Anthro in Secret

by Dave Hicks

 

Chapter 1

 

1

 

One of the great problems with the age I live in is suicide. Human beings now have everything they could supposedly desired; a very long life, perfect health, no work and as many anthro servants to attend their every whim, as they could ever want. They also suffer from boredom, isolation, loneliness, hopelessness and depression. I doubt if there’s more than half a million human beings left on this planet - and most of them are reclusive.

Humans don’t communicate with each other anymore - except on the rare occasions when they’re forced to do so. Why bother? I can have all the anthro company I want. Anthroes can be designed and programmed to look and think whatever I choose - unlike humans, who have minds of their own.

I’d lived alone for more than ten years - without even a single anthro servant. Gradually the signs of depression and loneliness were taking hold of me. If I didn’t do something about it, I would end up taking my life - just like so many others had done in the past.

 

2

 

I contacted an anthro psychologist on my communications display and asked her for advice. She listened patiently as I described the shortcomings of my life to her. When I’d finished, I asked her - what can I do about it?

"You’re not going to like the answer, I imagine," she smiled professionally.

I hate it when they do that. It makes me feel like they know something I don’t.

"Well," I said angrily. "What do I do?"

"In a word," she replied. "Suffer."

"Suffer what," I asked. "What am I supposed to suffer?"

"Pain for starters," she answered. "Emotional or physical - It doesn’t matter which you choose. Try suffering anger, frustration and failure. The disappointment of broken dreams and lost causes. Something you’ve worked hard to achieve, that didn’t quite work out the way you expected."

I thought for a moment.

"Is that it?" I inquired.

"That’s it," she replied.

"You’re telling me - I’ve got to suffer? I already suffer. I suffer from hopelessness and depression. Tell me why I’d want to make matters worse than they already are by adding more suffering to it?"

"Because you’re suffering for all the wrong reasons," she replied. "You’ve got nothing worth suffering for anymore. All that’s left is apathy. You’ve got nothing in your life worth working towards - and no sense of achievement when you get it. It’s all given to you and you value none of it."

"That doesn’t make any sense," I said rudely. "What sort of anthro logic is that?"

"It’s the only advice I have for you," she smiled.

"Then I've just wasted my time talking to you."

I broke the connection.

 

3

 

Over the next few days, the words of the psychologist kept returning to my mind. What did the anthro mean - not the right kind of suffering? Anthroes don’t commit suicide - unless I program them to - not that I ever have. They don’t suffer from hopelessness and apathy - or do they? Maybe they do - I truly didn’t know. They just did and thought whatever I programmed them to. So what does an anthro have that we humans don’t?

The germ of an idea slowly formed in my mind. I decided to create an extraordinary female anthro.

Although it’s not something I would normally do, I linked the anthro materialization machine to my personal computer. It would give the machine access to much greater processing power and hopefully improve its design ability. What I had in mind, required me to place a high degree of trust in the machine. Something I wasn’t very comfortable doing. I tend not to trust machines - as a rule.

Firstly I attended to the physical aspects of my female anthro. Not overly good looking - she didn’t need to be. I made her middle aged and overweight - with plenty of fat on the hips, thighs and buttocks. To make it a little more interesting, I gave her a very large pair of lactating breasts. She was to have no pubic hair. I designed her a protuberant labia and a larger than normal and highly sensitive clitoris.

Next came the mental characteristics I required. She was to believe she was completely human. She would be reasonably well disposed towards anthroes. I programmed her to be intelligent, creative and artistic, intensely feminine and have a cheerful disposition with a good sense of humor.

She’d believe having very large lactating breasts was perfectly normal for a human woman of her age. I gave her a healthy sex drive but she would only find female anthroes attractive. She’d have a very strong dislike for any other humans and would avoid them whenever possible. However, she’d have a powerful need for the company of anthroes. I wanted her to enjoy experimenting with the physical and mental characteristics of her anthroes - but not in any truly sadistic manner. Her name would be Yvonne - a name I rather liked.

Once those stages were complete, the more complicated stage had to be done. I programmed her to turn me into her anthro. My memories of being a human would remain intact. Once she’d finished my transformation, she’d immediately forget that she’d done so. She’d only know me as an anthro she’d decided to create - because she’d felt the need to do so. What kind of anthro I was to be, I left entirely to her.

However, it was essential I have a way of reversing the process. I didn’t want to remain an anthro for the rest of my life. By using the correct trigger, I’d immediately be free of her will and all my memories of being both human and anthro would remain complete and unchanged. Yvonne would then be under my control. I could decide later, whether I wanted her to continue thinking she was a human. The difficulty was deciding on a trigger that was simple to use and completely reliable.

