The First Milking

The lab still smelled of ozone and sweet hay when I flicked the final switch. My mother—no, not anymore—stood in the center of the glowing circle, her new horns catching the light like polished ivory. She was taller now, curvier, with a sleek black-and-white tail that twitched behind her and heavy breasts already beading with milk. The transformation serum had worked perfectly. She blinked, ran a hand over her new ears, then smirked at me with that same sharp wit she’d always had.

"Well, genius," she said, voice low and amused, "you turned your own mother into a walking dairy fantasy. What’s the plan now? Milk me like a prize heifer?"

I swallowed, heat already pooling low in my gut. "You said you wanted to feel powerful again. This body is stronger, more sensitive. I can prove it."

She stepped closer, tail curling around my wrist. "Prove it? Or are you just horny and hoping your cow-girl mom will let you play farmer?"

The tension snapped like a live wire. We didn’t make it to the bedroom. She shoved me against the workbench, her new strength impressive, and kissed me hard—tongue demanding, not submissive. Her hand found my cock through my jeans and squeezed. "Already hard? Cute."

"You’re dripping," I shot back, fingers sliding between her thighs to find her pussy slick and hot. She moaned, hips rolling into my touch.

"Then do something about it, farm boy."

Clothes hit the floor in a rush. She climbed onto the padded table, ass up, tail flicking, looking over her shoulder with a wicked grin. "You wanted this every day? Start earning it."

I lined up and thrust into her wet pussy in one smooth stroke. She gasped, then laughed breathlessly. "Fuck, that’s good. Harder." We moved together, her strong thighs gripping me, sweat already shining on her skin. Her breasts swung, milk dripping onto the table with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping, her panting, my own groans filled the lab.

She reached back, grabbed my ass, and pulled me deeper. "Don’t you dare come yet. I want that cock in my mouth first."

I pulled out; she spun, dropped to her knees, and took me in with expert hunger. The blowjob was sloppy, wet, her tongue working while she looked up with defiant eyes. When I was throbbing, she stood, pushed me down, and straddled me. She sank onto my cock again, riding with powerful rolls of her hips, her ass slapping my thighs, milk spraying lightly from her nipples as she came the first time, clenching hard around me.

We switched positions twice more—her bent over the table, me pounding into her dripping pussy while she moaned filthy encouragement, then her on her back, legs over my shoulders, both of us sweating and panting. When I finally came, she milked every drop with a triumphant smile, her own orgasm rolling through her again.

Afterward, she lay there glowing, tail lazily stroking my chest. "Not bad for day one. But tomorrow you’re bringing the milking machine."

She winked. "And maybe we’ll see how many times you can make your cow-girl mom come before you beg for mercy."