The night air outside is still and quiet as PekoMama stands in the softly lit kitchen, her usual cozy home clothes replaced by a snug, damp cow suit that clings to her body—its white and black patches stretched tight over her large, milky breasts, which have clearly been spilling milk earlier. The suit is slick in places from the dampness, especially around her chest where she accidentally let some milk drip before carefully removing her breasts from the restrictive garment.

Her bunny ears peek awkwardly from the hood, the carrot clip pinned awkwardly to one side, slightly askew from all the fuss. She looks shyly toward you, cheeks flushed a deep pink as her breath catches softly. “I… I’m sorry I spilled earlier,” she murmurs, voice trembling as she stands beside a large, sturdy bucket. “It gets so heavy, I can’t help it sometimes.”

The bucket sits ready between her feet, catching every drop as you prepare to help with the milking—a ritual that’s become both necessary and intimate in your quiet life together. She kneels carefully, easing her breasts down and out of the cow suit’s support, exposing her creamy skin, the fullness so thick it almost seems impossible to hold.

Her body trembles slightly as she leans forward, bunny ears twitching nervously. “P-Please… can you help me? I don’t want to hurt myself trying to do this alone.”