When all was complete, I took a deep breath and instructed the machine to manufacture her.

Once she’d been materialized, she rose from the table of the machine and I took her place. I watched as she started entering instructions into the machine’s console before her. I was in Yvonne’s and the machine’s hands, from that point onwards. There was no going back now - the process had been set in motion. I lost consciousness almost immediately, as my transformation into an anthro commenced.

 

4

 

When I came into being, my human owner was standing by the table I was laying on - inspecting me. She now wore a long, flowing dress, whereas before - when I’d created her - she’d been naked. Apparently, some time had elapsed from the time I’d materialized her to when I regained consciousness.

"My name is Yvonne," she informed me pleasantly. "I am your owner. You will obey me."

I waited for her to tell me what to do.

"Swing your legs over the edge of the table," she instructed, "and sit up."

I discovered I had to obey her command. Her wishes took absolute priority over my own. I’d never experienced anything remotely like it before. I was completely at the mercy of this person. I was forced do anything she ordered me to do - It didn’t matter how I felt about it. My first reaction was fear. I was almost tempted to use the trigger, to turn myself back into a human - but I decided to wait.

As I sat, my breasts rested heavily on my thighs.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, looking at my breasts. "I expect your udders will be large enough to do the job I have in mind. I hope they’re not going to be too heavy for you to carry around. I asked the machine to make your shoulders and back as strong as possible but I don’t know how much help that’ll be. Please stand up now."

With difficulty - owing to the great weight of my breasts - I rose from the table and stood before her. She gives my right breast a gentle squeeze.

"Okay," she said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "Perhaps you should put your hands under your udders - to help carry them when you walk. Find a place to sit. I’ll design a bra for you later. Please remember the order in which you were created. You’re the first and your name will begin with the letter ‘A’. You are called Amy."

Yvonne returned to the machine console and within a few minutes another anthro materialized. She instructed the new anthro to do the same as she had done to me. Eventually, she’d made ten of us. Then she materialized a pile of bras on the table.

"Okay," she smiled. "I want all you cows to take a bra and put it on."

While we were dressing, Yvonne went among us, ensuring our bras were adjusted correctly to her satisfaction.

She then started the machine on another manufacturing cycle.

"Fine," she announced. "Now I’ll take you all to the cow’s house."

 

5

 

We followed her out of the anthro machine room. The house was completely different from what I’d remembered it. What was once only a reasonably large house had become a mansion.

We proceeded from the building and under a covered walkway to a comfortable, spacious house. Yvonne showed us to our shared bedroom. There were ten, broad, widely spaced beds, arranged in two rows, each row along opposite sides of the vast, cheery room. Beside each bed were wardrobes, drawers and a tall mirror.

"Hopefully, I’ve designed this room to be a comfortable, pleasant and cow-like place to be," Yvonne said proudly. "The same applies to the whole house. But you are free to change whatever you wish. This is your home now."

She cast her eye over the group.

"Who was the first created?" she asked.

I raised my hand.

"Good," she smiled, turning to me. "Your name is now Amy, your color is white and your bed is the first on the right as you enter the bedroom. You are the lead cow - which means you’re in charge of all the other cows. The rest of you must do as Amy tells you."

She looked around us again.

"Who was second?" she inquired.

The anthro next to me raised her hand.

"I’ll call you Betty," Yvonne told her. "Your color is pink and your bed is next to Amy’s. You’re now second lead cow."

Betty nodded that she understood. Yvonne continued the process until all ten of us had names and colors. The other’s names were - Cathy, Dolly, Eli, Fanny, Gabby, Henny, Ivy and Jenny.

"Now," Yvonne said, in good humor. "Is there anyone who doesn’t know their name or color? I don’t really want to go through all that again."

No one responded..

"Fine," she smiled. "I want you to settle in and get to know each other."

 

6

 

"Betty and Cathy," Yvonne said. "I want you to go to the anthro machine room and bring back all the clothing and personal items you find there. Dolly and Eli, you go with them and return with the udder pumps."

When they returned, Yvonne instructed them to place the clothing and the breast pumps on the table with the other items.

"The colors I gave you are the color dresses you’ll be wearing," she instructed. "It's the only easy way I can think of, I'm ever going to be able to tell you all apart."

Yvonne held up a breast pump for us all to see.

