5 comments/ 62692 views/ 28 favorites The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Ch. 01 By: msound1 Disclaimer: All individuals in this story are eighteen or older. This is intended as a work of fiction, not a legitimate instruction manual. The author does not condone sexual acts with non-consenting participants. Please enjoy. Constructive feedback is appreciated. The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Preface: Congratulations on your decision to enter the human dairy business. Whether you plan on starting your own dairy or just want a cowgirl or two for personal use, the decision to buy a cowgirl is one that must not be taken lightly. Owning a cowgirls is a major investment of both time and money, and as the saying goes, you get out of it what you put into it. Even a prize cowgirl from a professional breeder won't produce if she doesn't get the care, discipline, and stimulation she needs. Having said that, the pleasures and profits of owning a cowgirl are beyond words. If you have the time, resources, and strength of will, I highly recommend it. This guide isn't meant to be an instruction manual. I'm not going to bother getting into the regulations, licenses, and other legalese that goes into this business. What I will do is provide you with some highlights of my twenty-five years of experience buying, training, milking, breeding, and selling cowgirls in the hopes that it helps you avoid some of the pitfalls of the human dairy industry. 1. Buying a Cowgirl Buying a cowgirl is the first decision you'll make in the business, and arguably the most important. There's a lot more to it than finding a fuckable girl with a big set of tits. There's more to a cowgirl than her udders. Breeding, upbringing, and personality all have a part to play. Where and who you buy from will have a significant impact on your future endeavors. a. Licensed Breeder Buying from a licensed breeder is easily the safest and easiest way to purchase a cowgirl. Getting a license is no easy task. Neither is raising girls for eighteen years, then selling them to another man. Over the last twenty years, I've personally impregnated over a dozen cowgirls multiple times, siring nearly a hundred future cowgirls in the process. Every time one of my daughters turns eighteen, I personally inspect and train her, ensuring that she is completely obedient and produces at least two gallons of milk a day before she's ready for sale. Needless to say, when you buy from a breeder, you're getting your money's worth. Unfortunately, you'll need a small fortune to purchase even a single cowgirl from a professional breeder. My girls go for about five hundred thousand dollars each, more if they are particularly gifted milk wise. Considering a single cowgirl can bring in over three million dollars while she's viable, and more if you decide to breed her, it's a worthwhile investment. Still, most people don't have that kind of money when they first start out, so you may have to wait a while before you buy from a pro. - There were a dozen lined up against the wall. They were all about the same age, give or take a few years, but that was about the only thing they had in common. One was a short redhead, with creamy freckle covered skin. Another was taller and thinner, with caramel skin and jet black hair, Indian or Arab perhaps. There was a pair of curvy black girls, sisters, possibly even twins. There were others too, some white, some Hispanic. The one that caught my eye was the seventh in the line. She was a perfect blend of Asian and Caucasian, with the silky hair and delicate features of her mother and the robust and generous figure of her western heritage. Small wonder the owner had decided to breed. The udders on this one seemed too big to be allowed, easily the size of basketballs. They encompassed her entire ribcage, hanging just a few inches above her navel. "Good choice," Mr. Crawford said. "Sold her sister last week. Dee One-Seven here's up to four gallons a day, long as she's well hydrated." "Mind if I try a sample?" I asked, my throat suddenly parched. "Of course," he replied magnanimously, snapping his fingers. Another cowgirl, just as lovely as the rest, albeit considerably less well-endowed appeared with an empty glass. She held it below Dee's teat, grasping at the mass of flesh as best she could. Dee reached up and pressed down on the top of her udder with both hands. A thick spray of milk shot into the glass with such force, it seemed as though the poor cowgirl was in danger of dropping it. In less than two seconds, the glass was completely full. I took the glass in hand, amazed at the warmth the liquid radiated from within. I took a first tentative sip, then greedily gulped the glass down, oblivious to the fact that my drink was easily worth at least twenty dollars. "How much?" I gasped as I wiped my mouth, attempting to regain my composure. The number of zeros on the contract was frightening, but less so than the notion of leaving without her. I know a good investment when I see it. - b. Home Raised Many large farms include multiple generations of cowgirls. It is not uncommon for a man to breed his cowgirls, raise their offspring to maturity, and then train up the next generation as a brand new milking herd. A less common but still viable option is to train your daughter as a cowgirl yourself instead of selling her. "Keeping it in the family" is a cost effective way of maintaining a herd for multiple generations. If you intend to pursue this route, bear in mind that it is imperative that you treat these cowgirls just like you would any others. To put it bluntly, if you are uncomfortable with milking and fucking your daughter, you should probably sell her to someone that's willing to do it. Another word of caution: although instances of genetic defect