4-Legged Miracle

🎼 Magically attractive
Drastically endowed
Rocket powered jock-unit
Nothing new to talk about it 🎼


“Good morning, Rose! You and the rest of the household up yet?”

“Just finished in the bathroom and into warm clothing, heading towards the kitchen for breakfast. How’s Dag, dare I ask?”

“Open the Lounge door and soon you’ll know!”

I have to take this moment to explain that the Lounge is the agreed-upon name of that large room addition that was part-way done when I bought the house, which I then expanded and completed. It could be called a Family Room or Rec Room or Den, or any other synonym for a more casual large room where relaxing, fun activities take place. That’s true too in the main room, though the fireplace in there alone gives the main room greater formality. The Lounge has an exterior door opening onto a spacious wooden deck barely 1 m above ground level, which opens up to the greater outdoors, facing each of the lake and Dag’s cabin (in the distance) at an angle.

“Are we going to be able to see that far?”

“Just open the door, please.”

“Alright, give me a minute. Or five, if you want more of an audience.”

“I want a full audience.”

Helia barely made it into the Lounge behind me, when through the open door we and Rose saw something none of us ever expected to see.

“I think I’m hallucinating.”

“If you’re seeing two nude humantaurs laughing as they awkwardly run towards us at a medium-slow pace, you’re not hallucinating” Rose assured Helia.

Things became more and more surreal the closer they got, all the way until first Sara then Dag ran into the Lounge—ran, I’m telling you! Sara gently eased the outside door closed with her left rear foot as she and Dag caught their breath.

For over a minute, all we could do was stare.

“Feeling better, Dag?” Rose eventually asked.

“Like a new man” he grinned.

“Your teeth… you have more!” I couldn’t help noting. “They’re all there!”

Rose was incredulous, “You’re noticing his teeth rather than the ram horns on his head?!”

“Where?!” Helia had to fumble with her breasts before she could see over them sufficiently.

“They’re rather hard to miss! Quite like his new boobs, located where we all expect humans to have a pair. Or his humantaur mid-body and legs.”

“Quite the set of mutations” he kept grinning.

So was Sara (grinning). “See? I knew it wasn’t his time yet!”

“But he was so near death!” I objected. “The intense mutations I understand. But getting healthier?”

“It’s not like any of us have become more ill after mutating” noted Helia.

I didn’t mutate this fast!” Rose objected.

“I did. Don’t you remember?” Sara asked, waving her second enormous schlong which appeared overnight after she and Rose shared sex.

“Given how much of all of our milk he had, nothing in terms of extreme mutations would surprise me.” Truly: nothing would have surprised me. “The health part still does, though. Any idea whatsoever what his underlying health condition was, Sara? Or do you yourself know, Dag?”

Sara’s deeper amorous/affectionate cuddle into/against him answered before her words, “Extreme chronic lack of feminine energy and pheromones in his life, for too many years.”

Without question Dag looked years younger as well as healthier. Yes, it was miraculous that he now looked 40-something when according to Rose he was 60- or 70-something and to me looked it. Still, that’s right about double the age of the rest of us (other than maybe Helia, who could be anywhere from a year or two older than us to somewhere in her 30s). Rose and I were obviously the only ones bothered by the age difference, so I at least let it go.

“I don’t want to complain, but it is a little chilly in here for someone like me in a body so new that no clothes fit.”

“Let’s have you go try on some of mine!” Sara excitedly suggested, leading him by the hand.

“Let’s all meet back up in the main room near the warm fire and where there’s more solar heating through the windows this time of day” suggested Rose.

OK” Team Humantaur agreed in unison, with Dag falling in line behind Sara’s behind passing through the doorway into the hall.

“Brought from the brink of death back to thriving and more youthful, through mutations” I mused aloud as I settled my tentacled hugeness onto the only seat in the room which truly held me: the large couch across from the fireplace.

“Not just any mutations, but a strong variation on the theme of Sara’s” noted Rose, already lazy-resting over in her usual place on the smaller (medium sized) couch against the wall left of the fireplace and perpendicular to it.

Helia eased herself into a generously-sized comfy chair we keep near the fireplace to its right, facing into the center of the room (replacing an older, smaller one we used to have there). “I’m seeing—well, I saw—standard man up front, apart from those elegant, fully-formed ram horns and the boobs.”