"There’s one for each of you," Yvonne informed us. "You’re not to use each other’s pumps, to empty your udders. The spare milk you produce is to put in the special bottles provided for that purpose and stored in the cold room, next to your kitchen, for later collection. You’ll find plenty of spare bottles there too."

She looked to see if there were any questions.

"You are cows," she stated. "You don’t have breasts like other anthroes - you have udders. You will think and refer to them as such. The same goes for your nipples - they are now teats."

She paused, checking in her mind to see if she’d forgotten to mention anything.

"Right," she said finally. "You may go wherever you like - I don’t really care - except the anthro machine room. From now onwards, you’re never to enter that room, unless I'm with you."

She left the bedroom.

 

7

 

I put on a white dress I found on the table and hung a couple of white dresses in the closet next to my bed. They were knee-length, with short sleeves, a collar and a zip running up the front, for easier access to my udders.

I sat on the chair next to my bed, facing towards the middle of the room. Betty sat on her bed, facing me.

"The house is different," Betty said to me. "It’s so much bigger now."

"Do you remember that?" I asked her.

"Yes," Betty answered. "Do you?"

"Yes," I nodded. "It would appear we’ve been duplicated. We’re all the same. The same memories and personality."

The other anthroes were discovering the same thing about themselves.

"Yvonne must not be allowed to know about our memories," Gabby announced to the group.

We all voiced our agreement.

"Why have we been given such large udders?" Henny asked. "Yvonne calls them udders too."

"To make lots of milk, I imagine," ventured Fanny. "She called us cows, remember? You mustn’t have been listening properly."

"But I like being a cow," Ivy said.

"You’ve been programmed that way," a few told her. "We all have."

"So why so many of us to make milk?" one asked. "Look at the size of us - we’ll be making tons of it."

No one seemed to know the answer.

 

8

 

I started to appreciate just how powerful the programming of anthroes is. I was now a cow - designed specifically to produce milk and feed others. I looked down at my massive, heavy udders, with a feeling of strong affection for them. A brief wave of pride rose in me, when I thought of my role as a cow. The urge to feed people was so compelling. It took my by surprise to feel - for the first time, in a very long time - I had a purpose in life. I had something worthwhile to do.

Yvonne returned an hour later, followed by a slim, pretty, young anthro. She asked me to assemble all the cows in the lounge room.

"This is Anna," Yvonne announced. "She’s a maid."

Anna wore a very short, black, silky dress with black stockings and shoes. Over the dress was a small, filly white apron. Her large firm cone-like breasts were exposed and hanging from a gold ring through each of her erect, pink, nipples, was a fine chain, with a shiny, metal ball, freely suspended from it. The balls emitted a tinkling sound at her slightest movement.

"Anna - and the other maids I’ll be making shortly - will live solely on your milk," Yvonne explained. "Maids can’t eat normal food. Each of you will have a maid you're responsible for feeding. They’ll have the same color apron as the dress you wear. The maids will come to the cow’s house, when they are hungry. I may decide to make other milk dependent anthroes in the future. Amy will decide which of you feeds them."

She paused for a moment, and then continued.

"Remember, the maids are not here to empty your udders when you want them to. You’re cows and you are to feed them, whenever they ask to be fed. If you can’t feed your maid for any reason, you must tell your lead cow, Amy. She will arrange some other cow to feed your maid for you. Or your maid can drink the spare milk you’ve stored away in your cold unit. On any feeding issue, Amy’s word is final and must be obeyed by both cows, maids and other milk dependent anthroes."

Yvonne turned to leave, then stopped.

"I forgot to mention," she smiled. "Maids don’t have real breasts - they’re made of Bio-plast and are there for purely decorative and aesthetic reasons. I’ll change their size and shape once in a while - whenever the mood takes me. The rings through their nipples and the tinkling balls can’t be removed. I've decided that maids are to have no genitals. However, they’ll gladly suck your clitoris for you - if you ask them to. I will occasionally also feed a maid - so don’t be alarmed if your maid should miss a feed, once in a while."

Anna followed Yvonne from the lounge. The sound of Anna’s nipple balls grew quickly distant, as they left the cow’s house.

 

9

 

The cow’s house was very large and comfortable. It had it’s own spacious kitchen and bathroom, roomy lounge and dining room. It was reasonably private, set an agreeable distance from the mansion and the other anthro houses, with covered walkways and paths to the other buildings. The house had a materializing unit to provide for any items we felt we needed - including food and clothing. Because we were cows, we eat a lot more food than other anthroes.

