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WARNING: CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING CONTENT. BESTIALITY (HUMAN WITH A TALKING FERAL), WATERSPORTS, SCAT, AND HEAVY PISS AND SCAT PLAY INCLUDING EATING AND DRINKING.

This is part 3 of a multi-part story. Scroll down to the description for the previous parts.

You've made a lot of poor life choices today. The first one was choosing a picnic spot based on a sketchy outdated website, but that was only the beginning. You didn't pack up and leave immediately when the spot turned out to be a cow pasture. You stuck around when a herd of the animals showed up despite your fear of them. You watched a talking cow defecate, and foolishly lowered your guard and were seduced by the clever and perverted beast. But perhaps your gravest mistake was to gamble your freedom on a bet that you could sit barely eight feet behind her and jack off to her worsening diarrhea dump before she lost control of her bowels and splattered you with manure. Without any lube. Needless to say, you lost, badly, and things just sort of escalated from there, until you not only ate out her dirty posterior, but drank the beguiling bovine's diarrhea right from her uncontrollably spewing rectum.

But when Chloe licks her own fresh slurry off your face, and savors the rancid taste she's forced you to appreciate, your regrets vanish, and you wait with frightened but eager anticipation for whatever horrors the naughty heifer has planned for you next. Your day of scatological servitude has barely begun.

To your surprise, though, after giving you a moment to rest while she grazes on her own fresh cowpats, Chloe allows you to wash off. You can't do a great job of it in the water troughs placed for the herd, but you manage to remove most of the muck from your body, and even clean up her thoroughly soiled posterior using your pants – relatively unscathed since you took them off before the worst of the slurry shower began. You're a little surprised that she has any interest in even the palest imitation of hygiene, but the intelligent creature's explanation shows a profound wisdom beyond even most humans.

“Well, like you said, you can't get any dirtier!" she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Looking at your completely shit-defiled reflection, you can't disagree. “So we oughta fix that. That way I can make a mess of us all over again next time I gotta go!... Which won't be long, so better enjoy bein' clean while you can!"

With that tantalizing yet surprising thought, you bathe yourself and her behind, and not only get yourselves to a more or less recognizable state, but you actually look clean other than a few stains. But without soap you know it's not thorough. The smell hasn't washed out of your pores, and you'll probably feel dirty for weeks, if not months. And this act is in fact a final submission to filth that cannot be taken back, for all the water troughs in the pasture are now despoiled by you scooping up water to wash your filthy body. You won't be able to get this clean again.

“Hey, city boy! You ever milk a cow before?" Chloe brings up the topic with nonchalance.

“Not really."

“How'd you like to learn?"

“Uhh... I'd love to, but we don't have a pail."

“Doesn't matter. My udder's pretty bloated and it's just... gotta come out, ya know?"

“I know." You wince, as much at your own condition as her pained expression. Your bladder is badly full by now, and while you don't feel the urgent need to shit yet you can tell that your ill-advised manure meal is taking a devastating toll on your digestion. Your stomach is cramping and gurgling constantly.

There's no milking stool either, and you're kind of sore from kneeling before her earlier. Luckily, after a brief rinse-off your lawn chair seems to work as a substitute, and you drag it up to Chloe's flank while she grazes – this time on the grass of the pasture.

“Huh? What are you doing?"

“Uh, milking you. I thought you wanted that."

“Then that chair's in the wrong place. Go behind me."

“Uhh... I don't think that's how that works."

“Who's the cow here, me or you city boy?"

“Listen, I don't know much about farming but I know you're not supposed to milk a cow from behind!"

“And why's that sugar? Hmm?" She smiles sweetly.

“Because - because you could get kicked, or... or..."

“Which I won't do if you behave. What's the other reason? Come on, say it."

“Or shit on," you sigh, shrugging in defeat. “Which you will."

“You're gol-durned right." Chloe seems so enthused by that prospect she doesn't even make you move the stool, and backs her towering rump right up to you, her tail waving eagerly and slapping you in the face.

You're definitely a novice, but with a bit of annoyed coaching you get into a rhythm, squeezing spurt after spurt of white liquid from her bloated milk bag. Which sounds kind of sexual if you put it like that. But isn't it? Milky fluid is dripping from a much higher opening, down into your hair. You don't mind, it's the least offensive bovine bodily fluid you've had on you today.

“God, there's so much," you say. Your hands are getting a little tired, but then again you've jerked off twice too.

“Aww, thanks, sweetie, but this is nothin' compared to what some girls can make." Chloe giggles. You imagine she must be blushing, but you can't see that end of her. “Besides, I ain't really a dairy cow anyway."

“Really?" you're surprised. You thought the black and white ones were dairy cows. “What kind are you?"

“Fertilizer." She hikes her tail aside and releases an appalling hissing burst of methane.