due to inbreeding are relatively rare, it is recommended that you introduce new genetic material whenever possible. There's nothing wrong with asking a friend to impregnate your offspring for you when the time comes. - Lily's mother was a birthday present from my old man. I didn't have much interest in the dairy business, but her udders paid my tuition and her cunt kept my dick wet, so I was pretty happy all the same. Knocking her up wasn't even something I planned. Some jackass at the pharmacy gave me the wrong vial and within a few months she was starting to swell. When Rose started pushing forty, I figured her udders were due to dry up pretty soon. I didn't think about buying another cowgirl, but I enjoyed having fresh milk, a ready cunt, and steady supplemental income. Lily's tits had come in with a vengeance when she hit puberty, and by the time she was eighteen, I knew what I had to do. "Dad? Where are my clothes?" Lily asked as she stepped out of the shower. "Burn pit. Come on outside so we can get this thing started," I replied. "The neighbors are watching," she whined, chewing on her lower lip. "Well, unless you plan on never going outside again, you're going to have to get used to that. C'mon, let's see those udders," I said sternly as I yanked away the towel. Lily's udders large for a normal woman, and had grown considerably since her first injection, but there were mere bumps compared to the massive mammaries that twenty years of hormone therapy had granted her mother. "Beautiful," I murmured softly. She blushed shyly at the compliment. "Now, let's go." Black smoke rose high into the sky as the vestiges of Lily's free status burned away. Rose stroked her hair as she drew our naked daughter's face to her teat, filling her up with her own special brand of liquid courage. I took the opportunity to gently, but firmly, push the brand into Lily's backside while she nursed. She didn't seem to notice the fresh black lines the needles injected into her flesh. A few of the neighbors were watching from across the street. Rose was the only cowgirl on the block, so naturally they were fascinated by her. I even went as far as to set up her milking stall on the front porch so everyone could enjoy the show. For a moment, I thought about taking Lily inside, letting her first time be in the privacy and comfort of her own home. But I knew that if I did that, I would be making love to my daughter instead of fucking my cowgirl. So, I did the latter. I gently drew her from her mother's udder, then had her brace against the porch rail, facing directly at the gathering crowd. I kicked her legs wide apart, then dropped my pants around my ankles. Ever dutiful, Rose leaned down over my cock, soaking it with a warm spray from her fat udders. I could see from the glistening on my daughter's cunt that lubrication wasn't going to be an issue, but I appreciated the gesture all the same. I grasped Lily's rump, squeezing firmly as I thrust inside her. I'd forgotten how tight a barely legal cunt can be. As I felt her final resistance give way, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of two generations of sex and milk, I knew this was the best decision I ever made. - c. Private Sale Private sales, while similar to breeder sales, come with a unique set of advantages and disadvantages. The biggest advantage is that anyone can sell a cowgirl privately. This means far more competitive prices than you could hope for when buying from a professional breeder. The biggest disadvantage is that anyone can sell a cowgirl privately. The cowgirl in question could be a high school dropout that daddy got sick of wasting money on. Hormones and big tits do not a cowgirl make. Basically, buying a cowgirl from a private seller instead of a breeder is kind of like buying a truck from a random individual instead of from a licensed dealership. You might get a good deal, but you also might get a lemon. - I wasn't surprised when Tom offered to sell me his daughters. As he put it, "the dairy business is a young man's game," and though Tom had plenty of years left in him, keeping up with a bunch of horny naked young cowgirls was beyond his stamina. Tom was also old-fashioned. While he never had any intention of letting his daughters go off to, "get knocked up by some random asshole," he had hard time with the idea of selling them. Still, keeping them wasn't an option. Young cowgirls need cock as much as they need air, and Tom just couldn't bring himself to give them the fucking they deserved. They weren't a bad bunch by any stretch. Pretty, decent set of udders, though it was obvious they weren't getting their shots as often as they should, probably in an ill-conceived attempt to curb their sex drives. I slipped my fingers in each one's cunt as I inspected them. Though suitable wet, the girls shuddered at my touch, fear mixed in with their arousal. Predictably, Tom suddenly found the wall very interesting. "When was the last time you wore clothes?" I asked the oldest. "Yesterday," she replied. I glared at Tom, who shrugged sheepishly. I pitied the poor creatures before me. They were strung in that strange limbo between person and property, human and animal. "A thousand dollars for the lot," I said dispassionately. Tom sputtered. "That's only two-fifty a head!" "It'll cost four, five times that to get them trained up properly," I gritted. "Thousand for the lot, or I walk." Tom sighed, "I should have gotten out of this business a long time ago." "Like you always say. Young man's game," I replied softly. "You're not going to breed them, are you?" he asked. I raised an eyebrow. "I'll fuck them. But breeding them's not really an option, is it?" I asked rhetorically. Tom shook his head as he signed the paperwork. I smiled reassuringly at my new cowgirls as I guided them to the