for the first time. Neither he nor his current companion stopped. Hell, the other cow still hadn't even noticed Bronwyn was watching them.

There was a moment of paralytic silence from Bronwyn as her mind reeled, trying to work out what was going on and what she was seeing, trying to find a rational explanation but finding nothing. Emotions broke like a storm against every part of her rational mind, each one warping her thoughts and would-be responses. Anger. Hurt. Despair.

In the end she did the only thing she could do; she turned her back on the scene and fled.

She was a few steps out of the door when a hand grabbed her by the wrist, the firm grip haltering her in her tracks. Pausing to looking back, it was Mal, a robe tied loosely around himself as he held her fast.

"Let go!" Bronwyn cried out as she tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp.

"What's wrong with you?" He let go of her arm when she reeled around to face him.

Bronwyn stumbled over her own thoughts for a moment. He really had no idea what was wrong with her? No idea what he'd done wrong? Not a clue as to how she was feeling?

"You're screwing somebody else!" she snapped, astounded by the man's gall. Was he really trying to feign ignorance?

Mal frowned, "So?"

It was much worse than that; he was feigning indifference.

That stopped the cowgirl dead, mouth agape. When she finally pulled herself back together both her confidence and her voice noticeably wavered, "But I thought... We..."

"Wait..." The man seemed taken aback, genuine surprise crossing his brow, "You thought we were... That we...?" Mal chuckled, then he all-out belly laughed, leaving the cowgirl looking absolutely gutted. He caught his breath, wiping a tear of amusement from the corner of his eye, "Oh, Bron, it's just sex!"

He wasn't feigning at all...

"I... I..." words fell to dust on her lips, a lump in her throat threatening to choke her even as the tears rose in her eyes.

"What," Mal raised an eyebrow, "you thought I loved you?"

"But I..." she couldn't keep her voice from faltering.

"Bron, you're just_a cow." Mal's hands found his hips as he gave her a disapproving shake of the head, speaking to the bovine belle as if it were obvious and she was _stupid for ever having thought otherwise. It was cutting in a way she'd never experienced before, like a deep and painful stab directly into her heart, "You're not even human. How could it ever be love?"

It took all of Bronwyn's willpower to hold back the tears even as his words tore right through her, piercing her very soul, "I thought you liked me." she whimpered weakly just above a breath.

"I do." The human placed a hand on her shoulder, "You're sweet. Naive... But as cows go you're one hot piece of ass."

A hot piece of ass?

A hot piece of ass?!

Any distress Bronwyn had felt quickly galvanised into pure, seething anger and outrage, "That's all I am to you?!" she snarled, throwing his hand off her shoulder with incensed venom, "A way to get off?!"

"Oh, don't act like you didn't enjoy it." he laughed her off as if it was nothing.

Bronwyn fumed, grinding her teeth, trying to take deep calming breaths to keep the building rage in check. The fingers of her right hand repeatedly clenched and unclenched, balling into a loose fist. But she held herself back. She was in control. She was better than that.

The smug expression on Mal's face was too much.

Reeling her arm back, Bronwyn punched him straight in the nose.

Mal stumbled backwards, struggling for a moment or two to get his feet properly beneath himself, caught completely off-guard as the cowgirl lashed out at him. The sharp tang of pain soon followed, making his face throb and his eyes water.

"Ow! Shit!" his hand shot up to his face, fingertips finding the warm flow of fresh blood running down over his upper lip, "You stupid cow! What was that for?!"

Bronwyn snarled at him again, fire burning in her eyes, no regret or forgiveness anywhere within her being, "My mother was right about you."

Mal didn't respond, turning his head and spitting the blood out of his mouth.

"Goodbye Mal."

Bronwyn turned and walked away. She didn't give him the satisfaction of running or looking back.

She held her nerve until she reached home, walking through the door and calmly heading straight to her room, paying no attention to anything else. She made it as far as her bed before falling to her knees and bursting into mournful tears. She felt so betrayed, not just by Mal, but by herself too. She'd let herself down... She should've known better...

The light rap of knuckles against the door went unnoticed. But the door swung open regardless.

"Bronwyn, are you okay?" the concerned voice of her mother came from behind her.

Bronwyn turned, eyes overflowing with tears, and threw herself into her mother's arms, "Oh, mum! You were right about Mal!"

"Shhh," The eldest of the pair cooed sympathetically, pulling her daughter close with a hand about her waist, the other gently caressing the back of Bronwyn's head, "it's okay sweetheart."

