As Mallory stood there tied to her hitching post, panting and sweating underneath the pony tack in the hot sun, she thought back on how she had gotten herself into this predicament in the first place. But that only lasted briefly.

"Heads up, girl! No slacking off today!"

The young reporter's tears mixed with the sweat pouring down her face as she was unhitched and led back into the corral . . .

Brenda wasn't relishing her latest assignment -- an in-depth look at a human dairy farm. Human breast milk was all the rage now that people were getting more health-conscious and turning away from cow's milk, and farms had sprung up in which healthy young women were penned up and milked just like their bovine counterparts.

The reporter stood in front of the barn and looked into the camera as she gave her introduction to the story. ". . . and just what are these human dairy farms? Well, we are about to find out."

She stood there for a few seconds until the cameraman gave her the okay, then turned and followed the farmer into the barn. As they opened the door, the cameraman began filming once more.

Inside, Brenda had to keep from gasping in shock. It was as bad as her worst fears: naked women on either side were penned up, bent forward with their hands and hooded heads sticking out of metal stocks. She heard a soft whoosh-whoosh that seemed to be coming form everywhere at once, and noticed with horror that it synchronized with the rhythmic swaying of the milking cylinders attached to the womens' chests.

The reporter swallowed hard before continuing. "C-could you explain to us what is going on here, please?"

"Certainly," said the elderly man. He went up to the first girl and patted her on the head. "Each heifer is held in place by this holding device around their wrists and neck, and her body is held up by a leather harness which attaches to the sides of her pen."

Heifer? thought Brenda, feeling her lunch churn in her gut.

"The spandex hood they wear is called a Sensory Stimulation Hood. The cup-like things you see over their eyes provides a soothing light show, kind of like a lava lamp thing, you know? And there are earphones that fit into their ears which play soothing music all day. And these tubes that end just below their nostrils provide calming perfumed scents. All of these keep them content, but not bored.

"The straw-like tube sticking out of the mouth area is a feeding tube. You see, we just connect a bottle of liquid nutrient to the end of the tube and they drink their fill. No mess, no flies, no work."

The reporter tried to imagine what it was like, much as she didn't want to.

"Of course, all their hair has been shaved off and further growth prevented by DNA alteration. And, as you can see, they are prevented from strangling in their stocks by head harnesses which attach to the stocks behind their heads."

"And this patch on her arm?"

"That's a hormone patch to administer more hormones to the body so that she can produce more milk. And the earphones periodically play the sounds of babies crying, which also helps release the heifer's natural hormones."

Brenda had to swallow hard before she was able to speak again. "And the control device in her hand?"

"That's to stimulate the pleasure centers in her brain."

"You mean she's wired for pleasure?"

"Yep. Sex, food, memories -- whatever floats her boat."

"But what about at night?"

"They stay here twenty-four hours a day. A computer turns off their hoods at night so they can sleep, but continues to monitor them, as they have to be milked every few hours."

"B-but what about their lives? Won't they miss --?"

"They're not missing nothin' except the unemployment line. These are women who have no hope of ever finding good employment. Of course, they have to be healthy, too. College graduates are our best candidates."

The reporter tried to imagine spending four years in college, only to wind up a slave to her lactating tits.

"But isn't this barbaric?"

"Barbaric? These women are all volunteers, and we take good care of them. Let me show you something." He motioned her over to the rear of the penned woman.

"See her feet resting on that drum? We unlock it and she has to keep moving her feet to keep her balance. That way she gets her exercise every day. I know they look overweight, but they're still healthy. We can prove it, too. And while we're back here, I might as well show you the waste disposal system. That tube coming out of her ass sucks all the solid waste away as it comes out of her, and that cup over her crotch catches all the urine. Maintenance-free so they don't have to stand in their own filth."

"I see." Brenda was feeling woozy, and decided to wrap up her report. She gave a quick recap before signing off. And that was all she remembered.

Mallory stood in front of the barn and looked into the camera as she gave her introduction to the story. "One year ago today, our feature reporter Brenda Jones decided to take the plunge and find out what it was really like to be a human cow. We're here to find out how she's doing."

The reporter followed the farmer into the barn. They went to the very end, where the former reporter was penned up. The woman was naked and fifty pounds heavier now. Her massive breasts were hidden, stuffed sausage-like inside the long metal tubes of the milking machine, and she gave soft moaning sounds as her fingers played with the buttons of the control device.

Mallory remembered when her fellow reporter had been stripped, her head shaved, and her body secured in the holding pen. They had anticipated some resistance, so her liquidy feed had been heavily laced with beer to keep her calm and sedated. After that, the electronic stimulation of the brain took over, and she gave them no trouble.

Mallory turned to the camera, and the cameraman started filming. As you can see," said Mallory, "Brenda is doing just fine. How much milk is she producing now?"

The elderly farmer grinned. "She's one of our best producers. I'd say she's giving about five gallons a day."

"Wow. That's incredible. And how much longer does she plan on being here?"

"She signed a contract that can be renewed every year, but she's expressed her wish to take this to the end."

"Which could be --?"

"Another twenty, thirty years."

Mallory turned back to the camera and smiled. "Now that's dedication." The reporter signed off. After the cameraman had gone to put his equipment away, she turned to the farmer and gave a wink. "Thanks."

He nodded in agreement. The deal worked out for both of them. The farmer got a free heifer, and Mallory got rid of her closest rival. By the time Brenda was released there would be nothing she could do about it.

There was one more thing. "Let me have a little taste of her milk. Just for the sake of the story, you understand."