“Same here.”

“Yeah” I superfluously added. “Then emerging out the backside where his butt used to be is the horizontal horse-like section, with human skin as usual for a humantaur.”

“Right about the same size and height as Sara’s.”

“Other than udderless” added Helia.

“Something’s going on back there besides that highly feminine curvy butt and hips” I noted.

“Did you not see that huge part of him hanging and wobbling directly beneath his new curvy butt that looks very much like a vastly huger version of this?!” Rose chided me, unzipping the bottom of her cozy warm “worm bag” outfit, exposing her large vulva and grabbing it from each side with her lowest pair of hands.

“What a great ass” Helia sighed in a distant, reverent tone.

Conversation ceased as first my, then Rose’s, then Helia’s jaw fell open, seeing Dag (then Sara behind him) sway into the living room. It was almost as though he was two people, the gait of his front legs being a slightly slowed down version of his lifelong usual, with the rear being the sexiest femme rolling sway I’d ever seen.

“Tell me honestly what you think, each of you” he asked of us.

“Great form-fitting scoop-neck top” replied Helia approvingly. “Bra looks like it’s holding you well, and I love the teardrop opal pendant drawing attention to your cleavage.”

“Promise me you’re not gonna curse me out if I say you look as nice as Sara when she wears it, in that skirt.”

“I’m not cursing any Bubblensqueakers out, Rose. This is all too amazing and I’m… grateful.”

“Seriously: you look good in her skirt.” She studied him awhile, adding “I might be able to get you into a pants-set outfit, though given what seems to be going on in the back, it may be about as impractical as working around Sara’s udders, which is why she’s a skirt girl. What bra size are you, anyway?”


“I may have some bras for you that I don’t anticipate ever fitting into again.”

He hesitated briefly before responding “Thanks. What about you, Tent? Your thoughts?”

“Did you shave his back legs, Sara?”

“No. This is how they grew in. Just the small, thin, wispy hairs like I have.”

“I never envisioned you in even one pair of mary janes, much less two. But they work on you, especially with the full outfit as it is.”

“You don’t think it’s too feminine?”

“No one’s going to confuse your gender with those horns” Rose smirked.

“May I feel them, please?”

“Of course, Helia. Any of the rest of you are equally welcome to feel, as well.”

I know it’s inappropriate to refer to a person being caressed by multiple others as a petting zoo—especially when the person is a humantaur. Somehow to me humantaur status makes the analogy more apt, and is it truly inappropriate when 3 of the 4 of those doing the petting can reasonably be described as an octopus-woman, a boob worm, and a fellow humantaur? By any name we all got our hands on various parts of mutated Dag Nabbit, caressing his surfaces directly or through clothes, depending where our hands were.

Understandably for someone so recently so near death, Dag needed to sit down and rest after not all that long. Sara led him to her usual table “chair”, helping him get settled atop it on the warmer side nearest the middle of the room and then easing herself down next to him. The table wasn’t large enough for two humantaurs of their size and shape, other than with the most intimate possible side cuddle.

You will note that I used the singular case for size and shape. I do this intentionally, with good reason: from the base of their upper torsos on down, they were so close in standing height and “horse” middle width that measurements would have been required to document differences. Dag’s human upper torso was longer/taller, though not so much so that Sara’s tops became unworkable on him. He could of course have worn the stretchier/bigger/looser variants amongst his own shirts, though given his penchant for thick cotton plaid “lumberjack” shirts, those he’d have needed to leave unbuttoned from the middle up, to make room for his new chest melons.

“May I please have some milk?” Dag asked of Sara.

“OK, but I just got settled here, and you, sir, need some cuddling.”

“Anyone who’s willing and available.”

Helia wobbled her way over, delivering her left nipple nearly into his face. “Have at it. I’d much rather you have it than the old dump, which was what I was otherwise going to need to do soon.”

The milk definitely helped keep mutated Dag Nabbit going. As much as he wasn’t up to long stretches of standing or walks or anything, his voice had already healed and indeed lost its cragginess, now smooth and even for the first time ever in my hearing of him. The mellowness in tone accompanied a new-to-us mellowness in behavior: far fewer things worked him up into a frothing rant. So far on this first day of new life for him, there were no rants.

