The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide Ch. 01


Disclaimer: All individuals in this story are eighteen or older. This is intended as a work of fiction, not a legitimate instruction manual. The author does not condone sexual acts with non-consenting participants. Please enjoy. Constructive feedback is appreciated.

The Unofficial Cowgirl Guide


Congratulations on your decision to enter the human dairy business. Whether you plan on starting your own dairy or just want a cowgirl or two for personal use, the decision to buy a cowgirl is one that must not be taken lightly. Owning a cowgirls is a major investment of both time and money, and as the saying goes, you get out of it what you put into it. Even a prize cowgirl from a professional breeder won’t produce if she doesn’t get the care, discipline, and stimulation she needs. Having said that, the pleasures and profits of owning a cowgirl are beyond words. If you have the time, resources, and strength of will, I highly recommend it.

This guide isn’t meant to be an instruction manual. I’m not going to bother getting into the regulations, licenses, and other legalese that goes into this business. What I will do is provide you with some highlights of my twenty-five years of experience buying, training, milking, breeding, and selling cowgirls in the hopes that it helps you avoid some of the pitfalls of the human dairy industry.

1. Buying a Cowgirl

Buying a cowgirl is the first decision you’ll make in the business, and arguably the most important. There’s a lot more to it than finding a fuckable girl with a big set of tits. There’s more to a cowgirl than her udders. Breeding, upbringing, and personality all have a part to play. Where and who you buy from will have a significant impact on your future endeavors.

a. Licensed Breeder

Buying from a licensed breeder is easily the safest and easiest way to purchase a cowgirl. Getting a license is no easy task. Neither is raising girls for eighteen years, then selling them to another man. Over the last twenty years, I’ve personally impregnated over a dozen cowgirls multiple times, siring nearly a hundred future cowgirls in the process. Every time one of my daughters turns eighteen, I personally inspect and train her, ensuring that she is completely obedient and produces at least two gallons of milk a day before she’s ready for sale. Needless to say, when you buy from a breeder, you’re getting your money’s worth.

Unfortunately, you’ll need a small fortune to purchase even a single cowgirl from a professional breeder. My girls go for about five hundred thousand dollars each, more if they are particularly gifted milk wise. Considering a single cowgirl can bring in over three million dollars while she’s viable, and more if you decide to breed her, it’s a worthwhile investment. Still, most people don’t have that kind of money when they first start out, so you may have to wait a while before you buy from a pro.

There were a dozen lined up against the wall. They were all about the same age, give or take a few years, but that was about the only thing they had in common. One was a short redhead, with creamy freckle covered skin. Another was taller and thinner, with caramel skin and jet black hair, Indian or Arab perhaps. There was a pair of curvy black girls, sisters, possibly even twins.

There were others too, some white, some Hispanic. The one that caught my eye was the seventh in the line. She was a perfect blend of Asian and Caucasian, with the silky hair and delicate features of her mother and the robust and generous figure of her western heritage. Small wonder the owner had decided to breed. The udders on this one seemed too big to be allowed, easily the size of basketballs. They encompassed her entire ribcage, hanging just a few inches above her navel.

“Good choice,” Mr. Crawford said. “Sold her sister last week. Dee One-Seven here’s up to four gallons a day, long as she’s well hydrated.”

“Mind if I try a sample?” I asked, my throat suddenly parched.

“Of course,” he replied magnanimously, snapping his fingers.

Another cowgirl, just as lovely as the rest, albeit considerably less well-endowed appeared with an empty glass. She held it below Dee’s teat, grasping at the mass of flesh as best she could. Dee reached up and pressed down on the top of her udder with both hands. A thick spray of milk shot into the glass with such force, it seemed as though the poor cowgirl was in danger of dropping it. In less than two seconds, the glass was completely full.

I took the glass in hand, amazed at the warmth the liquid radiated from within. I took a first tentative sip, then greedily gulped the glass down, oblivious to the fact that my drink was easily worth at least twenty dollars.

“How much?” I gasped as I wiped my mouth, attempting to regain my composure.

