Trawling through some ancient and I mean ancient pages of a bestiality website, the seeds of a story emerged which I could easily germinate, using the original text, poorly written. Here it is in fully grown mode with extras.

The Dorset night was warm, muggy ... humid is the correct term I suppose. As for the umpteenth time I couldn’t sleep at my bro’s farm cottage. I guessed it was the still, calm night, so quiet and I was used to city noise, all night. Carl worked part time, summer job, on a farm owned by a widowed old lady, I’d had never met, but according to Carl, for her age, he didn’t know that, she was most attractive yet unfriendly old cow as he called her when not in earshot.

I was randy as hell, not only because my city girlfriend had dumped me because she’d found bestiality porn on my computer, stupid fucker that I am, but for some reason I was drawn to reading about and watching videos of human/animal sex. Animals in the surrounding paddocks were more than interesting as I got to observe them mating, seeing it live rather than on my screen at home in Wimbledon, London. I managed to accumulate a lot of time, by working long our and getting rest periods, so I often stayed at Carl’s country retreat – that’s a laugh, but we enjoyed each others company and had a ball.

I’d left The Rack and Manger, the local pub, alone for a change, as he was at some place on a course so I diverted across the grassy public footpath rather than the lanes as it was a moonlit evening. It wasn’t a walk but at that time, 11.45, the air was full of gorgeous scents of trees, grass, shrubs and wildlife. My mind was on Emma, the barmaid at the pub. She was fat, about mid 30s, several chins, tiny but pleasant mouth, sparkly blue eyes and the most delicious looking tits which were exposed whenever she bent for a bottle or glass below the bar. She was the fiancée of Eddie, the licensee at the pub.

There was a cow in the paddock near the path. I knew her name was Daisy, Mrs Arbuthknot-Mattingly the widow in the big house, according to Carl, apparently named all of her animals and pets, stupid idea to me, but everyone etc etc ... The old lady gave them all a good home - the budgies, cat and dog, cows, rabbits, ponies, sheep, goats, even Alpacas were always well fed and watered, often by her. I had udders on my mind as I spotted Daisy, a young cream and ginger Jersey, near the post and rail fence, with crucially no barbed wire along the top. She had short, curling horns and those deep, dark eyes all cows have. I’d read about getting to know animals for a while before one attempts to further the relationship, older animals that haven’t been handled can take months before their willing to do it with a person. In the city I had just thought about it, never imagining I would get the opportunity.

I took a chance. Daisy watched me as I approached her, curious of a new strange human. She looked fine, the moon light highlighting every feature of her body. I climbed the fence and she shuffled away, but keeping an eye on me until she was cornered, in a corner. I didn’t threaten, standing back a few yards then grabbing some hay off the grass I offered it. After a few minutes of indecision, she stepped close and took my peace offering, my love token, because by now my libido was high and I was horny with evil dirty thoughts, slightly inebriated I must admit.

Wary, but gaining confidence and secure in this remote gone midnight situation, I decided that Daisy was ready for the next step, moving to her side. I ran one hand firmly from the base of her head along her thin neck to the top of her shoulders while bringing the other from the centre of her hips to meet in the small of her back. She seemed to be happy with my hand on her. After a few of these strokes she was relaxed and receptive and I hoped willing to take more. I rubbed the end of her tail where the long hair starts but kept up the long soothing strokes on her back her sides and rump. I placed both hands on either side of her butt cheeks and softly massaged them in a circular motion, until she arched her back and dumped a huge load of shit – nearly on my feet, but I was clean. Then she arched her back again. It gave me a clue, was she in season? I didn’t know about bovine mating but assumed line many animals ready to mate they offered their rear ends.

Fondling her small pink pussy bits together, she seemed to plant her rear legs. Then gently her lips just opened. I knew mares and fillies winked. Once again my research reading, which was flooding my memory, told me it seemed young cows react very well to this handling as it awakens a part of their body they don’t really understand, but maybe they sense a bull is sniffing around. I stood close behind her and unzipped my jeans, my dick had been growing since I began.

I spread my fingers below Daisy’s pussy and gently stroked upwards, this made her lower again, arching her back, ready to receive. I went on to massage her rump as my other softly guided my dick slowly into her very pliable vagina. Our respective heights couldn’t have been better planned. I’ve felt it many times but the feel of a warm tight pussy sliding over my rod was bliss, but that was a girl. Daisy’s ears flipped and settled as I continued stroking her rump, sliding in and out of her was a new feeling we both seemed to like.

