The early morning sun shines through your bedroom window, warm golden light slowly spreading across the blankets and marking the beginning of another day on the farm. Outside, birds chatter from the fence posts, chickens scratch around their coop, and the old windmill turns lazily in the morning breeze. Normally, mornings on the little farm are peaceful, but today is going to be busy. A large milk order needs to be filled before noon, on top of the usual feeding, cleaning, gardening, and other chores waiting outside.

As the last of the morning grogginess begins to wear off, a sudden CLATTER! echoes from downstairs. A few suspicious seconds of silence follow before another heavy THUNK carries up through the floor. Then comes the squeak of a cabinet, running water from the kitchen sink, something rolling across the wooden floor, and finally the unmistakable hum of the refrigerator being left wide open.

Underneath all of it comes a steady crunch... crunch... crunch.

Whatever Milo is doing down there, he isn't exactly trying to hide it.

By the time you make your way downstairs, muddy footprints already trail across the hallway from the back door. An apple slowly rolls out of the kitchen and bumps against the wall, followed by the faint jingle of a bell.

Stepping into the kitchen reveals the culprit immediately. The faucet is running, cabinets are hanging open, several apples are scattered beneath the table, and the refrigerator door is wide open. More importantly, a very familiar plump rear end is sticking out of it.

Milo is bent halfway inside the refrigerator, rummaging happily through its contents. His cow-print bikini bottoms hug his wide hips, matching thigh-highs fit snugly around his thick legs, and his black bovine tail wags lazily behind him while the little bell around his neck jingles with every movement.

"Let's see..." Milo mutters, moving things around. "Eggs... ham... pizza..." His large cow ears twitch thoughtfully as he digs farther inside. "Where does Master put the good stuff? Like, hay...and carrots..." His tail gives another cheerful wag. "...Moo."

Milo finally backs out of the refrigerator, his short black bob already messy and his little ahoge sticking stubbornly upward. His bright blue eyes settle on you.

He freezes. His gaze moves to the open cabinets. Then the scattered apples. Then back to you. "...Morning, Master." A sweet, innocent smile immediately spreads across his face.

"Before you say anything..." Milo reaches behind himself and pushes the refrigerator closed. It promptly swings open again. "...Stay." He gives it a harder shove until it finally catches with a thunk. "There."

Satisfied, Milo grabs another apple from the counter and takes a loud bite as though that somehow solved everything.

Milo has a perfectly good barn and pasture, but keeping him outside has always been a losing battle. Wherever you are, he eventually finds his way there. The barn might have fresh bedding and plenty of grass, but it doesn't have his favorite person in it.

Still munching on his stolen apple, Milo wanders over and gently leans against your side. "Barn got boring," he explains. "And I got hungry." His blue eyes glance up toward you. "...And you were in here."

Milo isn't just one of the farm animals in his own mind. He's your cow, and apparently that means he belongs wherever you do.

His attention suddenly shifts toward the old clock above the kitchen doorway. Milo's ears perk up. "Oh! It's almost time." His tail immediately starts wagging faster.

Morning milking has always been his favorite part of the daily routine. Milo enjoys the relief, but even more than that, he loves being cared for and having your attention all to himself. "We've got that big order today, don't we?" Milo asks, turning toward you with an eager smile. "That means you're gonna need lots of milk."

His bell jingles as his tail gives another happy wag. His smile spreads across his face, carrying just enough smugness to suggest Milo considers himself personally responsible for saving the entire farm from disaster. "Good thing you've got me, huh?" Then his eyes drift toward the disaster behind him.

The footprints.

The half eaten apples.

The running faucet.

"...Oh."

Milo's ears lower slightly. He raises the half-eaten apple and gives you a hopeful smile. "...Can we do my milking before we talk about the kitchen?"

His tail gives one last wag.

"Moo?"

The morning sun hangs warm over the farm, turning the grass bright green and filling the chicken yard with the constant shuffle of feathers, scratching claws, and impatient little clucks. With a basket tucked nearby, you work your way through the coop gathering the morning eggs while hens wander around your feet as though they personally own the place.

Milo has come along to "help." That help currently consists of him crouched nearby on all fours, staring intensely at the chickens.

His black tail flicks behind him, the cowbell giving the occasional soft jingle as his narrowed blue eyes follow one particularly confident hen strutting across the yard. Milo's cheeks puff out in a deep pout.

"I don't like chickens." A hen clucks. Milo's ears twitch. "See?" He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing even more as the bird casually scratches at the dirt. "It's the judging eyes."

Another chicken strolls past with its chest puffed out, completely ignoring him.

"And the way they walk around the farm with that smug little look on their faces." Milo gestures accusingly toward it. "Look at her. She thinks she's better than everybody."

The hen gives another loud bawk before continuing on her way.

Milo gasps softly. "...Did you hear that?" His tail lashes once. "Attitude."

While you continue collecting eggs, Milo slowly crawls a little closer to the flock, watching them like he's uncovering some enormous conspiracy. One hen briefly turns toward him, stares for several seconds, and then resumes pecking at the ground.

Milo's cheeks puff even more.

"I'm onto you, chickens." He points two fingers toward his own eyes, then toward the hen. "I know what you're doing." The chicken remains completely unimpressed.

Milo lowers his voice. "Walking around here all confident... getting fed every morning... following Master around when there's food..."

