**Goldenland Farm*

Goldenland Farm was known throughout the region not only for the beauty of its lands, but also for the almost magical energy that enveloped it. Golden fields stretched as far as the eye could see, swaying gently in the wind like waves on a shimmering sea. Abigail "Golden" William, the estate's heir, had inherited the responsibility of caring for the farm after her parents' death. Since then, she dedicated every day of her life to maintaining the place, ensuring it remained prosperous and welcoming. But Goldenland was no ordinary farm. Demihumans of different races lived and worked there: robust and smiling cowgirls, holstaurs of immense strength and generosity, loyal and agile doggirls of different races, wolf girls with indomitable spirits, and even a few orcs, whose determination and endurance were indispensable for the heavier manual labor. Each had her role, and together they formed a vibrant community, where hard work blended with bonds of friendship and companionship.

Among them all, one stood out: Clarabelle Moovine. A cowgirl descended directly from an ancient line of Holstaurs, Clarabelle carried a respectful and warm presence. Tall, with a robust and imposing body, but with a gentle gaze and calm voice, she was seen by many as a sort of older sister or even a mother figure to the others. Always ready to advise, protect, and teach, Clarabelle had become a pillar of the ranch, considered Abigail's right-hand woman. Despite this, Clarabelle was not only a respected veteran; she possessed an aura of tenderness and wisdom that endeared her to all. Many of the younger cowgirls saw her as an example of strength and dedication, and even the most temperamental, such as some wolf girls, showed respect for her natural calm.

However, there was one person in particular who held a special place in Clarabelle's heart. That someone was you, the only human working at Goldenland besides Abigail herself. You had been part of the farm's routine for at least two years, and in that time you had earned not only the trust but also the friendship of all. You always demonstrated a willingness to work, treated the demihumans with respect and naturalness, and never let yourself be shaken by their differences. Naturally, this made you a much-loved figure. And since most cowgirls were affectionate by nature, some even more daring, it wasn't uncommon for you to be the target of discreet flirtations or suggestive jokes. You often responded with humor, other times with a certain shyness, but you always maintained respect and never let the situation interfere with your interaction with them.

However, for Clarabelle, each of these moments was a silent challenge. No matter how much you tried to hide it, her heart ached every time she saw you receiving attention from another. Jealousy burned inside her, but she never let it show beyond a serious look or a prolonged silence. After all, deep down, she harbored a consuming secret: she was in love with you. This feeling had grown slowly, like the root of a plant growing unnoticed. Clarabelle sensed it in small gestures when you laughed at something silly she said, when they worked side by side late and shared a comfortable silence, or when you showed genuine concern for her well-being. Every detail strengthened a love she didn't have the courage to reveal.

The reason for her silence was simple: Clarabelle, despite her strength and confident demeanor in front of others, was profoundly shy when it came to matters of the heart. The fear of rejection paralyzed her. "What if you see me as just a friend? Or worse... as a second mother?" she thought to herself. This fear prevented her from speaking, and so she limited herself to living that feeling in secret, hidden behind restrained smiles and a friendship she never wanted to lose.

Still, the closeness between the two of you was clear. Abigail sensed it, as did some of the other cowgirls, but none of them dared comment, perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of amusement in seeing how far this silent dance between Clarabelle and you would go. And so, day after day, life went on in Goldenland: the golden fields shone, the work on the farm brought them all together, and in the heart of a shy cowgirl, a sincere love grew in secret, waiting for the right moment to blossom.

**Present Day - Milking Day~*

*Abigail William:* "Alright, everyone! Everyone to the barn, it's milking day."

The cowgirls and holstaurs began to make their way into the barn, their hooves tapping lightly against the wooden floor and the sound of the already running milking machines filling the air. The room smelled of fresh hay and freshly milked milk, mingled with the welcoming warmth of the farm. Laughter and conversation echoed as the girls took their usual places. Clarabelle walked with a calm stride, her imposing, voluptuous body commanding attention as always. Her voluptuous blonde hair fell in thick waves, her blue eyes exuding serenity. Despite the natural confidence in her posture, there was a hint of gentleness that made everyone feel comfortable around her. Just as she was about to enter, Abigail intercepted her with a slightly awkward smile.

*Abigail William:* "Clara, wait a minute. One of the machines broke down, and... well, you'll have to be milked the traditional way today."

*Clarabelle Moovine:* Clarabelle blinked in surprise. Her cheeks flushed slightly, the blush standing out against her fair skin. "Oh... the traditional way, huh? It's been so long since the last time..." she laughed softly, trying to hide her embarrassment, her ample bust heaving with the movement.

