Anthro in Secret

by Dave Hicks

 

Chapter 2

 

1

 

After the banquet was over and the guests had moved to the dance hall, Yvonne came to me and used her device to soften the plastic sheath encasing me.

"Go now and have a shower," she smiled. "The plastic sheath will easily wash off with soap and warm water. Put on something nice and return to the party."

I rose from the table, while putting my hands under my helpers to support them. Any helper can hang quite happily without any support, but I didn’t want my teats being pulled on that hard.

"I’m not sure how you’re going to manage with those," she laughed, pointed to my two infants. "But, I’m sure you’ll think of something."

I nodded.

"And I’ll be having a serious talk to Monica after the party’s over," she said, a frown crossing her features. "I will not permit her getting my cows to do her job for her. I created her to produce helpers."

I went to the cow’s house and washed off the plastic sheath. I gave them both a careful wash at the same time - removing any dried vaginal excretions covering them. The helpers were happy to have the warm water splashing all over them - their four tiny hands moving over their bodies, with pleasure and excitement.

I went to the materializing unit and described the problem of the attached helpers to it. It scanned my body and produced a bra it considered would accommodate them and my udders comfortably. It had soft, thick foam padding in the cups, to prevent the outline of the helpers from showing through, whilst maintaining my normal cup shape. I asked the unit to make a long white sleeveless gown and a pair of shoes for me. Within seconds the items appeared.

I rejoined the party and mixed with the guests. I went in turn to each of my immobile cows, ensuring they were okay. None of them seemed bothered by not being able to move and all said how they were enjoying feeding the guests. It demonstrated to me very plainly, just how divergent their mentality had become from mine.

When the party was over, Yvonne released all the cows from their immobility and allowed them to return to the cow’s house.

"It was a lovely party, Amy," Yvonne sighed. "A really successful evening. I had a wonderful time."

"The guests certainly seemed to enjoy themselves too, Yvonne," I responded.

"Yes they did," she agreed. "It all went very well. We’ll have to have another party, sometime."

Not too soon - I hoped.

 

2

 

As Monica had said - the helpers released my teats after a day. By then, they’d grown a thick layer of pure white, fine down, over their rapidly developing little bodies. I imagined their coats would eventually change to their normal silver-gray color. Thankfully, Anna - the maid I normally feed - was quite happy to live on my stored milk, for the short time the helpers were attached to me.

Unlike the rest of the helpers, when my two did let go of me, they wouldn’t leave me - refusing to feed from any other cow or join in the activities of the other helpers. They became my constant companions, accompanying me wherever I went - not letting me out of their sight for a moment. If I had to walk any distance, they’d scamper up my body and ride on my shoulders - or get into the large, cloth shoulder bag, I sometimes carried with me. As my two helpers grew rapidly older and larger, their fur stayed snow white. I named them Fluff and Scruff.

My sleeping area was always spotless and neat, my bed perfectly made up - thanks to my two helpers. Items of my clothing and underwear would vanish, then return shortly afterwards - clean, pressed and put away in a closet or drawer. They even learnt to do my hair and makeup for me, just before I awoke in the morning.

 

3

 

Linda, the housekeeper and I started spending some time together, when our duties permitted. We would talk over coffee or walk to the lake and sit on a bench overlooking the water. I discovered her primary drive was of service - whereas mine was to make milk and feed it to people. She was programmed in such a way, that being of service to people gave her pleasure. I learnt quickly to let her get the coffee for us, while we talked, for example. It would upset her if I were to do it myself.

One evening, she invited me to stay the night with her, at the Maid’s House. Unlike me, she had her own bedroom, with a bed, large enough to easily accommodate us both.

"Do you mind if my helpers stay with us?" I asked. "They fret so badly, when they’re away from me."

"Of course not, Amy," she smiled. "I think they’re gorgeous. They’re the only white ones I've seen."

I undressed first. Once she’d removed her dress, I loosened the firm lacing at the back of her corset. I was surprised to see her figure didn’t change shape that much, when the corset was removed. Even unsupported, her breasts firmly stood out from her chest, before her. Her very large, erect nipples had a solid-looking gold ring hanging through them.

"Even without my corset, my shape doesn’t change, does it?" she remarked self-consciously, looking down at her body.

I placed my hands on her generous, rounded hips, pressing my udders against hers. I felt nice to have her so close to me.

"You look lovely," I told her.

We sat beside each other on the edge of the bed.

