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Written by Choice Cuts Deli

Commission for Beaux_Bull | June 2021 | 4671 Words

Today was not going well for Beaux. That was, of course, an understatement; the brown-and-white furred longhorn trucker's whole week had been nothing but awful. Something must have busted in his air ride seat, because by Tuesday the slow leak in his suspension had already turned his butt into an uncomfortable approximation of steak tartare on the hoof. The frustrating mechanical failure was but a prelude to his troubles this week. It was not unheard of for dispatch to send him detailed instructions, only to change his priorities mid-way through his day. His text logs for the past week looked more akin to a crazed religious screed than actual orders. Directions, countermanded directions, changes in cargo, and of course the dreaded, 'meet up with Tony to swap loads.' Beaux could not stand that dumbass even in the best of situations. And this week was not the best of situations.

To add insult to injury, the hefty bull woke up this damp Wednesday morning to find his usual role had changed. This turn of events was less than optimal. You see, Beaux was a flatbed trucker. He could certainly tell you why, in excruciating detail, you can't just turn a flatbed truck into a different sort of hauler. There were cables and wires and other fittings to worry about. But you wouldn't really get it, so just know that Beaux only ever drove flatbed loads. Rolling over in his bunk at the start of the day, Beaux found that the slave-driving fox at dispatch sent him a disheartening message.

"Pickup 7AM @ Movion Chemicals. 2x 2600 gal. containers. Delivery 1PM Deerfield Valley Agricultural Society Fairgrounds. Sorry about this."

Today, Beaux would be a tanker truck. And he, most certainly, was not pleased about it. Rumbling up twisting backroads, the bull could only snort as he came to the wide-open and empty parking lot for the Deerfield Fair. The sooner he finished this run, the sooner he could try and put his bad week behind him. And on the plus side, the fair didn't open until Friday, so he would not have to deal with nearly as many people as he might on a construction site or other job.

"Yo, Boss," Beaux called out, rolling down his window as he pulled up to the makeshift guard shack, interrupting a broad-shouldered moose from his intense reading of the Deerfield Picayune. "Got a delivery here, uh... No clue where it's going though."

Resting his paper down upon the ground, the fairground's sole security officer stood from his folding chair, a low rumble, just barely audible over the idle truck engine, growing in his barrel chest as he did. "Well," the moose commented in a warm and rich tenor, adjusting the circle-rimmed spectacles on his face, "Lessee what you've got here." He certainly was in the deepest, darkest parts of the Northeast; it had to be nearly 85 degrees out, but the dadly elk was decked out in a long sleeved hunter's shirt, thick canvas pants, and heavy, mud-stained boots. The pace he took walking back to get a good look at the containers only confirmed that the farmboy moose had to be in his early 40s. If he wasn't retired, he certainly didn't act like it. "Heh, well that's a pleasant surprise," he commented aloud, giving a tap to the side of one of the sloshing drums. "I didn't expect my Moo Goo would show up today. This here's going to my spot over by the livestock barn." Taking his sweet time to return to Beaux's driver side door, the moose gave a little wave forwards. "Come on, I'll show you where I need it."

The problem with locals was that they always wanted to talk, but it was never about things Beaux wanted to talk about. Doing his best to hurry through the process of unsecuring the straps that held the heavy plastic tanks, the sweat-and-grease caked bull couldn't avoid the broad-shouldered moose's slow yet insistent conversation. He learned very quickly that the moose's name was Owen Williams, 42-year resident of Deerfield and owner of a little slice of heaven known as Misty Pines Elk Ranch. You see, the joke was that the ranch didn't farm elk. Oh no, the ranch farmed cattle. The joke was that the ranch was OWNED by a family of elk. Grandpa Williams always had a sense of humor, almost as much as he had a sense of love for his community, which is why even today the Williams family still works the Deerfield fair. But he never really was one to want a family, so Owen never really got around to sharing his farmhouse with anyone...

By this point, Beaux felt his brains dripping out his ears. Thankfully, the final strap came undone with a little convincing and the bull hopped off his trailer bed with the biggest forced smile upon his face. "Alright, that does it," he snorted. "I'm sorry, but I need to use the bathroom. Is that gonna be down by the carnival rides, or is there one closer here?"

"Oh... Well... The big outhouse building over there's closed with plumbing issues. And the porta-john company hasn't come yet." Beaux's face fell in a sudden realization that this townie moose has been performing his job without any facilities. "I'd reckon you can go over by the trees back there. Not like anyone'll see you."

