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Bad woke to the usual sounds of his farm. Chickens clucking in the coop, sheep baaing in the fields, cows mooing in the pen. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, his long hair tousled from sleep, and got up to start his day.
One breakfast of hearty biscuits and eggs later, he donned his overalls and wide-brimmed, straw hat and set out with a pair of pails for the cow field. The cows were already up and grazing, their brown coats mottled with white spots, bells clanging around their necks as they leaned their heads down to munch on the grass. As he got closer, however, he heard a different sound, not unfamiliar, but hardly typical.
Between the natural moos of the cows, there was a forced, clearly spoken moo.
Bad sighed, setting his buckets down by the fence, and putting his hands on his hips.
“Skeppy, get out of my pen,” he said. The cow-hybrid who had continually tried to blend in with his herd for the past couple of weeks turned around, eyes already wide and pleading. Bad didn’t dislike the guy, he was pleasant to talk to most of the time, but his insistence that Bad treat like an actual cow was frustrating, and just downright weird.
And then there was also the issue of his choice of clothing, or relative lack thereof. The cow-print skirt was ridiculously short, always spinning up and revealing him when he turned, and his shirt was hardly a scrap of sleeves, his prominent chest on full display. Bad swore the bell around his neck was stolen from one of his heifers, but Skeppy refused to tell.
“Aww, come on. The herd likes me. Don’t you, girls?” Skeppy patted one of the cows on her side, and she mooed, tail flicking at the some flies.
“You’re not a cow. And I’m not going to milk you.”
“I’m part cow.” Skeppy batted his eyelashes, which were ridiculously long and lush, and tilted his head down, bell clanging around his neck. His furred ears were drawn back, a small pair of horns poking up on either side of his black poof of hair.
“And part human,” Bad reminded him, climbing over the fence and picking up his stool and his buckets, sitting himself down beside one of the real cows so he could get to milking. “It’s weird. What would I even do with your milk?”
“Drink it?” Skeppy suggested, his voice lowered slightly, the words thick on his tongue. Bad felt his face go red, the world tilting for a moment as he started to imagine doing just that, a warm cup of fresh, white milk tilted back, staining the top of his lip, and he ground his teeth together, banishing the image.
“Absolutely not.” He grabbed the cow’s udders with perhaps a bit too much force, and her milk sprayed into the pail, hitting the metal with resounding hiss.
“Why not?” Skeppy said, voice all sing-song, and sauntered up behind Bad, draping himself over his shoulders so his breasts landed on either side of his neck. “I know you want to.”
Bad froze, mouth agape, and felt the rumble against his throat as Skeppy giggled behind him.
“I see you staring all the time. You shout and you flail and you protest, but you want this. You want me.” He said the words right into Bad’s ear, his breath warm on his skin, and Bad would be lying if he said he wasn’t affected.
Before he could lie and protest, though, the cow he was trying to milk made a loud noise of annoyance and started walking away, kicking the pail over in the process and spilling what little milk he’d gotten all over the grass.
“Skeppy!” Bad whirled around, standing up and grabbing his wrists to hold him away at a safe distance. “I have work to do! And you—you—you’re just getting in my way!”
Skeppy bit his lip and moaned, leaning his weight into Bad’s hold on his arms. His back arched with the motion, pushing his chest forward, and Bad’s mouth went completely dry. His mind was swirling, thoughts thick as molasses. He felt flushed with an angry cocktail of frustration and arousal, and it clouded his rationality.
“Fine,” he said, pushing Skeppy down to his knees and then throwing his arms towards the ground. “You want to be milked so bad? Then get over the bucket like a good little cow.”
Skeppy crawled to the spilled pail, nodding eagerly as he hung himself over it, breasts swaying with the movement. Bad ignored how very tight his pants were getting and sat back atop his stool, reaching down at the awkward angle to reach for Skeppy’s nipples. It wasn’t the same as an udder, so he couldn’t get quite a good grip on it, but with a forceful pinch, a thin stream of milk shot into the bucket and Skeppy threw his head back letting out a moan that almost sounded like a moo.
“You dirty beast,” Bad said even as he rolled his hips against the stool, using the tightness of his own pants to get a constricting friction against his cock.
“Feels so good,” Skeppy whined. “I was so heavy with milk. It hurt so bad.”
Bad censored himself as he swore under his breath, a litany of fudge and muffins. Skeppy’s tail swayed as his hips rocked back and forth, the skirt hiding absolutely nothing. The sound of his bell clanging was near deafening, and Bad realized as a heavy bead of sweat ran down his forehead that he’d never be able to get this image out of his mind when he heard that sound.
At last the stream dribbled to a stop, the bucket nowhere near full, though there was a good amount of milk at the bottom, enough to bake a cake with or perhaps a batch of soft bread. Skeppy looked up at Bad with heavy-lidded eyes and a satisfied smirk on his face, and his anger flared again.
“I can’t believe you made me just—just—” Bad cut himself off with a huff, reaching out to grab Skeppy’s hair and force his head back, exposing the column of his neck; smooth brown skin falling into soft, round breasts and hard nipples, a delicate shade of bitten rose.
“I hate you,” Bad grumbled out as he fumbled with the clasps of his overalls, shoving the font down so he could reach into his trousers and pull out his cock. Skeppy moaned and closed his eyes, mouth falling open at the sight of him, and it took all of Bad’s self-restraint not to call him a whore out loud.
Instead, he just groaned roughly as he jerked himself off fast and hard, relishing the angry burn of his dry hand on his cock. Soon he was spilling his own hot-white onto Skeppy’s chest and chin, a few drops falling in his mouth, and some in the bucket between them, too.
Skeppy swallowed his mouthful and whined, reaching under his skirt to touch himself.
“Don’t you dare,” Bad barked, kicking him down with a foot on his chest, making him lie down with his back in the grass. Skeppy moaned, arcing into the heel of his boot, and Bad spat over his shoulder, hastily shoving his cock back into his pants.
“You want to be one of my heifers, huh? Then be a good little cow and wait until your bull mounts you. Got it?”
“Oh, yes sir,” Skeppy nodded, shivering with delight. Bad felt a spur of disgust, seeing just how much Skeppy was enjoying this degrading treatment, but that only made his dick twitch with new interest.
He lifted his boot, giving Skeppy’s thigh a little kick out of spite, and then sat back down on his stool and lifted the bucket into his lap.
“What am I supposed to do with this, now?” he asked, lip curling at the milk soured by his own semen.
Skeppy rolled over to his side, panting and grinning, and repeated the words that had started this in the first place.
“Drink it?”