Unprotected Zombie Dairy: A BDSM Menage

by Miranda Cougar

  My heart lurches forward threatening to burst free of my chest. I feel the deep vibrating sound of the zombie hoard electrify every nerve ending in my body.

  Their mooing no longer terrifies me. It comforts me. My hucow sisters and friends call to me. Their soulful song consoles me and offers me a place to belong.

  “Come, join us,” the sweet melody croons. “Come, take your place in the zombie hucow herd.”

  "Moooooooooo!" my heart cries out to them. "I will join you soon my friends."

  Chapter 3

  Daisy

  “Good cow,” the farmer crooned while stroking my long wavy Hereford brown locks with the cup of his hand. He sat in front of me, legs splayed wide open on his milking stool, occasionally fisting chunks of my brown hair in hand. Whenever he felt the urge, he’d tug on my locks playfully, pulling my head upward to look him in the eye.

  The farmer and his wife had already unstrapped me from the milking machine.

  Right now, I’m kneeling on my hands and knees still dirty and naked on the hay-lined floor of the barn. My knees ache, but I kneel dutifully as the farmer tells me how important I am.

  Per our usual post-milking routine, he calls my milky bounty liquid gold and tells me how much my nutritious cream is enjoyed by all who have had the privilege of drinking it. As usual, my milk will be auctioned off by the ounce to the highest bidder. As the last non-zombie hucow, I’m a national treasure. My farmer reminds me of this truth after each and every milking.

  The farmer’s wife picked up the jug of my precious milk and left with its contents approximately four or five minutes ago. Usually, it's the farmer who carts my milk away, not her. But today she was in a hurry to leave, rushing out of the barn the moment she and the farmer had released me from the milking cage.

  Today is truly a day unlike any other. Usually after my morning milking, Bella — I still long to call her by her hucow name — would stay in the barn with me and we’d bathe together in the barn house's showers.

  The post-milking shower had always been a social event for us hucows. We’d bathe one another and express our fondness openly for every single member of the herd. We’d play games. My favorite game was: say one kind thing about the hucow showering next to you. Bella was brilliant at that game. Every day she’d think up the sweetest and truest compliments for each of the other ninety-nine members of our herd.

  We’d wash each other’s backs while we’d chat about the goings on of life on the farm. After we’d bathe, we’d sit in the wide open tiled showers letting our hair condition. We’d laugh about how the ponyboys were always trying to out prance each other, and how the mean-girl hupigs were always vying for prime seating in their steamy mud baths and luxurious hot spring pools.

  Even after the government scientists returned Bella to the farm absent her hucowness, we two continued the social ritual of bathing together. Each morning after my milking, but before Bella would leave to complete her wifely farming duties, we would shower together, embrace and pleasure one another as friends — temporary equals, if only for a few stolen hours out of each day.

  “We’re renovating the barn,” the farmer’s words shocked my mind out of its foggy reminiscing state. “I apologize, but you won’t have use of the barn facilities during the renovation. However, you won’t need them, not for the next several years, at least.”

  He paused and swallowed a lungful of air. “Now that I’ve decided to breed you, you’ll be spending most of the day with Hamma, Bella and me, near the farmhouse.”

  The sound of the farmer apologizing to anyone, let alone apologizing to me was so foreign to my ears that it jolted me out of my reality as a hucow. For a short time, I forgot who I was on this farm, broke my required silence and allowed a flood of questions to pour from my lips.

  “What? Renovating? Why?”

  The farmer cleared his throat as he gently tugged at my hair, slowly angling my head up to face his.

  “Because I want to breed you, Daisy.”

  My pulse stopped dead, then sped up again at a racing gallop. The farmer rarely called me by my name. He usually referred to me as hucow, or sometimes as girl when he felt like speaking politely. I grinned widely and blushed, honored that the all-powerful farmer had chosen to speak my name aloud.

  Then I slammed my lips shut. I was still furious about the harsh discipline he and Bella had subjected me to. They had laughed at me and humiliated me in a way that I was unaccustomed to.

