Chapter 13 Carter
The three women turned to me with a mix of awe and fear. There was reverence in their expressions and that was the only reason why I chose not to give them a piece of my mind. The apparent leader of the group, a black-haired woman named Jen, turned to me with pleading, apologetic eyes.
“S-sir…”
“I would like a moment alone with her,” I said clearly.
No matter my phrasing, they knew better than to assume they had a choice.
Without questioning me or delaying, they took their things and walked away, towards the other end of the long corridor full of stalls.
Tiffany’s gaze dropped. I thought she might be looking at my white cow-hide boots, then I noticed her gaze lingered on the bucket, stool, sponge and similar supplies I brought with me.
“Right,” I said as I remembered the obvious.
I reached down to pull the spreader out of Tiffany’s mouth and the straw out of her nose as well.
She inhaled in relief and flexed her jaw, looking for relief.
She was gorgeous. Even in that undignified position with her face covered in tears, snot, and sweat, she was beautiful.
Undeniably so. I knelt and used the soft handkerchief from my suit to wipe her face clean.
She protested, turning to one side and then another, before finally allowing me to do it.
“I’m just trying to help you,” I told her.
“Help me? You put me here!”
“You put yourself here by sneaking onto my property. Trying to bring down my business,” I reminded her. “But now you are here. You are dirty and I’m here to help. You don’t want to get rashes, right? Infections?”
“I-I don’t. Why can’t you just let me go? I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I will keep your secret, just let me go,” she said, then added. “Let Wren and I go. You have other girls here. You can part with us, right?”
“I’m afraid not. It’s a waste of your time to ask,” I informed her, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on the corner of the stall. I folded my sleeves and moved my stool to be at her side.
I dipped the sponge in the warm, soapy water, and began brushing her sides. She smelled like piss, sweat, musty old clothes, and fear. I could at least wash the first three off her. The last one she would need to lose on her own.
She shuddered at the touch of the sponge, but soon relaxed into it.
As she did, I allowed my hands to glide across her body softly, covering her with soapy water.
I let it drip over her sides, across her arms, and her much thicker thighs.
When I brought the sponge across her legs, I noticed her tense.
The regular rise and fall of her breaths stopped.
I felt the slight tremble of her muscle against my palm.
A sign of arousal, perhaps? A subtle one dampened by fear and uncertainty, but it was there all the same.
“These spots,” I murmured, tracing my finger across one of her vitiligo spots. “They are beautiful.”
She seemed surprised. It shouldn’t shock me, but it did. The world was cruel, and many out there had obviously failed to see her properly.
“It’s my condition, it’s c-called-”
“Vitiligo?” I asked.
She seemed surprised again and simply nodded. I smiled at her, softly tracing one of the patterns down her thigh. Her muscles there tensed. As I looked towards her sex, in her spread position, I could swear I spotted a hint of wetness glistening there.
“It makes you gorgeous. Unique. Perfect,” I said honestly.
She relaxed ever so slightly. Then I worked the sponge across her ass and closer and closer to her sex. She squirmed, trying to move, but that was impossible in her position. She whimpered and tried to close her legs again.
“Mr. Hill! What are you d-doing!”
“I’m washing you,” I said, gently brushing the exterior of her folds with the sponge.
Her pussy twitched and pulsed as she squirmed. I didn’t have to guess whether she liked it. Her pussy grew pinker and, even the parts I had yet to touch, were glistening with her nectar. I could even smell her arousal in the air.
“I don’t need you to wash me …there. I’m good, I promise.”
“I don’t want you to get an infection,” I repeated.
I allowed some more friction with the sponge and I could feel how her body responded to it.
She must’ve been starving for touch, even before she was brought here.
The thought turned me on. Even in this position, even though she was terrified, she wanted to be stuffed.
I was getting hard as I moved the stool closer to her face, to sit in front of her and lean down to wash those massive, gorgeous udders. She moaned and closed her eyes.
“What were those women doing with you, my dear?” I asked casually.
“W-what? They? N-nothing. Not a thing, I swear.”
I knew she was lying. This time it was out of fear. Of them? Of me? Both?
Her nipples tightened while I washed her, making sure my hand skimmed her skin as much as the sponge.
Knowing she was turned on just made this better.
More unprofessional and improper, but better.
I grunted in delight. I pictured her hard nipples in my mouth, squirting milk down my throat.
Body-warm milk, straight from the source. My dick twitched in anticipation.
I saw her gaze lingering on the bulge in my pants. I opened my legs further, allowing her to feast her eyes on my erection, then I took a small granola bar from my back pocket.
“Hungry?” I asked, offering it to her.
“N-no.”
Maybe she wants something else in her mouth, I thought. The idea thrilled me, but I wouldn’t keep her healthy on a diet of my semen alone, as arousing as that thought was.
“Are you sure? You can waste away if you wish, but I would hate that. I'd hate not being able to see your lovely curves anymore.”
Her eyes met mine and there was a moment of hesitation before she simply opened her mouth. Much like I was feeding some hay to my favorite cow – and in a way, I was – I held the granola bar to her mouth and pet her hair as she ate. She was beautiful. She was mine.
She ate slowly at first, then greedily. I made a note to give her a special diet. All my cattle ate well, but she deserved something special. After she was done feeding, I reached for the bag I had brought with me.
“Good girl. You are a lovely calf, my dear Tiffany. I brought you a present.”
She looked at me strangely, but I chose to ignore it as I lifted the collar with her own cowbell on it. The Sunshine Sanctuary brand with the bright sun radiating its sharp rays was emblazoned on it along with her name. I placed it around her neck, clicking the lock, and then showed her the key.
“Isn’t it lovely?” I asked, pulling the mirror so she could admire the bell hanging low between her tits.
She shook her head, causing the bell to ring. I smiled tenderly.
“Only I can open it,” I said while pocketing the key. “It means you are mine. Just mine. I hope you appreciate how big a deal that is.” I got up, grabbing my jacket.
I would much rather stay, but this visit had been an unadvised indulgence in a packed schedule. I couldn’t stay longer.
“I need to go now, but I will be back soon, my beautiful calf.”
As I was walking away, I heard that bell jiggle as she shook herself in impatient, indignant fury.
“I’m not your animal!” she shouted.
I stopped, looking over my shoulder and smiling at her.
“You are adorable,” I praised. “But you are mine. Celebrate that fact.”