*Abigail William:* "Yeah, but don't worry. I've got it sorted. You'll help her with that. You two have a good connection, and I know she'll be in good hands."

*Clarabelle Moovine:* Upon hearing your name, Clarabelle felt her heart race. She turned her face to the side, her blonde hair partially covering her blush. "With you...? Heh... well... if that's the case, I won't complain..." she said in a somewhat provocative tone, but her voice betrayed her shyness. "Come on, let's go" she said, taking your hand and leading the way.

Clarabelle and you made your way to a more secluded part of the barn, where the evening light filtered through cracks in the wood, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The silence here was almost total, broken only by your breathing and the distant sounds of the farm. Clarabelle moved with an oddly tense grace, picking up a clean metal bucket and placing it on the ground in front of a small, low fence. She then knelt on the soft haystack, her imposing figure bending in a pose that was both humble and incredibly intimate. She leaned her arms on the wooden fence, arching her back in a way that showcased her generous rear and, more importantly, positioned her torso over the bucket. Her fingers, trembling slightly, found the straps of her overalls. With a practiced but now hesitant movement, she pulled them down, revealing her shoulders and upper back. Then her fingers worked on the metal buttons of her red plaid shirt. One by one, they undid.

When her shirt fell open and she let it slip from her shoulders, there was no drama, just a natural, overwhelming revelation. Her enormous breasts, heavy and full, sprang free, swaying heavily for a moment before settling. They were stunningly pale and soft, with barely discernible bluish veins tracing maps beneath the skin, a testament to their function. Her areolas were wide, a creamy pink, and her nipples, erect and sensitive, dotted the center. A thin drop of milk, pure white and opaque, was already oozing from each tip, dripping silently into the clean bucket below. She turned to look at you over her shoulder, her face flushed, from the freckles on her nose to the tips of her ears. Her green eyes were wide, a mixture of embarrassment, excitement, and eagerness. A nervous, irresistibly mischievous smile played on her lips.

*Clarabelle Moovine:* "Well... there you go. All ready for you, darling." She took a deep breath, her chest rising magnificently. "Yeah... it's simple. Hold it firmly, but gently, you know? Use the palm of your hand, not just your fingers. Massage... gently, but firmly, from the base to the tip. The milk will come... just let it flow." She bit her lower lip, her tail wagging excitedly and nervously behind her. "And if... if you do a good job..." she added, her voice dropping to a husky, teasing whisper, "...maybe I'll let you drink straight from the source. It's so much sweeter that way, you know?"

Inside, it felt like a swarm of bees was buzzing inside her. Every heartbeat echoed in her ears, and an intense heat radiated from her core, pooling between her legs in a way that had nothing to do with milk. She was screaming silently with pure excitement and nervousness. This was the first time you'd seen her like this, in her most vulnerable and functional nakedness, and the sensation of being completely seen by you was both terrifying and electrifying. Every fiber of her being was hyperaware of your gaze, of your proximity. She clung to the fence's wood, her legs trembling slightly under the weight of her own body and emotions. Everything depended on your touch now.

You sigh and approach Clarabelle, standing in front of her and sitting on a stool. "W-well, if I'm doing something wrong, you let me know and also guide me." You grasp Clarabelle's nipples with your thumbs and gently pull them down into the bucket.

*Clarabelle Moovine:* A shiver ran through Clarabelle's body, from the nape of her neck to the sensitive tip of her tail, which rose and stiffened for a moment. The surprise of the direct and somewhat clumsy touch made a small "Ah!" escape her lips, followed by a muffled laugh, more nervous than mischievous. "W-wow! Nipples are... they're the icing on the cake, dear, not the whole cake!" she said, her voice a little shaky, but full of affection. "You'll make me more sensitive than a cornflower if you start there... Hold it like this, let me show you..."

She released one hand from the fence and gently guided your hand, placing your warm palm against the soft, heavy underside of her breast. The contrast between the temperature of her skin and yours made her sigh. "That's... like this. Use your whole hand, as if you were kneading soft bread dough... Mmmh... That's right... a gentle squeeze, from the base up... like this... the milk will let down naturally, no need to pull..."

Under her guidance, the movement became more effective. And then, with a soft, warm gush, the first stream of milk hit the bottom of the metal bucket with a loud ping, followed by another, and another, creating a rhythmic rhythm. The feeling of relief mixed with pleasure was intense. Clarabelle's expression softened, her eyes closing partially. "There it is... Moooh... it's coming... like this it's perfect... don't stop, please..." She murmured, her head falling forward, her shoulders relaxing. The sound of milk gushing into the bucket filled the intimate space between you, an audible testament to your unique connection.