The number of zeros on the contract was frightening, but less so than the notion of leaving without her. I know a good investment when I see it.

b. Home Raised

Many large Ataşehir Fetiş Escort farms include multiple generations of cowgirls. It is not uncommon for a man to breed his cowgirls, raise their offspring to maturity, and then train up the next generation as a brand new milking herd. A less common but still viable option is to train your daughter as a cowgirl yourself instead of selling her. “Keeping it in the family” is a cost effective way of maintaining a herd for multiple generations.

If you intend to pursue this route, bear in mind that it is imperative that you treat these cowgirls just like you would any others. To put it bluntly, if you are uncomfortable with milking and fucking your daughter, you should probably sell her to someone that’s willing to do it.

Another word of caution: although instances of genetic defect due to inbreeding are relatively rare, it is recommended that you introduce new genetic material whenever possible. There’s nothing wrong with asking a friend to impregnate your offspring for you when the time comes.

Lily’s mother was a birthday present from my old man. I didn’t have much interest in the dairy business, but her udders paid my tuition and her cunt kept my dick wet, so I was pretty happy all the same.

Knocking her up wasn’t even something I planned. Some jackass at the pharmacy gave me the wrong vial and within a few months she was starting to swell.

When Rose started pushing forty, I figured her udders were due to dry up pretty soon. I didn’t think about buying another cowgirl, but I enjoyed having fresh milk, a ready cunt, and steady supplemental income.

Lily’s tits had come in with a vengeance when she hit puberty, and by the time she was eighteen, I knew what I had to do.

“Dad? Where are my clothes?” Lily asked as she stepped out of the shower.

“Burn pit. Come on outside so we can get this thing started,” I replied.

“The neighbors are watching,” she whined, chewing on her lower lip.

“Well, unless you plan on never going outside again, you’re going to have to get used to that. C’mon, let’s see those udders,” I said sternly as I yanked away the towel.

Lily’s udders large for a normal woman, and had grown considerably since her first injection, but there were mere bumps compared to the massive mammaries that twenty years of hormone therapy had granted her mother.

“Beautiful,” I murmured softly. She blushed shyly at the compliment. “Now, let’s go.”

Black smoke rose high into the sky as the vestiges of Lily’s free status burned away. Rose stroked her hair as she drew our naked daughter’s face to her teat, filling her up with her own special brand of liquid courage. I took the opportunity to gently, but firmly, push the brand into Lily’s backside while she nursed. She didn’t seem to notice the fresh black lines the needles injected into her flesh.

A few of the neighbors were watching from across the street. Rose was the only cowgirl on the block, so naturally they were fascinated by her. I even went as far as to set up her milking stall on the front porch so everyone could enjoy the show.

For a moment, I thought about taking Lily inside, letting her first time be in the privacy and comfort of her own home. But I knew that if I did that, I would be making love to my daughter instead of fucking my cowgirl. So, I did the latter. I gently drew her from her mother’s udder, then had her brace against the porch rail, facing directly at the gathering crowd. I kicked her legs wide apart, then dropped my pants around my ankles.

Ever dutiful, Rose leaned down over my cock, soaking it with a warm spray from her fat udders. I could see from the glistening on my daughter’s cunt that lubrication wasn’t going to be an issue, but I appreciated the gesture all the same.

I grasped Lily’s rump, squeezing firmly as I thrust inside her. I’d forgotten how tight a barely legal cunt can be. As I felt her final resistance give way, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of two generations of sex and milk, I knew this was the best decision I ever made.

c. Private Sale

Private sales, while similar to breeder sales, come with a unique set of advantages and disadvantages. The biggest advantage is that anyone can sell a cowgirl privately. This means far more competitive prices than you could hope for when buying from a professional breeder.

The biggest disadvantage is that anyone can sell a cowgirl privately. The cowgirl in question could be a high school dropout that daddy got sick of wasting money on. Hormones and big tits do not a cowgirl make. Basically, buying a cowgirl from a private seller instead of a breeder is kind of like buying a truck from a random individual instead of from a licensed dealership. You might get a good deal, but you also might get a lemon.

I wasn’t surprised when Tom offered to sell me his daughters. As he put it, “the dairy business is a young man’s game,” and though Tom had plenty of years Ataşehir Gecelik Escort left in him, keeping up with a bunch of horny naked young cowgirls was beyond his stamina.