Normally, the trucker would just decide to hold it in. But the need to get away from the overly-friendly moose outweighed any concerns over hygiene or public decency. Tromping down gentle rolling hillside, past the massive livestock show barn, Beaux saddled up at the edge of the forest, a sigh catching in his throat as he unzipped his fly. Given his species, the trucker always felt a little uneasy at places like the town fair. Not that he didn't love the carnival atmosphere, the fireworks or the raucous demolition derby. It was always the cattle show that caught him off guard.

Perhaps he never really reconciled the fact that his people came in less-than-sentient varieties. Or perhaps he just didn't like the thought that something so close to him could be gawked at and appraised by hundreds of onlookers. Trying to focus on emptying his bladder, the longhorn could hear the deep and soulful lowing of one of the captive cows, echoing out the open door of the big barn.

"Moo to you too," he grunted back at them, closing his eyes as he tried to let the piss flow. But just as he began to empty himself, the bull's ear flicked to attention at a sudden sound coming from his truck. The noises of a forklift being poorly operated by a moose who probably has never used one before, stopped abruptly, replaced with the sound of creaking plastic. Creaking gave way to a polymer-esque RIIIIIP, followed by a torrential gush as 2600 gallons of brown, sloshing fluid flooded past the barn and straight down the hill. Straight towards Beaux. With only enough time to utter a confused, "Moo," the torrential wall crashed into him like a ton of bricks.

"God fucking damnit," Beaux snarled as he scrubbed himself harder and harder in the private confines of a truck stop shower. Unfortunately, with just body wash and a loofah, he just couldn't seem to get himself clean. Or at least he didn't feel clean.

Owen was as helpful as a townie could be, giving Beaux the most convoluted directions to the nearest Canada First, a mere fifteen minutes up the road. It did trouble Beaux that he couldn't (or wouldn't) explain what exactly 'Moo Goo' was. Some sort of experimental cow feed meant to make them more docile and comfortable, especially for show in front of crowds? It certainly didn't taste like anything he'd want to eat. But then again, he didn't have much of a choice in swallowing some. The stuff got everywhere; in his nose, in his mouth, in his ears, Beaux even swore it somehow got into his cock after he had the misfortune of turning around at just the wrong moment. There would be so much paperwork to fill out, so many OSHA violations he would have to account for. But as Beaux turned off the shower, he could not shake the feeling that something was not right.

Settled back in his truck bunk, naked under the gentle glow of warm string lights above, Beaux sighed as he gave himself a little grope. "At least if I'm stuck here tonight I should try and relax..." Sighing to himself, the brawny bull reached down to tease his shaft, fingertips gently caressing the half-chub flesh as he stroked himself up and down. The day's frustrations didn't put him in the mood to jerk off, but perhaps a little help would fix that. Popping open his phone with his off-hand, the bull decided to toy with his social media porn account, sighing as he browsed through the tumbling images of hot bodies while simultaneously working his length to hardness. Well-staged leather-clad dom pics, candid-snaps of sleezy alley cat hookups, hefty heifers milked in your area, snarling come-hither-looking gators ready to strike out of a hot tub... Wait what was that last one?

Blinking, the bull scrolled back up, his eyes fixated upon a heavy milking machine, the slow suction giving the bound, gagged and whimpering Hereford bull plenty to focus on as his cock squished and squeezed in the rubberized milking cup. Jaw dropping slack, Beaux couldn't help but swallow at the sight of such an obedient, bellowing bovine filling his milk pail exactly as he was ordered. It even looked like there was someone standing behind him, a farmer perhaps? It was hard to say, though his heavy work clothes certainly didn't look like the pierced-and-bound beast that knelt in the midst of the barn setting's soft hay.

It was only then that Beaux noticed he was drooling. A dollop of warm, creamy saliva dripped off the edge of his snout, plopping heavily on his broad and bare chest. Reaching up from his cock with two fingers outstretched, the bull absentmindedly swiped at the glob of spittle, figuring it might make good lube for his evening pleasure. But the moment that he stroked downwards upon his cock, the big bull gasped at what he saw. It was not saliva. Black and gooey, a thin tar-like coat smeared down the length of his shaft, his most sensitive flesh covered in a viscous coating. "Wh- What?" Beaux gasped, frightening himself in the pale glow of his lights as he tried to figure out if his mind was playing tricks on him.

A second squeeze of his shaft only confirmed that something was wrong, the usual pearl of precum that welled against his cock head bubbling up like warm asphalt, a rich tingle growing within his loins at the supple and sensual touch of his fluid-coated hands. The horrifying mix of emotions - the panic of seeing hot goo flowing out his piss slit, coupled with the curious, almost intoxicating sensation of touching his tar-coated cock - was almost enough to cause Beaux to fall out of bed. He might have, if a sudden wrench to his gut didn't cause him to heave, a drool of gooey, sticky tar rolling out of his mouth like a waterfall, coating the broad expanse of his chest and gut. Reaching for the closest thing to clean himself up with, the trucker snagged a cum rag off the floor, one hand trying to catch the sticky fluid dribbling out his mouth while the other worked to wipe up the horrifying mess off his body.

