Gumdrop Ch. 00-02

Author's note:

This story has been inspired by the premise of another one about hucows in this website that I unfortunately cannot find anymore (if you know it, please write to me to help me provide a proper credit). While the very beginning in similar, the rest (a whole novel) is what I find a more satisfying development.

As absurd as the concept of a hucow is, I tried to take it quite seriously, to delve in the psychology of a hucow and her owner, in search of what this admittedly strange fetish means, at least to me. Therefore, beside the tropes of the genre (kinky sex, humiliation and de-humanization), you will find the musings of a young girl who chooses to become a cow in a quest for true love and a place in the world. I hope that the result is an original and refreshing take on the matter. However, for these same reasons, this first submission does not contain much sexual action. Don't worry, though, there's plenty in the next one!

Speaking of, since there has been a misunderstanding, mainly because there are flashbacks and I had no idea that college started before 18 (I'm not american), even though the narration starts when the protagonist is a minor, NO SEXUAL ACTION whatsoever happens before she (or anyone else) is of age.

All kinds of feedback are appreciated, especially those about grammar, as English is not my first language.

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0. Prologue

They say that life is all about adaptation, that if one wants to achieve happiness, they have to tune their desires to whatever chance (or fate, if you are the kind of person who believes in destiny) has in store for them. In my (short) life, I learned just how tricky it is to understand the true meaning of this statement. This is the story of my quest for love, of how I had to go through the most extreme transformation of my body and lifestyle in order to be with the man I loved, only to realize that adaptation is not about changing yourself in the effort of being more compatible with your world, but rather about changing the way you look at it until you see that your world actually has got everything you desire, if you are willing to go and get it. This is the story of how I became a human cow.

1. Origin story

Superheroes always have an origin story, the single event that explains all the crazy shit they do when they don their cape or whatever. It usually also explains the new name they take, so as to make it even clearer that, whatever happened to them, it was so important and traumatic that afterwards they just were different people. Well, here is my very own origin story. When I was sixteen a tsunami (yes, a frigging tsunami) basically wiped out the city where I grew up, taking forever away from me, in one fell swoop, my parents, my (few) relatives, most of my friends and my house, while I was safe and sound abroad, for a student exchange program. I think it is pointless to even try to describe how it feels, because, unless you come from the same place as me, you just would not understand. So I suggest we fast-forward a bit.

My parents had a very close friend back in the mainland, who offered to take care of me until I became of age and was able to live on my own with the money that my folks left me. So, one day, I found myself at the door of a couple of strangers, in a part of the world in which I had never been before, completely distraught and with no idea of what to do with myself. When the social worker who accompanied me rang the bell, it was my first true love who opened: Aidan.

Of course, at the time I was not in love with him and neither I would be for the following year: I was not in a state of feeling anything positive at the moment. So, what I saw was only this handsome man, in his late thirties, white, but slightly tanned, with auburn hair, very short on the sides and a bit longer and tousled on the top of the head, a square jaw and a long straight nose. His features had this austerity about them, that clashed with the bright and cheerful expression with which his green eyes welcomed me. From the very beginning I had this feeling that in front of me there was a man capable of great sympathy and sensitivity and yet not unaccustomed to harshness. The impression was reinforced by his somewhat muscular build.

"You must be Leah!" he said and, when I nodded, he just hugged me.

He did not add anything about my parents, for he somehow knew that words could not convey what his arms could. When we separated, he just told me his name, keeping his hands on my shoulders: "My name is Aidan and from now on I will take care of you."

He then ushered us in and introduced his wife, Penelope, a tall and slender woman in her early forties too, with olive skin and beautiful jet black hair, perfectly straight, that almost reached her waist. Her face was oval and slightly gaunt, with high cheeks. Her eyes, black, where staring at me in a welcoming expression, with just a faint hint of panic. My eyes, on the other hand, had been drawn to her most (literally) prominent feature, only partly hidden by her blouse and pinstriped pantsuit: her breasts, perfectly round, impossibly firm, incredibly big and, I surmised, just as much fake.