“Ah. Figures."

You return to your work, but without warning, those drips of arousal turn to a torrent of relief. You splutter in surprise as warm liquid cascades down on your head. A loud, soggy hiss fills the country air.

“Oh fuck!" you cry.

“See, this is why you milk from behind," Chloe giggles. “That's the only way to get the lemonade!"

Yes, the ill-mannered heifer has decided to uncork her gigantic bladder all over you. You have a feeling that even if you had a spare bucket to catch this 'unexpected' fluid, it wouldn't make a difference. Not only would that naughty cow probably order you to pour it on yourself anyway, but any vessel small enough to hold up in front of her very-non-private parts (for being a cow she has no qualms about flaunting her assets) would be rapidly overflowed by this incredible stream.

“Keep milking, slave," she orders. She's peeing like a faucet, her tail flicking indifferently as she showers you with this wondrous warm waterfall, utterly drenching you in her golden geyser. But for once, you disobey.

“I've got a better idea." You shakily get up, hugging her hindquarters for support, and push your face upstream through the torrent. You remember her earlier mention of how some cultures treat cattle urine as sacred, medicinal. Your heart pounds in anticipation, and you open your mouth.

“AHGLRLBBLLRLGGLLBRLGLL!" you gurgle, your maw utterly flooded by warm, salty cow pee. You've used her piss to cleanse your palette of much filthier bovine waste already, but for the first time you appreciate this bountiful beverage in its own right. You take a tentative gulp. “Mmm..." Perhaps the stories of the substance's properties are true. It certainly must be an effective impotence remedy, because you're instantly hard as a rock. Although you didn't really need to swallow it or even get it in your mouth. Even witnessing Chloe naughtily relieving herself in front of you is arousing enough. To bathe in her dairy nectar is an honor, a privilege.

“Sweetie, I can let this out without help. Get back to milk – ooh! Oh, never mind! That feels great..." Chloe shudders in pleasure as you kiss and slurp at the very source of her sultry stream.

Due to the obscene quantities of water Chloe consumes, even her colossal bladder has refilled to bursting in a short time, and even after she's seemingly empty she keeps spurting more and more urine. You return to milking, and just enjoy letting her piss pour down on your head, your hair udderly soaked as you massage her swollen udder.

“That's better," the bovine belle pants. “All right, this time, really don't stop until I tell you." At this point she's not producing that much milk anymore, but she's clearly looking for an excuse to keep you under her tail as she raises it once again and demonstrates the perils of this agricultural error. You get a feeling that she gets off on the power of soiling an unwitting cowhand, so even though you know what's coming and don't really mind anymore, you decided to feign blissful ignorance of the imminent danger, though you can't resist glancing up as her pucker yawns open and the first massive turd force its way out.

“Oh shit. Chloe, damnit..." you groan as the grapefruit-sized ball of dung lands on your scalp. You look up, and another manure glob plops down on your shoulder. “Cut it out, I'm trying to milk you!" You try to push her away, but of course there's no hope of budging half a ton of beef even without the heavy ballast she' currently unloading on you. “Stop it! Damn cow!"

And sure enough... BBRRRRRRRPPTTTPLPTT. The naughty heifer remorselessly and derisively lets out a sickeningly wet methane blast, and sadistically says: “Ha! That's what you get, city boy! Told you farming's a dirty job! You thought you were too good to muck out my stall with your bare hands? It was high time somebody put you in your place, and that place is right under my tail. I don't wanna hear no complaining until I'm empty."

“Yes, Ma'am..." you groan, squeezing both her teats and your own similar-shaped organ in turn as more manure bears down on you, its weight forcing you lower and lower. The hot, steaming sludge splats and spreads out over your scalp, your shoulders, and your forehead, and clumps of sticky waste roll down your back and your face. “It's so gross..." you say, but you're delighted by this erotic excretion.

Chloe, of course, ignores your protests and keeps right on pooping, emitting indescribable sounds from her rectum that can only be transcribed as hideous mounds of wet, dirty consonants and occasional bowel vowels. BLLUUURRRBLBRPPBL. SPRRBLRCH, PBBPBLARRT. SPRRURRBLORP. Yet despite the inadequacy of the english alphabet to convey the sheer obscenity of her load, there's no denying the dire diarrheality of your shitty situation. You are forced to keep milking away as the dominant dairy cow eagerly evacuates her bowels on you. Or rather, fertilizer cow, if Chloe is to be believed, and you see no reason to doubt her, for surely no ordinary bovine could produce such an ardous quantity of ordure. Even for a species famed for their prolific production of poop it's incredible. She's so full of shit literally that you know she isn't figuratively. Except perhaps if she promises not to use you as a toilet. No such empty promise should ever be trusted, not from a heifer so heinously hellbent on emptying herself on you.