van that would take them to their new home. As I was buckling my seatbelt, Tom leaned against the open window's ledge, looking me square in the eye. "Take care of your sisters for me." - d. Prison The penal system, while still a viable method of obtaining a cowgirl, is quite possibly the least desirable. Women in correctional facilities are, by definition, criminals, and therefore have difficulty adhering to human social norms, let alone that of a cowgirl. The majority of the prison population is ineligible to this variation of the "early release" program. Only select, non-violent offenders that meet strict industry standards are eligible. Essentially, the prisoner serves out the remainder of her sentence as a cowgirl in the custody of the lease holder. By assuming custody, he assumes responsibility for her, and is therefore liable if she escapes and/or commits another crime. In addition, the cowgirl is only legally beholden to him through the duration of her sentence. Once it ends, she is free to resume the life of a free woman if she so chooses. Despite the risks, there are certain advantages. Lease agreements are generally at no cost to the holder, making this the second most popular method of, "getting cow and milk for free." Also, if properly conditioned, many former prisoners opt to remain cowgirls indefinitely. The promise of free room and board, plus all the sex you could possibly want is an alluring one. - I was intrigued when I discovered that the man across the table wasn't my lawyer. He was young, had all his hair, clean cut with a flannel shirt and blue jeans. He looked like something out of a tractor commercial. I assumed he was somebody important, since the guards had deemed it necessary to use the table shackles on me. I hadn't so much as gotten in a single scuffle since I'd been in, and I'd hadn't been in restraints since I was in court, so I didn't know what the fuck was going on. "Hey stranger," I said flirtatiously. Couldn't hurt, right? "What brings you here?" "I'm here to request that you be transferred into my custody," he said matter-of-factly. He looked me over, same eye-rapey way some of the guards and lezzie inmates looked me over. Didn't mind it so much from him though, so I gave it a pass. "Interesting. If you don't mind me asking, why the fuck would you want to do that?" I asked bluntly. I didn't mean to come off as hostile, but up until this point, most of the people I encountered didn't exactly have my best interest at heart. "Your tits," he replied. Damn. Farm boy could be blunt too. "What about them?" I asked, curiosity mingling with self-consciousness. "Under the right circumstances, they're worth a lot of money," he said as he opened a briefcase. Silently he placed a gleaming syringe on the table. "What's that for?" I asked, suddenly nervous. He didn't reply. Instead, he walked behind me and pulled the chair out from under me without warning. I stood up out of the awkward squat the restraints had me forced into, which left me bent over the table. "What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled, hoping the guards would intervene. They either didn't hear, or didn't care. "Don't struggle. You'll injure yourself if you struggle," he explained calmly. He could have been describing an air conditioner. I felt his hands grip the elastic around my waist, then felt the cool air hit my skin as my pants and underwear were dragged to the floor. I waited for him to enter me, hoping it would be over quickly. Instead I felt a pin prick on my right butt cheek, followed by a cold knot in my flesh. "Why are you doing this to me?" I demanded, trying my best not to cry. "You've been selected as a candidate for the Cowgirl Privatized Custody Program. I've been sent to evaluate you," Flannel Man explained. "What are you talking about?" "Instead of remaining in prison, you'll serve the duration of your sentence at Bluefield Dairy. I've injected you with an extremely potent hormone booster and aphrodisiac. It should take effect...quickly," he clarified patiently. I was about to ask what he meant when I was overwhelmed with this tingling sensation. It radiated from my core into my chest. My breasts grew warm, and I could feel them beginning to swell. My skin stretched out, like previously firm tits filling up like a pair of water balloons. Thank god I wasn't wearing a bra. My nipples began to press against the previously loose fabric of my ill-fitting top as my ever-expanding tits filled the space. I felt cool metal against my back, followed by the sound of tearing fabric. Flannel Man cut away the sleeves, allowing the destroyed garment to fall to the floor. Flannel Man whistled. "Impressive," he said. "Never seen udders grow this fast." I couldn't see my tits, but god could I feel them. They certainly felt like udders. The skin was stretching tighter and tighter, and a dull ache began to drown out all other sensations, save for the slickness between my thighs that betrayed my excitement. I felt like I was going to burst. "Please," I begged, not sure what I was pleading for, "get it out of me. Get it out!" Flannel Man withdrew what appeared to be an oversized breast pump from his suitcase. He placed it on the ground below me and flicked the switch, and a pulsating mechanical whir filled the air. He brought the plastic funnels to my swollen chest, and each one drew my nipple inside the hole like a vacuum. Relief, sweet relief. I could feel the milk being drawn from my body, each pulse eliciting an involuntary moan. A rich diary smell flooded the room as milk, my milk, filled the pump's reservoir. "So," I grunted, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, "I take it this means you're not going to rape me?" "No, I'm not going to rape you. It's illegal to have sex with a woman without her consent," he