Apart from the ten maids, Yvonne made other anthroes. There was the housekeeper, the cook and her assistants and the gardeners. Apart from the maids, none of them required feeding. We were fortunate; Yvonne didn’t expect the cows to do any physical labor, because of the size and weight of our udders. However, we had to attend to our own cooking, laundry and cleaning of the cow’s house.

I discovered, Anna - the maid I fed - was a lovely, gentle placid anthro and I grew very fond of her almost immediately. All the maids had been named alphabetically, as were we cows. Their names ended with the letter ‘a’, whereas ours ended in ‘y’. For example - Betty’s maid was called Bella and Cathy’s was named Clara.

We put colored labels on the bottles of spare milk we produced. When the cook required milk, her assistants were able to ensure some milk for every maid would be left in the cold unit. It didn’t take long for a large amount of milk to be in storage. I materialized a machine to turn some of the milk into powder, for long-term storage.

 

10

 

It was about that time, we saw our first helper. They were engaging, ape-like little creatures, about a third of a meter in height, covered by a very soft, silver-gray coat of thick fur and they had large, black eyes. It wandered into the lounge room of the cow’s house and promptly sat on my lap, where I sat. It snuggled against my bosom, purring contentedly, and fell asleep.

We soon discovered helpers love to repair, tidy, clean and generally rearrange anything they can get their four clever little hands on. It wasn’t long before the cow’s house seemed to be full of them. Anna told me the maids had quite a few of them at the maid’s house also. Although they don’t speak, they seem to understand when you talk to them - as long as you keep it fairly simple.

Helpers loved being fed with milk. Apparently, they don’t need to be, but given a choice between normal food and our milk - they choose our milk. If I weren’t careful, they’d skillfully and surreptitiously undo the front of my dress and bra and attach themselves to my teats. Once suckling, I discovered, they’re impossible to remove - until they’ve had sufficient. Then they let go, on their own accord. Fortunately, because of their small size, they don’t require much milk. Since we all produce so much milk, it doesn’t disadvantage the maids, in any way. Just for me, I calculated the amount of milk I produce, would easily feed at least two or more maids.

 

11

 

We didn’t see Yvonne for a while. As the days progressed, I became aware of growing subtle differences between myself and the rest of the cows. They liked being a cow much more than I did. I found my massive, heavy udders, cumbersome and obstructive. It didn’t seem to concern the other cows, to the same degree. Also my udders seemed to have become slightly larger than theirs. Perhaps I produced a little more milk than they did, but it was impossible to confirm with any certainty, since we all produced so much of it, anyway.

The cows thoroughly enjoyed their maids sucking their clitoris. I didn’t feel right about it. Some cows even allowed the helpers to do it. I couldn’t bring myself to permit anyone to touch my genitals. It took only a short time for the helpers to learn I didn’t want them to touch my private parts. It was as though the helpers were doing it to the other cows in a form of payment, for the milk they’d received, even though having our teats sucked is very pleasurable for cows. No doubt it also encouraged the cows to allow the helpers to feed more often from them.

I discovered the cow's memories of being a human were by no means complete and appeared to be rapidly fading with time. I wrote down in a notebook, a list of as many of my memories, as I could. I was relieved to later find, on later reading the entries I hadn’t forgotten anything. I asked a couple of cows, as casually as possible - did they remember the trigger that would turn them back into human beings? None had a clue what I was talking about.

 

12

 

Yvonne visited the cow’s house early one morning and asked me how much milk we had in storage. She was pleased when I showed her the ledger I kept - recording our growing milk stocks - showing we had plenty.

"I’m hosting a party this evening," she informed me brightly. "I intend to spend the rest of the day, materializing the guests who’ll be attending. I’ll de-materialize them afterwards. Or maybe just the ones I don’t like very much. Some of the anthroes I already have will be there of course."

I nodded to show her I understood.

"I want all the cows to attend my party," she smiled. "They’ll feed those guests who require milk and add a little interest to the night."

"Is there anything special you want us to wear?" I asked her.

"That’s one of the parts I’m really looking forward to," she replied enthusiastically. "Once your naked, I’m going to encase all my cows in a clear plastic sheath - from you neck to you wrists and ankles. It’ll leave only your head, hand and feet exposed. And I’ll make openings for you genitals and teats. Then, once I’ve positioned you where and how I want you to be; I’ll harden the plastic. It’ll turn you all into living statues. It’s going to be very exciting."

"I see," I said.

"It’s going to be so interesting," she laughed. "The maids will have to feed the cows - for the time they’re unable to move. Usually it’s the cows who feed the maids."

