Cows and Humans
By Parry Yak

Her fat fleshy belly hung low towards the ground. Drool ran down the side of her lip. The metal collar on her neck was locked into the metal bar. Another metal bar held her bare bottom up. Her nipples were noticeably sore, having been hooked into the milking machine for several hours. They were becoming purple at the base and extending deeper in the tube. Her recently shaved black hair was starting to grow back. 
So long as it didn’t grow so long that it interfered with the machines, I didn’t mind a little bit of hair. The tan flesh tones looked good against the silver bars. The only other bits of hair were under her arms, on her legs, and her crotch. For many of us that was the appeal of a human woman. For me, though, I got into the role reversal. My ancestors were forcibly milked on similar machines. We were sought after for our milk and for our meat. 
Then we evolved, became able to think, and developed bipedal bodies. With a high demand for milk bovine women ended up selling their own. They put themselves willingly in such machines for a few days at a time, coming back with a huge paycheck and two weeks off.  After a few decades, it became common to find a human woman amongst the cows. At first, it was used just to add volume but now human milk was a market of its own.  
Since she came to me I had put her on a steady diet of hormones to assist in the production of the sweet milk that a human woman could provide. Her general lack of mobility combined with her high-calorie diet gave her large belly along and some thick thighs. Sometimes she would pivot and I watched the fat gut jiggle.  
I rubbed my part underneath my jeans, aroused by the sight of the human woman. The name on her application was Sandra, but the number on her ear tag was #S223. Her name wasn’t important to me until it was time to sign her paycheck.  Her paychecks, of course, were stacking up as she would never leave for more than a day before returning. I even had a mattress set aside as I knew she would end up sleeping here most nights. 
She must have noticed me slipping my hand in my pants because she let out a “moo” and gestured for me to come over.  I went the long way around, stroking her rump and up her back before meeting her face to face. It was clear from the smell that she was very excited.  She tilted her head forward and rubbed her forehead against my crotch. 
“223,” I said, “You do recall how to speak, do you not?”
“Moo,” she said. 
“You know,” I said with a snort, my hand on her chin, pointing her head upwards, “Some bovines might find that a bit insulting.”
I jerked on the ear tag and unzipped my pants. I unwrapped my package and slapped her cheek with it. I rubbed it on her lips. She opened her mouth and tried to swallow the tip. I pulled it away and slapped her other cheek. I could tell there was some truth to the exaggerated whimpering that followed, so I relented and let her lick the musty bottom of the shaft. I let go of the tip and it fell flat on her face.
“Aren’t you a pathetic little animal?” 
Her response was, as I expected, a pleasurable moo. I could tell this is what she wanted this entire time. She had no interest in her name or number. She wanted to give up her personhood and become like my ancestors. Nothing more than a creature to be used as her betters decided. I looked at the walls until I found a long metal pole with a circle and symbol at the end.  I pointed the symbol, which looked like an "LP", in her face.
"In the past cattle used to be branded," I told her, rubbing the ‘LP' on her forehead, "The end of this would be heated in a fire until it turned red." I strolled over to her other side, brand in hand. "Then, so that there would be no confusion as to who owned what, the brand was placed on the cow's rump fat." I placed the cold end of the brand on her skin and pushed it in. "Then it would melt into their flesh, marking them forever."
She hung on every single word. She even jerked when the cold metal touched her rump. I pulled it off leaving only bits of dirt and ash. Most of that was shaken off after I gave the fatty behind a nice hard slap. I curved my fingers and pulled her cheek as I withdrew my hand. I pulled it as far as I could and then one cheek slapped against the other.
“Would you like me to burn my brand into that fat body of yours? Please, for the first and last time, speak like a person would, animal.”
“Please,” she said with a squeak.
“And you reject your personhood,” I asked, “And agree to live as an animal?”
She nodded.
“So perhaps when meal time comes at the end of the day, I should just take you out to graze? Oh, no, you need more fat than grass would allow for. Maybe get you a trough. More pig than cow, but as long as you end up getting fatter and making a disgusting mess of yourself.” 
I stroked my cock while I spoke, kneading it to its maximum thickness. I squeezed her thigh while pushing into the sopping wet hair vagina. And then I pounded it, mercilessly. The metal contraption that held her body up shook violently underneath her. Her fists clenched and unclenched. My load was becoming hot at the tip already.
With one hand I spread a cheek and with the other, I slipped a finger into her anus.  The more I pushed in and against her inners the more her cries turned painful. Cries, moans, and moos were getting louder and more frequent. Another finger inside of her and I spread them wide.
"Just remember, S223," I told her, "You aren't a person anymore. This isn't love or even sex. This is masturbation, and you are an object."
I followed that up with a slap on her ass. I was pulsating like mad in the animal’s body. Her legs and knees were noticeably weak. They were slipping back and the metal bar just below her gut was forcing her belly to ride up. One of the milk pumps slipped off her bruised tit. I gave that nipple a squeeze, squirting a bit of milk to the ground. A few more hard pumps and I was spent. I ejaculated inside of her, leaving only a few drips to fall to the ground as I pulled out. 
I reattached her nipple pump and left the room.