Page 4 of Runaway Hucow

Her dreams had been dark ones. Nightmares of unspeakable pleasure. This time, instead of a single giant in furs, there had been three of them, and they had shared her body in the most shameful ways imaginable. At first they had taken turns rutting her. Then they had used her all together, two of them thrusting between her thighs while the third one fed her his seed. After they were finished, it had been Tess’s turn to feed them—one on each breast, suckling, while the third feasted between her open legs.

She’d woken gasping and covered in gooseprickles. She was wearing her shift again, and the fabric beneath her crotch was damp with her arousal. There were two smaller wet spots on her chest, and for a moment Tess had thought her nipples had leaked while she was sleeping, but that was impossible. Her breasts had never produced milk before. Her body wasn’t capable of it.

Her new owner was going to be unhappy when he figured that out.

Hucows like Tess were a relatively new species. Along with alphas, omegas, harpies, centaurs, and a few other creatures, hucows had come into existence only four decades earlier, in the aftermath of what folks called the Occurrence of ’49. Almost immediately, men had figured out ways to exploit hucows for money. Their breasts produced a rich, creamy milk that many people preferred over regular cow’s milk, and it also took a lot longer to spoil, which meant it could be shipped east by train or by airship. It didn’t take long for the humilk industry to become big business, and farmers tended to push their hucows hard, wringing every drop of precious liquid from their bodies.

White gold, some folks called it.

Tess hated to think what her new owner would do to her when he found out she wasn’t capable of producing white gold for him. Still, it probably wasn’t as bad as whatever punishment the auctioneer would have given her if she hadn’t sold.

She wished she could escape, but the shackle around her ankle made it impossible. She gave her chain a couple of futile tugs, then she stopped and listened.

Somebody was coming.

A man was approaching the stable, singing loudly. From the sound of it, he was extremely drunk. There was a jangle of keys, followed by the click of a lock being unfastened. Then the door to the stable swung open, and a small figure stepped inside.

It was the auctioneer.

The little man was still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing at the auction, but now his bowler hat was sitting somewhat askew, and he reeked so strongly of whisky, Tess could smell him from all the way across the stable. He was carrying an oil lantern in one hand, and a ring of keys in the other.

“Well there she is,” the man slurred. “The prize pig… er, prize cow, I mean. Whatsa matter, sweetheart? You look surprised to see me.”

“I figured you’d be out showing my new owner everything Crooked Valley has to offer,” Tess said coldly. She knew she should probably keep her mouth shut, but she just couldn’t.

The auctioneer hung the lantern on a hook by the door. The ring of keys went on a nail next to it. “I dropped him off hours ago at Madame Bianca’s Boudoir.”

“Didn’t feel like joining him?”

Tess’s voice was filled with bitterness. She knew she shouldn’t provoke the man, especially when he was drunk, but she simply couldn’t help herself. The auctioneer turned to her with an ugly, lopsided grin.

“My dear girl, why would I waste my hard-earned money on those painted ladies when I can have you for free?”

Tess’s stomach churned with fear and disgust as the man staggered toward her across the stable. Under other circumstances, she probably could have fought the little man off. At the very least, she could have outrun him. But tonight she was chained, and that made running impossible.

Suddenly, an idea came to her.

Not a brilliant idea, perhaps, but an idea nonetheless.

Tess lifted herself up into a kneeling position, and she slid her hands down her sides and over her hips, pulling the fabric of her shift tight against the curves of her body.

“I’m glad you came,” she said in the sultriest voice she could muster. “I was getting ever so lonely here by myself.”

The little auctioneer stopped dead in his tracks and blinked at her drunkenly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. Then his grin returned, even bigger and uglier than before. Something twitched inside his britches. Tess did her best to conceal her disgust.

“Lonely?” the auctioneer slurred as he began moving toward her again. “Well now, it sounds like you need a man to keep you company.”

“That’s right,” Tess said. “A big, strong man who knows how to make a woman feel good. An experienced man who knows what to do with these…”

Biting back her feelings of repulsion, Tess pulled the front of her shift up to her chin, exposing her chest to the warm, yellow glow of the lantern. She knew she would hate herself for it later, but if her plan was going to work, she needed the little bastard to be totally blinded by lust. She bobbled her bare breasts enticingly with her hands, and the auctioneer’s eyes got so big they looked as though they might pop right out of his head.

“Hot damn! You’re feeling mighty sportin’ tonight, ain’t you? Hell, I almost regret having to sell you. Almost…”

He came stumbling forward, his hands outstretched toward her naked chest. At the last moment, just before those hands reached her, Tess tugged her shift back down and turned aside.

“Wait!” she cried.

Thankfully, the auctioneer stopped. “Eh? What’s the matter, darlin’?”