answered demurely, walking behind me. I heard his belt buckle hit the floor, followed by a familiar pressure against my slit. "Fortunately, you are no longer a woman," he whispered as he slid inside me. "You are a cowgirl. And cowgirls cannot withhold consent." - e. Volunteers "Volunteer" is kind of a misnomer. The legal term is Voluntary Abdication of Personhood, but most "volunteers" are poor desperate women who are willing to sacrifice their freedom to be fed, housed, and cared for. Watch out for this group. They tend to be undernourished, undisciplined, and often come with an assortment of baggage, including STDs, drug addiction, and unlicensed children. You might find a diamond in the rough, but for the most part, they're more trouble than they're worth. Converts on the other hand are a much more desirable group to work with. Your typical convert is convinced by her boyfriend or husband to become his cowgirl. It takes a lot of patience, subtlety, and force of will to convince a free woman to willingly become property, but it can be done. Converting your girlfriend or even your wife into a cowgirl is a cost-effective way to start a herd, particularly if you're low on capital. A word of caution: although it is possible to reverse a cowgirl's psychological conditioning and mitigate the physical effects of her transformation, it is highly unlikely that you will be able to return your relationship to its previous state. In the back of your mind, she will always be the domesticated creature whose udders you milked and whose cunt you fucked at will. Therefore, if it is your intention to transform a woman you are currently in a relationship with into a cowgirl, I highly recommend that you do so permanently. - Sadie was my first cowgirl, or at least the first one I owned. I was a trainer for about five years before we met and by the time we moved in together, I was itching to buy a herd of my own. Cowgirl training pays alright, but it's nowhere near enough to finance a private sale, especially from a breeder. On our first date, Sadie was quick to proclaim that she was a three date minimum girl. Ninety minutes later she was bent over the side of my truck on the side of a dirt road, her ample tits bouncing in the breeze as I pounded her from behind. She complained about losing her panties on the way home. I told her not to bother wearing them anymore. The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Ch. 01 I started out small at first. I referred to Sadie's tits as udders, first when talking about her, then when talking to her. After a while she started calling them udders herself. She did it as a joke at first, but after a while she talked about her udders as if they had no other name. I always fucked her from behind, and I never asked her permission. She was already fond of skirts, so all I had to do was bend her over and pull up her skirt. I'd whisper in her ear how beautiful her udders were, how much I loved being inside her. That was all the foreplay she needed. Once she moved in with me, I was able to cultivate her exhibitionist tendencies to the point where she rarely wore clothing around the house. Eventually she worked up nerve to go all the way out to the mailbox in broad daylight, in all her naked glory. The icing on the cake was when I brought her to work. I took off her clothes, so she, "wouldn't confuse the cowgirls." Thanks to my previous efforts, it wasn't hard to get her to part with them, although she did protest when I dropped them in the incinerator shoot by "mistake." I gave her a "vaccine" which was about 5% vaccine, 95% hormone booster. Powerful stuff, but perfectly safe. I decided there really wasn't a good way to explain away the brand, so I decided to put that off till later. Besides, the brand was important. She needed to know what she was before she received it. I showed Sadie around for a few hours, making sure she drank plenty of water as we toured the dairy. She stared in awe at the massive udders the other cowgirls were sporting, occasionally glancing down at her own set for comparison. She seemed almost envious. Ashley, one of the older cowgirls, took it upon herself to help me play tour guide. She was kind of like the herd mom, always eager to help out the new girls. When Ashley caught Sadie staring at her massive udders, her response was, "Well, what are you waiting for?" "Sorry?" Sadie blinked, confused. "Best milk on the farm in these udders," she boasted confidently. "Go ahead, drink up." With that, Ashley pulled Sadie face first into her chest. Sadie instinctively took the engorged teat into her mouth. Ashley's teats were easy targets. The years in the milking machine had stretched what used to be a woman's nipples into wrinkled pink protrusions nearly an inch long. I followed suit on the opposite udder. In less than a second I could taste her milk. It was warm, thin, and sweet as always. Ashley was right, hers was the best. I could only hope Sadie's milk would be as tasty when it came in. I reluctantly unlatched once Sadie had her fill. Her own udders had begun to swell. Her skin was stretching to accommodate, enough so it was noticeable, but not so much as to inflict discomfort. After our feeding, Ashley left us to our own devices. We made our way to the main dairy. There were five sets of stalls lined up parallel to one another running down the entire length of the building, each containing a small, cushioned platform just a couple of feet above the ground with a large pair of identical transparent suction cups mounted on a rail that ran across top of the platform toward the front. A pair of hoses ran from the suction cups off the platform towards the industrial grade milking machine. Though the first stall was empty, the other ones contained a cowgirl on her hands and knees on top of the