Adultery Mom became hucow

[samanthasam]

The rain tapered off by morning, leaving the ground soft and the air fresh with the scent of wet earth. Sarah rose with the sun, her body adjusting to the new rhythm it demanded. The clay bottle sat on the shelf, its level unchanged no matter how much she drank—another mystery in their unfolding secret. She poured a measure into her tea, the liquid coating her throat and sending that familiar warmth radiating outward. Today, her breasts felt even more insistent, pressing against the fabric of her blouse like they had a mind of their own.

In the kitchen, she mixed batter for flatbreads, adding a generous splash of her own milk to make them soft and nourishing. The kids stirred soon after, Tim yawning as he helped set the table, stacking the clay plates with care. He was getting better at it, his hands steadier than when he first tried weeks ago. Lily bounced in, her feet pattering on the floor, already asking about the day ahead.

'Mom, can we go to the river after chores? I want to skip stones like Tim showed me,' Lily said, climbing onto her stool.

Sarah nodded, flipping the breads on the griddle. 'If the mud's not too deep. Eat up first— it'll give you energy.'

Tim took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. 'These are fluffy. The milk makes them good.' He didn't press about where it came from anymore; after the rainy night, it felt normal, part of their routine.

They finished quickly, then headed out. Sarah watched them from the doorway as Tim guided Lily to the garden, showing her how to pull weeds without yanking the roots. 'Gentle, like this,' he instructed, his voice patient for an older brother just learning himself. Lily mimicked him, her small fingers digging in the soil, giggling when dirt got under her nails.

Sarah joined them soon, kneeling to plant new seeds—carrots and beans, things that grew slow but steady. As she worked, a trickle escaped her nipple, warm against her skin. She shifted, hoping the kids didn't notice, but Lily looked up. 'Mom, you're leaking again. Does it hurt?'

'A little full, that's all,' Sarah replied, brushing it off. 'Like when a bucket overflows if you don't empty it.'

Tim paused his digging. 'We can help later, like before. It made you smile.'

Sarah's cheeks flushed, but she nodded. 'Maybe tonight. For now, let's finish here.'

The day passed in small tasks: mending a tear in Lily's dress, with Tim holding the needle steady while Sarah sewed; fetching water together, Tim carrying the smaller bucket without spilling once. By afternoon, the sun warmed the yard, and they walked to the river. The water rushed clear over smooth stones, and Lily practiced skipping, her throws splashing more than gliding. Tim demonstrated, his rock bouncing three times. 'See? Flick your wrist.'

Sarah sat on the bank, skirt tucked under her, feeling the breeze tease her skin. Her chest ached faintly, a reminder of the changes building inside. She wondered about the bottle's origins—had someone left it knowing her struggles? The thought lingered as they returned home, tired but content.

That evening, after a meal of vegetable soup laced with her milk, Sarah let the kids help again. In the dim light of the lamp, she sat on the edge of her bed, unfastening her blouse. Her breasts hung heavier now, rounded and veined, nipples darkened and erect from the pressure. Tim and Lily knelt close, their faces innocent.

'Just a little, like nursing when you were tiny,' she whispered. Lily went first, latching on with soft pulls, her mouth warm and tentative. Milk flowed easily, filling her with sweetness. She unlatched after a few swallows, wiping her lips. 'It's the best drink. Makes me feel big inside.'

Tim followed, his sucks firmer, beginner curiosity mixing with care. Sarah stroked his hair, the sensation sending tingles through her body, easing the fullness but stirring something deeper—a warmth low in her belly. It wasn't urgent yet, just a subtle pull, like the magic was reshaping more than her chest.

They curled up after, listening to a story about a hidden spring that granted wishes, but only to those who shared its waters. Sarah's voice grew sleepy, the words weaving their own spell.

The week blurred into another, the village life rolling on. Sarah's body kept evolving: her hips widened slightly, giving her walk a sway she noticed in the mirror—a cracked glass in the corner that showed her reflection in pieces. Her skin glowed, fatigue lifting as the milk nourished her from within. She expressed more often, three times a day now, storing it in jars for the family. The kids thrived; Tim grew an inch, or so it seemed, his chores done with less effort, and Lily's drawings filled pages with colorful scenes of home and rivers.

One market day, Sarah ventured to the village square with the children, trading eggs for flour. The air buzzed with chatter, vendors calling out wares. Mr. Rao's stall stood at the end, stacked with cheeses and bottles. He spotted her, waving them over.

'Sarah, good to see you out. Kids, try this cheese—sharp and good for growing bones,' he said, handing small wedges. Tim bit in, nodding approval, while Lily nibbled cautiously.

'Thank you,' Sarah said, paying for a wheel. As the kids wandered to look at trinkets, Mr. Rao leaned closer.

'You're looking well. Stronger. The... gift working its way?' His voice was low, eyes flicking to her shawl, which strained a bit.

She met his gaze, sensing he knew more. 'It is. Helps us all. But it's private.'

He nodded, wrapping the cheese. 'Wise. These things build slow. If it gets too much, closeness can help—releases the flow better. Old farm knowledge.' He slipped an extra bottle of his milk into her basket. 'For balance.'

Sarah carried it home, his words echoing. Closeness. Did he mean with the kids, or something else? The hint stirred her, but she set it aside, focusing on the evening.

Nights grew warmer, and Sarah's dreams filled with sensations: hands on her skin, milk spilling freely, a sense of being tended like a prized animal. She woke damp, expressing into the night quiet.

Midway through the next week, a storm hit harder than the last, winds howling through the cracks. They huddled inside, playing games by candlelight—Tim teaching Lily checkers with carved stones. Sarah's blouse soaked suddenly, milk leaking in streams she couldn't stop. The kids helped immediately, their small mouths working to relieve her. The act lasted longer this time, their pulls drawing out more, leaving her relaxed and oddly aroused, her pussy tingling faintly for the first time in months.

'Feels better now,' she murmured, buttoning up. They nodded, settling back, the storm raging outside.

The following day brought clear skies, and Mr. Rao appeared unannounced, truck loaded with hay. 'For your garden—free, neighborly. Need a hand stacking?'

Sarah agreed, the kids helping too. Tim hauled small bundles, muscles straining but proud, while Lily scattered seeds in the fresh mulch. Mr. Rao worked beside Sarah, his arm brushing hers once, sending a spark.

'You're changing,' he said quietly as they paused for water. 'The bottle's magic—it's for those who need it. Turns women like you into sources of plenty. But it craves touch, real connection, to peak.'

Her breath caught. 'How do you know?'

'Seen it before. Village secrets. Let me help, when you're ready. No rush.' He squeezed her shoulder, firm and reassuring, before loading up and leaving.

That night, Sarah lay thinking, her hand trailing down her body, feeling the soft curve of her belly, the heat between her legs. She didn't touch further, but the seed was planted—slowly, the magic pulled her toward more.

Days turned to another week, her breasts now needing expression four times daily, production doubling. The kids incorporated it naturally: sips in the morning, help at night. Tim asked once, 'Does it make you like a cow, Mom? For milk?'

'Something like that,' she said, hugging him. 'But better—our cow.'

Lily laughed, and life flowed on, the transformation deepening, the milkman's role looming closer in the quiet build.