“Mmm... this feels so good," she grunts as you squirt a jet of milk from her teat onto your toes. Your neck is starting to cramp from the weight bearing down on it, so when her teat fails to produce anymore you stretch and look up – just in time to catch a reeking dollop of sloppy muck falling from her anus. But your only regret is that this stops you from enjoying the view only an unlucky few and an even smaller lucky few who happen to have shameless manure fetishes experience. For another wave of deplorable goulash rains down right on you.

You can bear it no longer, and wipe your eyes just in time for Chloe to say “Welp, I think I'm done!" and lower her tail, then immediately shit liquid fury all over it with the force of a thousand toilet-destroying post-taco-bell detonations. “Woops, never mind! I think I got a little messy." Her shit-saturated tail slaps back and forth against your face. “You don't mind lickin' that up, do you hun? Can't have any of this getting' in the milk."

“Like you care," you groan. BLRBLLRLRBLRLGLRTTTT, Chloe replies without using her mouth. But she uses yours. As a toilet.

“You're right, I don't. But I told you I can make chocolate milk! See?" BWWWOOOARRRRPPRPRPRP.

“Yeah," you gurgle, standing up. You trip over your lawn chair and fall facefirst in a cowpat. “Ugh! Fuck!" You rise to your knees, spitting.

“Tee hee! Pie face!"

“This better be one of yours," you sputter. It's still warm.

“Don't worry, it is," she says, and a hoof on your back unceremoniously shoves you back into the muck. “Oh god stop! Seriously stop!"

“Come on, eat it! Eat my cowpie!" she giggles excitedly. “You ate it before just fine!"

“It's different when it's on the ground," you groan, your stomach clenching.

“Which do you think is cleaner, the ground or my butt?"

She has a point, you think, and start attempting to scoop up the pudding-like mess in your mouth, but you can't stand the texture of the raw grass. And you have an idea. When she lets you rise, you scoop up a big handful of the waste and fling it right at her face.

Sadly, your aim is poor, and the messy dung splatters violently against her flank instead. But that doesn't save you from her wrath.

“Oh, you wanna play dirty, huh? Too bad you throw like a goat!" Ouch.

“Goats don't even have opposable thumbs."

“Well it don't seem like you do either. Unless you wanna prove me wrong but puttin' them in my holes -"

“Wait! Wait! Chloe, wait!"

“What is it?" she looks back at you with an annoyed glare.

“I gotta pee." Standing up, your bladder spasmed, and you're cross-legged now, your loins absolutely throbbing with the effort of holding it in. “Uhh, and poop," you groan as your stomach gurgles. Something inside you must have given way, because suddenly something you can tell isn't solid is pressing against your rear exit with an almost unstoppable force. “Oh God..."

“Well, I ain't stoppin' you. Go ahead."

“But there's no – no – bathroom! Not even a bush!" You look frantically around. For a hundred yards around or more the only cover is cows, water troughs, and your car.

“So? This whole field's a bathroom. Go wherever ya want!"

“I can't do that, this is..." You sheepishly look down at the puddles of manure splattered all over the ground. “Never mind."

“When in a cow pasture, do as the cows do, city boy."

You walk off a ways and squat, but you here an indignant throat clear and look up to see that Chloe has followed you. “Uhh... you mind giving me a little privacy?"

“Yeah I do mind. It's kinda rude watching me without me watching you. And what do you think you're doing? Have you ever seen a cow squat like a dog?"

“Uh, no," you admit.

“Well, do as the cows do," she orders.

“Yes, ma'am." You stand up, wincing at the throbbing of your bladder. You're trying to make yourself relax without shitting yourself when she trots up right in front of you and lies down. “Well, what are you waiting for?"

“Uhh... you're standing a little close," you say nervously.

“I'm right where I wanna be, sugar – hey, don't back up, don't back up!" she orders. “Come back here. I'm thirsty and it's a loong walk to the water trough."

It's only about fifty feet. You sigh. “You want me to... pee on you?"

“On me, in my mouth... try not to get it right in my eyes."

“Err..." You're about to ask if she's sure, but she's already licked her own shit off of you and ate it from the ground. After her bath, you'll be freshly fouling her face, though.

But you have to go too badly to have second thoughts. The first spurts and dribbles escape you, and you relax, trying your best to picture her head as a urinal. The trickle becomes a powerful jet of yellow liquid, and before you have time to think about it the velvety fur of the cow's forehead is being soaked in urine. For the first time you're returning the favor, befouling your bovine lover with your own bodily fluids.

“Mmmhmmmmuuuuuhhhrrrrrrr!" she lows. “Ah, that feels nice..." and she opens her mouth, tipping her head back and letting you piss directly on her tongue.