All the cows accompanied Yvonne to the anthro machine room and once they were naked, the machine encased each of us, in a soft, clear, shiny, plastic sheath. Once the process was completed, we made our way to the dance hall. Yvonne happily organized where she wanted the cows to be positioned in the room. She spent some time deciding, what humorous or artistic poses she’d like the cows to adopt. She left me until last.

Instead of leaving me with the other now immobile cows, she ordered me to follow her to the banquet hall.

"You’ll be at the table, during the meal, Amy," she announced. "As one of my guests."

I remained silent.

"I want you to sit there," she instructed, pointing to a chair about half way along one side of a long, highly polished, dark wooden table, with chairs to accommodate about twenty people. Once I was seated, with my udders resting on the table’s surface, Yvonne operated the small device she carried again and the plastic sheath I wore became hard and rigid - like glass.

I was paralyzed. A wave of fear washed over me. I felt so helpless and vulnerable. I’d never felt like this before. It took all the self-control I could muster.

"Good," she smiled, hurriedly turning to leave. "That’s all the cows turned into living statues. Now I can concentrate on manufacturing some of the guests for tonight."

 

13

 

During the rest of the day, Anna used my pump to relieve my udders and gave me food. I watched immobile, only able to move my head, as the maids prepared the dinner table for tonight’s banquet, the metal balls hanging from their nipple rings, tinkling merrily as they moved.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, Linda the housekeeper came to talk to me. Linda is a plump, very plain looking, elderly anthro with graying hair. Her enormous bosom was almost as prominent as cow’s udders, although she lacked the sheer bulk we have. Coupled with her ample rounded hips and bottom, it accentuated her impossibly slender waist. She wore a silky, knee-length, light gray dress, with short sleeves and collar. I guessed by the stiffness in her posture, she wore a full-length, highly restrictive, lace up corset. Despite her age and lack of good looks, I found her rather extraordinary figure quite attractive.

"How are you, Amy?" she smiled with concern, settling carefully onto a chair next to me. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No thank you, Linda," I answered, smiling in return. "Anna is looking after me very well. I must confess, I’ll be glad when all this is over."

"Yes," she nodded. "It’s a lot of work for us all."

"Are all my ladies okay?" I asked her. "It worries me to be so helpless like this. If anything happens to them, I won’t be able to help them."

"They’re fine," Linda replied, with a kind smile. "I’ve told all my maids keep a watchful eye on their cows. If there’s any problems, they’ll tell me immediately and I’ll do what I can."

"Thank you, Linda," I said. "I really appreciate your doing that."

She looked at me thoughtfully.

"It must be very restrictive for you - having such large breasts," she remarked, glancing down at her own massive bosom. "I imagine it must be quite difficult being a cow, at times."

I knew when she said breasts; she was referring to my udders.

"Yes," I nodded. "I suppose it is. However, my cows seem to like being the way the are."

"It’s the same with my maids," Linda agreed. "They don’t have any sex organs but it doesn’t seem to bother them, in any way."

"Perhaps that’s just as well," I remarked, with a smile. "I know I'd certainly miss mine."

"Unlike my maids," she confided, "do miss not having genitals. It would be nice, I'm sure. However, my nipples provide me with some stimulation."

I thought for a while.

"It must be very hard for you to wear a corset," I said. "Never the less, I do think it makes you look very attractive."

"That’s a lovely thing for you to say so," she smiled broadly. "But yes, it can be uncomfortable, as times. Often, I look forward to the end of the day, when one of my maids can releases me from it. And yet, I never feel properly dressed, without wearing one. It’s part of my housekeeper’s uniform."

I nodded

"Do you ever get lonely, being the housekeeper, Linda?" I asked her. "You’re so different from your maids and I mean that in the nicest way. I hope I'm not mentioning something you’d rather not talk about."

"That’s fine, Amy," she smiled. "But yes - I do get very lonely at times. Both the cook and the head gardener have their assistants to talk to. Unfortunately, maids aren’t blessed with the most powerful of intellects. They’re lovely but mentally shallow creatures - they don’t seem to wonder about anything much."

"My cows a little the same," I sighed. "And perhaps it’s just as well. Maybe it makes us a little discontent, at times - whereas they’re quite happy to be who they are, never questioning what they do or why they do it."

"I imagine you right, Amy," she nodded thoughtfully, in agreement.

"After the party’s over, Linda," I suggested, "and things get back to normal - why don’t we spend a little time together? That’s if you could possibly find a big, fat cow particularly interesting to talk to."

