The witch led Damon out through the kitchen and into the back yard. It took a slow, careful effort for both Damon and his temporary owner to get a such a large, heavy animal down the back porch steps in one piece. It was humiliating for Damon to have gone down this way, far worse than going back to prison, but he didn't seem to have much of a choice in the matter. He certainly didn't want to lose what little was left of him deep down inside the huge chunk of beef that constituted his new form. He hoped he wouldn't be sold too quickly if he didn't rock the boat too much. He certainly wasn't looking forward ending up on a farm where no one would even know he'd ever been anything except a bull, but if maybe he was a good bull, he could at least make the most out of what little a bull's life was worth.
After all four of Damon's legs had made it off the steps and onto the grassy earth, the started making their way out further into the yard, but they'd only made it a couple of steps when Damon suddenly stopped. He seemed to be expecting something. He felt like something was going to happen. There was a pressure deep inside him, which felt vaguely familiar, but strange enough in this body that he was having trouble placing it. A tingle of relief washed over him as the pressure started to shift and relax. He felt a stiffening warmth deep inside his tucked-away penis which felt good to him, and he hoped the witch wasn't aware of that. He felt a friendly tickle in the middle of his underbelly, at the very tip of his obscenely long sheath, as the hairs of his little tuft were disturbed by something right there at the opening. Before he could contemplate on what that might be, he heard the splattering of a jet of liquid against the ground before a pungent, tangy scent filled up his nostrils. It was urine! He was peeing!
Damon's bull body sort of zoned out into a kind of placid daze for a moment, feeling the warm pressure surging down his long sensitive inward tube. The witch stood back and didn't say a word about a grown man pissing himself beside her in her own lawn. That's because a grown man wasn't, a piece of livestock was! Still, Damon's human inner voice screamed at him to make it stop. He was embarrassed that he was still only tentatively in control of this powerful new body this soon after his transformation and that even the dignity of human privacy was slipping still further out of his grasp. No amount of human potty training had prepared him to hold back the ocean of a bull's bladder or utilize the massive member he'd be doing his business with from now on. Heck, at first, he hadn't even known he was peeing! How's a guy supposed to know what to do when he starts pissing out of his damn belly, for fuck's sake?
Damon was too addled by surprise, confusion, humiliation and pleasure to even slow down the flow a little, so he just gave up and let it happen. The smell of his own virility wafting up from his bodily fluid was gradually starting to puff up his ego in a way he really hoped the witch wasn't aware of! By the time it was almost over, he was starting to see a silver lining in being free do this anytime, out here in the open where he could smell it, and no one would ever tell him to stop.
The relieved bull started walking again, following the witch out a short distance further into her yard. When they got to the point where she stopped, she backed away, made the leash disappear, and conjured up a fence between the two of them.
"Well, this is where I leave you for now, little thief," she said to the former man. "There should be enough grass here until I find a better home for you, and I can always magic up some more if you run out. As for me, it's time to eat my dinner and start my nightly routine a little early this evening. I've got such a big day tomorrow! Putting out 'for sale' ads, tracking down your thuggish friends, bringing out the vet to give you a checkup. Busy busy busy!"
Damon didn't have a very clear idea of what exactly a checkup is like for a farm animal, and he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to find out. The smell of the witch's beautiful green lawn was tantalizing, but he wasn't ready to give into another urge so soon if he could help it, especially in front of the witch. He watched her go into the house and tried to ignore his greedy, empty tummy. She came back out with a frozen steak and started trying light her back porch grill. Damon didn't think that was funny in the slightest. By the time that steak was sizzling, he was trying very hard not to reflect the fact she was cooking the very same meat he was made out of now, trying not to look at his lush field of fresh grass with his nearly panoramic vision, and trying not to wonder how long it would be before he got to use his new bull penis again.
