The unthinkable

Before you even have a chance to recover from the fisting, no matter how arousing it now seems, you hear your caretaker, moving about the stall behind you. You are too weak to move your head, your udders grow heavier by each passing minute, and your legs are too weak to move.

'SEX' The emptiness between your legs and the lack of anything in your mouth remind you that it's been a while since you've had any cock. You don't care if its real or mechanical, you feel a need to be filled, plain and simple. The bigger, the better, the juicier, the sweeter! Whether you are swallowing cum down your throat, or into your womb, you crave the warmth and exhilaration it provides.

'MILK' The over-productive glands quickly fill your udders to what feels like near bursting. The increasing pressure is almost painful, yet oddly arousing. The need to have the massive basketballs mauled and manhandled grows intense, as well as to have the engorged teats pulled, twisted, and drained. This only adds to the sexual urges already within, making your mind wander back to 'SEX'.

'SEX' Your loins twitch and your mouth waters. You can smell your arousal filling the stall. The pungent aroma is scintillating, mixing with the masculine scent of the cowboy lingering about. Thinking about him causes your ass to twitch and your tail to swish. You'll even take another load back there to satisfy your growing needs.

You hear some metal clanking around behind you, as well as an intense heat that warms your entire backside and hind quarters. Calloused hands grip your ass and maul the tender flesh, adding to the color already painted there. You can only smile, hoping that your lover will take care of your needs and fuck your ass like he had done before. The pleasant memory still fresh within your brain. You feel your tail being moved to rest along the spine of your back, and wonder if he's going to lube the ring again.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO .... OOOOOOOOOW .... MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

Searing pain mingles with the sound of the cowbell ringing as you shake your head from side to side. The smell of burning flesh suddenly replaces the smell of sex within the stall. Despite your weak legs, you nearly jump three feet into the air as the red hot metal is placed against your right ass cheek. The intense pain quickly fades, but is replaced with a dull pain, still demanding every fiber of your being.

'BRANDED?' It's the only thought pain allows to enter your brain. 'This can't be!'

The cowboy moves to the front and presses the still red hot iron onto a plank of wood before your eyes. Now able to see the design and its implication, you take note of the bold circle with the letters 'MF’ contained within, under which are bull horns with the letters 'CL'. Cowboy explains it for you. "You now belong to Minchest Farms, part of Carter's Lot!" He places the hot iron into a bucket of water, the hissing and steam rising from the galvanized container. "Now everyone will know your are MY COW!"

"Rest up now! Tomorrow you can meet the bulls!"