platform. Their udders hung down heavily, filling the cups and forming a tight seal. Sadie looked closely at one of the cowgirls, fascinated. I could hear the change in the pitch of the nearby pump as the pressure rose and fell with a steady cadence. On each beat, a several thin white streams of liquid would spray forcefully out of her nipples against the bottom of the cup before it was sucked down below. "Welcome to the Dairy," I said warmly. As Sadie continued to stare at the cowgirl as she was milked, her udders began to swell rapidly. The dose I gave her was more potent than I expected. I slipped my finger inside her cunt, wanting to ensure that she associated the engorgement with pleasure. As the minutes ticked by, her growth became more noticeable. The skin began to stretch as her udders expanded and gravity began to take effect. A web of ghostly blue veins began to appear thicker and darker under her fair skin, marking them as the udders of a true cowgirl. When she started to wince as her discomfort grew, I knew it was time. "My udders, they feel so tight, so heavy. What's happening to me?" she asked. I took her by the hand and led her into an open stall, empty save for a bucket. She understood everything, assuming the proper milking position on her hands and knees, her engorged udders swinging freely above the brim. "Are you going to milk me? Or are you going to fuck me?" she asked curiously. I smiled. There wasn't a hint of anger in her voice. "Both," I replied. I took an udder into each hand, staring into her eyes as I started rub her throbbing teats, coaxing her to let down. "Can I ask you something? Was I ever your girlfriend? Or was I always a cowgirl to you?" Sadie asked directly. "You're not just any cowgirl Sadie. You're my cowgirl," I replied, claiming her as my own. She nodded with a hint of a smile on her face. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked coyly. The first orgasm rocked her body the moment the first twin sprays hit the bucket. It wasn't her last. - The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Ch. 02 2. Cowgirl Anatomy While cowgirls retain the majority of the physical and biological characteristics of human females, there are certain aspects of cowgirl anatomy that separate them from the average woman. Some aspects are obvious to even the most casual observer, while others are more subtle and can go unnoticed by those who are unacquainted with the industry. While some aspects of this transformation are at least partially reversible, others are entirely permanent. a. Udders The udders are the most immediately noticeable and distinguishing characteristics of a cowgirl's anatomy. The typical cowgirl's udders range from five to seven times the size of the typical human breast and can weigh in excess of thirty pounds each when fully engorged. A cowgirl's udders typically encompasses the entire ribcage and extends at least twelve inches from the abdomen. Due to their considerable size and weight, a cowgirl's udders will typically hang at a significantly lower angle than human breasts. It is not unusual for a cowgirl's teats to hang just above her navel when standing upright. Once they are fully developed, it is not uncommon for a cowgirl's udders to comprise up to a third of her overall body mass. It may take a new cowgirl some time to adjust to the weight of her udders. You may consider training your cowgirl to walk on her hands and knees when necessary until her back muscles strengthen and she acclimates to her new center of gravity. Some owners go as far as requiring cowgirls to walk on all fours indefinitely in order to prevent injury and further facilitate the dehumanization process. When a cowgirl is in the milking position or is otherwise on her hands and knees, the udders will hang low towards the ground, stretching the skin in the process. This stretching helps facilitate the flow of milk through the udder, and is one of the main reasons why the all fours position is the preferred milking position in the industry. This causes the skin where the udders extend from the ribcage to stretch considerably. While this is normal, if the skin becomes red and inflamed, immediately apply a topical analgesic to reduce irritation. In addition, the skin of the entire udder will stretch and shrink as the udder becomes engorged and emptied. The skin will be taut and hard when the udder is full. When milked, the udder is softer and may crease slightly, giving the appearance of a slightly deflated balloon. The overall size of the udder will change dramatically between milking, swelling dramatically when engorged to capacity and shrinking considerably after a thorough milking. Another major difference is in the udder's vascular system. The veins in a cowgirl's udder are significantly darker and more visible than those of a breast, and may stand out from the skin when the udder is engorged. They form a blue web-like pattern that runs from the outside of the udder towards the center, terminating at or just shy of the base of the teat. This allows the cowgirl's circulatory system to provide additional oxygen and nutrients to the udder's cells, supporting more robust milk production. Last but not least, the teat is the last major physical difference between a cowgirl's udder and a woman's breast. Teats are significantly longer than nipples, the net result of consistently being pulled down and into the funnels of a milking machine. They average between two to three inches long and just under an inch in diameter. The skin of the teat is significantly darker and tougher than that of a woman's nipple. Despite its apparent ruggedness, a cowgirl's teat is extremely sensitive, and even veteran cowgirls will frequently orgasm from milking alone. In addition to the changes in appearance, there is a key change in