Before I knew it, I found myself settling in a luxurious flat, that even had a gym room: Aidan and Penelope were clearly quite rich and, most importantly, they were really nice. At first, I had been worried and maybe a teensy bit scared because, even if Aidan had assured me that he and my father grew up together and were like brothers, I had never met him before nor my dad ever mentioned him. So the first days of my new life went by. I learned that Aidan had become rich by founding the umpteenth pharmacological start-up that developed gene therapies and later, after selling it to Big Pharma, he just kept investing his money here and there in projects he believed in, even when nobody else would, generally being right. Later I learned that this was just an example of Aidan's far-sightedness. Penelope, on the other hand, had been a model and now was an agent for young beauties.

In the following days, by the way in which she dressed and took care of her body, I sensed that she was still clinging to her ending youth, maybe a bit too much, as those people who, instead of embracing how the very concept of beauty changes with age, delude themselves that can stay young forever if they just keep using the right cream. How could she not? Working every day with younger versions of her?

Even though both Aidan and she tried their best to make me feel at home, to the point that Penelope insisted on making me furnish my room at her expense, I felt a certain coldness on her part. At first, I thought that it was me, but hanging around the couple I realized that it was just the way she was, always slightly detached, slightly distant, even with her husband. Soon it became clear to me that their marriage was not quite working and yet was not quite failing. I, on the other hand, went through a roller coaster of emotions, my only anchor being my trauma counselor, at first, and then Aidan. Soon we started to spend a lot of time together. Penelope was always scurrying around, organizing, putting out fires and sometimes indulging her clients' whims. Aidan, instead, had a much more flexible schedule, since it was always up to him when and how much he would work, according to the degree in which he was interested in a project.

In a way I felt that I had just become his most important one. He kept talking to me about his youth and my father's and it turned out that he did know him, probably better than I in some respects. It was really nice, because, in a way, it was like having my dad still with me through his memories. He also convinced me to exercise more to vent all my rage and frustration. I loved jogging with him in the park and working out in our private little gym. His sinewy arms, helping me to use the equipment properly, made me feel safe, not only from hurting myself, but in a broader, warmer way. I ended up talking with him about everything, from silly things like school, to big stuff like the tragedy that had changed my life forever. Most times he did not say anything particularly deep or helpful, you should not think that he could replace my therapist, but the mere fact that he was there, for me, just listening, worked wonders for my recovery.

I did not like the company of my peers. Nobody in my school knew about my story, I just pretended that I moved from a distant city. Come to think of it, it was actually the truth. Anyhow, I was quite a loner, but the cause of that was not just the invisible wall that seemed to inevitably separate me from them. You see, it is hard to make friends when you yourself do not know who you are. How do you present yourself? How can you ask somebody to reveal themselves to you, if you cannot possibly do the same for them? There was only one thing I knew for sure: I was not going to be a victim. I would rise from the ashes like a phoenix as a new person. To mark my new beginning, I decided to change my hair color to bubblegum pink. I was living in the years that followed the explosion of gene therapies, rendered possible by a few important scientific discoveries in the previous decade. At first its applications where mostly horrible hereditary diseases. When those ran out, the technology started to be applied to more mundane issues. That is how, after a simple injection, my follicles stopped producing eumelanin, which had made my hair an ugly shade of brown that I had always hated, and replaced it with a substance found in geranium that dyed it pink and would keep doing so for the rest of my life. Changing you hair color was not unlike getting a tattoo those days. Anyhow, this is how I got the nickname "Gumdrop" from Aidan, which soon would become my new identity.

