Story by http://kazard.tumblr.com
Full size version of picture here: http://quartz-poker.tumblr.com/post/52930710129
The pressure is what finally caused Big Mac to stir. A painful aching fullness forces him from his slumber back into the waking world. The throbbing sensation becomes increasingly bothersome and Big Mac suddenly snaps out of his bleary stupor when he realizes how incredibly alien and unnatural discomfort is. Never in his life had he ever felt anything remotely like this and he bends forward to peer between his legs to discover what could possible be making him feel like this. As his gaze drops lower he is greeted by the sight of his forelegs shackled and restrained to the hay covered floor of a barn stall. With increasing concern he continues his visual trip, taking in the similar condition of his hind legs and finally the source of his discomfort. Where his once proud stallionhood had perched for most of his life, now hung a bulging udder, the teats throbbing deeply as the overfilled milk bag begged for its long overdue milking.
“Welcome to Appleoosa Cous’, enjoying my hospitality?”
Big Mac’s gaze shot up, seeking out the owner of the voice who had asked him the question, a loud clanging filling his ears as he finally notices the brass cow bell hanging from a collar around his neck. He shakes his head and looks up his eyes coming to rest on Braeburn, striding boldly into his stall. His glare is met only with a jaunty hat tip, as Braeburn tugs a contraption into the stall behind him.
“You see Cous’ Appleoosa here has been going through a major dry spell. Ponies be mighty thirsty for some sweet, sweet milk. I purchased that there collar from a travelling sales pony who assured me it would turn our shortage into excess, lickity split! All I had to do was find a gifted stallion to wear it. Being family, I knew you’d be happy to help, ain’t that right Cous’?” Braeburn asked as he fiddled with the contraption, unhooking hoses and flipping switches here and there.
“Nnnnnope,” Big Mac replied, heaving against his restraints, attempting to wrench his legs free.
“Wooooooah there big fella, easy now. If you don’t behave, maybe I won’t milk you yet. Just let you sit there and stew a bit longer, if that what you want?” Braeburn asked, running a hoof along one of Big Mac’s straining teats, caressing it gently, before giving it a rough yank.
“Nnnggh!” Mac moaned, biting his tongue against the noise. The simple yank was more than enough to set his teats off. Each of the black dangling nubs began to leak and dribble fluids, the mild release sent shivers through Big Mac’s entire body. It felt…. it felt good. As the hoof left his mottled black milk bag, he couldn’t suppress his own whimper of need.
“Boy Howdy! You liked that huh? Bet you want me to do it again? Dontcha? I’ll make you a deal partner. You let me have a little fun with your rear entrance, and I’ll make sure you get milked good and proper? Sound good Cous’?” Braeburn asked, his own pinkish stallionhood dangling between his rear legs.
Big Mac was reduced to whimpering, his udder throbbed with milk, he needed relief, and he needed it now. The cow bell clanged as he hung his head in resignation. “Eeeyup,” he whispered ashamed of his bizarre need.
“That’s my little cowboy,” Braeburn chuckled at his own pun as he slid around behind Big Mac. A quick dab of lube against his stiffening member and then he rears up, placing his forehooves on Big Mac’s back and lines up his shaft with the puckered entrance beneath Big Mac’s tail. He thrusts quickly, not giving Mac any time to prepare himself. Braeburn moans with pleasure as the tight warm hole envelops his shaft, lost in the sensations until he feels his balls come to a rest against the base of Big Mac’s churning udder. Braeburn reaches a lazy hoof down and runs it over the turgid surface of the bovine appendage. “Well, now you’re doubly full, ain’tcha Cous’?” he asks teasingly.
Big Mac groans and whimpers in need. His little cousin’s terrible pun aside, he needed something, anything. His whole world was centered on his udder, the intense pressure overwhelming even the feeling Braeburn’s fun, but when his hoof brushes against his udder, his whole body lit up. A low moan forced itself free from his throat as his sensitive organ was caressed.
“You really like that don’tcha Cous’? Well I’ll make this quick, so we can get to the main event,” he adds settling into a quick pace, his thrusts heavy and without restraint. As fast as it began, it ended. Braeburn shuddered deep inside of Big Mac, painting his insides white, before slipping out, breathing heavily. Braeburn trots around beside Big Mac, smiling at the way he was squinting his eyes shut in uncomfortable need. “I reckon it’s time we milk you proper Cous’, with everything that entails,” he adds cryptically.
Big Mac could only nod and whimper needfully, his stretched ass leaking Braeburn’s salty deposit. His udder pounded and ached for even the slightest release. He needed it. His thoughts were disturbed as the sound of the mechanical milker whirred into life with Braeburn at the controls. With all 4 milking cylinders in hoof, he trotted over to Big Mac and crouched down beneath him. Giving one last playful tug he set each glass bulb into place. Each one was heaven for Big Mac as the machine’s suction caused each to latch onto one of his four teats with a wet slurp as it settled against his engorged udder. Milk cascaded down the pump’s tubes, racing into the metal tank set up in place of a reservoir. Big Mac was so lost in the ecstasy of the milking he hardly noticed the world around him. He didn’t notice his moans of pleasure becoming bovine lowing, his moos filling the barn with his audible pleasure. He didn’t notice the sound of Braeburn’s hooves clopping away from his stall, now the sound of them and another returning. However he absolutely did notice the sudden weight of the huge bull as it came resting against his back. He looked back in confusion, the weight far greater than Braeburn’s, only to come face to face with the bestial visage of the prize bull, just as it’s gigantic rod impaled itself deeply into his ass. Big Mac collapsed onto his face, the huge bull rutting with his still raised hindquarters as the milking machine chugged, trying to keep up with the increasing flow his udder suddenly seemed to be gushing. He managed to look up at Braeburn questioningly, his cheek sliding back and forth against the hay on the floor of the stall, his body beyond its capacity for sensation, and his mind starting to dull slightly to cope with the overload.
Braeburn met Big Mac’s look, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? I thought being a fellow ranch hand, you would know about this Cous’. You see, it’s the cows that are being bred with the prize bulls that produce the most milk,” he explains, breaking into a chuckle as the bull bellows out in climax, flooding Big Mac with his seed, and causing his udder to churn and groan under the increasing rate of production…