the response of the udder to physical stimuli when compared to human breasts. In human women, the let-down reflex is triggered by nipple stimulation or by the sound of a crying infant. It can also be triggered by orgasm in certain situations. In cowgirls, sexual arousal and the let-down reflex are merged during training in order to promote milk production and increase the reward response behavior in the cowgirl. As a result, the teats will begin to leak the moment the cowgirl becomes aroused and the cowgirl will become aroused to the both the sensation and anticipation of milking. You can imagine my surprise when my wife asked if I would like to have a cowgirl. "Who wouldn't?" I replied carelessly. A beautiful pliable creature that you can fuck at will and that will bring in a tidy profit with her warm delicious milk. Who wouldn't indeed? Still, it was a strange question. I've known my fair share of jealous women, and while Melanie was not particularly possessive, it seemed strange that she'd entertain the notion of inviting in temptation on all fours. She wasn't one to put me through tests or other strange mind games, so assumed it was a question based on idle curiosity and nothing more. I thought nothing when a package arrived in the mail for Melanie. I was shocked as she withdrew a syringe from the nondescript cardboard box, even more so when she slid her jeans and panties to the floor and bent over the back of our couch. "Well?" Melanie asked. "What are you waiting for?" I jumped up from the recliner, eagerly grabbing the syringe from my wife's outstretched hand. She braced herself against the couch as I wiped the area clean with the included sanitary cloth. She hissed as I plunged the needle inside, but turned to kiss me as soon as the deed was done. Along with the hormone cocktail came a brief, but helpful manual. I learned a whole new vocabulary with which to describe my wife's body. I followed the instructions dutifully, ensuring Melanie received her hormones at the correct time and dosage, disposing of her clothing, and above all else, reinforcing her psychological conditioning. It wasn't hard. It seemed Melanie preferred the notion of being a cowgirl to being a wife. I would have been offended if I didn't so thoroughly agree with her. It didn't take long for the changes to take hold. The very next day her breasts, or rather, her udders were significantly swollen, a welcome improvement from the perky, but modest tits she started with. As they continued to grow, I ramped up the intensity of the stimulation and conditioning. "Positive reinforcement," the book claimed, "is the key to any successful cowgirl." "When I start to milk you," I whispered as slowly fucked her from behind, "your udders will produce a gushing stream. It will arouse you, the feeling of your milk flowing from you, and you will look forward to milking time all day. Your milk gives you purpose. You will focus on the sensations of your udders as they grow and fill and stretch. Milking time is the most important part of the day. It's reason you are here." I was paraphrasing a bit, but the intent was simple. Make her identify with her uddrs. Make her associate milking with sex and sex with milking. Make her milk the purpose of her existence. Within a few days her milk started to flow and once that started, there was no going back. I dipped into my savings to purchase a dairy grade milking machine. It was pricey, but I figured the milk money would pay it off quickly. Like the good book said, milk is a supply and demand thing. The next several weeks were incredible. I watched as her udders rapidly expanded, adding inches to her bust on a daily basis. An intricate net of blue lines emerged from her engorged titflesh, working feverishly to supply additional bloodflow to her swollen mammaries. Her teats grew long and tough, stretching a little more each time they were drawn into the milking machine's funnel. I loved watching her on the milking machine. It was intoxicating, watching the liquid gold spray into the clear funnels from those enormous mounds of flesh. She'd moan and coo as the machine forcefully drew the milk from her, enthralled by both the physical and psychological satisfaction of fulfilling her new purpose in life. Her udders were truly a thing of splendor, a far cry from the meek breasts that once adorned my former wife's chest. They continued to grow larger each day, filling up her entire ribcage. They hung so low and heavy, her sensitive teats almost dragged the ground as she plodded around the house on all fours. I couldn't think of a way to weigh them, but they were easily the better part of fifty pounds. I knew she would never walk upright properly again, but I was well past the point of caring, completely enamored with the beautiful creature my wife had become. She smiled happily the day the inspector arrived. She passed with flying colors and after a few quick signatures, our relationship as husband and wife ended as she legally became my property. "Now I really am a cowgirl," she said in awe as she inspected the fresh lines of black ink that adorned her backside. She was so proud of her udders, constantly bragging about them to the few girlfriends brave enough to face the new and improved Melanie. I let them stroke her udders and play with them, even try some milk straight from the teat if they were bold enough. By this point I'd paid of the milking stall and had more than enough to buy a new cowgirl, but I suspected that if I played my cards right I could talk one or two into joining my little herd. After all, as Melanie so eloquently surmised, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" b. Rump The second most distinguishing feature of a cowgirl's body is her rump. While the physiological changes to the rump are minimal, there are