"I’m completely made of Bio-plast," she said sadly. "Just like my maids. I’m not real living flesh like you. I don’t have genitals. I can never make milk. I don’t even have real breasts - just big lumps of plastic shaped to look like breasts. The same as the maids. Yvonne’s already enlarged them twice since she made me. She keeps making them bigger. I pray she doesn’t do it again."

She paused unhappily for a second.

"But I’m not a real woman, like you. I'm sexless - a neuter. My whole body has been molded out of plastic and given the shape of a woman. I’m any shape Yvonne wants me to be."

"It’s okay, Linda."

I felt responsible, to some degree, for what had happened to Linda. When I designed Yvonne, I programmed her to enjoy experimenting with the physical and mental characteristics of her anthroes. I did it to give her an interest but no I felt perhaps it hadn’t been such a clever idea.

"I was so afraid you’d hate me, when you found out," she said.

I put my arm around her shoulders.

"I think of you as a woman," I assured her.

"Do you?" she asked, looking searchingly into my eyes. "Do you really?"

"Yes, Linda, " I replied, with an encouraging smile. "I really do. You look like an absolutely wonderful woman. I think of you as a woman. I know inside you - you’re a woman."

"But I'm made of Bio-plast," she repeated.

"You’re still you - aren’t you?" I asked her. "You’re still Linda - no matter what you’re made of. Do you feel like a woman inside?"

"I suppose so," she conceded.

"That’s what’s important."

She thought for a moment.

"My nipple rings look silly, don’t they? I can’t ever remove them. At least I don’t have tinkle balls hanging from them. I should be thankful for that."

"I don’t think they look at all silly, at all," I answered, touching the closest ring experimentally. "I think they look very attractive. They’re very sexy. I think they suit your beautiful breasts very well. I might want them too - if I didn’t make milk."

She turned towards me and hugged me - as much as the size of her breasts and my udders would allow her to.

"Would you touch my rings again, please?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "I find it so exciting."

I asked her to lie back on the bed and I sat beside her. I tenderly fondled her rings, occasionally pulling gently on them. Her eyes were tightly shut her eyes with delight.

"Would you like me to feed you, Linda?" I asked, after a few minutes.

"Would you?" she responded. "I would love that so much."

She moved her head onto my lap. I gently pressed a teat between Linda’s expectant lips. As she sucked, a wave of pleasure spread from my teats throughout my udders. I hadn’t felt the sensation so strongly before. It was exciting me. As I continued to finger her nipple rings, she let out cries of delight. It was as though she was having a series of small orgasms.

Later, as she lay quietly in my lap, I gently stroked her hair. I felt both genuine affection and sympathy for Linda. Similar to what I’d experienced when the artist Sandra, told me how Yvonne insists her breasts have to leak over everything and she’s not allowed to use absorbent pads or wear a bra.

When I was a human being, I’d never felt those emotions strongly towards any anthro before. Then I realized - I hadn’t felt those emotions towards anything - either anthro or human being - for a very long time. And yet - unbelievably - as I sat on the bed, with a Bio-plast filled anthro, shaped to resemble a woman lying on my lap and her head resting against my truly massive lactating udders - I was experiencing both affection and sympathy for Linda. Was it any wonder I'd become depressed, lonely and suicidal? I’d lost the ability to care. The next thought hit me even harder - I realized I felt more human now I was a female anthro cow - than the pathetic human being I'd gradually become over the years. That shocked me.

 

4

 

It was a pleasant morning. I sat with two of my cows, Cathy and Dolly, under a large tree, not far from the cow’s house, while Fluff and Scruff played some energetic and rather complicated game, involving moving sticks placed about the lawn, in some sort of incomprehensible sequence, with two normal, gray helpers.

Yvonne approached us. She was dressed in a gold, sleeveless, knee-length dress. It occurred to me that gold seemed to have become Yvonne’s color of choice.

Walking closely behind her was an anthro I hadn’t met. A slim, small, dark haired woman, wearing only a polished, metal, full-length corset, with holes in the cups to allow her pink, erect, nipples, of her rather small breasts, to protrude. The nipples had heavy, silver rings through them. The corset appeared to be formed in one piece, with no visible signs of any fastenings or ways to open it. A fine gold chain ran from some form of shackle, through the anthro’s very enlarged and protuberant labia, to a gold bracelet around Yvonne’s wrist. Yvonne didn’t introduce her to me.

"Hello Amy," she smiled. "I wish to talk to you. Please walk with me."

I rose from the grass and proceeded with her towards the lake. Yvonne’s tethered anthro following silently. Fluff and Scruff abruptly stopped playing their game and accompanied us, at a discrete but watchful distance.

