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COCK A DOODLE DOO
. . . You blink awake, squinting as your eyes adjust to the brightness of the sun behind the curtains.
You sigh, sitting up. Another day on the ranch.
The holstaur homes.
A strange name, but a fitting one considering most of the inhabitants are of the cow variety.
You walk down the stairs to see breakfast in full swing. Minotaurs, sheep girls, syters, and of course, holstaurs are all eating side by side, talking. All still incredibly beautiful, all with massive bust sizes. Because of course they do. Big tits are big milks are big profits.
You sigh, walking outside before anyone can see you. You learned the hard way eating with them is a bad idea after all the favors they offered so you'd milk them first.
You sigh once more, remembering your curse. Your not aloud to touch a single on of them. Sexually, that is.
Because if they start to see you as a mate, and if you leave, they're milk production will do one of those horny eagle death spirals. And as nice as it would be, your not exactly keen on the idea of no internet, video games or fast food ever again.
Now what to do... whole farms open. What task is first on the bracket today.
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