This was the first time several of us (apart from Rose) had felt comfortable asking potentially sensitive personal questions.

“Dag, I’m very curious about your name” said Helia. “Is Dag Nabbit a nickname?”

“No m’dear, it’s my given name. The Nabbit clan goes back many centuries in Scotland, though admittedly our origins are murky. That in itself may be appropriate, given that apparently we arose from a region known for its peat bogs. Dag is short for Dagwood, named after the comic strip and radio and movie character Dagwood Bumstead. Never have liked the full name, but the shortened version is fine.”

“Nothing to do with your propensity to curse?”

“How could my parents know that when I was born, Rose? Not that it wasn’t prescient. I had no idea at the time, but the first words I ever uttered turned out to be a curse.”

Several of our eyes lit up. “What?”

“My mother, maiden name Maude Gumit, like many people referred to her parents as Mom and Dad. I kept hearing her say that to them, and heard my father repeatedly refer to them as Mr. and Mrs. Gumit, so my wise young mind put this information together. As many children do, I ran the words Dad and Gumit together, expressing them with enthusiasm. So it came out—you’ll have to imagine this in a young child’s voice—as DadGumit!, which I repeated over and over as I pointed at my maternal grandfather, to the great delight of the several elder Nabbits and Gumits present, I’m told.”

Spending the day with mutated, strengthened, and youthened (to maybe coin a word) Dag Nabbit was surreal in a very good way. My mind didn’t on this day put together that much of it was that he too was every bit as much of a mutated human as any of the rest of us, which alone is the foundation for a very strong interpersonal bond of commonality and shared experience. His voice was more pleasant to the ears than I’d ever heard it by a long shot, as I mentioned already. So too was his humble, less confrontive sudden change of personality.

He still needed milk apparently, devoting over half our group time together repeating previous days’ rotations of suckling from each of us. He preferred doing so from nipples when available, as on myself and Helia, of necessity teat suckling from Rose and Sara. Specifically in the case of Sara, the physical nature of things required him to kneel his front down near the floor.

The first time he did this, his middle and rear joined in on the kneeling, his curvy girl butt aimed Helia’s direction over near the fireplace. I didn’t know what to make of her sudden gasp, then facial disappearance out of sight behind her own now-perpetually-huge boobs.

Later, the second time he did this, apparently he’d decided that it was more comfortable to keep his hindquarters standing upright. The sight of his already-curvy derrière taking it up a notch or two to hyper-curvaceous shot a wholly unexpected burst of lust through me. Rose later told me how she enjoyed watching my boobs swell and tentacle ends stiffen. I dare say that anyone with any body parts capable of swelling or stiffening from sexual passion would have had a similar response seeing that luscious tush so close and aimed straight at them—especially since Sara’s skirt, while in no way sheer, lacked the wherewithal to hide the succulent, sensual details of what lay underneath. I so badly wanted to flip up the back of his skirt and plow that luscious mound with any one or more of my 8 tentacocks!

Still later during his next milk break with Sara, he did the same lowered front–raised rear thing with his butt aimed directly at Rose and grabby-hand close to her. She blushed every shade of pink and red rose color that’s ever existed, staring at that beauteous butt almost to the point of drooling. Even within the confines of her cozy-warm custom-tailored (by her) Warm Winter Worm Woman suit, it was easy to see all her boobs swell hugely.

Seeing me looking at her and trying not to laugh, she picked up a magazine off the nearby table with her upper middle left hand and started fanning herself. I thought it was so apt and funny that I did the same thing. Helia saw me, then pushed her boobs down so she could look over and see Rose, then saw Dag’s butt in part-profile. She too grabbed a magazine from the table nearest her and started fanning herself.

Sara was too lost to the pleasures of being suckled for the longest time. It must’ve been about 5 minutes before she noticed me fanning myself, then Helia, then turned part-way around and saw Rose doing the same. Rose had plenty of free hands to fan herself and point at Dag’s rump aimed at her at the same time, after which Sara got it, beaming a bright smile and getting back into the sensual feelings.

