A La Carte Fiction - Barnyard FiascoSubmitted by Ducky at 2013-05-16 10:58:14 EDT
Rating: 1.6 on 11 ratings (18 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
It was a hot day and her scraggly tail had grown weary of swishing and swatting the flies away. Her legs and rump were covered with them. They fed on the caked on fecal matter that clung in disarray to her fur, and having had their fill, laid their eggs on her skin. Her massive skull swung low and her tongue scraped over the reachable parts of her lumbering body. The eggs hatched quickly inside her, and the larvae twisted and pushed through her, searching for the sweet glow of daylight. They twisted and bored through her hide – dancing through her epidermis like tiny larval ballerinas until finally they made contact with the filthy stink of barnyard air.
She was ashamed, or she would have been ashamed had she been capable of any form of non-cow like thought, but she wasn’t, and so she wasn’t. Instead she stood in docile resignation, feeling no need to make any sort of atonement for her filthy fly-blown condition. In addition to her diseased and rapidly deteriorating state, her udder had not been attended to in what felt like ages. The pendulous sack weebled and wobbled painfully between her legs, and protruding from it were a full set of cracked, seeping teats.
Jake should have noticed her, but the young farmhand was far too concerned with his reading. He was only 18, with the face of something that might live under a bridge, and a pair of bifocals so scuffed that they could only be causing more harm than good. There was no way he was going to get laid any time soon, as his personality was also pretty shit (and he was an idiot), so he had become increasingly ‘adventurous’ with his homemade sexual exploits, and never ceased to be amazed to find there was always a market and copious reading available for whatever his current sexual fetish happened to be.
He was pulled from his magazine by the lowing coming from the barn. Rolling it up and stuffing it down his shirt, as he was wont to do for no apparent reason, he begrudgingly strode over to the barn to see what all the fuss was about. She looked up at him wantonly and a glistening strand of mucous dripped slowly (some might say delicately) from her nose into the pile of muck she stood in. He walked over to her and was amazed to see the size her udder had grown to. A prolonged inspection made something stir in his groinal (word) area, and his breathing intensified. Slowly he reached into his shirt and retrieved his magazine, prying it open to a particularly worn and sticky section. In the full page spread, a man who had injected saline solution into his testicles so that they had swollen to the size of wintermelons stood provocatively. He wore a child’s onesie backwards with the bum flap open to display his massive globes. The sensual look on his face made Jake feel as though it was just for him.
Jake looked at the photo, and then at the swollen mess between the cows hindquarters. His arousal became so sudden, and so ferocious, that he felt the need to engage with himself in that instant lest he have a messy accident. As he fumbled with his fly, the porn fell into the muck. The cow grumbled and pissed on it almost instantly, but he didn’t care. The porn was insignificant to him now – now he had other inspiration. The focus of hard stroking threw him into a frenzied state and he couldn’t be bothered to notice the flies landing all over his skin. She flatulated loudly and looked unamused, but this only aroused him more. The flies landed on his precum soaked hand. He shook them off, proceeded to lick his hand, and as he climaxed, he jerked so hard his bifocals flew from his face and onto the ground. She made a grunting noise and shat on them before backing up and crunching them into pieces, but it hardly mattered as he had just masturbated himself into blindness anyway. The eggs made their way into his digestive tract as he slowly sauntered away. He and the cow were both dead within a month.