Yet as the tar rolled down his front, the bull couldn't help but realize it wasn't coming off. No matter how hard he wiped, it seemed to only adhere to his flesh, creating a lacquer of sorts that clung to his form with a cloying tightness. The fluid seemed to harden into a rubbery coating, breathing with each nervous heave of his chest while also squeezing inwards, almost as if he was wearing a catsuit. It would almost feel sexual, if he could also take it off...

Sexual? The thought hit him, the burning in his loins growing more and more potent with every passing moment. Beaux hardly realized that somewhere along the line he had dropped his cum rag upon the floor, his goo-slick hand now gripping his shaft unconsciously, stroking firm enough to ensure that every inch of his cock was coated with the sticky tar. Shaking his head, the bull tried to right himself. This was wrong. He needed help. He needed a doctor... Or a farmer... A farmer? No, no! A doctor... But that farmer seemed so hot... Shaking his head, Beaux snorted as he grabbed for his phone, determined to find a hospital nearby, somewhere that might fix this horrible mess. Instead, all he saw was the picture of the bull hooked to the milking machine. An obedient slave lowing in lust and need as he hit his orgasm, filling the tank like a good boy should. Blinking rapidly, Beaux lowered his phone, partly to avoid getting yet another heave of goopy tar onto the screen, partly because his heady, need-addled mind had forgotten all about the plan to get to a doctor.

A soft smile crawled across the bull's face as he turned his truck's ignition on once more. A low rumble filled the diesel engine, accompanied almost immediately by the sound of his radio turning on, the late-night country station blaring Brooks & Dunn over his speakers. Even lost in the heat of this confusing headiness, he knew well enough to turn off the radio. Pulling out of his parking spot, Beaux turned down the road once again, headed towards the Deerfield Valley Fairground.

CRASH! A messy clatter of metal pails and accoutrements raised a loud noise within the barn, startling a few slumbering heifers and sending their calves into nervous nighttime gallops about their pens. Beaux, however, could not care less about the mewling of his feral cousins, the longhorn grunting as he stumbled about in the dark of the fair's livestock barn. Planting a goo-coated hoof on his cheek, the brutish bull smeared more of the slick tar over his face, head tilting back in a hedonistic groan as the rivulets of sticky tar drooled down his neck and melded to the spots already present on his chest. With his heart beating heavy, Beaux could hardly take a step without feeling the growing effects of whatever this strange substance was. Fuzzyheaded, he felt flush, almost floating as his mind filtered out every thought. He could struggle against it, but the hypnotic throb of his pulsing arousal only served as a lightning rod, refocusing his mind in a flash to the only thing that mattered.

Each padding step through the wood-slatted barn left a trail of sticky hoofprints leading all the way back to his idling truck, the few clothes he wore to bed now littering the path behind him. In his addled and hazy state, Beaux could not figure out the sensations which swelled over his body, almost as if the rubbery fluid was moving, flowing, even consuming. Each touch of his body only acted as a conduit, the sheen of fluid beginning to smooth out in spots where added coats built up a layer of rubbery thickness all about him.

Half-focused on his arousal, stroking himself as he searched, Beaux hunted for the one thing he needed. That milking machine had to be here, somewhere. "Who's there?" Before he could find it, a flash lit up the barn, a powerful flashlight beam illuminating the darkened room and bathing Beaux in a warm glow. Caught in the headlights, the rubber-slick bull practically froze as he stared at the bright light, the source held by two booted feet walking towards him. "Well, well, what have we here?" The familiar voice seemed almost void of the townie intonations and small-town mannerisms from earlier. As Owen set down the flashlight, the fatherly moose added, "God, they really know how to pick'em. That's the body I wanted too."

Removing his front-buttoned shirt, the elk took a step closer, getting a better look at his newest creation. As he did, he watched the flowing rubbery fluid tighten, the outside rippling as the borders of black goo began to close, sealing off what little remained of the bull's exposed flesh. Opening his mouth, Beaux let out a short groan as he felt the viscous fluid tighten its grip upon him. As the last vestiges of control were plucked from his shattered mind, the longhorn dropped to his knees as the rancher approached him.

"Does it burn, boy?" Owen asked aloud, eliciting a short and quick nod from Beaux. "Makes you want to cum, doesn't it?"