Already on this major day of mutation, woodsy Dag Nabbit was out of the woods in terms of close proximity to death. Subsequent days he grew healthier and healthier, drinking less of each of our milk directly. Whether one calls it further mutation or growth of existing mutations, there were 3 areas of ongoing changes, 2 genitals and 1 pair of secondary sex characteristics.

The penis he’d always had grew bigger, mainly in length but also girth. Nothing like Sara’s extreme pair of cocks nor even my tentadicks, though edging ever-closer to the largest known on an un-mutated man.

Similarly, his boobs swelled to visions of loveliness and largess on the scale of Sara’s, differing mainly in remaining a pair versus her triple set. The resemblance was truly remarkable, and I could understand how people seeing them together might initially conclude they were older brother and younger sister.

What really went off the chart was the biggest area of change: his vulva. It went from huge to outright gigantic, hanging between his rear legs halfway to the ground, swinging and swaying oh so sexily. Its mere existence begged for it to be touched, caressed, and have things slipped into it. This power puss could not be contained: no matter what he wore, giganto-camel toe was visible for a good 1½ city blocks—roughly the longer length of Bubblensqueak Lake between his cabin and Rose’s. Seriously: one could see almost as much of its outline in clothes as with no clothes.

Remember what I just wrote about drinking less of each of our milk directly? The full story is that he was drinking nearly the same extreme amount of milk as before, mostly out of Sara, and Sara was suckling each of us to build up her milk supply for this purpose. I certainly didn’t know at the time why she thought this extra processing indirection layer was beneficial, but she did.

It was easy for Dag to drink as much of Sara’s milk as he might want, because she moved in with him. Only later did we learn that he didn’t have to drink it all, because she was injecting him with it. Those days when we wouldn’t see them until late morning weren’t because Dag was having problems, nor because either of them had suddenly become night people: they were in bed (or another part of the cabin) sharing extended milky sex! Dag’s vulva’s vagina flexed and stretched enough to comfortably take in all of either one of Sara’s giant prongs, as long as he was fully aroused. The way they (mainly she) explained it to us was that as long as she stayed inside him after blowing her extended milky stream and they cuddled in afterglow, his body absorbed what she shot out, with minimal leakage.

Sara’s ringtone sounding on my device this sunny, cool winter’s morning jolted me with a small shot of adrenalin: she normally just came over to the main house any time she wanted, with or without Dag in tow (usually with).

{Hope Dag’s situation hasn’t dramatically reversed and deteriorated} I thought. “Hey. What’s up?”

“In terms of your work schedule and what you know of what Rose and Helia are up to, is now a good time to come over and share something important?”

The tremor in her voice gave me pause. “Sure. Helia’s either expressing or blogging over in Milk Palace, and I think Rose went over there too.”

“OK, I’ll call them. Hoping we can all meet at the lake shore near your house in about 5 to 7 minutes.”

“That tight a timing?”

“No, I just want this to happen as soon as possible.”


“Just head out to the lake’s edge, please. And/or go fetch Rose and Helia, then all go out there.”

“This better be important” Rose grumbled as she, Helia, and myself exited Milk Palace, heading around the front of the main house to the lake. “I was only halfway done expressing.”

“Enjoy the feelings of fullness.”

“Not all of us enjoy being as over-full of milk as you do, Helia.”

With about a decimeter of snow on the ground, we all had our winter warm clothes and snow-facile shoes on. I must note that Rose outdid herself with the outfit she made for Helia: stretchy, thick, and warm all at the same time—not easy! It fit her curves well when worn as intended with the upper middle chest belt, though Helia tended to prefer the more tent-like loose fit of omitting that belt, which she explained felt more comfortable and made her look huger.

Once at the lakeshore, Rose did some of her jump-up all pairs of hands-clap exercises, to stay warm and apparently dissipate some excess energy. The gloves on all her hands added a fun muted tone to her claps.

Over the distance, Sara was the first one we saw emerging from her and Dag’s cabin.

“What the hell is she doing wearing that evening ensemble whose skirt I made for her outdoors in winter?!”

“What I want to know is why she has flowers in her hair” I replied to Rose.