  I was accustomed to being a pampered national treasure. I was used to getting everything I wanted, when I wanted it, and in the exact way that I wanted it. And right now – as foolish a desire as it was – my heart burned to make the farmer suffer for taking part in humiliating me.

  “Would you like me to breed you, Daisy?”

  There he was, speaking my name again, allowing the two syllables to roll off his tongue in deep sexy tones. Involuntarily, my pussy clenched and I became hyper aware of an uncomfortable, itchy sensation slipping down my cunt and inner thighs. It was the drip of the farmer’s seed as it trickled out of my much-abused hole. I fidgeted in place for what felt like several minutes while the farmer’s fluids tickled me, torturing me with their slow descent down the sensitive folds of my pussy and tender inner thighs.

  When I could stand no more tickle torture, I abandoned my hucow stance. Shifting position, I squeezed my thighs together tightly. Then I wiggled my ass from side to side, trying my best to scratch at the itch without using my hands.

  “Allow me to help you with that Daisy.”

  A stifled breath escaped my lips. I was taken aback by the gentleness of the farmer’s words and the sweetness of his smiling expression as he spoke them. This man grinning down at me was not the farmer I had known for the past seven years.

  This was some other man. A man I might like to get to know better or go out on a date with if this were another life. But it wasn’t. In this life, I was a hucow, and he was my best friend’s husband and the domineering farmer and the owner of this vast estate. Plus, he was the man who had just humiliated me. He was the man I was furious with.

  The grinning giant before me unfisted my hair, stood and pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket. I could feel the hay shift under my knees and hands as he strode behind me and knelt down.

  “Spread your legs Daisy.”

  He spoke his words with a slow hiss. The pace of my heart’s beating sped at hearing the dangerous and sensual tone he used to issue his command. An electric thrill wiggled its way up my spine and took root in my chest, forcing me to exhale then pant. Still angry, but suddenly desperate to comply with this instruction, I spread my legs as far apart as I could while still remaining on my hands and knees.

  Snap! I reflexively clenched my ass cheeks tightly as I heard the sharp sound of his handkerchief whip in mid-air behind me.

  “Relax, Daisy.”

  He kept saying my name in the lowest, most sultry voice I’d ever heard in my life. My arousal grew. I began to moisten. No, in truth I began to wet. My slick channel dripped sopping wet with the need to be filled by the farmer’s massive cock again.

  A hot breeze swept over my ass cheeks. My clit hardened and pulsed as I felt the heat of his breath blow over the surface of my puckered asshole. Rough hands spread my pussy wide. Then his smooth tongue dipped into my exposed hole, cleansing it.

  He tasted my slit, trailing his tongue from the tip of my clit up to the puckered dip of my rear. He took his time carefully cleansing me, drinking down our combined fluids with noisy, sloppy slurps. When he was satisfied that he’d thoroughly cleaned my hole, he dipped his skilled tongue down to my inner thighs and cleansed me there as well.

  The hay shifted under me once again as my farmer stood, walked back over to the milking chair and sat down. He whipped the handkerchief in mid-air once more and brought the embroidered square to his face, using it to cleanse my glistening fluids from the hard angles of his chin and cheeks. He declined to swipe the handkerchief across his li
ps.

  “I intend to breed you,” he said matter-of-factly while reaching forward and taking two large swaths of my long brown hair in his fists again before tugging my head upwards insisting that my eyes meet his.

  He’d already filled me with his cum, beginning the breeding process. But by law, I have the right to request a morning after pill and refuse to bear his child.

  I may be a hucow, but I still have rights. And now that I’m the last known hucow in this country, I also have power. Immense power. It’s not just the zombie herd that's trying to steal me away from the farmer. As the last hucow, I receive fan mail on a daily basis and invitations from other farmers to abandon this farm and come live with them inside their luxuriously appointed barns.