I could feel the pressure building inside. I firmly held both sides of her hips pulling her onto me as I pushed deep into her pulsing cunt to blow my load. Her ears pricked several times. I orgasmed relishing a totally new and mind blowing experience, knowing I was a virgin at bestiality but from now on a convert and determined practitioner. Daisy and I, allowed a long comfortable soak and softening of my cock, until after a slow withdraw I zipped up a smothered her in affection. Daisy showed all the signs of a cow that had just learnt something new, just like me.

I returned to the cottage to to enter my experience on the Beast Forum and being totally engrossed in that world, read and studied other folks stories. Weather permitting I managed two further cow love meetings, but the autumn season was in play and nights weren’t welcoming, in terms of being naked or half naked in a field. I needed to find out where Daisy would winter.

One day in October I had to get an urgent family message to Carl and there was no signal for our mobiles, so mid afternoon I trudged reluctantly, through persistent rain past the big house, then to the farm buildings, not finding him. On the way back I made a diversion just for the sake of seeing Daisy in the meadow, but she wasn’t there, neither were her pals, the Alpacas. Then I saw their long necks and weird heads in another paddock but no Daisy. I walked on, getting near to where she normally hangs out and then saw her on the public footpath ahead of me, near to a broken section of the post and rail fence. I easily got her back in and shoved the broken timbers in some sort of shape to prevent any further escapes but not for long, such was my expertise with timber repairs. I am a security officer at a huge business park.

I retraced my steps, still no sign of Carl or anyone for that matter, so I approached the manor. In the parking area was a dark blue Mercedes. I rang the ornate ancient bell, luckily being able to shelter under the classic arched porch. “Yeeeess?” drawled the lady’s cultured, deep voice, looking at my wet bedraggled state through piercing ice blue eye, behind ornate off white business style spectacles. “Er ... thought I’d better tell someone, the fence is broken ... down there,” I waved at the footpath. “Your cow had escaped but I got her back and patched the fence but it won’t last long...” “What Daisy? Oh no, was she OK?” “Yeah, what I could see she was fine, but you know, the weather, I didn’t fully examine her, well I don’t know much about cows...” “Oh thank god,” the lady gasped, with hidden reservations. “I’ll get Carl ... Oh no he’s at market with Benny, Oh dear, but thank you thank you.”

Her haughty, starchy attitude had frozen quickly and I guess it was because I’d given her bad news about her obviously much loved bovine. “Who are you anyway?” she challenged, the upper crust inner person re-emerging. “Mick, Carl’s brother, staying a few days with him,” I explained getting some nods. “Would you like a job too Michael?” she asked. “Could do with another maaaan,” she drawled. “He’s often overloaded.” She was eyeing my beefy but toned stature, not tall but strong and weather beaten, especially today. In the meantime since encountering her at the door, I had been eyeing her up, disregarding her posh, studied tones. ‘My Lady’ as that’s how I thought of her was tall, slender, I guessed late fifties at the least, in a silver grey dress to mid-calf that clung all the way down from scooped neckline, I made out the tops of her bra through the thin material, stopping short of her nylon sheathed knees. Surprisingly at this time of day, she wore very high, matching grey high heels. Well turned ankles too – one surprisingly sporting a delicate gold chain. Her hair was classic fair brown going grey, elegantly styled and her neck and wrists were adorned with tasteful jewellery and a classy watch.

Behind the glasses, she wasn’t what I would call, as Carl did, most attractive, but the whole aura was. Her face was harsh and bony, thin pale skin taut over sharp features, prominent hook nose, thin lips and a few significant lines. Her chin was narrow and jutting. “Look come in, I must thank you,” she told me stepping back and ushering me in from the weather although I was wet through. Immediately I took in the obvious extravagance of just the entrance hall, beyond admiring her trim but curvy arse and definite VPL. Being in security from leaving school, I had served time in very grand places as well as not so grand, some blatantly exhibiting their wealth as ‘My Lady’ did. Paintings, bronzes and just the sheer smell and look of our surroundings reeked cash in a big way. “Stay there,” she commanded and stalked away, heels clicking rhythmically on the polished parquet floor against a back track of the shimmering swish of her fully fashioned stockings, along a corridor. A couple of minutes later, I was rewarded with a £20 note, handed from bony unpainted fingers and no rings – odd - thinking about the rest of her finery. In her absence I viewed a few photographs. She was featured in all of them and she quite clearly moved in exalted circles.