The good news is it's incredibly hot. The bad news is, you push a little too hard and shit yourself. Just as predicted, it's a horrible, runny mess that runs stickily down your legs. You try to lean forward to stay a bit cleaner, but lose your balance and have to steady yourself by placing a hand on Chloe's forehead, leaving a brown handprint. Luckily you still have enough in your bladder to wash it off, but the kinky cow seems disappointed that your stream ends as soon as it does.

“Don't feel bad, sweetie," she reassures you. “It usually takes two or three bulls' whole bladders to take the edge off my thirst. You did okay for a human. You still gotta shit?"

“Yeah," you groan. Your bowels clench and gurgle. You can't tell if what's currently trying to force its way out of you is a fart, but given the circumstances, you decided to take a chance. Nope, not a fart.

“Well, get on all fours like a real cow," she orders.

Surprisingly, this is more comfortable, but unfortunately she orders you to put your legs together. Again, despite being totally covered in cow manure it takes a moment to overcome the mental block, but once you manage to unclench the ensuing mudslide is unstoppable. It feels like several meals worth of shit flowing out of you, all warm and runny and slopping, plopping down all over your calves and heels. This must be how she feels all the time. You know Chloe's watching you, and her comments make it all the more humiliating. As soon as you're sure you're empty – at least for now – you scrape the mess off in the grass as best you can.

“Ugh... now what?" You ask. “You won't have to... to go for a while, right?"

“Wrong, sweetie." Chloe lets out an enormous fart. “I've been holdin' it in waiting for you to finish. Anyway, I think it's time to finish what you started." She sultrily angles the flank you recently flung a handful of manure at. “I've always wanted to be a brown cow. Think you can help me out with that? I'd roll in it, but I always seem to miss a few spots."

“So you want me to smear shit all over you."

“Yup. Every inch."

“All right..." You bend down and scoop up a handful from one of the many fresh cowpats littering the ground.

“Let's start with the fresh stuff, honey. Don't worry, I've still got plenty in me."

“I was trying to practice my aim before I waste any missing." You throw the incohesive dungball at her flank. Splat. Not exactly a small target, but you still feel proud of the broadside hit you've achieved. You decide to leave her head till last.

Chloe's rump is already in a sorry state from her milking mishap, but you smear the muck caked on her behind, diligently fouling her with her own yucky greenish-brown slurry. You start running your hands along the length of her tail to get it all covered, but she helps you out with a sudden and violent poop explosion.

There's a lot of surface area on her backside to paint, but whenever you're close to running out, she lifts her tail and provides another generous supply of her dirty fecal spackle. At least as much goes on you as on her, especially when you bend down to get her udder.

Eventually you have to move away from her rump, taking generous handfuls of muck and splatting them right against her back and flank, smearing and fingerpainting the filthy bovine with her own excrement. You're no longer in danger of being splattered by a sudden eruption: instead, whenever you run out you let her know and return to your position behind her, cupping your hands under her flexing pucker and stimulating her to let out some more. It seems there are many ways to make a cow shit: rubbing and fingering her asshole, her taint, her vulva, tugging on her tail, or asking nicely. Sometimes she says it's stuck, and you have to reach elbow-deep inside her rectum, fishing out scoops of warm filth.

Before long, you've udderly covered her in shit from the neck down, even crawling under her to work the sludge into every nook and cranny of folded skin, in her armpits, where her udder meets her inner hindlegs, and of course all four of the teats themselves. You're actually getting exhausted from the effort of going back and forth with handfuls of dung, but Chloe's bowels seem inexhaustible. And so, the moment of truth comes.

PLOP. You deposit the dollop of steaming slurry right on her head, and smear it all over her ears and horns as she lows in pleasure. She rolls on the filthy grass, further soiling her body, and dumps an enormous pile for you to finish the dirty work with, then lies down and closes her eyes, softly demanding a mud mask. She doesn't even try to resist the urge to snack on the mess or lick your hands and manure-caked body either.

“How do I look?" Chloe giggles with a gooey grin. She sticks out her brown-stained tongue, and shows herself to you from every angle.

“Better than you smell," you joke. “I don't think you can pass for a natural brunette, though." She's certainly brown now, but it's mottled with different shades, mostly greenish, but different waves of crap seem to have slightly different colors. The overall effect looks a little like incredibly haphazard camouflage paint, but would never work for that purpose because anyone could smell Chloe coming a mile away.

“So I'm gorgeous, then?" she asks.

“You look pretty shitty," you say, making her snort and chortle. She dances and spins around, her tail waving happily. You stand there winded and somewhat dazed from the amount of methane and other cattle fumes you've been breathing, and don't see her coming until too late.

“Oof!" The cow hip checks you, sending you sprawling onto the muddy ground, You struggle to your feet, but find her dirty butt right in your face.