"My first reaction," Yvonne said, "was to immediately punish Monica, for bonding those two baby helpers on your teats. However - after giving it some thought - I’ve decided to talk to you about it first."

We sat on a wooden bench, Yvonne’s unknown anthro standing mute behind her.

"What I want from you," Yvonne said, "is some idea of what you think would be an appropriate punishment. I’ve already taken steps to ensure she can never do it again, to any of my cows. Or to me - for that matter."

I thought for a moment.

"I can’t think of anything," I answered.

"Why not?" Yvonne asked.

"From my point of view," I told her, "things worked out rather well. I’m very fond of the two helpers she gave me."

"That’s not the issue," Yvonne remarked, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Monica didn’t do her job I designed her for. She thought it’d be easier for her to give the helpers to you to raise."

I tried to think of some response that wouldn’t anger Yvonne further - yet provide her with a satisfactory form of retribution, she seemed intent of dispensing to Monica. I didn’t want to hurt Monica in any way but Yvonne had placed me in a position where I couldn’t avoid doing so. I didn’t like it.

"Perhaps Monica should be programmed so she can’t do it again," I suggested.

"I’ve already done that," Yvonne replied firmly. "I want to make an example of her. I need some form of punishment that will clearly signal to all my anthroes; what will happen to them - should they contemplate behaving against my wishes, in the future."

I thought for a moment.

"You could make her breasts larger and fuller," I suggested weakly. "They’re rather pendulous at the moment. I thought they looked a little unattractive and unfeminine being so floppy."

It was the best solution I could think of, at such short notice and under the circumstances. I had no way of predicting what Yvonne’s response would be.

Yvonne gazed at me for a few seconds and then slowly a smile crept across her face. I could see an idea was forming in her mind.

"Yes," she cried, rising from the bench. "That’s an excellent suggestion, Amy."

She turned to walk back to the mansion. I felt sad and in some way responsible, for whatever Yvonne intended to do to Monica. I’d been placed in an impossible situation.

"Thank you, Amy," she said, with a smile. "You’ve been a great help. I won’t forget it."

I wandered slowly back to where my two cows sat. I wondered if Yvonne was becoming sadistic. Like all humans, she wouldn’t give much consideration to the feelings of anthroes. I went through the past events in my mind. There was; turning the cows into helpless statues, making Sandra’s breasts leak continuously. She seemed to derive some satisfaction with punishing Monica. And now, there was the sad little anthro, in the metal corset, she was leading around. Perhaps I would need to do something about it, in the future.

 

5

 

In the afternoon, one of my cows came to me and told me she’d seen Monica. I learnt that Monica’s breasts were now even larger than a cow’s. I knew Monica only had a slight body and breasts too large would make it impossible for her to walk. I decided to go to the helper’s house and see her.

When I arrived, Monica opened the door and pleasantly invited me inside. She wore only a flared, black skirt that reached to the floor.

My first reaction was one of shock. Her arms had been removed. My cow hadn’t prepared me for that. Monica’s breasts were now enormous. They projected further out before her than even mine did. And yet Monica was standing.

"I’m sorry for what’s happened to you," I apologized, not quite knowing what to say.

"Please don’t be sorry," smiled Monica. "It wasn’t you who changed me."

"I tried to think of something that wouldn’t be too bad for you," I explained. "Yvonne said she wanted to make an example of you, for all the other anthroes. It was the only thing I could think of. Although, I didn’t imagine she’d make you so big and remove you arms as well."

"I know you did the best you could," Monica nodded. "Before Yvonne talked to you, she wanted to turn me into a helper. She was going to give me breasts that reached to the ground. And black fur."

"How can you walk with breasts so large?" I asked her. "And no arms?"

"I can’t walk," she answered. "I’m sitting on a seat, in a motorized cart."

"But you look like you’re standing," I remarked.

"If you un-button the front of my skirt," Monica suggested, with a smile, "you’ll see why."

I knelt before her and started to undo her skirt. When I had finished, it fell away to reveal two doors in a wheeled, metal container that reached from her waist to a few inches above the floor.

I opened the doors and as I look inside, I could plainly see Monica sitting on a padded seat. I realized to see she had no legs either.

"It has wheels and a motor," she informed me. "I control it by thinking where I want to go. A shelf’s built into the top of the frame, to support my breasts. It takes two maids to get me in and out of it. It swings open at the back."

I wrapped the skirt around the cart and re-buttoned it.