a few notable cosmetic alterations that are an essential component of the cowgirl transition process. While not as immediately obvious as a cowgirl's udders, these features are completely permanent, identifying a woman having once been a cowgirl for the rest of her life. The Radio Frequency Identification Device, or RFID tag is the most subtle of these alterations. Invisible to the naked eye, this tiny microchip is injected into the fleshy rump, allowing owners and inspectors to positively identify a particular cowgirl using a handheld scanner. This device is encoded with the cowgirl's serial number, which contains all the essential information required to return a lost or runaway cowgirl to her owner. RFID tags can also be placed inside plastic tags and attached to a cowgirl's earlobe. While less expensive, this method is not frequently utilized due to increased risk of injury and infection. The Serial Barcode, colloquially known as, "The Brand," is the more visible of the two primary modifications. It consists of a fourteen character serial number paired with its corresponding bar code. This consists of the cowgirl's summarized ID, breeding classification, trainer code, date of acquisition, and source code. Each brand is unique, telling the who, what, where, when, why, and how of a cowgirl's story. Modifying or removing a brand once administer is strictly prohibited. While it is possible for a cowgirl to become emancipated, depending on the terms of her contract, it is essential that all cowgirls retain a physical reminder of who they are and where they came from. In the words of Senator Richard Johnson, author of the cowgirl code of the Human Property Act, "Cowgirls are an essential component of our economy. Their existence allows us to enjoy many aspects of the standard of living to which we have grown accustomed. Encouraging young women who possess the appropriate physical characteristics to become and remain cowgirls on a permanent basis is crucial to the sustainment of this industry." 13D-B-HFD-072211-P. These letters and numbers, along with the series of parallel black lines of varying thicknesses are the first think anyone sees on my rump. Ass. Fuck. I've really got to get the cowgirl jargon out of my head. These letters and numbers tell a story, to those who know how to read them, which is pretty much goddamn everybody these days. The moment my pants come off, any guy I'm with knows who I was, what I am, where I came from, when I got there, and why I was there to begin with. 13D. Thirteen-Dee. That was what they called me. No, it was more than that. That was my name. Shorthand for the thirteenth cowgirl of herd D. I was on a corporate dairy you see. Not one of those little family run places. This place was huge, had hundreds of cowgirls from all walks of life. To them, I was livestock, pure and simple. B. Breeder. Apparently I passed some sort of genetic screen that meant I was qualified to give birth to the next generation of human dairy cows. They knocked me up twice. Kept milking me throughout each pregnancy. I got one day to recover each time I gave birth. It wasn't that bad. Ranch hands made sure my cunt was properly stretched out on a daily basis. They used their cocks, their fists, and some kind of balloon contraption to make sure I'd have a quick and easy labor. Gotta admire their ingenuity. HFD. Herschel Family Dairy. That was the dairy I was sold to. Funny that they put "family" in the name. I guess technically it was owned by the Herschel family, but as I mentioned earlier, this place was massive. There were about two hundred milking stalls, four dining halls, dozens of barracks with hundreds of beds, four bay-style showers with fifty shower heads apiece. Everywhere you went there were at least two dozen cowgirls, milking, sleeping, eating, and fucking at any given time of day. The only place in the entire freakin' dairy that a cowgirl could get a moment's privacy was on the toilet. That at least, no one wanted to see. 072221. July 22nd, 2021. This was the day I became a cowgirl, the day I received the brand. Branding, marking, tagging, inking, whatever you call it. It's the day they put a microchip in your rump...ass...and give you a tattoo that lets you and anyone lucky enough to see it know that you were, at one point in your life, a cowgirl. It was the day that the government decided I was more valuable as livestock than I was as a human being. P. Prisoner. These days a private dairy is a far more attractive option for female inmates than prison, at least for qualified, non-violent offenders. One stolen car got me a five year sentence making milk and popping out little cowgirls. Funny how life works. Former cowgirl is kind of a misnomer. It implies that it's something you used to be, rather than something you always will be, deep down. My udders...no point in calling them breasts...are still massive, although the milk's tapered off considerably after getting off the hormones. My cunt's still plenty tight when I want it to be, but I'm pretty sure baby number three will slip into the world without much trouble. But my rump, that's the real reminder. The brand sits just at the far edge of my rump, where it merges with my thigh. Impossible to cover up even in granny panties, let alone a bikini. Maybe I should go back to the dairy. It wouldn't be the first time I went back, and it's not like my life is that different now anyway. I still milk myself at least three times a day, only now it's with a woefully inadequate breast pump. The milk keeps a roof over my head, but not much else, and landing a regular job is tough when you're so top heavy you have trouble standing upright. As far as relationships go, well that's a tough one. You see, the moment a man sees those letters and numbers, sees the story tattooed on my