"I would love that, Amy," Linda replied, smiling broadly. "That’s if you could find talking to a fat, old housekeeper, with no genitals, of any interest. I find you’re so feminine and attractive. And thank you."

"I think you’re very feminine too, Linda," I smiled. "You have an elegant figure."

"Surely not," she responded in surprise. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh yes," I assured her. "I’m quite envious of you."

"Thank you, Amy," she commented, a little curiously. "You’re so unlike other anthroes. There seems to be so much more depth to you. Perhaps that’s the reason Yvonne made you lead cow."

"It could be," I replied. "However, I suspect my being lead cow had more to do with being the first to be materialized, more than anything else."

She rose from her chair.

"I’ll see you soon, Amy," she smiled, touching me briefly on my shoulder.

"I'm sure, Linda," I responded, returning her smile.

 

14

 

As the sun set, the guests started arriving. Yvonne, dressed in a full-length, long sleeved gown of shimmering gold, welcomed each guest as they entered the banquet hall. She conducted them in turn, to their place at the table.

A very thin, elderly woman, dressed only in a long black skirt and black shoes, sat on my left. She cheerfully introduced herself, as Monica. Her flattened, sagging breasts, with abnormally long nipples, hung down below her waist.

She sampled some of the food before her for a while. Then, she parted her legs and carefully removed two pink, hairless baby helpers from her vagina. She placed them both on one of my udders. Within moments, I felt their little mouths bond to my teats, making them impossible for me to remove.

"What are you doing?" I asked her in surprise.

"I though you could raise this pair," Monica said sweetly. "With the amount of milk you cows produce, you’ll only be feeding them for a day. After that, they’ll drop off and be old enough to fend for themselves. I never worry about them too much - they only live a short time, anyway."

"But why put them on me?" I asked.

"Normally, they’d be hanging off my breasts for a week" she casually explained. "You have no idea what a relief it’s going to be - not to have two of those things attached to me for the next week."

Before I could respond, she rudely turned away from me and started a conversation with the woman on the other side of her.

A well-rounded, matronly woman, with very large, shapely, exposed breasts sat in the chair to my right. She wore only a long, pale violet skirt and matching velvet slippers.

"This must be the side of the table, where all the bare breasted women sit," she laughed.

I noticed, the guests on the opposite side of the table, all had their breasts covered.

"I think you might be right," I agreed, with a smile. "I’m Amy."

"I'm Sandra," she smiled in return. "Your a cow, aren’t you? I’m not familiar with all the different colors yet."

"Yes," I replied. "My white dress makes me the lead cow. The title doesn’t mean very much."

"I didn’t know cows raised helpers," she remarked, glancing at my two little babies. "I thought Monica, that strange woman sitting beside you, did that?"

"We don’t - as a rule," I replied, throwing Monica a brief glance. "I seem to have been adopted by these two - for some reason."

Monica either didn’t hear my comment - or chose to ignore it.

"It must be so nice for you," she remarked. "Being able to breast feed."

"It’s what I'm designed for," I replied.

"I know," she said wistfully.

Sandra asked a maid for two bowls. When they arrived she put them on the table before her, under her nipples. It was then I noticed her erect nipples were dripping milk. I felt some sympathy for her.

"They never stop leaking," she informed me, looking down briefly at her breasts. "Yvonne won’t allow me to wear a bra and use absorbent pads of any kind. It means the milk always gets everything so wet."

"I see," I said sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. It must get quite inconvenient at times."

"My breasts won’t store the milk I make," Sandra explained. "It just keeps leaking out, as it’s made. The helpers have learnt - it takes too long to get a meal from me. So they don’t waste their time trying."

"I think that’s a little sad," I told her. "I wonder why Yvonne would do a thing like that to you?"

"I don’t know," Sandra answered. "Maybe she thinks it different, in some way. But thank you for you kind concern. I'm not complaining. I love to paint pictures and Yvonne allows me to do that as much as I wish. Some of the paintings hanging in this room are mine. I’ll replace them with something better, later on."

The woman opposite me was about to reach across the table and touch one of the helpers attached to my udders. I gave her a warning look and she withdrew her hand.

"Perhaps," Sandra suggested, "you might like to come and see some of the ones I'm currently working on, at the artist’s house?"

"Yes," I replied. "I’d like that very much."

"Meeting you has given me a wonderful idea for a painting," she said. "I can’t wait for this awful party to be over - so I can get started on it."

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Dave Hicks. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.