#jay aury

Like you'd really fall for some dumb cowgirl's tricks.

Like you really believed her milker was 'accidentally' broken and she needed a pair of helping hands.

Like you'd really climb over the fence and follow her into the barn.

Like you'd really believe the whole herd needs a milking.

Like you'd really get fooled into thinking their milk is totally different and won't turn you into a dumb stud unable to disobey a pair of bouncy tits.

Like you're really dumb enough after all that to 'help' the herd further by moving into the house and becoming their farmer.

Yeah. As if.

At least, that's what your old boss claimed when you told him what happened.

Anyway, it's morning, and time to rise with the cows and start your new, totally voluntary career as the farmer of a herd of holstaurs. Now get cracking, big boy. Those beauties won't milk themselves.

Uh oh, master. Looks like you missed this week's payment on your busty bimbo bunnybot!

Good news though! According to your contract, you can keep me. Cyberdine Industries just needs to use a bit of your mind for processing power.

Don't worry. You'll still be you. Just a bit... dumber.

But that's okay. You don't need all your brain. Don't need to think. Not with a sexy bunnybot around. A pretty bimbo bot happy to kiss you. Happy to let you play with her breasts. So easy to enjoy me and not think. Not worry.

Like about making next week's payment.

And don't worry. If Cyberdine happens to end up using your whole brain, I'll keep your body nice and happy.

Nice and comfy between my breasts.

Nice and snuggled between your bunnybot's legs.

Because I love my master so very much.

It was so smart of you to bind that imp to guide you through the dungeon.

So brilliant.

So clever.

She'd definitely never steer you wrong.

Or into all those intelligence debuff traps.

Oh but don't worry! You can trust her. She can't disobey you.

Just a shame you keep losing intelligence points.

Keep getting dumber.

Sillier.

Harder to focus on anything but her big, bouncy breasts.

Mmm. Not to worry, though. She'll show you the way.

Tell you what to do.

Like take off your clothes.

Bury your face in her breasts.

Be a good toy for her.

A good bimbo.

It wasn't hard to tame a slime girl. You just needed self-control.

Sure, her slime could numb your brain, but you'd need a lot of it. Practically bathe in it. A few kisses wouldn't do anything.

And she was such a good kisser.

Loved kissing you.

Kissing your face.

Your chest.

Lower.

Lower...

And there wasn't really a risk letting her breasts squish against you.

Her tentacles wrap around you. Hugging you.

Squeezing you.

You weren't in any real danger as her ooze trapped your lower body.

Melted your clothes.

Tingled on your skin.

Yeah. You're still in... in control. You're still... still the master. You can... ah... can tell her to s-stop whenever.

Yeah.

You're the master.

The good master.

Master feels good.

You can tell her... tell her to stop whe... whenever...

But maybe... maybe later.

What? Do you seriously think a bunch of demons would pretend to be cowgirls just to get you to milk them?

Do you really think cunning, cruel succubi are that desperate for a pair of hands on their tits?

That needy for a good, thorough milking?

And, what? You think a herd of them just moved in a week ago, tricked you into drinking their milk, and then turned you into their brainless milker?

Their dumb, obedient human thrall?

Their hopeless, helpless, horny toy who can't help but moan and drain their breasts with your eager lips?

That's right. It's so silly. The idea isn't even worth entertaining.

Now, get those pants off. Milking time is over.

Now it's time to reward your cowgirls for working so hard with a good, thorough rutting.

You're so lucky to have stumbled across that plant girl.

So fortunate that she's so kind and sweet, willing to let you shelter in her grove. Rest. Recuperate.

Relax.

Breathe deep her sweet, calming pollen...

The Wire Woods can be so dangerous to cute mortals so lost and confused.

So addled and dumb.

You're so lucky to have found her.

Found a place to rest.

To relax.

No no, don't squirm. Just let her vines wrap around you.

Pull you into her breasts.

Take off your clothes.

You don't need clothes.

Don't need to resist.

That's it.

Just relax.

Sink into her breasts.

Sink into submission.

Don't think about her petals closing around you.

Don't think about sinking into her intoxicating nectar.

Just relax.

Just submit.

Don't think of it as your girlfriend being corrupted into a gorgeous beembo drone.

Think of it as her becoming flirtier.

More affectionate.

More delicious as you lick the honey off her bare skin.

She's still herself.

She's just bustier.

Sweeter.

And has lots of wonderful, blonde sisters who can't get enough of cuties who stumble into the hive, so drunk on beembo honey they can't resist.

Can't escape.

Can only sink under their kisses.

Sink into their breasts.

Sink into the honeypot until their minds are gooey, golden, and melty.

So happy and moaning as beembos kiss them.

Stroke them.

Sink them deeper.

Deeper.

You just can't get enough of that new coffee place.

Why is that?

Why can't you ever go too long without a cup?

A drink?

One with plenty of... cream.

Maybe it's because all the cowgirl baristas are so eager to spend some time at your table.

Being so attentive to your needs.

Sitting beside you.

Squeezing you between them.

Talking about what a good customer you are. So loyal. So... thirsty...

Or maybe it's because they keep sneaking you into the breakroom.

Taking off their tops.

Letting you drink from the tap.

That fresh milk.

That sweet milk.