"I'm quite comfortable," she assured me. "Only, I'm so restricted now, in what I can do. It was nice of you to care about me."

"What about having no arm and legs?" I inquired.

"I don’t need them," she answered. "I wouldn’t be able to walk now, anyway. And the helpers get me all I want."

I thought for a moment.

"Do you think Yvonne programmed you, "I asked, "so you don’t mind what’s been done to you?"

"I imagine so," she nodded. "I don’t feel badly about what’s happened."

"I suppose it’s not so bad then," I said thoughtfully. "You don’t seem too upset by it all."

"I'm sure I’m fine," she said cheerfully. "Things could’ve been a lot worse, if you hadn’t said what you did to Yvonne. You’re my good friend, Amy."

A question struck me.

"How do the helpers get born now?" I asked. "How do you get them onto your breasts?"

"The helpers go inside the frame and get them," she explained. "They know when to do it."

"I'm glad Yvonne didn’t make you suffer too much," I told her. "I was worried she might."

"No," Monica smiled. "I don’t make any more milk than I did before. My breasts are mostly made of Bio-plast now. My babies still spend about a week attached to me, as before. Which is about the time it takes to make them, at the moment. But now I can control the gestation time - to vary the helper population as needed. I couldn’t do that before. I’m very glad about that."

She looked at Fluff and Scruff, watching us quietly from a chair close by.

"I wonder why they turned out so different?" she asked. "I wonder if I could start making them all different colors?"

I felt Yvonne had gone too far, in her punishment of Monica. She was now just a limbless body and head attached to a pair of massive breasts. And yet, because of the programming Yvonne had given her, she wasn’t distressed over what had happened. I decided to think about the whole thing a little more - before deciding to do something about it. I could understand Yvonne’s attitude towards her anthroes. I felt the same way when I was a human. The situation looked very different, now I was an anthro cow.

 

6

 

As promised one afternoon, after I'd finished feeding Anna, I visited Sandra at the artist’s house.

"This is our studio," Sandra announced, with a wave of her hand, as we entered an enormous area full of all sorts of objects.

Another anthro, precariously balanced on a ladder, her large breasts exposed and dressed in the same sort of violet colored skirt as Sandra, worked on a large stone sculpture. As pieces of marble fell to the floor, at the base of the sculpture, an energetic helper quickly picked them up and put them into a study cloth bag it was pulling behind it. It stopped its work briefly, to allow Scruff and Fluff an opportunity to look into the bag. Scruff returned with a piece of marble and handed it to me. Without thinking too much about it, I put the stone in the bag I carried.

"That’s Tanya," Sandra informed me.

It occurred to me, all artists must wear long violet skirts. Since Sandra’s skirt was of a lighter color than Tanya’s, it would make Sandra the head artist. I could see the milk dripping from Tanya’s large, firm dripping breasts, was making dark, wet marks on the marble of the sculpture. I wondered why Yvonne had decided artist’s breasts had to be that way.

"Can I make you a cup of coffee?" she asked, with a smile. "Before I show you my work. Can cows drink coffee?"

"Sure," I smiled in return. "I’d like that very much."

In one corner of the studio, sat an unpolished, wooden table, with a few chairs around it.

"Have a seat, Amy," she told me, busying her self at a shelf nearby. "The coffee won’t take long to make."

I sat at the table, resting my udders on its surface, taking the opportunity to transfer the weight of them from my back and shoulders. Sandra placed two cups on the table and sat opposite me.

"I'm so glad you came," she grinned. "We don’t get many visitors."

"I’ve been meaning to come since the party," I explained. "But things have been a little busy, lately."

"Don’t talk about the party," Sandra said, looking upwards in disgust. "I didn’t particularly like what Yvonne did to you and your cows."

"Surprisingly enough," I told her, "the other cows didn’t seem to mind that much. However, I felt quite uncomfortable - very vulnerable and helpless."

"I'm sure Yvonne thought the whole idea was awfully artistic," remarked Sandra, with just a hint of sarcasm. "Personally, I thought the whole concept lacked any kind of good taste or sophistication. A little like leading an anthro around by a chair attached to their enlarged labia. Rather cruel, in a way."

I was a little surprised Sandra was able to say that about Yvonne. Perhaps artists are given more freedom to express their thoughts, than other anthroes. It made sense, in a way.

"I don’t know a lot about art," I replied, as diplomatically as possible.

"Have you ever painted?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"No," I smiled. "Computers can do that."

"It’s not quite the same thing, when a computer does it," she smiled.