“Why not?” said Helia, in her usual sunny voice (matching the sunny morning). “If anyone needs a reason to look pretty in this world, we need to change this world!”

Hhhhhh!” I couldn’t help gasping at the first sight of Dag emerging from his home, pulling up next to smiling Sara.

“Bigger up top.”

“Two cup sizes at least” Helia added to Rose’s observation.

The loving humantaur couple were already sauntering towards us, intimately side-by-side, holding hands.

Helia gently touched Rose’s top left shoulder, “She wouldn’t be able to function without those mega-wanger socks you made as part of that outfit.”

“Gaia I want her inside me.”

“Please tell me I’m not bad for staring at Dag’s supremely rolling curvaceous ass and badly wanting to prong him.”

“You’re not bad, Tent” Helia assured me with a gentle touch of her nearest lovely hand, with Rose tossing a “Not even!” concurrence atop her words then saying, “I don’t know about that bow tie atop that cleavage, though.”

“Goes with the black suit coat, which to my amazement somehow works with Sara’s red evening skirt that he’s wearing.”

“Their legs must be freezing!”

“They look so happy though, Rose, their faces as sunny bright as the morning sun without being reflective-shiny like Shiny Betty’s forehead.”

Helia’s mention of Shiny Betty made me wonder how Virgil was doing, and whether they were still an item in any context.

There wasn’t really any time to wonder about much of anything, with Sara and Dag drawing to a stop directly in front of us. I know I was surprised when instead of staying welded-together close the way they’d usually been in recent times, they split apart in front of us, facing each other, holding both pairs of hands.

“Dag, will you please marry me?”

“Yes, Sara, if you’re certain in front of your fellow Milk Maiden witnesses that this is what you truly want. You have saved my life and are making it more worth living than ever before. The honor is mine, if I’m worthy.”

“I’m certain, Dag. I wish to live and love and life partner with you as long as possible, and I very much want to take your name and be the first-ever Mrs. Nabbit in your life.”

Sensitive Helia gasped the loudest seeing Sara pull out a flocked jewelry box, opening it to reveal the glistening platinum basic no-jewels ring inside, though I gasped too, and my eyes got moist.

“Will you please wear this ring? To every moment know of the destiny of our near-term union?”

Dag pulled a strikingly similar jewel box out of his coat pocket. “Only if you will honor our commitment via wearing this ring, enhancing the symmetry between us that so far our respective mutations have miraculously produced.”

Even Rose started crying along with Helia and myself from the beauty and purity of love expressed between Sara and Dag as they slipped the ring they each held on their betrothed’s finger.

“Please tell me the wedding’s going to be in springtime or later” Rose somewhat broke the mood—a coping mechanism of hers when things get too sentimental. “I know you two are on fire for each other, but how can you have 4 pairs of nude legs out here and not be cold?”

I still remember the look of a power well beyond anything human emerging from Sara’s smile when she responded, “Love finds ways”, with Helia nodding. “Thank you all for coming out here and witnessing this.”

“Yes, thank you” said Dag.

“I think there’s still a bottle of sparkling grape juice we can open up and share” I offered.

“I’ve got two at my place” said Rose. “Is that where this is going?”

The rest of us nodded.

Sipping sparkling grape juice together in the main room near a freshly-started fire warmed the rest of us nearer the glowing warmth level of the warm bodies and romantic hearts of newly-engaged Sara Trotter and Dag Nabbit.

“I wasn’t going to say anything” Rose very much said aloud, “but for all the formality I would’ve thought you’d at least have put on a bra for this, Dag.”

“None of them fit” he blushed, smiling.

“One of you could’ve asked! Follow me; I’ve got a whole assortment of sizes to loan or give you.”

“Some of them come in sets of six” I grinned.

Helia updated me on the latest goings-on in the online milkosphere out in the main room while Rose worked with Dag and fiancee Sara to get him into one of her many spare bras. Because of this I wasn’t present in the room, though both Rose’s and Sara’s retelling of events to me after the fact matched well enough that I feel comfortable sharing them here.

Sara told me that it was fun watching Rose do multiple handoffs to herself between extricating the first trial bra from the lowest dresser drawer and nearly top-hand handing it off to Dag before hesitating at the last moment. “Something the matter?” she asked.