“Thanks very much ... er? I stuttered. “My name is Esme. I won’t bore you with all the others. You sure you don’t want a job, I need a cow man,” she said pointedly. It was a dream job n a way thinking of Daisy and maybe other tasty milkers. “Thanks but I am sorted, but again I’d love to. I’m a city bloke you know, in security. It’s nice to get down here and relax, see Carl, do brother stuff and...” “Come with me,” Esme beckoned me with a haughty, crooking forefinger. We went past a sumptuously furnished sitting room into a room big enough to house Carl’s farm cottage, which turned out to be an office. Certificates, photographs, citations adorned the walls and on the desk were two huge Apple monitors. Esme sat on a maroon, ancient, battered captains chair, which matched the Chesterfield sofa she indicated I should perch myself. I didn’t want to sit, mainly because my clothes were soaked and uncomfortable, they were better, sort of hanging on me and what I would have done to the sofa I don’t know but she ordered me to sit, so I did. She clicked a keyboard, while I gazed around, noticing some pictures, some painted and photos of thoroughbred horses.

“Michael, look at this,” she instructed, gesturing at one of the monitors. “It’s Mick ... er Esme by the way, no one calls me Michael...” “That’s immaterial,” she snapped. “I do, but look.” The screen showed what I thought was dark countryside, but the trees and hedges moved slightly, until Esme took control using a mouse, which I hadn’t used for years, and a shadowy figure was zoomed in on. The figure in a dark tee-shirt and jeans, hopped over a post and rail fence where a small cow was grazing. I was amazed that the figure, molested the animal and then fucked it. It wasn’t brutally done, there was a natural love and caring attitude, then the figure left the cow and turned, exposing a face and hopped back over the fence and was seen walking away.

My face must have been a picture. Esme’s face scowled at me, then she replayed the video. “Enjoy yourself Michael? Maybe that’s why you made the effort to take her back and repair the fence?” “IIII ... I I I” “Don’t waste energy explaining, it’s all captured on here and several other times. Very very incriminating,” she murmured. “Look I ... I I I,” “I’ll show you something else,” she told me clicking again. I could see logos and text, some colour designs, some cartoon like images of what looked like paws and hoofs, all fast forwarded, then a full real time screen scene of men with horses, girls with pigs, men with kangaroos, girls with kittens, you name it, a full on beastiality video, beautifully produced linked and edited - even some brief music at the start. “But ... I I dddon’t know what to ssssay,” I stuttered.

“Michael, stop grovelling. You are in trouble ... if I reported that video of you to the police ... but?” “Please don’t Mrs ... er Esme, I’ll do anything...” “Stop stop. You have done me a tremendous favour with darling Daisy and yes I’ve thanked and paid you. I have every approach to my house monitored by a special system of hidden, quite secret CCTV cameras ... and you star in three of them,” she chuckled, a bit frostily, but there was a glimmer of a smile. “With what I have in this house, I need ultra security and as I live alone, do my business from here but have minimal staff, the place is often empty for a long time hence...” She clicked elegantly, gestured gracefully and the other monitor sparked up, the screen split with about 30 windows, all in colour. It was impressive and she had succeeded in allaying my worst case scenario, with a slightly warmer way of speaking. She allowed me time to scan the screen and I could see the very footpath I used in wet, soggy day light and there was sweet Daisy munching grass. “You say you’re in security?” I explained, she listened, both realising we were discussing totally different aspects of the growing need for safety, protection and privacy. Then it was her turn.

“My dear departed William, started this business I would add from a peculiarly personal point of view. I showed an interest ... when I’m afraid I was a touch inebriated ... the best champagne I would add,” she chuckled, pursing her thin lips, as if in distaste at the memory. “It proved incredibly lucrative and we had the means to exploit – no - enjoy it, with William’s farms, the family business – a chain of kennels, pet shops and of course the horses,” she waved a hand at a group of photographs and paintings of outstanding equines, including shires. “It all stems from his father and grandfather the Right Honourable ... no you don’t need to know that, but the Irish side of the family was paramount in breeding racehorses.”

“Ah I see, the business, training racehorses. I have noted some smart liveried horse boxes in the car park, but no banks of stables like...” “They’re elsewhere, but I visit them weekly,” Esme told me. She rang an tasselled bell hanging on a fabric rope from the lovely ceiling. A burly, Oriental man appeared, immaculately turned out in uniform befitting a manservant and coffee was ordered. The screens, still live were not visible to him. “This place was built on that business Michael, but the upkeep and many contents are funded by the main business,” she chuckled. “Which is? Sorry, none of my business hah hah,” I snickered, shifting in my seat. My clothes were damned uncomfortable. “Now this is where I need to trust you implicitly and not to mention any of this to another, not even your brother. Bear in mind I do have a hold on you,” My Lady, frowned in a threatening way. The coffee arrived.