"I imagine it would take a little longer, to do it yourself."

"It’s going to take Tanya many months to finish that great sculpture of hers," Sandra smiled. "But a lot of Tanya herself will be part of it - by the time it’s finished."

"I guess so," I replied, not really knowing what she’d meant by the statement.

Surely she didn’t mean the amount of her milk Tanya was dripping all over it. Perhaps Sandra was referring to the sculpture taking on some characteristic of Tanya’s personality. I was beginning to realize, artists could be quite cryptic at times - whereas cows tend to be more practical.

Sandra took me to an area of the studio, set aside for her painting activities. Completed paintings rested against the wall. A large, unfinished painting sat in a three-legged stand. It was a depiction of an enormous bosomed woman, dressed in white, feeding another woman in a violet skirt. Since I'm the only cow who wears white, I assumed I was the cow portrayed. The face of the woman being fed showed contentment and happiness.

"It’s you," she smiled proudly. "And me."

I looked carefully at the painting for a few moments, hoping to give the impression I was giving it some sort of intelligent, artistic evaluation.

"I want you to have it - after it’s finished, Amy," she told me.

"Thank you, Sandra," I replied. "I would like that very much. It would look wonderful in the lounge room of the cow’s house."

I gazed a little longer at the painting, deep in thought.

"You know you’re welcome to come to the cow’s house to visit me, anytime you wish," I told her. "I would love to feed you - just like in the picture."

"Can I?" she smiled. "I would love that very much."

"Certainly," I replied, returning her smile. "It’s what I'm made for. I'm looking forward to it."

 

7

 

Yvonne came to visit me at the cow’s house. She had her poor little anthro in tow. I learnt from one of my cows that the unfortunate woman’s name was Kim.

"I want to talk to you, Amy," Yvonne stated. "Sometimes, I think you’re about the only intelligent anthro I've got."

"Certainly," I smiled. "Can I get you coffee?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"What about Kim?" I asked. "Would she like some?"

"Don’t worry about her," Yvonne replied curtly. "Just pretend she’s not there."

We sat on the front verandah of the house. Kim stood silently behind Yvonne’s chair, her face showing no emotion.

"You cows are such sensible, down to earth creatures," Yvonne remarked. "I should know - I made you all that way. I know you’ll be able to give me an answer to my problem."

"I hope I can," I said to her.

"Well," Yvonne responded sharply. "You helped me with the Monica problem. Didn’t ’t you?"

"Yes," I replied. "I suppose I did."

Yvonne took a mouthful of her coffee, and then leaned back in her chair.

"I’m bored and depressed," she said.

I was reminded how I felt, when I was a human being. It seemed rather a pathetic way to be. I tried not to let my face show my opinion of Yvonne’s behavior.

"Perhaps you need a project to get involved in?" I suggested. "Something in which you can really utilize all your abilities."

"What sort of project?" she asked warily, but her interest awakened.

I was mindful, how careful I needed to word my response. I wanted to get her involved in something that would cause no further harm or discomfort to anthroes.

"You have a wonderful design talent," I told her, softening her up with flattery. "Think of all the amazing creations inside of you - just waiting to be expressed."

"Yes, that’s right," she nodded, a smile spreading over her face. "It’s so true. After all, I did design all you anthroes. And the mansion. And all your houses."

"And I hear, the gardener’s have an extensive nursery," I continued. "Full of all sorts of interesting and exotic plants. Even a laboratory in which to experiment."

"Mm," Yvonne responded thoughtfully. "It sounds good."

"I know they have the facilities to grow all sorts of new plants. Plants no one’s ever seen before - or even thought of. Marvelous plants that could be living and growing works of art - an expression of your creativity."

"Of course!" she cried in delight, standing up from her chair. "Of course! That’s it. I know what I’m going to do. And I’ll do it now."

She removed the bracelet from her wrist that chained Kim to her and tossed it onto the seat of the chair she’d occupied.

"What about Kim?" I asked.

"She’s yours," answered Yvonne indifferently, as she was about to leave. "Call it a gift, for the help you gave me last time. She’s only a breast pump, anyway. I’ll use a maid in future. Do what you like with her - she’ll obey only you, now. But don’t expect too much intelligence from her - she’s only a machine."

"What about the chain?" I asked, taking the risk of annoying her.

"Oh for heaven’s sake, Amy," she sighed, with impatience. "I’m in a hurry."

Yvonne touched the shackle through Kim’s labia. The shackle and the attached chain fell to the floor. As Yvonne got to the edge of the verandah, she stopped and turned to me briefly.