2. The farm project

In the months that followed my 18th birthday, my feelings for Aidan became stronger and more complex. I was falling in love, but I had been so confused about everything in my life, that it happened without me even noticing. I thought that I just loved him as one loves a foster parent and dismissed my feelings with that excuse. However, as much as I managed to fool my mind, my pussy proved to be not as gullible. Our gym sessions started to become a nightmare. Just the sight of his marvelous body so shamelessly on display in his tight attire would make me wet and, immediately afterwards, terrified of being caught. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, to my dismay, I would seriously consider slipping a hand in my shorts, now as skimpy as I could find in my wardrobe, and touching myself while his back was turned the other way. I was not the only one in trouble, though. Much to my surprise (and delight), I started to notice a suspicious swelling in his crotch whenever I was wearing something particularly sexy or scanty, but then again, I dismissed all these incidents with excuses like hormones, abstinence and so forth.

So, when one day I caught him browsing a fetish website, I assumed that he was trying to vent some of this sexual tension that was growing between us. I remember that I turned around immediately, embarrassed and a little amused. Aidan, instead, seemed perfectly at ease and explained to me that he was considering investing in the sex industry and told me that I could enter his office, unless I found the subject too embarrassing. I did not, as I was born well after the big deregulation of sex work that seemingly brought a brothel in every block and, moreover, I always prided myself on being very open-minded. Most importantly, though, I did not want to lose the chance of spending time with him while he worked. You see, he used make me privy of some of his business dealings, sometimes even asking me for advice. I loved it, because it made me truly feel as a part of his world, especially considering that I often had a better knowledge of what he was up to than his wife, with whom he rarely got into the details of his job.

One summer day, we were having breakfast together. He had this ritual of drinking a cup of a special milk that he had someone deliver everyday just for him. I was lost in thought with my fork hovering on eggs and bacon when, all of a sudden, he dropped the newspaper and asked me:

"Wanna go for a trip?"

"Sure, where are you taking me?"

"I'm visiting a property I have recently purchased."

"Cool."

In his gorgeous sports car he explained to me that he was going to buy an old-timey country house with a small plot of land just a little out of town.

"I didn't peg you for someone who relaxes in the countryside." I commented.

"Oh, it's not meant for me. I mean, non entirely. It is going to be a very special kind of brothel."

"Like what?" I asked, unfazed: as I said, I was no prude.

"Well, for one its location is very important and it will also produce something. It is going to be a sort of farm. The hosts will be able to enjoy nature, clean air, fresh produce and, of course, the girls."

I chuckled:

"You left the best for last, didn't you?"

He smiled mischievously.

"To be honest I don't see how the brothel thing pairs up with the rest." I admitted.

"Well, the girls will be no ordinary prostitutes, of course. My target clientele is very specific and demanding." he explained, and then sneered again "Oh, and also usually quite rich."

"Come on, stop teasing!" I urged him.

"Do you know what pet play is?" he asked inquisitively.

"People who dress as pets for fetish stuff?"

"Yes, and no. It is much more than that. Those who enjoy playing the part of the pet most deeply are people who actually wish they could BE the pet. Their fantasy is to become an animal and live like one."

"Ok, I'm beginning to see where you are headed. Is it going to be like an animal farm?"

"No, it is going to be more specialized than that. We are going to have only cowgirls, producing real milk."

"No shit!" I cried, amazed "How?"

"Don't tell me that you have never heard of people producing human milk for adult consumption!"

Then it dawned on me:

"Your morning milk is actually human?"

"Yep. I love it and I always wanted to have my own farm." He confessed and then added with a smirk "I don't know, maybe it is because I was not breastfed when I was little, but I have a thing for boobs."

"Well, sorry to break this to you, but Penelope's are a big giveaway." I teased him.

"Yeah, best anniversary gift ever!"

All of a sudden my breasts seemed quite diminutive. With a fit of envy, I decided to change subject:

"So, how does it work?"

"Well, I am going to seek girls who would like to spend some time as cows, offer them a bunch of money to play the part 24/7 and let the guest farmers fuck them as much as they please."

"But how are they going to produce milk? Surely not gene therapy!"