"Comin' right up," said the farmer. He disappeared and returned a minute later with a small glass. Mallory took and drank it down, savoring every drop.

"Mmmm. Sweet."

And that was the last thing she remembered.

When Mallory awoke, she found herself in a stall wearing a harness and bridle. The only piece of clothing she wore was a sports bra -- unless you counted the pony boots on her feet and hands. She scrambled awkwardly to feet and thrashed around, trying to free herself from the hated network of leather straps.

"It's no use."

The restrained reporter looked up to see Mitch, the lead anchor-man for the station.

"The execs decided that we needed to boost the ratings a little, and that the human cow story was getting old. How nice of you to volunteer to be a pony girl."

Mallory growled and struggled against her harness. She wanted to kill Mitch, but all she succeeded in doing was messing up her hair and working up a sweat.

"Excellent! A little rebelliousness is good. That way we can show how ponygirls are disciplined." As a demonstration, he held up a riding crop and smacked it into his hand.

The female reporter backed away, shaking her head in denial. This couldn't be happening to her! It felt as if the leather straps encircling her head and body were getting tighter and tighter, and she fought back the panic that threatened to overtake her.

"We know about that little trick you played on Brenda. So consider this payback. I'm going to train you hard, bitch. And we're filming you every day, too-- every step of the way. And by the time I'm through with you, you are going to be the most obedient and hard-working ponygirl anybody has ever seen. And guess who's going to wash you and shave you and take care of all your intimate needs?" Mitch's grin left no doubt as to who that person would be.

The defeated woman sagged against the corner of her stall. Mitch took that as his cue, and he entered and clipped reins to her bit rings, then dragged the resisting woman out towards the corral. Bob, one of the station's cameramen, was already there, filming her as she was brought out. She stumbled along, her face reddening with shame even as her heart sank, knowing that her life from now on was going to be a living hell.

Mitch turned to the camera. "First, we're going to put her through some basic steps -- trotting, cantering, galloping -- just to make sure she has those mastered before we go on to the more advanced stuff."

Mallory was hooked up to the training carousel, which began to pull her around and around in circles . . .

Brenda was not released, as it was believed that the trauma of what had been done to her would be too great for her to bear. Plus the lawsuits.

Mitch trained Mallory as a show pony, documenting every minute of it. He made her perform all the dressage maneuvers that she could, working her to exhaustion day after day, even after she had perfected all the moves. He trained her to the point where she had to respond to subtle cues from his hands and faces, things that were barely perceptible to the average person, forcing her to pay attention to him every single moment of her training, even when she was totally spent and ready to collapse. When she missed a cue -- which was often at first -- she would get hit with the riding crop, so that her ass burned constantly from the collection of red stripes she had earned.

Sugar cubes and pieces of fruit were given to her as rewards, tossed into her open mouth as Mitch patted her head and praised her in baby-talk as if she were a paper-trained puppy. She was allowed short rest periods every hour, and given sports drinks to keep her from getting dehydrated. Meals consisted of either baby food or trail mix concoctions, which were put in bottles that were held inside leather feedbags that were strapped to her bridle. Mallory had to throw her head back so the food could drop through a funnel into her mouth. These moments, too, were filmed for broadcast.

And when her ass got too bruised from punishment, Mitch used a canine shock collar on her, giving her a sharp pinprick of pain on her throat every time she screwed up. At night, her feet throbbed with pain from being held in the high-heeled position from the pony boots, and she knew she would be unable to walk on her bare feet because of her shortened Achilles tendons.

But the worst was yet to come. The imprisoned reporter was tied down with her ass in the air, and Mitch branded his initials on her ass as she struggled in her restraints and screamed through her leather muzzle. Then she was tied face-up and the station call letters and network logo were tattooed on her breasts. Standing in her stall that night, her salty tears only added to the stinging pain on her decorated tits. Bikinis and low-cut bras and dresses were now out of the question.

After a year of training, he put her in a competition, the only woman in an event with real horses, making her perform all her dressage movements naked in front of a huge crowd as judges rated her performance. By this time, such a display of nudity and submission no longer bothered her, as she had long ago disassociated herself from her body; somebody else was doing these things, not her. But if that wasn't humiliating for the former reporter, she was made to watch herself when it was televised as a pay-per-view special on cable TV. Even though she didn't win, it was a ratings bonanza, and DVDs of her training and final performance became best sellers throughout the world.

Eventually, the novelty of her act wore off, and she assumed she would be set free. But Mitch had other plans for her -- he turned her into a breeding mare.

He advertised for trainers to bring their ponyboys to the farm to mate with her. The hapless reporter was strapped down on an angled bench, legs spread and ass in the air, as a succession of ponyboys fucked her from behind. This, too, was documented on film, and Mallory did not want to think about how many DVDs would be sold and how many people would watch her humiliation. At the end of each day, she was so full of cum, they had to strap a large cup between her legs as she stood in her stall at night eating dinner, her lips spread apart as the jizz slowly oozed out of her sore slit.

She never got pregnant (Mallory suspected Mitch was secretly feeding her birth control pills), and she was eventually turned into a tourist attraction. Crowds of people came from all over to watch her perform one of her shows, which took place four times a day. The corral would always be surrounded by throngs several people deep, almost all holding cameras and camcorders recording her every move. Those who paid an extra fee could hand-feed her and pet her on the head. For an extra-large fee, they could fondle her titties for thirty seconds, and a select few could go for ponycart rides or train her for half an hour. Often, she thought back to what she had done to Brenda, and felt that being a human cow wasn't such a bad life, after all.