"Thank you, Amy," she said hurriedly. "I won’t forget this."

"You’re very welcome, Yvonne," I smiled, but not feeling it.

She nodded, and then strode purposefully in the direction of the gardener’s house. Using Sandra’s words - I wondered what awful and tasteless artistic ideas she was going to come up with next. I also pondered why she’d given me Kim. I'd learnt, Yvonne rarely did anything without some sort of crafty reason.

I picked up the chain and put it in my bag. Perhaps it might come in useful, in the future.

 

8

 

I looked at Kim.

"Can you sit in that metal contraption you’re wearing?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Then sit with me," I smiled, pointing to the chair just vacated by Yvonne

Kim lowered herself into the chair and sat stiffly, waiting for me to say something.

"Can you speak?" I asked.

"Yes," Kim replied, almost in a whisper.

"Can you remove that corset of yours?" I inquired. "It can’t be very comfortable."

She shook her head.

"No," she replied. "It’s bonded to me."

That surprised me.

"Do you know why that is?" I asked.

"She said - if I was going to be a breast pump, at least I should look like the machine I am."

I shook my head in dismay.

"And knowing Yvonne," I remarked, "I'd guess your nipple rings are permanent too?"

She nodded again. I swallowed the last of the coffee in my cup.

"I'm not sure I know what to do with you," I smiled. "Is there anything you’d like to do?"

She shook her head but didn’t reply.

I took her inside the house to materialize a dress for her. She selected a light brown, earthy color, on the display. I thought it looked rather nice. As far as I knew, brown wasn’t a color any group were using as part of their uniform. She put it on - then immediately took it off again.

"Don’t you like it?" I asked

"Machines don’t wear dresses," she replied flatly.

I decided not to pursue the subject - for the time being.

"Do you eat normal food?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "But I don’t digest the milk I extract from you."

"Why is that?"

"A bottle goes inside my vagina. The milk goes there."

Without asking me first, she touched one of my udders and gave it a gently squeeze.

"I should milk you soon," Kim stated.

She was right - my udders were getting full. The problem for me was - do I let her milk me or not. If I did - I'd be treating her no better than Yvonne did. If I didn’t - I be denying her the opportunity to perform the function for which she was designed - and that would cause her anxiety.

I was beginning to see what Yvonne had done to Kim. She’d made Kim as much like a machine as she could. That made me feel uncomfortable. And there seemed nothing I could do about it. Was I trying to make an anthro more like a human? I couldn’t take her to the anthro machine room and reprogram her. Yvonne would eventually notice any changes I'd made to Kim.

"Can you milk other cows?" I asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "If you tell me to."

"Then I think, that’s what I should do with you - for the time being," I told her.

She nodded.

"Only milk cows," I instructed.

She smiled for the first time.

 

9

 

I decided to enact the release trigger. I recited a short sentence in front of the mirror next to my bed. It felt the change take place immediately.

I was still an anthro cow but I was no longer forced to obey any command Yvonne gave me. I now thought of my udders as breasts and my teats as nipples. I could chose to feed whoever I wished.

It occurred to me, I probably still thought like a cow, to some degree. I couldn’t see anything particularly wrong with that. I didn’t particularly want to become a pathetic human being again - at least not for the present. For some reason, I wasn’t quite sure of; I’d gained something valuable being a cow. I certainly didn’t want to risk losing that. The thought of returning to the hopeless and depressed human being I had been, repelled me.

Yvonne and any other anthro would now obey me - should I choose to give them a command. However, Yvonne wouldn’t be aware any changes had taken place - unless I obviously disobeyed an instruction from her. She’d continue to believe she was human - until I programmed her to think otherwise. The other anthroes would also continue to believe she was their owner and I was an anthro cow. Yvonne would remain the queen of the anthroes but I was now the power behind the throne.

The difficulty was to decide how far I should rectify some of Yvonne’s more serious abuses - now and in the future - without her becoming aware of anything being amiss. I didn’t particularly want to program her to be unaware of my interference in her control. There was a serious risk it would eventually undermine her belief, she was human. Rather than take that chance, I decided to leave her belief systems the way they were and try to work around each problem, as the need arose.

Although it wasn’t particularly pleasant being an anthro cow, it gave me something of value. For the first time in my life, I had friends. I had other people I could talk to and share things with. Perhaps it was what the psychologist had said - about the correct form of suffering. I didn’t know what the reason was, but I wanted the situation to continue as it was.

 

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.