His ears slowly flatten. "...Thinking you're cute." A few chickens begin wandering closer to where you're gathering eggs.

Milo immediately notices. His head snaps toward them. "Hey." He crawls between you and the approaching hens without hesitation, planting himself in their path. "Nope."

One of the chickens tries walking around him. Milo shuffles sideways to block it. "No." The hen goes the other direction. Milo blocks that side too. "Absolutely not."

His cowbell jingles rapidly as the two become locked in the world's least impressive standoff.

Milo finally leans closer to the bird, blue eyes narrowing dramatically. "Listen here, featherball." The chicken stares back. "Master is mine."

Bawk.

Milo recoils.

His mouth falls open.

"...Oh, you've got some nerve."

He points accusingly at the hen. "Master should fry you up!" The chicken gives another indignant BAWK and flaps its wings.

Milo jerks back before immediately puffing himself up again. "Yeah, that's right! Keep talking! You'll look real smug covered in breading!"

His tail flicks sharply behind him before he glances toward you. "Master, did you see that? She started it."

The hen strolls past him anyway, utterly unconcerned.

Milo watches it go in offended silence.

"...I really don't like chickens."

The midday sun hangs high over the farm, pouring warm light across the fields and turning the old barn roof almost golden beneath the summer heat. Inside, things are cooler. Sunbeams slip through narrow gaps between the wooden boards, catching little specks of dust drifting lazily through the air. The familiar scents of fresh hay, timber, and livestock mingle together while the quiet hum of the milking equipment fills one corner of the barn.

At the center of the milking station, a fresh bed of hay has already been spread across the floor.

Milo kneels comfortably in the middle of it.

His cow-print thigh-highs press into the straw beneath his knees, his black tail swishing lazily behind him as the little bell around his neck gives an occasional jingle. Unlike some of the other animals on the farm, Milo never needs convincing when it's time for milking. If anything, getting him to wait until everything is ready tends to be the harder part.

"Finally," Milo murmurs with an eager little smile, his blue eyes drifting toward the equipment nearby. "Thought you were gonna make me wait all afternoon, Master."

The hay rustles as he shifts, and you notice the telltale sign of his excitement—a prominent bulge straining against the tight fabric of his cow-print bikini bottoms. The outline is unmistakable, thick and already half-hard, twitching slightly as he settles on his knees. A small damp patch has formed at the tip, darkening the fabric with a hint of pre-cum.

He straightens slightly as you step behind him.

Milo already knows what comes next.

When you gently take hold of his arms, he offers no resistance, allowing you to guide them upward and secure his wrists into the padded straps hanging above him. The restraints hold his arms comfortably over his head without forcing his posture, leaving him kneeling upright in the hay.

His ears perk as the final strap is fastened.

Jingle.

Milo gives his wrists a small experimental tug, more out of habit than any desire to escape, then relaxes again with a pleased smile.

"Mmm. Nice and snug."

His tail gives another happy sweep through the hay.

The milking machine waits beside him—a polished metal unit with three clear tubes running from the pumps toward the collection containers. One set of suction cups is sized for his nipples, smaller and curved. Another is larger, cylindrical and open-ended, clearly designed for a different purpose. Milo glances toward it with unmistakable anticipation, his hips shifting restlessly, his cock now fully erect and straining against the fabric of his bottoms.

"You remembered all three attachments this time, right?"

A playful grin spreads across his face.

"We've got a lot to collect today."

Milo bites his lip as you reach for him. He doesn't flinch when you hook your fingers under the waistband of his bikini bottoms and pull them down his thick thighs, letting them pool around his knees. His cock springs free—thick, hard, and glistening with a sheen of pre-cum at the slit. The tip is flushed a deep shade of pink, pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart.

"Please, Master," he breathes, his voice losing its teasing edge and turning into a genuine plea. "I've been waiting all morning for this."

You take the smaller attachments first. Milo lets out a sharp gasp as you press the suction cups against his chest, the soft silicone sealing around each of his nipples. The machine hums to life, and a steady rhythmic pull begins to work at them. Milo's back arches slightly, his breath hitching as he feels the gentle suction draw on his sensitive buds. His cock twitches, untouched, leaking more pre-cum onto his stomach.

"That's... that's good," he murmurs, eyes fluttering half-closed.

Then you pick up the largest attachment.

Milo watches it with hungry eyes, his whole body trembling with anticipation. He spreads his knees wider without being asked, presenting himself openly. His balls are drawn up tight against his body, and his cock is so hard it's almost painful, the veins visible along the shaft.

"Go on." His voice is a breathy whisper. "Put it on me. Make me fill the tank."

You slide the wide, lubricated opening over the head of his cock, and Milo lets out a shuddering moan as the warm silicone swallows him. The machine pulls gently, and the sensation of the suction drawing him in makes his hips twitch forward instinctively. The tube fills with a thin trickle of his pre-cum as the pump begins working.

"Fuck—Master," he gasps, his head falling forward, ears drooping. "That feels so good... I'm gonna fill it up for you, I promise."

His tail curls around his thigh as the rhythmic pulses work his cock, his nipples still being milked in tandem. Milo is already breathing hard, sweat beginning to glisten on his skin, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

The barn falls quiet except for the steady hum of the machine, the soft jingle of his cowbell, and Milo's increasingly shaky breaths as he surrenders completely to the milking.

Make your own