rump, he quietly bends me over and fucks me like an animal. I don't blame them, I really don't. After all, you can't rape the willing. c. Cunt A cowgirl's cunt goes through a series of subtle, but significant changes as she transitions from woman to property. Changes in hormone levels as well as psychological conditioning create a state of near-perpetual arousal, allowing unfettered access to the cunt at all times. A cowgirl is conditioned from day one to identify sexually with her udders. This facilitates pleasure seeking behavior in the cowgirl, psychosomatically causing her to produce more milk in pursuit of sexual satisfaction. While the primary stimulation occurs in the udders, the cunt will secret vaginal fluid more easily and in greater quantities than in regular women. This additional demand on a cowgirl's body should not go unnoticed and it is critical that a cowgirl remain adequately hydrated at all times. Another fringe benefit of the hormone cocktail is the complete cessation of the menstrual cycle, preventing the need for sanitary items and iron supplements. Partial or complete removal of the pubic hair is a common practice, both for sanitation and ease of access. A fully developed cowgirl will be unable to do this herself, as she will be unable to see her cunt properly past her udders. Owners may either shave their cowgirl's pubic hair if they see fit. Many, particularly corporate dairy's opt for laser hair removal in the interest of reducing upkeep. Stimulating a cowgirl's cunt is an important task for any owner or handler, to include sexual intercourse. It further emphasizes the connection between milk and pleasure and serves as an effective reward for positive behavior and optimal milk output. For owners to decide to breed their cowgirls, cunt stretching and pelvic floor exercises is an important component of preparing a cowgirl to give birth. A wide variety of hand and mechanically assisted techniques are utilized to accomplish this goal. One popular option is the birthing ball, a sanitary rubber ball fourteen inches in circumference designed to simulate the passing of a baby's head. The goal is to allow the cowgirl to give birth quickly and easily with minimal discomfort and recovery time. A handler should be able to insert one hand with ease and two hands with limited resistance. In addition, a breeding cowgirl should be able to expel a fully inserted birthing ball without assistance in under five minutes. I didn't realize that I was pregnant again until Sam brought out my birthing ball. It was the seventh time in as many years that the bright orange sphere entered my life. Sam said I'd bring at least a dozen little cowgirls into the world by the time I was done, and thanks to a few sets of twins I was already almost there. I enjoyed being pregnant for the most part. There was something thrilling about feeling a little creature beating its way into the world from inside me. I was the envy of the herd once I started to show. The other cowgirls would gaze at my distended abdomen with envy as I slowly lumbered my way into the milking shed each morning. The best part by far was the special attention the handlers paid my cunt. Don't get me wrong, I got a good fucking at least once a day well before they started to breed me, but there was something special about being stretched out this way. Sometimes I wondered what it looked like, whether it still resembled the neat little slit I remembered when I first came to the dairy. I knew it no longer had hair, courtesy of a high powered laser. I hadn't actually seen it in over a decade. I tried once or twice, but once my udders came in and I had to start walking on my hand and knees, it was pretty much impossible to get a good look. The other cowgirls assured me that my cunt was still very pretty. Given how much the handlers seemed to enjoy fucking it, I tended to believe them. It certainly felt nice, slick and warm and inviting. Sometimes I'd reach for it during my milking sessions, giving myself a little extra satisfaction when there wasn't a handler there to fuck me. My fingers would get coated in a thick layer of clear fluid, the rest of which would run down the inside of my thighs. Just thinking about it was enough to start a fresh batch of cunt juice flowing. I had a good feeling about today's stretching session. I moaned as I felt Sam's hand slide inside me, my juices coating his fingers instantly, allowing him to slide in his entire hand without any resistance. I squeezed down hard as I felt him form a fist inside me, eager to show of my strength as well as keep in in me as long as possible. I let him go after a while, and I was rewarded with two sets of fingers spreading me apart, as though he was trying to swan dive his way into my womb. The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Ch. 02 He gently and firmly pulled me cunt apart, stretching, stretching, stretching until I could feel cool air flood my now cavernous opening. He pushed his hands back together, sliding them both out as my cunt walls collapsed back down on themselves. Next I felt the cool firm pressure as rubber met skin, slowly pushing its way past my opening. I winced as my cunt gave way to the seemingly massive toy, sliding deep inside and settling firmly behind my engorged lips. "Alright girl, you know what to do," Sam prodded gently. I nodded, bearing down hard on the delicious intruder. I clenched, savoring the sensations as I pushed the softball sized object out of my aching cunt. I cried out in sweet agony as I felt the ball shoot out of me. It never ceased to amaze me that they managed to find a way to make giving birth so incredibly pleasurable. As I felt Sam push the now sopping wet sphere back inside my magnificent cunt, I silently prayed for them to impregnate me another dozen times.