Udderly Screwed

By Gregor Daniels

Gus and his friends are heading through Pennsylvania for a football game—until a detour takes them off the interstate and through spooky rural countryside. They reach the small community of Holstein Hollow, where the roads are blocked off and there are no signs of life except for sad-looking livestock. When asking for directions, Gus encounters something impossible: an anthmorphoric cow-person who tells him he doesn't belong here. While trying to escape, they're cornered by similar cow-people dressed as cops.

What they've found is a secret in the middle of nowhere, as the town's leader, Cookie, explains. Cows used to be an advanced species. They conquered space travel long before humans stopped living in caves. And now a certain few who remain on Earth have sinister plans for those that enslave and eat their distant bovine cousins.

It looks like Gus and his friends are going to be suitably transformed for life in a pasture...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregor Daniels
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215820117

Gregor Daniels

Gregor Daniels is an erotica author that specializes in gender swap and erotic transformation fetishes. New stories are typically released weekly and feature a variety of themes. Have you ever had fantasies to be a girl? Then look no further ...Contact the author directly on Twitter to discuss stories, share your favorite ideas and fantasies, scenes, and characters, or to just talk about nothing in particular.

Book preview

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Epilogue

Copyright © 2023 Gregor Daniels

All rights reserved.

Only ADULTS beyond this point.

All characters are consenting adults at least eighteen years old.

1

You’re completely lost, Kelsey said from the passenger seat. As usual, my girlfriend took every instance to critique my navigating skills. She stared out at the foggy, Pennsylvanian pastures as if searching for any signs of life.

I’m not lost, I said, gesturing to my iPhone where a map—and our route—was clearly displayed. The interstate was congested. It told me to go this way.

He’s right. I saw it, Josh said in the backseat.

Kelsey moaned her annoyance. Okay, well just don’t stop or anything. I feel like if we stop someone with a chainsaw is going to appear and start chasing us.

That spooky? I said.

No, she said. Then a moment later: A little.

Ever since phones could provide directions and GPS, I had no reason not to trust them. Were we lost? Hell no. A little off the trail, sure, but I knew with absolute certainty that this one-lane highway would lead me back to the interstate eventually—and I’d be saving time.

The three of us were heading up to Pinecrest for the football game. Kelsey was a cheerleader, and Josh was the most important member of the athletic department. Without him, the Cloverdale Bulls wouldn’t stay hydrated and have someone to collect their smelly jock straps. So, very important. As for me, I didn’t give two shits about football, but a win on the road was always a good reason to get laid. And Kelsey in that red-and-black cheerleader outfit on the field, jumping in the air and doing the splits like she was naturally double-jointed, was like fuel for an instant boner.

A sign emerged out of the fog and went by us.

Interstate 80, I said. See? We’re not lost. We’re on the right track.

"No, that was Highway 80," Kelsey argued.

What’s the difference?

Between interstates and highways? A lot. They’re different roads.

Josh: And interstate signs are usually blue.

I grumbled.

The car had plenty of gas, so that wasn’t an issue. And although the speed limit was a brisk fifty-five, I felt like I was driving through some unsettled backwater of the United States. There were trees and fences—marking off edges of what I assumed was farmland, but the fog was too thick to see beyond fifty feet or so. And although the time on the dash said it was a little after four o’clock in the afternoon, it was dark enough that the headlights had automatically come on.

Signs appeared telling me to reduce my speed.

Forty-five. Then thirty-five. Then a stop sign. I rolled up to the intersection, observing three directions all leading into a seemingly never-ending haze. My phone said to keep going straight, so that’s what I did.

Watch out for wagons, Kelsey said.

What? Wagons? I said.

The Amish might live out here.

No, this is where all the real hillbillies live, Josh informed us. Marrying their sisters and brothers and shit.

Kelsey groaned. Can you stop with the stereotypes?

It’s not a stereotype. Gus and I knew this kid in school whose parents were brother and sister. He also had six fingers.

Oh yeah, I said, and I nudged my