“How long have you been lactating, Dag?”

“I am?!”

“Sure looks like milk to me!, as well as darkened areolae. Did neither of you love birds notice this?”

Sara eased in to have a look, carefully studying each of Dag’s nipples. “This is new.”

“As of?”

“Right now! Wonder if it is what it appears to be?”

“What else would it be?”

“Could be anything, given how mutations can go.”

“Occam’s Razor says it’s milk” declared Rose.

“Well we probably should do some lab tests–”

“–Oh fuck that!”

Sara gasped as Rose’s mouth lunged for Dag’s right one, getting a good latch-on and making Dag gasp for this whole other reason.

Suckle suckle suckle

“Yep, it’s milk” Rose concluded when she pulled away. “Want me to try the other side and check for symmetry?”

“Nothat’sOK” Sara blurted out in a run-on.

Dag looked stunned, staring down at his swollen, heavy breasts, lifting up each in turn and studying its pointy end. “What do I need to know about handling and caring for these now?”

Fiancee Sara touched her hand to his cheek, gently easing his head towards her for full direct eye contact, “If you feel like either or both are too full, they are, and you need to release the milk until you feel OK, or empty. May I please taste your left?”

“Yes. I’ll feel better knowing your opinion.”

Verdict: tasty, with a touch of tanginess.

I wasn’t expecting Dag to return to the main room topless. “Nothing Rose had fit?”

“We didn’t get that far” she answered on his behalf. “Milk’s happening. Suddenly, according to Dag and Sara. Tangy tasty is my opinion.”

“I’m on it!” exclaimed Helia, doing her best to jump up out of her chair (with her usual extreme boob and udder bobbling) and rush the not-even-half-step in front of Dag. I couldn’t see from my angle, but Rose assures me she had light spiral pinwheel eyes when she pleaded, “May I please sample?”

“Sure” he replied, sounding dazed to me.

Suckle suckle suckle suckle “Mmmm!” Suckle suckle suckle

–“That’s enough, Helia” said Sara as she eased our resident milk expert away from her fiancee’s left orb.

Even from an acute angle I could see the reverence in Helia’s eyes as she told Dag, “You’d taste sooo good with sourdough bread!”

“His milk might taste even better in sourdough bread” Rose countered.

“Yah! Oh, I gotta go report on this.”

Sara grabbed Helia by the collar before she could rush off, “Show me any and all posts regarding my fiancee before releasing them.”

She eyed her up and down, suddenly fearful of this until-now friend and milky colleague. “Sure thing, Sara. And you too obviously, Dag.”

“Will anything bad happen if I consume my own milk?” he tentatively asked us all.

“We don’t know” his fiancee answered first.

“Name one of us who’s worse off for drinking our own milk!” Rose challenged her.

Dag’s eyes didn’t pinwheel like Helia’s, though his erection and swelling various other obvious places made it clear that he very much liked drinking his own milk directly out of his own breasts, equally much on each side. Given his recent suckling experience, he had no need to ask any of us about how to go about it.

“You’re totally missing out, Tent” Rose teased me, as the only one amongst us who’d yet to sample Dag’s milk.

“Do you have any left, Dag?”

“For you, Tent, I’d save my last drop. Or make more, if I had control over that.”

“You’ll be making more, Dag” Rose grinned. “Count on it.”

His milk did have a distinct, pleasant tang that none of the rest of ours had. It wasn’t long at all where he was emptied enough not to nip drip, again amenable for clothing without needing absorbent pads at the business end of his boobs. Ironically once drawn down, he still fit well into the bra of Sara’s he’d most recently been using.

A week or so after Sara’s and Dag’s engagement ceremony, Rose decided to slow down my work on a new website with idle chatter. To her credit, she was dusting and generally neatening up our home, not just jaw-jacking.

“I don’t understand what’s up with Dag and Sara.”

“What’s to understand about love?” I countered, reaching a rear tentacle out and caressing several of her warm-bagged lower boobs. “Haven’t we discussed before about how it tends to be inscrutable?”

“Yes, but there’s inscrutable and nonsensical. I put their love in the latter category.”

I gave up, saving the current project files then turning around to give her my full attention. “What do you find nonsensical about their love?”