Damon's owner wasn't the only human grilling outside today, it turned out. He could smell beef cooking in several different locations nearby. Normally, he would have loved the smell and wished he could have some. Sometimes he and his buddies celebrated with really high quality beef and other expensive meats if they really hit the jackpot with one of their frequent robberies. Today, though, he was revolted and couldn't imagine even taking a bite. His new body just didn't seem to find meat appetizing at all, aside from the fact that unlike real bulls, he knew where those steaks came from. The grass, on the other hand, seemed to be beckoning to him. He wouldn't even have known it was green if he hadn't color vision less than an hour ago, but the smell was like strolling down a street lined with gourmet bistros. It was intellectually demeaning to know he'd never eat anything but grass and maybe some kind of factory-farm processed cattle feed, but gastronomically it was getting hard to imagine eating anything else but this marvelous aroma that surrounded him from all sides.
Damon was able to hold out a while longer, but before long, the witch was eating her steak and he was practically forced to watch her. It was torture to see her blurry form munching down on the front porch talking to herself about how good it was. It was torture that his new wide-set eyes made it hard for him to turn his head to an angle in which he couldn't see her and that his sensitive, mobile ears made it almost impossible to avoid hearing her. It wasn't just the fact that he knew she was eating his new species in front of him on purpose. It was the fact that his new stomach was so much bigger than hers and yet so much more empty. He hadn't had a bite to eat in this new form, ever.
Damon knew she wouldn't be going inside for a while, and holding out any longer was pointless. His new body was going to need a lot of fuel, and he'd already shamefully indulged his new bull impulses in front of her anyway, so it's not like being seen grazing was going to make him that much less of a man. He turned his ass end toward her, partly for spite, and partly so she could be more or less in his blind spot that way. Mouth watering, Damon lowered his nose to the ground, drunk in the intoxication scent, opened his wide muzzle, and grabbed out a mouthful of grass with his teeth. The euphoria of doing so forced him to eat more, and he indulged himself until he realized he didn't know how long he'd been at it, and then he kept going.
By the time Damon's new stomach let him take a break from his grazing, he realized the sun was starting to set and the witch had long since gone back inside. With a full belly, Damon wandered over to cozy, slightly sheltered corner of the witch's property, right under a tree. He bent his four legs down under him and started to relax. It was going to take more work than he expected to keep this large body fed! He felt exhausted, but resting under the tree felt like at least a reasonably decent end to a world-shattering day. Oddly enough, another form of hunger seemed to overtake him as soon as he settled in for his rest. He was still almost painfully full from having gorged himself on grass, but even so there seemed to be an emptiness somewhere down inside him that was crying out to be filled. Unable to comprehend what this new feeling could be, he started thinking psychologically and wondered if it represented the emptiness of his old life as a petty crook, the loss of his humanity, and his yearning for a new start and a chance to actually achieve something for real if he could. Or perhaps this is his hunger for emotional fulfillment amid the emptiness of his new life, with little to look forward to except the filling his bloated belly with the same grass he tramples underfoot, with no one but himself and the witch to know he was ever anything more than a bull.
Before Damon could finish psychoanalyzing his need to fill this sudden void inside him, he suddenly noticed another pressure in their wanting to be released. It felt rather like nausea, he thought, but it felt too relaxing to be nausea. For a moment, the pleasant sensation of one of his internal organs preparing to force something out made him think he was about to pee again, and he grinned inwardly. Teetering in between his need to empty one part of himself and fill another, Damon squirmed awkwardly for a moment until suddenly, his mouth was full of grass again as though he'd taken another bite without noticing--but this new grass was warmer, mushier, tastier. He could still feel the pressure inside him, but it seemed a little less urgent now, as though it could wait until he finished this bite. Swallowing his wad of grass felt different this time, as though it needed to go somewhere else in order to satisfy him. That's when he felt his newest round of hunger start to dissipate a little bit before his nausea-like fullness heaved again and forced another wad of mushiness up into his mouth.
'That's it!' thought Damon. He'd forgotten that cattle have giant stomachs with four separate chambers. Eat their grass all over again in order to digest it. 'This mushy grass is cud,' he thought, realizing this was the stuff that was starting to fill that awkward void inside him. 'So much for a hunger for emotional fulfillment,' he thought, swallowing a wad of cud again and filling his mouth with the next.