Tom was also old-fashioned. While he never had any intention of letting his daughters go off to, “get knocked up by some random asshole,” he had hard time with the idea of selling them. Still, keeping them wasn’t an option. Young cowgirls need cock as much as they need air, and Tom just couldn’t bring himself to give them the fucking they deserved.

They weren’t a bad bunch by any stretch. Pretty, decent set of udders, though it was obvious they weren’t getting their shots as often as they should, probably in an ill-conceived attempt to curb their sex drives. I slipped my fingers in each one’s cunt as I inspected them. Though suitable wet, the girls shuddered at my touch, fear mixed in with their arousal. Predictably, Tom suddenly found the wall very interesting.

“When was the last time you wore clothes?” I asked the oldest.

“Yesterday,” she replied. I glared at Tom, who shrugged sheepishly.

I pitied the poor creatures before me. They were strung in that strange limbo between person and property, human and animal.

“A thousand dollars for the lot,” I said dispassionately.

Tom sputtered. “That’s only two-fifty a head!”

“It’ll cost four, five times that to get them trained up properly,” I gritted. “Thousand for the lot, or I walk.”

Tom sighed, “I should have gotten out of this business a long time ago.”

“Like you always say. Young man’s game,” I replied softly.

“You’re not going to breed them, are you?” he asked. I raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll fuck them. But breeding them’s not really an option, is it?” I asked rhetorically.

Tom shook his head as he signed the paperwork. I smiled reassuringly at my new cowgirls as I guided them to the van that would take them to their new home. As I was buckling my seatbelt, Tom leaned against the open window’s ledge, looking me square in the eye.

“Take care of your sisters for me.”

d. Prison

The penal system, while still a viable method of obtaining a cowgirl, is quite possibly the least desirable. Women in correctional facilities are, by definition, criminals, and therefore have difficulty adhering to human social norms, let alone that of a cowgirl. The majority of the prison population is ineligible to this variation of the “early release” program. Only select, non-violent offenders that meet strict industry standards are eligible.

Essentially, the prisoner serves out the remainder of her sentence as a cowgirl in the custody of the lease holder. By assuming custody, he assumes responsibility for her, and is therefore liable if she escapes and/or commits another crime. In addition, the cowgirl is only legally beholden to him through the duration of her sentence. Once it ends, she is free to resume the life of a free woman if she so chooses.

Despite the risks, there are certain advantages. Lease agreements are generally at no cost to the holder, making this the second most popular method of, “getting cow and milk for free.” Also, if properly conditioned, many former prisoners opt to remain cowgirls indefinitely. The promise of free room and board, plus all the sex you could possibly want is an alluring one.

I was intrigued when I discovered that the man across the table wasn’t my lawyer. He was young, had all his hair, clean cut with a flannel shirt and blue jeans. He looked like something out of a tractor commercial.

I assumed he was somebody important, since the guards had deemed it necessary to use the table shackles on me. I hadn’t so much as gotten in a single scuffle since I’d been in, and I’d hadn’t been in restraints since I was in court, so I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

“Hey stranger,” I said flirtatiously. Couldn’t hurt, right? “What brings you here?”

“I’m here to request that you be transferred into my custody,” he said matter-of-factly. He looked me over, same eye-rapey way some of the guards and lezzie inmates looked me over. Didn’t mind it so much from him though, so I gave it a pass.

“Interesting. If you don’t mind me asking, why the fuck would you want to do that?” I asked bluntly. I didn’t mean to come off as hostile, but up until this point, most of the people I encountered didn’t exactly have my best interest at heart.

“Your tits,” he replied. Damn. Farm boy could be blunt too.

“What about them?” I asked, curiosity mingling with self-consciousness.

“Under the right circumstances, they’re worth a lot of money,” he said as he opened a briefcase. Silently he placed a gleaming syringe on the table.

“What’s that for?” I asked, suddenly nervous. He didn’t reply. Instead, he walked behind me and pulled the chair out from under me without warning. I stood up out of the awkward squat the restraints had me forced into, which left me bent over the table.

“What Ataşehir Genç Escort the fuck are you doing?” I yelled, hoping the guards would intervene. They either didn’t hear, or didn’t care.