"Oh, no, it has to be reversible. You implant a little capsule that, from the ones it finds in the body, produces substances that change the gene expression but not the genes themselves. Some are hormones, some are other artificial compounds. In practice, it convinces the girl's body that she has a baby to breastfeed. Actually it enhances greatly the production of milk."

"Wow!" I gasped in awe "And you have created all of this?"

"No, silly, there are tens of farms in the country, a flourishing community of enthusiasts, wannabe cows and all! I just want to enter the business myself."

That, somehow, relieved me of the slight shock caused by all those sudden revelations. Aidan's fetish was weird, but not that weird. Anyhow, I did not have much more time to process the new information, as we had just reached the destination. Maybe it was the wonderful summer day, but the landscape around the farm was idyllic. We visited the two-storied house, that had clearly recently been refurbished in a style that Aidan called "western-chic". On the upper floor there was a kitchen that was clearly made for catering, a dining hall, a massage room and a room with a big jacuzzi. On the ground floor, there were eight bedrooms, four of which had a second door that led directly outside. They were completely empty. Aidan was to furbish them personally and turn them into themed sex dungeons.

"The hosts will get the cow they want to bone from the stables. I want to start with just two cows" explained Aidan "and then expand, maybe with ponygirls."

"Are they going to produce milk too?" I asked.

"No, I was thinking more of having a dressage show, but that's in the future."

I wondered what was the point of dressage if your horse was actually a person perfectly capable of understanding every order you gave. After the main building we headed for the stables. I had expected those to look like a themed strip-club, so I was surprised when we entered a rather normal-looking barn. The right half was mostly empty, apart from a prefab office module, while on the left, at the corner, there was a small enclosure made of wood with a couple of metal gates. Its earthy floor was covered in big tufts of hay, except for a corridor running along the perimeter the wall, that ended, at the corner of the barn, in a rectangular wooden door on the wall opposite us, partially hidden by a curtain made of long plastic strips. Separating the passage from the hay, there were some short wooden poles with smaller rungs sticking out of them.

"The cows will sleep and rest there." Aidan explained as we approached the fence "They will be fetched for milking and be able to go out to the corral from that door. The corral is going to be directly connected to the guest's rooms."

On the other side of the hay clumps, the perimetral corridor ended in correspondence of a smaller gate on the fencing, which allowed access to another wider corridor perpendicular to it, running along the barn wall and delimited by a tall steel fence with three openings at the same level of our heads. Just below them there was a long metal trough attached to the fence. In correspondence with each opening, there were two smaller ones a little below. I assumed that the cow had to put her arms through them to rest them while she ate.

"See this?" said Aidan, making way and pointing to a structure that stood in front of the trough, outside the fence "This is a milking posts!"

The milking post looked a little like a sloped massaging bed, you know, like those that have an opening where you can rest your face. This one, though, had another bigger opening that would expose the belly and the breasts and its perimeter, instead of being rectangular, was in the shape of a human silhouette. Moreover, the part that would correspond to the legs was missing, replaced by a structure shaped as a V that allowed the cow to rest her legs in a slightly kneeling position, stretched apart. At the junction, in correspondence with the crotch, there was a niche that hosted what seemed to me a vibrator. The cows would have some fun while they were milked! On the ground there was what I imagined was the actual milking machine, a box that hosted a big bottle, connected to two suction pumps that did definitely not look like they were meant for humans.

"Aren't these a little big?" I asked with skepticism.

"No, it's just for scene, you know." Aidan assured.

After a brief inspection of the grounds, he seemed quite satisfied.

"So, what do you think?" he asked on the way back.

"That you are a weirdo!" I joked benevolently.

"I know!" he replied with a laugh.

"Anyhow, I think it's coming out good. You say that there is a good market for human milk?" I continued, more seriously.

"Oh, yeah. I am happy that you like it, because I need a manager to run it."

I turned to him flabbergasted:

"You want me to run it?" I squeaked.

"Yeah, I mean, I need someone trustworthy, you say you are not much interested in going to university..."