  I can leave this farm at any time. My contract with the farmer expired two years ago. I’ve only stayed put because ever since I'd turned eighteen years old, this farm has been my home — and the farmer, farm hands and other human farm animals, my cherished family.

  “Would you like me to breed you, Daisy?”

  The farmer asked me his original question again. His voice was hesitant, although not weak.

  “Daisy?” He unfisted my hair, grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me into an upright position. As he stood, he twirled me around and sat me down on his milking stool. I sat, and he stood in front of me, his body towering over my petite frame.

  It was obvious he’d expected me to immediately say ‘yes’ to his request to breed me. He’d expected me to accept the gift of his seed without hesitation. But, now that I’ve hesitated, his fear that I might refuse him his breeding desire shows on his face.

  The man’s clearly unused to being disappointed. His current facial expression is a twisted cross between a smirk, a scowl, and a grimace. I furrowed my brows then shot him a twisted expression of my own. I aimed for a combination smirk and innocent doe-eyed gaze.

  He glared back at me and bit his lower lip. It was a nervous twitch I’ve never seen him display before. I liked the way it looked on him — nervousness. I enjoyed watching the powerful man’s lips quiver before me. I delighted in knowing I was the one who’d made him tremble.

  How long will I allow this game where I torture him to continue? A few more seconds? An hour? An entire day? A week?

  Of course, I want the farmer to breed me. With his cropped wolf-brown mane, chiseled, angular features, and broad chest, the man is handsome. He’s also powerful. He commands all his farm hands and human farm animals with a restrained strength rarely seen in a leader so young.

  With his vast land holdings and highly profitable farm-based businesses, my farmer is one of the most successful men in the country. Bearing his child would be a supreme privilege.

  I know that what he’s offering me is a great honor. But still, I’m furious about the cruel way he and Bella treated me. I know I keep harping on it, but I can’t get over the horror of what happened. They laughed at me. For me, it was the most agonizing torture. Everyone on the farm knows I can’t stand to be laughed at or mocked. The pain of public humiliation cuts me too deeply.

  The farmer’s and Bella’s taunts had been so devastatingly cruel and had hurt me so much that I’d actually considered racing out of the farm gates to join the zombie herd. They’d injured my pride so badly that for a brief moment, I'd thought that transforming into a roaming rotting and toothless undead corpse was preferable to living in the safety, comfort and community of the farm.

  Recently, during the privacy of one of our showering sessions, Bella confided that she thought I was becoming an overly pampered hucow.

  “You’ve become a fame monster. No need to worry about being turned into a zombie hucow. You’ve already transformed into a twenty-five-year-old self-important brat.” Those were her actual, exact words.

  My heart had shattered inside my chest at hearing her harsh assessment of my character. At the time, I’d wondered what I’d done to deserve the cruel tongue lashing. All I’d been doing was enjoying the slippery wet sensations of her tongue lapping at my clit while I gazed at a laminated photograph of an extravagantly appointed barn. It was a photo that one of my many admirers had sent to me – one of the farmers who’d sought to steal me away from this home.

  Maybe Bella was angry because I hadn’t tasted her pussy for over a week. In hindsight, I can see how selfish I was to take my pleasure without giving her any in return. But, in my defense, I didn’t think she’d needed to be licked. She was no longer a hucow, after all. She didn’t have a high libido or require the almost constant sexual stimulation that I did.

  “Answer me,” the farmer commanded with such tension in his voice that I almost expected him to hoist me over his shoulder and give my bottom a thorough spanking. But, he didn’t.

  “Would you like me to breed you, Daisy?” he asked one last time, his tone taking on an almost desperate quality.

  “I’m not sure,” I lied. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Then I pinched and tweaked the tender flesh under my right thigh to keep my lips from bursting upward into a victorious smile.

  A pained grimace flashed across the farmer’s face. And I almost thought I heard his heart bust out of his chest, crash to the ground and shatter into a billion broken pieces.

  Chapter 4

  Daisy

  Chaos.

  The shrieking cries of men being drained of their life fluids explode inside my ears.