“Don’t struggle. You’ll injure yourself if you struggle,” he explained calmly. He could have been describing an air conditioner. I felt his hands grip the elastic around my waist, then felt the cool air hit my skin as my pants and underwear were dragged to the floor.

I waited for him to enter me, hoping it would be over quickly. Instead I felt a pin prick on my right butt cheek, followed by a cold knot in my flesh.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I demanded, trying my best not to cry.

“You’ve been selected as a candidate for the Cowgirl Privatized Custody Program. I’ve been sent to evaluate you,” Flannel Man explained.

“What are you talking about?”

“Instead of remaining in prison, you’ll serve the duration of your sentence at Bluefield Dairy. I’ve injected you with an extremely potent hormone booster and aphrodisiac. It should take effect…quickly,” he clarified patiently.

I was about to ask what he meant when I was overwhelmed with this tingling sensation. It radiated from my core into my chest. My breasts grew warm, and I could feel them beginning to swell. My skin stretched out, like previously firm tits filling up like a pair of water balloons. Thank god I wasn’t wearing a bra.

My nipples began to press against the previously loose fabric of my ill-fitting top as my ever-expanding tits filled the space. I felt cool metal against my back, followed by the sound of tearing fabric. Flannel Man cut away the sleeves, allowing the destroyed garment to fall to the floor.

Flannel Man whistled. “Impressive,” he said. “Never seen udders grow this fast.”

I couldn’t see my tits, but god could I feel them. They certainly felt like udders. The skin was stretching tighter and tighter, and a dull ache began to drown out all other sensations, save for the slickness between my thighs that betrayed my excitement. I felt like I was going to burst.

“Please,” I begged, not sure what I was pleading for, “get it out of me. Get it out!”

Flannel Man withdrew what appeared to be an oversized breast pump from his suitcase. He placed it on the ground below me and flicked the switch, and a pulsating mechanical whir filled the air. He brought the plastic funnels to my swollen chest, and each one drew my nipple inside the hole like a vacuum.

Relief, sweet relief. I could feel the milk being drawn from my body, each pulse eliciting an involuntary moan. A rich diary smell flooded the room as milk, my milk, filled the pump’s reservoir.

“So,” I grunted, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, “I take it this means you’re not going to rape me?”

“No, I’m not going to rape you. It’s illegal to have sex with a woman without her consent,” he answered demurely, walking behind me. I heard his belt buckle hit the floor, followed by a familiar pressure against my slit.

“Fortunately, you are no longer a woman,” he whispered as he slid inside me. “You are a cowgirl. And cowgirls cannot withhold consent.”

e. Volunteers

“Volunteer” is kind of a misnomer. The legal term is Voluntary Abdication of Personhood, but most “volunteers” are poor desperate women who are willing to sacrifice their freedom to be fed, housed, and cared for. Watch out for this group. They tend to be undernourished, undisciplined, and often come with an assortment of baggage, including STDs, drug addiction, and unlicensed children. You might find a diamond in the rough, but for the most part, they’re more trouble than they’re worth.

Converts on the other hand are a much more desirable group to work with. Your typical convert is convinced by her boyfriend or husband to become his cowgirl. It takes a lot of patience, subtlety, and force of will to convince a free woman to willingly become property, but it can be done. Converting your girlfriend or even your wife into a cowgirl is a cost-effective way to start a herd, particularly if you’re low on capital.

A word of caution: although it is possible to reverse a cowgirl’s psychological conditioning and mitigate the physical effects of her transformation, it is highly unlikely that you will be able to return your relationship to its previous state. In the back of your mind, she will always be the domesticated creature whose udders you milked and whose cunt you fucked at will. Therefore, if it is your intention to transform a woman you are currently in a relationship with into a cowgirl, I highly recommend that you do so permanently.

Sadie was my first cowgirl, or at least the first one I owned. I was a trainer for about five years before we met and by the time we moved in together, I was itching to buy a herd of my own. Cowgirl training pays alright, but it’s nowhere near enough to finance a private sale, especially from a breeder.

On our first date, Sadie was quick to proclaim that she was a three date minimum girl. Ninety minutes later she was bent over the side of my truck on the side of a dirt road, her ample tits bouncing in the breeze as I pounded her from behind. She complained about losing her panties on the way home. I told her not to bother wearing them anymore.

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