Bronwyn sniffled, head resting on her mother's shoulder, the thin fabric of her mother's blouse absorbing her tears without objection, "You were right." She managed to gain control over her sobs, the earlier anger returning, "And I gave myself to him! I fell for it all so easily!"

Her mother stepped back, taking Bronwyn's hands in her own, making a point of capturing her daughter's eye and pointedly holding her gaze, "We all make mistakes, Wyn." She assured.

Nobody was perfect. The damage was done, and all she could do for her daughter now was offer reassurance and do her level best to ensure that the lesson was learned from the whole experience.

"I punched him."

Bronwyn's mother gasped, taking her daughter by the shoulders and holding her at a distance, "You... Punched him?"

Bronwyn nodded slowly.

"Bronwyn; I'm sure he deserved it, but you know what they do when a cow assaults a human!"

Bronwyn sighed with a knowing nod, deflated, breaking eye contact with her mum and looking down at the carpet underfoot, "They get thrown off the farm."

The elder cow rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to wrap her mind around the situation, but no obvious solutions were forthcoming, "They won't let you keep working here if he reports you."

Silence fell as the pair of them mulled over it all. But even with the well of her experience the elder of the two couldn't see how they could fix this.

It was Bronwyn who spoke first, "What if..." she gave it a further moment of thought, "What if I quit?"

"Quit?" her mother was confused.

"This is home." Bronwyn admitted, noting her mother's confused expression and trying to offer some reassurance in her explanation, "Everyone I care about is here, but it's just a job, right? There are no rules to say we _can't_come and go as we please, even if we don't work here. If I quit work then I can..."

"Bronwyn," her mother interrupted, not liking where the conversation was going at all, "They won't let you live here for free."

Bronwyn realised that her mother wasn't quite getting what she was hinting at, "What if I didn't live here at all?"

Her mother's brow furrowed, "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

"What if I left, got a job in the city? Lived there, worked there; I could still come and visit whenever I wanted."

"But..." the elder cow ran a hand back through the silvery length of her own hair, twirling her fingers through it in that way Bronwyn always noticed her mother did whenever she was uncertain or nervous, "You're a dairy cow... What would you do?"

What could you do?

It was the unspoken reality of the question; what could a dairy cow really do in a human-run world?

"I don't know." Bronwyn admitted with a long, low sigh, looking around at her surroundings. Her bedroom, as she'd known it practically from birth, in a house she'd called home her entire life. Now here she was, seriously considering giving it up, "But I can't stay here."

What other choice did she have?

The heavy silence returned. But she knew her mother's thoughts would inevitably reach the same final conclusion.

Bronwyn just couldn't stay.

-o-O-o- Present Day -o-O-o-

Arthur could think of nothing to say, his mind reeling. It was several long moments before words formed in his head, and precious seconds more before they made their way to his lips, "So Mal was your first?"

"He was." Bronwyn leaned forwards and pulled the plug, staying in the bath as the water began to drain away, "But that isn't what matters."

"What do you mean?"

Bronwyn gave an almost nonchalant shrug, half turning and draping an arm out of the tub, facing Arthur, "Well, sure, your first time is supposed to be special. Mine was definitely memorable." She reached up, brushing her fingers affectionately across his cheek, "But what matters more to me is my last. I'd like to think I've already shared my last first kiss."

Arthur smiled, lifting his own hand to rest atop the one she'd left at his cheek. Carefully he took the smaller bovine hand in his own, fingers entwining so he could peel it away and hold on to it.It was a sweet thing for her to say. Corny, but sweet and meaningful.

"So what happened after that?" he asked.

"I left the farm within a week. Handed in my notice." Bronwyn explained, "Came to the city. Found a low-skilled job in admin at the warehouse, got my own place. Did a few training courses along the way so I could climb the ranks. The rest is history." She gestured vaguely into the middle distance with her free hand.

Arthur nodded, understanding, "So when you told me you left because it was boring...?"

Bronwyn sighed in heavy resignation, "I know. A lie." She looked into Arthur's eyes, her own shimmering with uncertainty, "But can you blame me?"

His response was a wan, earnest smile, "No, not at all."

After everything she'd just told him - opening up herself and her past to him like that - how could he ever blame her for choosing very carefully who she deigned to share it with? It was a little piece of herself, a precious part of what had made her who she was, and as far as he was concerned she had every right to guard it. He didn't feel upset or offended that she'd told him a little lie in order to keep it guarded; he felt privileged that she'd chosen to share the truth with him at all.