"Ye- Yes, Sir," Beaux replied with what little voice he had. The words came out with a strange tenor, almost as if the rubbery fluid was coating him inside as much as it was outside.

"That's a good bull." Reaching out, the elk put a hand against the side of Beaux's head. Instead of "catching" the strange goo like an infection, Owen's hooftips just slipped off the side, a gentle squeak as he played with the rubber coating. "You want relief, you gotta show your farmer how bad you need it." Beaux's expectant eyes locked upon the rancher's hips, watching intently as the middle-aged man carefully unbuckled his belt. "Wait for it, boy," he added teasingly, unzipping his fly. The bull did not make a move, even as the thick cock before him slapped and rubbed against his supple muzzle. He just kept his glazed and placid eyes faced, wordlessly begging for the elk's beastly cock, snuffling the warm and earthy scent. "Ok. Go on, boy." Owen chuckled, happy to see his rubber slave was both attentive and obedient.

Beaux felt his mind skipping, like every second was a new realization that he had begun to suck the rancher's cock, followed by an almost instantaneous blanking of that knowledge. Guiding his head by the right horn, the elk bellowed a low moan as the bull's slippery tongue lapped along the underside of his shaft, the walls of his mouth coated with enough thick rubber to feel like he was using a stroker toy. Sloppy and drooling, Beaux paid no mind to the cock filling his throat, all he knew was that it felt right, that servicing the tender shaft would give him the relief he craved. An empty mind and sheer desperation, the perfect combination to ensure the beastly bull did exactly as he was told.

Slobbery saliva slickened the farmer's shaft, his rhythmic thrusting pushing deeper and deeper until his tenderly lathered cock slipped past the confines of his rubber bull's mouth. It felt more akin to a piston, the thick meat spreading Beaux's throat wide as the tip forced past the tight inner ring of his throat. For a brief second, Beaux regained just enough sense to shudder, choking on the shaft that slid down his tight pipe, plugging off his breathing. But almost immediately, with a blanked mind keeping him docile, the rubber bull focused solely upon his duty, suckling upon the shaft provided to him, even as he felt the first burn of airlessness in his lungs... If he could call them lungs anymore...

Pressing his hand tight upon the bull's smooth and shiny scalp, Owen worked his hips with a growing force, grunting as each forward thrust came with a meaty slap of his thighs against Beaux's rubbery soft snout. "Fuck, you're tight..." The thick-bodied elk groaned, huffing under his breath as he plowed into his rubber slave's throat like a fleshlight. When he finally pulled back, allowing his shaft to rest upon the boy's gooey tongue, Beaux hardly seemed to react to the opportunity to breathe yet again. A languid snort to exhale, followed by an unhurried breath in again. It looked as if he was savoring the cool barn air, though Owen knew that it was just another sign of the hypnotic polymers taking hold in his victim's body. "Mmmm... such a good rubber slave..." He crooned, unable to help but huff aloud as the enraptured bull lapped and lipped over his shaft.

Giving a little pat to Beaux's shoulder, he urged his slave to turn about, getting down on all fours. In the dim light of the flashlight, Beaux couldn't help but nervously peer back over his shoulder, his blank and empty mind barely able to grasp the memory that he was hunting for a milking machine. His gaze was quickly pushed away, Owen snarling as he planted a paw against his bull's snout to force him to turn away, his other hand stroking his shaft to its fullest hardness. In response to being pushed like an animal, Beaux snorted, jerking his head about in a vain attempt to slash his horns towards the farmer, only to feel the moose's rigid grip slam down upon his body.

"Woah! Hey, easy, boy." Owen growled, putting his weight down against the rubber bull's back, feeling the wiry rubber coating tense, limbs attempting to kick, the growing need in his loins the only thing he could focus on. There was no higher thought, no way to explain himself, his clouded mind unable to even parse people speech. As Beaux' thick shaft and heavy nuts swayed between his legs, slapping uselessly against his thighs, the moose put his weight down upon the bucking bull in an attempt to calm him. Forcing him to remain situated on all fours, Owen slipped his free arm about the beast's throat in an attempt to pacify the mindless slave. "You want to cum? Be a good boy and let me take care of you." Owen yanking back hard enough to throttle the bull's throat, showing that any struggle would come with equal force. By now the extent of Beaux's corruption was clear; he didn't choke in the same fashion as a living person. But the force was enough to settle the brutish bull, keeping him from kicking off in an uncontrolled rush.