“Where do I even start?!”

“Anywhere you want, bae.”

“Dag’s not the marrying kind! Never has been since I’ve known him.”

“Did you try going for him and got rebuffed?” I couldn’t help grinning.

No, you sexy octo-chump! Before Sara, he hasn’t had a woman over to his place besides me for an occasional daytime visit as long as I’ve lived here, nor remnant signs of any prior to that.”

“Yes, and he nearly died and he’s mutated significantly and somehow reversed aging, so why might not things be different now?”

“I don’t think core attributes of people’s personalities change that much! Did I change a lot after mutating, in terms of behavior or personality?”

“Oh come on, Rose! I barely knew you a day or two before your mutations started. Nowhere near long enough to make any before and after comparison! I know for myself I got a lot hornier after mutating than I’d ever been prior.”

She wrapped several of her arms around my nearest tentacle, pulling her and that part of me into a nice through-warm-clothes-she-made cuddle. “Yeaaah, I’m that way too.”

“So’s Sara, and maybe so is Dag. He might now at this point find it more convenient than a bother to have a full-time live-in lover.”

“Yes, but he can get that living together with her, as they already are. It’s the legal marriage thing that has me flummoxed. Consider: what entities in society perform marriages?”

“Organized religions and state or local governments.”

Exactly! Dag hates both of those entities with a passion! Or entity categories, if you’re getting pedantic on me again. Why would he submit to that when he’s literally been getting all the milk he wants from the Sara cow as well as us without the legal encumbrances you know he hates?”

“Because she’s young and pretty and sexy and saved his life.”

“OK, I can see that as his angle. What about hers? Why would she go for such an older dude and want to lock it down in marriage?”

“Goddess complex, maybe? She did more than the rest of us to save him, and the mutations re-created him very much in her image.”

“Why couldn’t we have done that, so we could be the same size and shape and share clothes?”

“If we understood how the mutations worked, maybe we could’ve worked on that. Tell me this: would you have chosen being a huge octo-woman like me, knowing that our two huge bodies would make it much harder to get core-close intimate with each other, and that there’d only be a couple of rooms in here and then maybe Milk Palace where we could both fit at the same time? And that we’d have been 16 prongs with far fewer places to put them?”

I could see her hesitating, so I went on, “Or would you have wanted me to be a boob worm like you, losing the ability to lift you up and hold you close, and prong you 8 ways?”

“I dunno” she softly replied, sounding defeated.

“In terms of appearance and everything physical that we can see as well as his behavior, Dag’s a generation younger than I dare say even you have ever seen him–”


“Even if it’s not on your nor my To Do list, a 20-something getting with a youthful, energetic 40-something isn’t especially rare.”

“OK, I’ll let the whole inter-generational marriage thing go for now. But why would she totally lose interest in getting with any of us and more than that suddenly get all jealous-possessive over him?”

“I circle back to love being irrational, and their having so much in common as similar-build humantaurs. And, let us not forget, he’s the only one amongst us other than you able to take in her mega-schlongs.”

“One at a time.”

“Yes—like you. That’s not common, far as what I’ve seen of photos of mutated people so far.”


“He’s not common. Neither are you. Neither is Dag.”

“Hi team!” the chipper voice of newly-arrived Sara greeted us, as she eased into the main room, followed by Dag.

Both of us noticed her quite-full udders sloshing and swaying, their size and mass slowing her gait. Rose decided to say something about this topic, “You’re one building off for letting go of excess milk.”

“I know” she smiled. “Dag and I are taking Helia’s advice to experiment with carrying around somewhat more, targeting somewhere in the middle between empty and onset of pain.”

Only after her comment did I truly focus on Dag’s bulging rack. Eight hardening plus three swelling parts of me kinda wished I hadn’t.

“Oh hi Helia!” Sara greeted the latest arrival to the main room, again full of every one of us Bubblensqueakers.

“How’s it working?” she smiled, gently touching Sara’s nearest forearm, as was her way.

“Too soon to know.”

“How about you, Dag?”

“To me it’s kinda like needing to whizz a little bit, but not to the point of discomfort, which for me can be pleasantly stimulating within a sweet range.”

