His Hucow to Possess: A Hucow Dark Romance Novella by Sally Moose

Author:Sally Moose [Moose, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

The early morning light filters through the barn's slats, casting long shadows across the floor. I’m still lying on the bench where Mr. Owner left me, my body aching in ways I never thought possible. The sensation of his touch lingers, a phantom heat on my skin, and the memory of his body against mine sends a tremor through me.I should get up, clean myself off, and pretend like nothing happened. But instead, I find myself lying there, replaying every moment in my mind. His hands, his lips, the way he took me without hesitation, like I was made for him.

And wasn’t I?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something I’m not ready to name. My body responds to the memory with a deep ache, a desire that refuses to fade even as the reality of my situation starts to sink in.

I’ve been here long enough to understand what’s happening to me. My body, once strong and lean, is changing. Softening. My breasts are fuller, heavier, and the milk that once seemed like an aberration is now a part of me, flowing freely with each milking session. And now… now there are other changes. Small, but undeniable.

Some kind of hooves. And horns.

I close my eyes, willing the thoughts away, but they persist, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. I feel my feet, the subtle shift in the structure, the way the bones seem to be reshaping themselves. It’s subtle, for now, but the signs are there. And the horns… they’re just tiny bumps under my hair, barely noticeable, but I can feel them when I press my fingers to my scalp.

I’m changing, becoming something else. Something less human, more… hucow.

Mr. Owner’s praise rings in my ears, a twisted kind of reward that fills me with both pride and dread. He’s pleased with me, pleased with the way my body is responding, the way I’m producing. And a part of me—God, a part of me revels in that praise. In the knowledge that I’m doing exactly what he wants, that I’m fulfilling the role he’s carved out for me.

But another part of me, the part that’s still clinging to who I was before, recoils at the thought. I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always so eager to please, so willing to submit. There was a time when I would have fought back, when I would have rather died than become what I am now.

What am I now?

The question hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive, as I finally force myself to sit up. My muscles protest, sore from the intensity of last night’s encounter, but I ignore the discomfort. I have to move, to do something, anything, to shake off the thoughts that are beginning to overwhelm me.

But as I stand, the ache between my legs reminds me of the pleasure, of the way he made me feel, and I’m caught in a vicious cycle of desire and disgust. I

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