A Prized Hucow: Erotic Hucow Farm Short Story by Sally Moose

Author:Sally Moose [Moose, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

The communal dining area is a warm, lively space, filled with the scent of roasted corn, fresh bread, and vegetables that actually taste like they’ve been plucked from the earth, not pieced together in some sterile lab. I can hardly believe how good everything smells. It’s so different from the city, where everything was bland, gray, and artificial—nothing ever tasted real, no matter how much you paid for it. But here? The food is hearty, rich, and nourishing. Each bite seems to fill me with strength, make me more alive, more... me.

I glance around the room as I take another bite of the stew, the warm broth slipping down my throat. The other hucows are seated around the long wooden tables, but I’m keenly aware of how the farmhands’ attention keeps drifting toward me. It’s a subtle thing at first, the way their eyes linger on me longer than they do on the others, but soon it’s impossible to miss. They’re watching me, devouring me with their gazes as if I’m something to be admired, worshipped. And it’s not just because of my body—although, God knows, my body has changed so much since I got here.

I lean back in my chair, feeling the stretch of my now heavy breasts, full and aching with milk. My nipples are sensitive, brushing against the fabric of my shirt with every slight movement. The farmhands love to remind me how perfect I’ve become for milking. The thought sends a tingle down my spine. I know it should feel strange, the way they talk about me, about how fertile and productive I am, but all I can feel is pride. They make me feel beautiful, like I’m the most important person here. Like I’m the favorite.

And maybe I am.

The thought warms me, and I find myself smiling despite the blush creeping across my cheeks. Back in the city, I was nobody. Just another face in the crowd, moving through a dull, monotonous life. But here, I’m something special. Here, I’m wanted.

One of the farmhands —his name escapes me— steps up behind me. I feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, and then he’s leaning in closer.

“Enjoying the food?” he asks, his voice sends a wave of heat straight through me.

I turn my head slightly to meet his gaze, and he grins down at me, his eyes flicking to my chest, where my breasts strain against the fabric of my shirt. He’s not shy about it, not like the men in the city who would stare but pretend not to. Here, they’re open about their desire, about the way they look at me like I’m a feast laid out just for them.

“It’s delicious,” I say, almost shy. “Better than anything I ever had in the city.”

His grin widens, and his hand slides from my shoulder to the curve of my neck, his fingers stroking the skin there with a tenderness that makes me shiver. “You’re looking stronger,” he says, his eyes drifting down to my chest again.

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