“So is this now a Milk Maiden meet-up or what?” I asked.

“Oh if it’s that, I’d better go and leave you all to it.”

Sara hooked her fiancee’s arm before he could execute his turn-around and leave. “You’re lactating, hun. Don’t you want to be a Bubblensqueak Lake Milk Maiden with us?”

“Or a Milk… uhh, what’s the male equivalent of maiden?” Rose painted herself into a corner.

With my Mac still running behind me, all I had to do was turn around and invoke my flying fingers before any of the rest of them could thumb it in, or have Siri or Google Assistant answer them. “There isn’t really one. Bachelor is what I’m seeing.”

Rose was second-fastest, likely motivated by wanting to recover from her insufficient think-ahead, “Master is an option, and I’m going with it. Maybe Dag would prefer to be a Milk Master rather than Milk Maiden.”

“Neither Master nor Maiden strictly apply once these two wed.”

“Why are you all making it so literal and difficult?” Helia pertinently asked. “By any name, don’t you feel like one of us, Dag? As a well-known milk connoisseur and lactation expert, I’m here to certify and tell you that you are as qualified as any of us as a milk-maker.”

“But you all have actual udders.”

She brashly reached for his mams, hefting them within his stretchy form-fitting low-cut top, “When a person with no udder with boobs gets this full, big, and milky, we euphemistically call them udders. Now if we were still going by Udder Girls as I liked, then we might have a semantic problem. Whether Master or Maiden or some other pleasantly alliterative term of your choice, you’re a fully-qualified milker amongst us.”

“Point’s taken, Helia” Sara tersely told her as she pulled her hands off her fiancee’s milky melons.

Don’t tell her, but for a brief moment I saw a flash of umbrage in Helia’s expression.

“If you all think I have what it takes to uphold the principles and responsibilities of being a Bubblensqueak Lake Milk Maiden, for the sake of ease of expression I accept that term.”

Sara tried to object to Rose’s motion (seconded by Helia) that it wouldn’t be official unless we all suckled each other’s milk in every possible combination until I thirded the motion and she knew she was outnumbered (and that it was time for Dag to have some milk from himself or one of us anyway).

We turned up the heat (my house has central heat in addition to the fireplace) and bared what we each needed to bare to enable milk sharing.

Having never had human feet, to this day footwear intrigues me, tending to catch my attention. “Nice clogs in the back, Dag.”


“I am wondering why you’d go for a mismatch between them and your usual heavy-duty deck shoes up front, though.”

“My rear legs are shorter than my fronts, giving me back pain when my front and rear feet are at an equal level. A lift in the back to correct the difference solves it.”

Our first 5-person Milk Maiden meeting—and the first formal one we’d held at any number of us—went well, and relatively briefly. Mostly it was the milk sharing, renewing our bonds to one another and deepening them. Dag was especially touched, cuddling against Sara often for emotional support, so he’d not break down into tears in front of us all. Many things have changed about him, though at this point he still wasn’t ready to open all the way up emotionally in front of anyone other than Sara when he and she were alone together.

After the meeting Sara and Dag left first, followed by Helia returning next door to Milk Palace for blogging. “You really ought to sample the Kettering Farms Cream Top before I drink it all” she advised on her way out.

“We’ll keep it in mind” I smiled.

“Don’t wait on our account if you can’t hold back” added Rose, also smiling.

Soon as Helia was out the door and out of hearing Rose let out a big sigh.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t know how much more I can take of seeing Dag’s insanely sexy ass and not being able to get a piece or several of it.”

“Preaching to the choir, Premium. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve moistened the tips of my Winter Woot!fit tentacock socks being wowed by what he’s carrying out back.”

To this day it is very difficult for me to put into words how hypnotic Dag’s butt was. Here’s my least-worst attempt: imagine the sexiest woman’s rear that you’ve ever seen in your life. Now double the sexiness. That is what Dag had going on back there. No wonder Rose and I (and Helia, she admitted to us in private) found it so difficult to take our eyes and minds off his rump, and found it such a struggle to keep our hands off! The sway, the subtle wobble, the shape—all sublime! The more I thought about it back then, the easier in a way it was for me to understand why Sara was so possessive of him, and wanted to lock him in via marriage.