“Hey city, boy, I think you missed a spot!"

“No, I'm pretty sure I got all of you."

“Well, you better take a closer look just to be sure." She keeps backing up, grinding and practically twerking against you. You press your hands against her girthy cheeks as her inexorable bovine bulk pushes you back. She wipes her dirty tail on your cheek as she raises it.

“Chloe, believe me, there's not a speck of skin back here that isn't covered in -" BBLLLOOORRRSPPLBLBLTLRRPPP! “Yuck! Damn it! I should've known you were going to – aaacckkk!" Another jet of slurry goes right in your mouth as you swear. You stumble back, slip, and fall again. The wind is knocked out of you, and you see double bovine butts looming over you. “Fuck - Chloe, not more – oh shit!" Heedless of your complaints, the ruthless ruminant naughtily unloads a monstrous cowpie on your chest.

You scramble to your feet, cursing and spitting shit.

“Catch me if you can, slowpoke!" Chloe breaks into a canter, looking back at you with a teasing grin, but doesn't look where she's going. Her hoof slips in a cowpat, and she too takes a tumble. “Oof!"

“Shit. Are you okay?"

“M'fine. I think I might'a shit myself from the fall, though. Can you check up close?"

“I'm not falling for that again." Besides, it's clear that she has from a distance. You pick up an armload of the still-warm muck, and this time manage to hit her right in the face. She just licks her lips and rolls on her back, her hooves doing little kicks in the air.

“C'mon, honey. The great thing about mud wrestlin' is nobody loses. Especially when ya make your own mud!"

You've heard the saying about never wrestling a pig in shit, despite your urban upbringing. You've never heard about wrestling a cow in shit, but it turns out to be rather enjoyable for both parties. Seeing the defiled dairy cow lying there on her side with her muddy rear looking so inviting, you can't help yourself. You mount her and enter her, grasping her slippery, shitty hips, and soon release inside her. Chloe releases too: she defecates liberally during sex, a foul chocolate waterfall flowing out of her asshole with lumps of soft manure and pooling around your knees. You grope and fondle the grimy pucker, sticking fingers in and briefly stemming the tide. She rolls on her back, and you're seized by a primal and unhygienic impulse. You take hold of that fouled udder and squeeze. Jets and fountains of milk further wet down the coat of slurry. You lap at her white squirts like a drinking fountain, and grunting in pleasure you wrap your mouth around one dirty teat and nurse from it. It still tastes like milk, you guess. But not chocolate milk.

Finally you slump, spent and soiled, onto her ample belly. You both lie there breathing heavily. She rolls onto her stomach after a bit, dislodging you. “C'mon, city boy, you want a ride?"

You realize once she stands up that this is a very bad idea. You're both bareback, and her hide is slick with caked filth. Also, the urge to evacuate your bowels strikes you again.

“Don't worry, I'll be careful," Chloe reassures you, but even her slow walking gait isn't exactly smooth. And it seems to be agitating your gut. She responds to the second concern with: “Well, if ya gotta go, ya gotta go. Just let it out. We'll both feel better."

You don't have much choice in the matter unless you want to brave dismounting. You give a small push, and you can feel a vile, liquidy mess squirt out of your butt, squishing under you and against the cow's back. Encouraged by her lack of reaction, you scoot forward, reach out to take hold of her horns, and push hard. The result is noisy, explosive, and probably projectile.

“Oooh, yuck, it's runnin' down my flank!" Chloe laughs, and finally shrugs you off. You manage to land on all fours at least. You get up and survey the nauseating result.

“Sorry. It's totally liquid."

“Yeah, it's usually like that the first time ya eat it. That'll dry you out, though. Come one, let's have some more water."

Chloe's hardly one to talk, though: her own rectum is running like a faucet. The only thing firm – besides your cock, of course - is her rejection of any suggestion that erotically devouring her own slurry was a bad idea. Mind you, she doesn't dispute that her recreational coprophagia has probably contributed to her current incontinence, but there's no hope of convincing her that this is anything but a good thing.

The sun is drying the coating of fecal matter on your bodies into a cracked, muddy dungscape, leaving you with the duty of re-wetting it with splashes of water from the trough, and adding touch-ups from her frequent sharts. This is in addition to your responsibilities as sex slave and toilet, and while cow manure is high-fiber, it's not high-protein. Eventually you're completely spent. Mercifully she's tired as well, and settles down for a nap, allowing you to lean against her shitty body, rocked to sleep by her slow breathing and the soothing rumble of her gut. You're so tired you hardly even notice the flies swarming you. You soil yourself repeatedly in your sleep. Other times you get up, but pay as little mind to where you relieve yourself as a cow would. You just stand up and let loose, heedless of whether a certain cow might by lying in the line of fire. You have to admit, it feels kind of liberating. You genuinely didn't mean to get it all over her face the one time, though. You're not sure she believes you, but at least she doesn't mind.

