Rais Greenweaver looked at the sign over the gate again:
Peachbottom Dairy. One Sip is Never Enough
.
At least they're honest, Rais thought, scowling past the wooden fence at the pastoral grounds beyond. He could just make out some of the holstaurs of the farm, the busty cowgirls lounging about near a vast milking barn. Even from here Rais could tell they wore nothing but overalls, ones that barely fit over their expansive chests. They lazed about in the sun, their only purpose comfort, attended by slender men as sparsely dressed as them. Dairy boys, the men were called. Little more than obedient milk slaves, if the rumors were true. And there were many rumors about Peachbottom.
Rais straightened, brushing his brown duster as he spotted a particular holstaur exit the large office at the end of the drive, making her way towards him. Unlike the girls near the barn, this holstaur was dressed conservatively, her suit tight about her chest, skirt swishing around her knees. Despite this, it was clear she was as, if not bustier, than the field girls. Her chest strained her suit, her tie curving over her front, her hair tied up in a bun and her face cool and stern. A pair of rimmed glasses shaded her eyes as she came to a halt outside the gate.
"Mister Greenweaver," the holstaur said, her voice a crisp, smooth drawl. She offered her hand. "My name is Bova Ladora, public relations manager of Peachbottom Dairy. So good to see you."
Rais barked a laugh. "That I doubt," he said.
She sighed, lowering her hand. "Mister Greenweaver, I hope you appreciate the fact that I am even meeting you. This is rarely how it is done. If you would like, we could speak more comfortably in my office..."
"I'm not going in there," Rais said, jabbing a finger at the cluster of buildings. "I know too well what happens. You won't be getting me drunk on holstaur milk until I'm one of your milk boys!"
"Mister Greenweaver, we would never compel anyone to remain employed at our company. Every dairy boy is well paid and works for us of his own free will."
"And the gallons of milk he gets from the tap is just a bonus, right?"
"We have a comprehensive benefits package," Bova said smoothly.
Rais snorted. "I bet. But I'm not here about that. I'm here about this!"
Rais lifted a stoppered jar from his pocket, waving it before Bova. The holstaur eyed it with disinterest. "And this is..."
"Water from the river. Water that is loaded with holstaur cream! Cream that has been corrupting the local area!"
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Bova said. "Mister Greenweaver, it is well known that holstaur cream does have a high magic content, and can be addictive to those with weak wills, but as you are aware, we ensure that the level of magic has been diluted considerably before selling, all without losing any of the creamy, nutritious goodness that we are known for."
"And what happens to that excess?" Rais demanded.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean..."
"Magic has to go somewhere," Rais said sharply. "And you'd never have enough dairy boys to drink all that corrupted cream. Where's it going? I'm a druid, Bova. I can sense it. I know it's leaking into the groundwater. Corrupting the wildlife around here."
"Mister Greenweaver, I'm sure I don't know what you mean. We properly dispose of all our excess cream. But, if you truly wish to see how, I can certainly show you..."
"Nice try, but I'm not going into your dairy. I'll never come out!"
"Untrue. All dairy boys are permitted to leave. And on many occasions, do. What would force them to return to us? There have been no complaints. Is it our fault if those boys can't help but love working here? Enjoying our big... soft... breasts..."
Rais realized Bova had crossed her arms under her chest. Had given her ample bust a teasing bounce. His sharp reply died in a thick swallow as her breasts wobbled in her arms, cupped teasingly before his eyes.
"Do you like breasts as well, Mister Greenweaver?" Bova said, her voice softer, almost teasing.
"I ah... I mean..."
"There's, of course, no shame in it. Many men enjoy our girls. And their breasts always get plenty of attention. Their big, soft, bouncy breasts. So big. So heavy. So filled with wonderful... sweet... cream..."
Rais stared, feeling warm. His cock stirred, pressing against his pants.
"I could explain further, Mister Greenweaver. Inside..."
Rais jolted at the suggestion, forcing himself to look back to her face. "N-no! Never!"
Bova eyed him thoughtfully. "Interesting, Mister Greenweaver."
"Wh-what is?" Rais said, flushed, annoyed he'd shown any weakness before the corporate shill.
"It only seems to me that your reluctance is almost... personal. Has Peachbottom in any way offended you, personally, Mister Greenweaver? If so, we would be happy to try and make amends..."
Rais laughed, and there was a little more steel in it this time. "There's nothing you can offer me, cow."
Bova pursed her lips. "In that case, Mister Greenweaver, it seems we have nothing more to discuss. That corruption you have found can come from any number of sources. You will need much more proof of wrongdoing to show we have not been disposing of our... excess in any illegal ways."
Rais glared at her. He shoved the bottle back into his pocket. "This isn't over!" he snapped, turning his back on her and marching away from the dairy.
Bova watched him go, licking her lips, a finger slowly circling one of her nipples under her shirt and bra.
"No," she said warmly under her breath. "I suspect it is not..."
#
The mud of the streambank splashed under Rais's boots. The druid ducked through some dangling fronds, peering into the heavy forest. Heavier than should be, he noted with satisfaction.
Naturally, he expected Bova would deny polluting the rivers. It was probably in her contract to never admit to anything other than the greatness of her product. Corporate slut. But that was fine. It would make her and Peachbottom's guilt all the more glaring when he came back with the real evidence. And it was all around him, if one knew where to look. It was in the heaviness in the air. The thickness, like a misty humidity of magic.
The corruption was most obvious, however, in the fact that much of the foliage was now cow pattern.
Rais eyed the blotches on leaves and fecund roots bloating out of the bank. The faint but powerful smell of cream was almost suffocating. True, his druidic senses made it more obvious, and would never stand up in court, but they were pushing him in the right direction. Many thought that druids were too tree huggy, but they weren't. You didn't last long as a druid if every alraune could entice you with a puff of pollen and some big tits. Big, soft, milky tits.
Bouncing.
Wobbling.
Teasing and soft.
Full...
Rais shook his head, trying to banish the image. No time for that. He could fairly feel how near he was to the source of the corruption, and the longer he followed the stream, the stronger it grew. He was going to take down Peachbottom.
No matter the cost.
Bova had been right. This was a bit more personal than he'd like to admit. Rais could still remember when he realized Limm was getting a job at Peachbottom. He'd warned his friend about the place. Their reputation for going through milk boys. How potent the holstaur's temptations could be. Even then Rais had had his suspicions about Peachbottom's milk.
But Limm had just laughed. Assured Rais that he'd never end up like that. Even after he started working late at the dairy. His eyes dim when he was home. Distant, his thoughts always far away. Away among the thumping pumps. The moaning sighs. The gushing, flowing milk of holstaur pleasure.
Eventually, Rais would find Limm just sitting on the couch, mouth open, pants bulging around his cock, empty milk bottles all around the room. The scent stronger than from the ones you'd buy at the store. More potent. Rais had once walked in on his roommate with dick in hand, stroking himself, whimpering, moaning.
