Adultery Mom became hucow

[samanthasam]

The days in Greenfield stretched on like the lazy river that wound through the village, each one blending into the next with a quiet rhythm. Sarah woke early the morning after her talk with the kids, the first light filtering through the thin curtains of their small home. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Tim and Lily, who shared a room with two straw mattresses pushed together. Her chest felt heavier than ever, a constant pull that made her move slower. She went to the cupboard and pulled out the clay bottle, its contents still mysteriously full. Uncorking it, she drank deeply, the sweet warmth spreading through her body like sunlight on cool skin.

In the kitchen, she prepared breakfast—oats boiled with water from the well and a bit of the special milk stirred in for creaminess. As she worked, a few drops leaked from her breasts, soaking into her nightshirt. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the firmness, the way her skin stretched taut. It wasn't painful anymore, just insistent, like her body knew what it needed. She changed into a loose blouse and skirt, tying a cloth around her torso for support, then called the kids.

"Tim, Lily, time to rise," she said softly, shaking their shoulders. Tim groaned and rubbed his eyes, his hair sticking up in all directions. He was still getting the hang of mornings, often needing a nudge to get moving. Lily popped up quickly, her braids messy from sleep, already chattering about a dream she had of flying over the hills.

They sat at the table, spoons clinking against wooden bowls. Tim took a big bite and paused. "Mom, this porridge tastes even better today. What's in it?"

Sarah smiled, watching them eat. "Just a little of that milk from the bottle. It makes everything richer, doesn't it?"

Lily nodded enthusiastically, milk dribbling down her chin. "It's yummy! Can I have more?" She was just starting to explore tastes beyond the plain bread and veggies, her beginner curiosity lighting up her face.

"A bit more, but not too much," Sarah said, pouring a tiny splash into Lily's bowl. Tim held out his too, and she did the same. They didn't know the milk came from her now, mixed in secret. Watching them, Sarah felt a mix of warmth and worry. The changes were happening to her, but what if the magic touched them too? She pushed the thought away; it was too soon to fret.

After breakfast, the kids grabbed their things for college. Tim slung his bag over his shoulder, practicing the knot his mom taught him last week—it still came loose sometimes. "I'll help with the garden when I get back, Mom. Teacher said we learned about plants today."

"That's good, Tim. Show me what you learn," Sarah replied, kissing his forehead. Lily hugged her legs, then darted after her brother, waving as they headed down the path lined with wildflowers.

Alone, Sarah tackled the chores. She swept the floor, the broom's bristles whispering against the dirt. But midway through, the ache returned, stronger. She sat on a stool by the table and unbuttoned her blouse just enough. Her breasts spilled out, fuller than before, veins faintly visible under the pale skin. She cupped one gently and squeezed, watching thin streams of milk arc into a clean bowl. It flowed easily now, warm and steady, filling the bowl halfway before she stopped. Breathing heavy, she buttoned up and set the bowl aside for later.

The afternoon brought the kids home, their voices carrying from the yard. Tim kicked a stone along the path, trying to keep it straight like the boys at college did. Lily skipped beside him, picking daisies. "Mom! Look what I found," Lily called, bursting in with a handful of flowers.

Sarah took them, arranging them in a jar with water. "Pretty as you, sweetie. Did you have a good day?"

Tim dropped his bag and started on his promise, grabbing a small hoe from the corner. "Yeah, we planted seeds in class. The teacher said they need water every day to grow slow and strong. Like us helping here." He dug into the soft earth outside the door, his movements careful but awkward—he was still learning not to hit the tender shoots.

Lily joined him, her small hands patting the soil. "I'm making a flower garden! But I need help digging."

Sarah watched from the doorway, a hand resting on her chest where the pressure built again. "I'll help after I finish inside. Keep at it, you two."

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows, Sarah felt the need again. While the kids played, she slipped to the back room and expressed more milk, this time into their evening cups. It was becoming routine, her body adapting to the demand. The magic milk from the bottle seemed to fuel it all, keeping her supply endless.

Dinner was simple—stew from yesterday's vegetables, thickened with her milk. They ate around the fire, the flames crackling softly. Tim talked about kicking the ball farther in games, his voice excited but halting as he described it. "I almost scored, but it went wide. Practice makes better, right Mom?"

"It does," Sarah said, stirring her bowl. Lily yawned midway through her story about drawing a cow in college—ironic, Sarah thought, but said nothing.