Chloe, for her part, twice gets up to hose you down with torrents of warm, bubbly pee, but after a few sloppy outbursts her bowels surprisingly cease their previously relentless flux of foulness. The last couple of dumps she was too lazy to even bother standing up, and just lay there in her own filth while it oozed out of her rear. Her diarrhea seems to have subsided, and the muck accumulated until she buried her backside right up to her bovine bunghole in a steaming dungheap. Even after she stands up to piss, a mess of thick, fibrous manure is caked around her nethers, possibly clogging her backside.

You're woken not by your own needs, but by hers. The worst rumble yet reverberates from her gut, and she stands up abruptly, yanking her bovine body out from under you.

“Oh shit, oh shit! Hurry up, city boy, this is gonna be bad!" The heifer actually sounds like she's in distress. “Aww fuck I shouldn'tve held it this long."

“Ow! Huh? What?" You feel like you've been asleep for a while this time. You look around. It's noticeably darker, and you see that the sun is sinking low in the sky. Your period of enslavement is nearing an end. “Oh, it's almost sunset! That means I get to..." You look down at your defiled body. “Go home." Fuck. How are you even going to? You guess you can wash as best you can, but you'll never get the smell out of your car. God... how could you have done this to yourself? You've let yourself get pissed and shit on by a farm animal. You've masturbated and fucked her in it. You've eaten it. What the hell were you thinking?

“Forget the sun, I'm gonna blow!" Chloe's voice is strained. “Get behind me, hurry! Ooerrr... I'm shittin'! I'm shittin'!" The mass of shit caked on her backside has been forced open, and enormous dollops of manure are slipping and rolling down her legs as she turns her backside to you.

“I'm sorry, city boy... I was tryin' to give you a grand finale, but I think I... ugh... overdid it a bit. Might wanna watch this one from a safe distance. If you take this you might not be in no state to drive tonight - even other cows can't take a load like this and be the same after."

You nod, and shuffle off to the side. A warning like that coming from Chloe of all creatures certainly means something. But the cow huffs:

“Hey! Did I say you could? Get back there! I feel bad for you, sweetie, but a bet's a bet! Your ass belongs to mine ass 'til sunset, not one minute sooner, and it's no skin off my back if you've gotta stay the night!"

You briefly contemplate the possibility that in her current state of extreme gastrointestinal torment, you might be able to outrun her. But some of the other cows are blocking the dirt track towards freedom. And besides, she's right. Your honor in fulfilling the terms of this cruel wager is the only remnant of dignity you have left. You march to your assigned position like a double agent facing a firing squad. You feel a twinge of fear. After all the horrific assplosions you've been subjected to without remorse, what could make Chloe apologize and feel sorry for you? Your heart leaps in your throat as her pucker bulges and flexes. No! You must overcome this fear! Your stomach churns as river of sludge flows from her in a series of runny bursts. You catch some of it in your hand and start rubbing it all over your cock, then with your other hand you smear some on your face like warpaint. “I'm ready." You just have to endure one more load of cowshit and you'll be free.

But you have no idea what horrors await you. Even after this introduction to bovine toilet debauchery, you're unaware that you're staring down the barrel of a destructive force beyond comprehension. Your watch is long forgotten, but even if you knew that Chloe had gone almost an hour and forty minutes without a bowel movement, the meaning of that would be lost on you.

The dirty heifer hikes her tail aside, clouds of methane billowing from her sphincter. Several pounds of clumped feces are sloughed off her backside from the force of these airy detonations, and the abhorrent wind blasts sun-hardened flakes and chunks in your face. Her bovine buttocks quake and quiver, rippling muscular spasms dislodging even more of the vile crust. Her asshole yawns open almost an inch, but the only thing escaping is a hissing outburst of digestive gas. You stare, mesmerized, into the black void of her rectum, bracing yourself for whatever horror that profane portal is about to disgorge. She's peeing as well, a gushing golden waterfall utterly soaking the ground between you and splashing your legs and feet. Your fear starts to wash away in the yellow flood, and you unconsciously move your hand in and out making slow, squelching strokes on your hardening shaft.

Her golden waterfall subsides to a dribble, but her bluttering mud ring is pushed open further, and she groans as she's stretched to the size of a plum, then an apple, then a grapefruit as masses of relatively firm dung are forced from her, plopping and splatting in a growing mound at her feet. “Ohh, man... here comes... a big one..." And to your astonishment, she stretches still further, and a thick, crackling log of fibrous waste with the girth of a small melon snakes out of her butthole. You catch it in both arms, and the sheer weight of the titanic turd almost makes you drop it, especially as it tapers off into a cascade of mushy poop. But with a roar of adrenaline-fueled strength you hoist it up and plop it down on her rump. Chloe chuckles, and hikes her tail and butt up further. She exudes more gas, and another thick ribbon of muck. She pauses repeatedly for breath, but her asshole never fully closes, and she stands there with a second tail nearly a foot long draped languidly over her taint and pussy.