That, or perhaps it was the promise of release, urged on by the firm pressure of the elk's throbbing shaft grinding against his beastly bovine's tender ass. Still slick from the blowjob, Owen grunted as he guided his cock with a free hand, lining it up against Beaux's tight hole. The tender outer ring may have been tight before his accident, but as Owen eased himself in, the bull's supple flesh simply squished and gave way, more akin to a stroker toy than tense muscle. Sinking balls deep with his first forward thrust, the moose groaned a low huff of pleasure, urged on by a deep and bellowing low from Beaux's encased form. The moose took a moment to get comfortable in his slave's body, shaking his hips a little before tentatively drawing back to see how his bull reacted.

Beaux's already placid and glossy eyes unfixed, before his horned head dipped down, planting his rubberized cheek against the floor between his shaky arms. Rocked with a rush of warmth, a bliss he could not explain, Beaux shuddered bodily with each slow stroke, in and out. A little puddle of drool even formed on the barn floor, dripping out the side of his sloppy and gaping mouth. It was indescribable. He was used to the sensation of a pleasurable prostate pounding, sure. But this was wholly different, a total sensory overload, each thrust alighting the walls of the slick and squishy tunnel that his hole had become. Owen need not focus on any particular spot or angle; every hilting slap filled Beaux with an overwhelming shudder.

"There we go..." Owen growled under his breath, biting his lip softly as he thrust with wild abandon. He did not need, or want, to care for the bull's desire; the elk was simply enjoying some play time with his new sex toy. The rubber slave's pleasure was wholly incidental. What mattered was the user, the one doing the fucking. But having a fleshlight in the form of a living - or somewhat living - being offered a few opportunities to the user. Reaching around to grope between Beaux's quivering thighs, the elk received a bellowing moan as he gripped the bull's shaft, the thick cock squeaking with each thrust as gooey fluid dripped from the tip, only acting to slicken up each sensual jerk he gave his new toy. The combined sensations, his ass split wide by the moose's fat, middle-aged cock and his insatiable shaft finally getting the attention it craved, lit Beaux's utterly hypnotized mind aflame.

Like a sex toy with a vibrate function, the bull began to clench and release upon the rutting cock deep inside him. A rhythmic on-and-off, his rubberized body reacted to the overstimulation. It was too much for Owen to bear, his quickening pace becoming haphazard and forceful. With the same abandon one might slam their cock into a stroker toy, the elk pounded his boy's supple hole, the slap of rubber echoing loud enough in the old barn to wake the cows waiting patiently for display at the state fair. Amidst the cacophony of confused mooing and lowing, Beaux's broken mind grabbed on to one last fleeting thought, that of the milking machine he had been promised. As Owen gave one last stroke, the bull upturned his head, cheek smeared with spittle and goo, as he bellowed out in body-rocking bliss.

The flood of endorphins, the rush of orgasm, struck like a ton of bricks. A hot torrent of cum, flecked with bubbling black goo, spattered out his cock in the deepest rush he had ever felt. Simultaneously clenching tight upon Owen's cock, the moose shivered as he could no longer contain himself either. A hot spatter of seed spilled inside of Beaux's ass in thick, ropey spurts, sending the older man reeling as he tried to catch his breath, draped over the obedient rubber slave's body.

This time, as Beaux came down off his high of orgasm, there was no higher thought. No people words entered his mind. Dumb. Happy. Bliss. "Oh fuck..." Owen grunted, adjusting his knocked-askew glasses while trying to keep his balance, giving a firm pat to Beaux's side. "There we go, boy. Just needed to blow out the pipes, didn't we?" The glassy cool expression on Beaux's face did not show any sign of internalizing the words. "That's the tricky part with Moo Goo," he said with a chuckle, trying not to step out of his pants as he did. "It's gotta take over all parts of your body. Replace the bio-material with rubber. And those pesky balls are a good hiding spot for DNA. Just had to force that last orgasm to let the assimilation take hold." As dumb as the feral cattle surrounding him, Beaux gave a gentle glance over his shoulder, broad nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. "C'mon boy," Owen said at last, giving a pat to the big bull's broad rump. "Let's get you in the cattle carrier. I've already got a buyer all lined up for you."

The old todd fox back at dispatch sighed as he set Beaux's paperwork off in a locked filing cabinet. Terminated for failure to show up for work. A recovery crew was able to get his truck back. A missing person's report was filed and subsequently lost. Of course, the report only included the bill of lading from Movion Chemicals. What the police never saw was the original contract. Thumbing one last time through Beaux's employee files, the dispatcher cracked a smirk at the six-figure number on the final delivery bill. There was a tacit understanding that the shipment would include more than just the two large tanks of highly hypnotic fluids. The comments section clearly read, "Send your cutest bovine delivery driver."

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