  I run.

  My bare feet race along the dusty ground toward the safety of the tall steel double gates surrounding the inner farmhouse compound.

  I trip.

  My knees and palms burn from the scraping of skin against rock.

  Strong hands lift me up. They belong to the farmer. He holds me close to him. We run.

  We run — hand-in-hand — together.

  He grips my fingers tightly and pulls on my arm hard in our race toward the farmhouse.

  Rotten flesh.

  The stench of decaying flesh permeates the air.

  I choke on its foul odor as I chug in lungful after lungful of air trying to keep pace with the long-legged farmer.

  Hands cold and wet catch me by the arm then yank back my hair.

  My beautiful long wavy brown crown is my undoing.

  I look back.

  Relief.

  I pant in thanks.

  It’s only a frightened hupig grasping onto me, hoping to be delivered to safety.

  I see a pack of zombies racing toward us.

  The zombies run.

  Can zombies run?

  Of course, they can, but only if they’re the ones who still have their luminescent green teeth. The ones whose flesh hasn’t rotted off their bones yet.

  “Run!”

  The farmer screams his command while simultaneously throwing both me and the terrified hupig ahead of him.

  “Keep running toward the farmhouse. You’ll both be safe there!”

  I grab the young hupig’s hand and pull her with me toward safety.

  She squeals in terror as we both watch zombies descend on the farmer.

  I run.

  I move as swiftly as my scratched up feet will carry me.

  I glance back and witness the farmer fighting.

  He’s struggling against six or seven zombie hucows who are trying to rip open his jeans. If they get into his pants and pull out his cock, the farmer will be finished. They’ll each wrap their zombie lips around his shaft and suck out his life force. They’ll suck and suck until they’ve drained him dry. The man will have his future years drained away from him. He’ll be aged from twenty-nine to One-hundred-and-nine in a matter of minutes.

  I can’t think about that now — the terror is weighing down my heart, slowing me down.

  I must run as the farmer commanded me to.

  I must run to the safety of the farmhouse compound.

  But, I can’t run at top speed with this chunky little hupig in tow.

  Hupigs are known for their beauty and voracious sexual
appetites, not their athleticism. I can’t force her to run any faster. The poor little thing is already gasping for air. She’s already racing at top speed. If I pull on her arm any harder and force her to speed up, she’ll collapse. Then I’ll be compelled to stand over her downed body and fight off the zombies as they attack us.

  Most likely we’ll both be captured and turned into zombies ourselves by morning.

  I shake my head violently, refusing to give up, refusing to allow myself or my hupig sister to be taken and turned into glowing blue-eyed freaks of nature.

  My arm lurches backward as the hupig trips and tumbles to the ground.

  “Don’t abandon me!” she squeals and extends one open hand in my direction.

  “I’ve got you! Now stand up and run!” I shout down at her as I take her by the hand and yank her body upright.

  We both right ourselves and take off running again.

  As we race together toward safety, I think of the farmer.

  I glance back, but I can’t see him. All I see is the semi-organized chaos of certain zombies carrying off their female captives while others feed on their male victims.

  The little hupig running beside me squeals in terror as she runs and I shift my thoughts elsewhere to try and drown out the loud high pitched shrieks of her clearly uncontrollable vocalizations.

  I’m in love with the farmer. I have been for years. His handsome, commanding form and his reputation as a fine leader were why I’d applied for acceptance to this farm in the first place.

  I’d been lucky to win a position as one of the hucows in the farm’s award winning herd. I could have been made into a hupig, but that wasn’t my destiny. I was destined to become a hucow. And I became one of the most decorated hucows of all time.

  Aside from Bella, I’d won more hucow competitions than anyone else in our herd. The day I’d been transformed into a prize winning lactating heiffer by that single government hormone injection was the first day I’d truly started living.

  It was the day I found my purpose. And my purpose was to serve the farm, the farmer and his wife by providing a bounty of delicious and nutritious creamy milk.