Finally this phase of her colonic eruption ends with the butt-ropes losing cohesion and becoming a sloppy mudslide. She swipes her tail through the flowing filth, smearing it across her posterior. BLBRGLGLRAPP. BSSPLLBRRLBRPP. She lets it hang against her ass, but appallingly wet sharts drench it in greasy slurry. You selflessly pull it aside for her, and immediately catch a vile stream of brown right to the chest.

“Thanks - thanks, sweetie," Chloe pants. “Fuck - aww, shit!" Her buttocks buck back and forth, her anus clenched tight but bulging in and out. There's a rumble like thunder somewhere inside her. “I think the blockage came out. I can't hold this back no more!" She excretes another jet of liquid slurry that spatters all over your now rock-hard member, followed by several pounds of mushy manure. Oh, God... it feels so good! You thrust against her udder, and mash your face up against her butt, dragging your tongue along her fouled perineum, until its journey ends at that most repugnant of beef donuts. It opens as you press against it, and you suddenly slip in, but are greeted by another wave of awful-tasting manure coming the opposite direction. You let her warm muck fill your mouth, chewing and spitting.

But you have foolishly ignored these mere warning shots for too long. As you stand there perilously close to the reeking, straining nozzle of the living slurry spreader that is Chloe the Cow, the heifer lets out an apologetic moo. The floodgates in her bowels open, and an unstoppable torrent of diarrhea explodes from beneath her defiled tail with inconceivable force. Her mean chuckle gives way to moans and lows of discomfort as her bloated stomach cramps and expels its repulsive, soupy contents like a pressurized fudge cannon. No living creature on earth could withstand such anal artillery at this range without sustaining irreparable mental trauma, and in your case the sheer power of the disastrous eruption of liquid shit knocks you off your feet like a fire hose. You fall flat on your back, your head spinning, as more gloppy waste cascades down on your body.

“Sorry, city boy! I warned you!" Chloe calls. “Better get up quick, or you'll get buried!" She's right, you realize, as your johnson is already interred under several inches of scat. You struggle to your feet, but kneel, dazed and gagging, in prostrate worship of that unholy cattle geyser.

It's a truly religious experience, being subjected to the full power of her loads, and becoming aware that no other living creature can poop like this. Chloe must be a goddess of fertility, or at least of fertilizer. You must worship her. She is perfection. You use her poo as shampoo, bathing under the ceaseless brown shower, and stand, running your hands reverently along her uncontrollably spewing backside, slapping and patting and massaging. The mess coming out of her now is soupy, something like applesauce or oatmeal, with occasionally bursts of melty smoothie. Her cruel yet playful laughter harmonizes musically with the blorting and squelching outbursts of flatulence propelling the shit from her rectum. She unleashes her bladder yet again as well, a frothing, foaming, hoselike stream of deep yellow, deliciously salty urine gushing from her divine nethers.

“Ahh - it's still comin' - oh my God I can't stop!" she grunts, panting and lost in the ecstacy of relieving herself. “Hold on, toilet boy! I ain't done yet!"

And hold on you do, squeezing her doughy, dirty buttocks and clinging to her tail for dear life. “Oh, God... Chloe!" you sputter. And then, just before your climax reaches its zenith, two things slip out of you by accident. One, of course, is the contents of your own rectum, but the other is the fateful words: “I love you!"

At first, you're not sure if Chloe even heard you over the raucous outbursts of her own gassy sewage, and you did kind of say it through a mouthful of manure. But she pauses just long enough to say: “Love you too, city boy. But that don't mean I'm stoppin'."

“I don't want you to..." you moan, fingering and slurping at her disgusting vagina and smearing her hot, creamy manure all over you both as it flows liberally from her rectum. You reach up her ass and scoop out great handfuls of the foul substance, and cram it down your throat even though your stomach is already full to the brim, and let even more of her unfathomably perverse diarrhea flood your mouth despite being unable to swallow anymore. You're up to your knees in slurry, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming. And so do both you and her, even after the mudslide finally comes to an end.

Then you hear a noise. You mistake it for another rumble of Chloe's gut at first, but no – it's a diesel engine. “Uh oh," she says. Your heart nearly stops at the sight of a battered pickup truck pulling up, veering around your abandoned car. You swear, and with great difficulty extricate yourself from the mountain of manure, then hide behind Chloe as a middle-aged guy in a cowboy hat gets out. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. You're in real trouble now. After the unspeakable things you've been doing to and with this cow – well, mostly she's done them to you, but you're not sure the rancher will see that nuance – you're expecting to hear a shotgun rack any second. In the state you're in, you wouldn't be surprised if he just decided to put you out of your misery even if he doesn't blame you.