"That was over a decade ago." Bronwyn continued thoughtfully, "I think I've done pretty well for myself."

Arthur couldn't argue with that, "And your family?"

"I still go back once or twice a month." The cowgirl flicked her toes through the shallow remainder of the bath water, sending a few flecks of bubble into the air and over the side of the tub, "They come to visit me sometimes too."

Arthur nodded, staying quiet. He hated to think that she'd been cut off entirely from the world she'd grown up in. But still he couldn't help but feel a little bit down about it all; having to turn her back on the life she was born into, just because of some inconsiderate arse who'd used her for his jollies?

"Hey," Bronwyn reached over and caressed his cheek again with the gentlest of touches, "Don't feel bad for me. It all worked out. I mean, I found you, right?"

"Yeah." Arthur sighed, turning his head so that her palm brushed his lips, allowing him to impart a small kiss, "But it doesn't sound like it was an easy journey."

Bronwyn smiled broadly. Grasping the rim of the now empty bath she pulled herself up into a kneeling position amidst the few lingering bubbles, leaning over the side. The coated enamel was cold against her stomach and the underside of her breasts as they came to rest against the narrow metal surface. Reaching out, she slipped her arms around Arthur's neck, pulling him in close enough to capturing his lips in a heartfelt kiss.

Her human lover was more than happy to return it, not giving a single care to the way her sodden fur soaked the shirt he wore. When she kissed him like that there was no need to concern himself with anything else; there was only Bronwyn.

They parted after a few moments, though the cowgirl didn't allow him to retreat too far, keeping her arms hung loosely around his neck and holding his gaze.

"We live and we learn, and then we get on with life." she said as if it were nothing, smiling all the while.

Not for the first time - or the last, he suspected - Arthur found himself admiring her strength of character.

When the cooler chill of the air finally began to permeate her wet fur Bronwyn reluctantly let Arthur go. She paid special care when she rose to her feet, mindful to avoid slipping as she reached across to claim a towel from the radiator.

Arthur watched her every movement. Naked as she was, he allowed himself the special privilege of admiring her body; the slight, petite framed cowgirl's every womanly curve from the sweeping arc of her bosom and flare of her hips to the finer definition of her thighs and calves; the patches of darkest bistre fur set against a rich pale tan forming familiar patterns that he alone held the honour of seeing unobscured; bright cupreous eyes that sparkled with an ineffable splendour whenever she looked his way...

Watching the droplets and rivulets of water work their way down her body, through fur that he knew through sight and feel was delightfully soft to the touch, he could think of no moment when she looked less than glorious in his eyes.

"Hey, Wyn?"

"Hmmm?" she looked down at him. Arthur rose to his feet, taking a step into the tub and pulling the naked cowgirl close, holding her by the hips and resting his forehead against her own. His green eyes filled her vision as she slipped her arms around him in return.

Arthur moved his head to the side so that he could whisper into her ear.

"You're not just a cow. You know that, right?" he spoke softly, his lips tickling her ear.

Cheek to cheek he could feel the smile that lifted her face, her nose catching his ear as she brought her lips to lightly brushed across his cheek, the bovine belle's arms rising to hug his neck. It was only a quick peck; a brief thank you. But it meant the world to both of them.

Bronwyn pulled her head back a little way so that she could recapture his gaze.

"I know," she placed a hand on the back of Arthur's neck, fingers twirling through the lowest curls of his hair, the other returning to his cheek again as she donned a wry yet heartfelt smile, "I'm_your_ cow."

Arthur chuckled, unable to suppress the grin that followed.

His cow.

He planned to keep it that way.

-o-O-o-

Bronwyn

Seasons Past

-o-O-o-

By Sval

Author's Note: And there ends the third instalment. I don't think I've ever written a story based entirely in a bathtub before. So there really is a first time for everything. And on a more startling note, Arthur and Bronwyn didn't actually have sex in this one! I know, it came as a surprise to me too. But the story just didn't feel like it needed it.

There was less sex overall in this one. I tried to give the plot and emotions priority over the smut. Let me know if you think that made it a worthwhile read. And I'm sincerely hoping it wasn't too predictable, and that the new characters we met weren't too flat and dull. As ever, critique is welcomed. Let me know what I did well and where I can improve.

Once again, a huge thanks to CyanCapsule for the picture of the title character that inspired the series, and for granting me permission to use her. She really is astounding (click here for the original work).

And thank you all for reading.