That night, after tucking them in with stories of village tales—beginner adventures of lost kids finding treasure—Sarah lay awake. Her body hummed with changes. Her hips felt wider, her skin softer, but the main shift was in her chest. She touched herself in the dark, feeling the weight, the sensitivity. A soft moan escaped as milk beaded on her nipples. She milked herself quietly into a cloth, the relief washing over her like a wave.

The next morning followed the same pattern, but with a visitor. As Sarah hung laundry on the line—Tim folding the dry ones inside, learning to match the corners, and Lily chasing a butterfly— the milkman's truck rumbled up the path. Mr. Rao, a sturdy man in his forties with a kind face and callused hands from years of farm work, stepped out. He carried a crate of empty bottles, his eyes scanning the yard.

"Morning, Sarah," he called, waving. "Heard you might need some supplies. Village talk says times are lean."

Sarah straightened, pulling her shawl tighter over her chest. It hid the growing swell, but she felt exposed. "Morning, Mr. Rao. We're managing, but thank you."

He set the crate down and approached, his boots crunching gravel. Tim peeked from the door, curious but shy, while Lily hid behind Sarah's skirt, peeking out.

"I deliver fresh milk to folks who can't keep cows," Mr. Rao said, his voice steady. "But I've got something special today—a new batch from the city, said to be nourishing. Free sample for good neighbors."

Sarah's heart skipped. Was this connected to the bottle? She glanced at the cupboard inside, hidden away. "That's kind, but we have some already. From... a gift."

Mr. Rao raised an eyebrow, then smiled. "Ah, the anonymous ones. They come around sometimes. Keep it secret; it's potent stuff. Helps with strength, they say." His eyes lingered on her a moment, noticing perhaps the way she shifted, but he said nothing more.

Tim stepped forward, bold for a beginner. "What's in it, mister? Tastes like honey."

Mr. Rao chuckled. "Good question, boy. Just nature's best. Tell your mom to use it wisely." He handed Sarah a small pouch of herbs instead. "For tea. Eases the body. No charge."

As he drove off, waving, Sarah unwrapped the pouch. The herbs smelled like the bottle's milk—sweet and earthy. Coincidence? She brewed a cup that afternoon, sipping while the kids napped. The tingle intensified, her breasts filling faster.

By evening, Lily complained of a tummy ache from too much play, but Sarah gave her a sip of the special milk, and it soothed her. Tim helped mash potatoes for dinner, his arms tiring but persistent. "I'm getting stronger, Mom. Feel my muscle." He flexed, making them laugh.

Over the next week, the routine deepened slowly. Sarah's milk production grew; she expressed twice a day now, using it in all their food. The kids seemed healthier, their cheeks rosier, but no big changes yet—they were beginners, after all, bodies still small and unchanged. Tim took on more chores, like fetching water without spilling half, and Lily read her first full sentence from a book, proud as could be.

One rainy afternoon, as thunder rumbled outside and they huddled by the fire, Sarah's shirt soaked through from a leak she couldn't control. The kids saw it this time, no hiding.

"Mom, why do you leak milk?" Lily asked, tilting her head. "Like a cow?"

Tim nodded, serious. "Yeah, is it from the bottle?"

Sarah pulled them onto her lap, the weight of her breasts pressing against them. "It is, in a way. The magic makes me produce it, to help us. Like how cows do for the village. But it's our secret, okay? We share it together, and it makes us strong."

They nodded, Lily touching the wet spot gently. "Can I taste? Just a little?"

Sarah hesitated, then unbuttoned slightly, letting Lily latch on for a quick suckle. It was innocent, like when she was a baby, but now with the magic's twist. Lily's eyes widened at the sweetness, then she pulled back, smiling. Tim watched, then tried too, his beginner sips careful.

The act bonded them closer, a slow step into the unknown. Sarah felt the pull release a bit, her body responding to their touch. Outside, the rain fell steady, washing the world clean as their secret grew, one drop at a time.

Mr. Rao stopped by again mid-week, this time with a jug of his own milk. "For the kids," he said, eyes on Sarah's fuller figure. "And for you— if you need advice on... handling things." His words hung, hinting at knowledge he shouldn't have.

Sarah took the jug, her cheeks warm. "Thank you. We'll manage."

As he left, she wondered if he knew about the bottle, the changes. The magic was weaving them all in, slowly, inevitably, toward whatever came next.