But he doesn't even address you. He just gives an exasperated sigh and says: “Aww, dag nabbit Chloe, not another one! The insurance company ain't gonna be happy!"

For the first time, the naughty cow actually sounds contrite. “Aww - come on! You keep tellin' me not to do it with the other cows, so what am I s'posed to do when a cute guy just shows up?"

“You can hit on a man without shitting on him!" The man scoffs. “Hey! Come on out boy, I can see the car and the discarded pants! I'm not gonna hurt ya!"

You creep out from behind Chloe with your hands up. Then you realize the man is seeing full frontal and cover your private parts. You frantically explain the whole story, from the picnic and the website to... well, the part where you made the bet.

“He was watchin' me take a poop!" Chloe argues.

“Chloe we've been over this, just because they don't look away when you... exhibit yourself in front of him don't mean they want it on them! Goddamnit, you done shit all over his picnic blanket, too!"

“I'm sorry," you mumble. Your knees buckle, and you collapse and heave up an enormous amount of manure, more from the stress than anything.

“Damn, son, she really did a number on ya, didn't she?" he says sympathetically. “I'm sorry for that – I keep tellin' those idiots they gotta fix their website! And I apologize on behalf of this cow. You're the third poor bastard she's seduced this year! - Not countin' the agricultural interns or that poor little coyote. Boy, by the time we found that animal it was too late."

“You... killed a coyote?" you ask, a little appalled. You morbidly wonder if was drowned.

“Oh, it lived," says the farmer. “The wildlife center says they don't think they can ever release her though, on account of the mental trauma. Poor thing kept pissin' and shittin' itself and rollin' in it and eating - get that smirk off your face, Chloe, you shouldn't be proud of yourself!"

“You're... you're not mad at me?" you ask incredulously.

“Nah... Chloe's got a point actually, she does tend to get a bit... amorous with the rest of the herd if she doesn't have a victim for a while. So I gotta thank you for keepin' her busy for the day. Anyway, I think you'd better come with me."

“She... she promised I'd be free after sunset," you say. It is technically starting to sink beneath the trees now.

“Well, I ain't gonna stop you from leaving – that'd be kidnapping -" he says with a knowing glance at his filthy cow. “But I wouldn't recommend tryin' to go anywhere for a few days without diapers. Don't worry about your car, I'll have Joe and Tucker come tow it outta here. You'll have to ride in the truck bed for... obvious reasons. We'll hose you down and get you a change of clothes, and you can stay until you can keep 'em clean long enough to drive home, and then we'll forget any of this ever happened. But you ought've known better than to picnic in a cow pasture. This is what happens! You got off lucky, too! The last poor fella could only talk in moos."

“But... but he told me he loved me!" Chloe whines, and buries her muzzle in the fresh dung heap.

“Did you tell her that?"

You can only nod sheepishly.

“Son, ya can't play with a lady's heart like that, especially not if she's got hooves and horns and bowels like a herd of elephants. Don't say shit you don't mean and break her heart!"

“I - I meant it!" you protest without thinking.

“You're really in love with this cow? Romantically?"

As weird as it sounds, you say yes.

“Prove it. Kiss me." Chloe rises, her muzzle dripping with manure. You embrace her filthy head passionately, smoothing and slurping her shitty face. She smiles sweetly, belches methane, and licks her own scat from your matted hair.

“Would you be willing to... come back here?" the farmer asks.

“Uhh... yeah! Yeah, I'd... love to." You can't tear your gaze from the beautiful heifer's soulful brown eyes. She does look good in that color.

“Well, we're bringin' the herd back to the feedlot soon, and we could use a stallhand to help keep Chloe... entertained. I won't lie, it's a dirty job, and the pay ain't great, but there's free room and board, medical, and dental coverage. There's a catch, though."

“What is it?"

“By room and board I mean you'll be livin' right there with this girl full time, and you'll get a shower and a meal that don't come out of a cow's backside twice a day. Don't expect sanitary working or living conditions."

You take a moment to consider the offer. It would be a pay cut, and you doubt getting paid to be shit on by a farm animal all day would look great on your resume. It would be a dramatic career change, and – oh, who are you kidding? Your boss is an asshole, you're expected to kiss ass on a daily basis, and your coworkers are full of shit. What's the difference?

“How soon can I start?" you ask, and after the rancher chuckles and tells you you can work out the scheduling after you've been hosed down, you bid Chloe a farewell – for now – and ride off into the sunset in the bed of a dirty pickup truck.

The End