Creamy Hucow Fantasies Novel – I was producing milk while they were screwing me. “That’s it. Relax into it.” The machine hummed to life. The first pull was strong enough to drag a cry from my throat. Milk—real, thick, white milk—sprayed into the tubes in hard jets. Alex’s voice cut through the haze. “Who wants first taste?” Carter volunteered instantly.He sucked hard, greedy, swallowing noisily while his hand kneaded my chest. I moaned openly, butt grinding against nothing. “Look how wet she is,” Jace murmured. “Milking makes her drip.” Fingers—two, then three—pushed inside me, curling and thrusting in time with the sucking.
Someone else’s shaft nudged my lips. I opened without thinking, taking him deep, tasting salt and heat. Alex moved behind me, hands spreading my thighs wider. I felt the thick head of his shaft nudge my entrance—just resting there, teasing. “Beg,” he said quietly. “Please, Sir,” I whispered immediately. “Please screw me. Please use your cow.” ———————— The Ad I sat cross-legged on my sagging mattress, the blue glow of my cracked laptop the only light in the tiny off-campus apartment. It was past 2 a.m., and the eviction notice taped to the front door felt like it was staring at me through the wall. Rent was three weeks overdue. The library had cut my hours again.
My credit cards were maxed, my loans were screaming, and the next tuition payment might as well have been a million dollars. I refreshed the campus job board for the tenth time, scrolling past the same dead-end postings: barista, tutor, dog-walker. Twelve bucks an hour if I was lucky. Graduation was supposed to be a year away, but at this rate I wouldn’t even make it to midterms. Then I saw it. A brand-new listing, posted less than an hour ago. Position: Live-in Domestic Specialist Location: Private residence, on-campus edge Compensation: $120,000 for one-year contract (paid monthly) Benefits: Full room and board, all utilities, complete debt assistance upon successful completion Requirements:
Female, 20–24, discreet, healthy, able to commit to strict schedule and house rules. No experience necessary—full training provided. Interviews conducted via secure video link. Immediate start preferred. My heart actually stopped for a second. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars. For a year of housework? I’d never seen anything like this on the student board. The location linked to Theta Kappa Rho—the oldest, most secretive fraternity on campus. Everyone knew the house: that massive ivy-covered mansion on the edge of the woods.
No wild parties, no scandals in the campus paper. Just quiet, untouchable money passed down through generations of alumni who now ran Wall Street, law firms, and half the state legislature. I hesitated for half a second, then clicked Apply. The form was weirdly short: name, age, major, a line about current financial situation (optional), and a request for recent photos—one casual, one full-body. I attached the least awful selfies I had, typed a quick note about my double major in English and Biology, my 3.8 GPA, and—before I could chicken out—how I was one missed payment away from dropping out.
I hit send. My phone buzzed almost instantly. Unknown number. Video interview in 15 minutes. Click the link when ready. —A. Harlan I scrambled. Hair into a messy ponytail, wiped the smudged mascara from under my eyes, swapped my ratty sleep shirt for the only clean sweater I owned. Hands shaking, I clicked the link. The screen filled with a guy who looked like he’d stepped out of a luxury cologne ad. Early twenties, sharp jaw, dark hair perfectly styled, gray eyes that pinned me in place.
Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show strong forearms. He was gorgeous in a way that felt almost unfair. “Amelia Thompson?” His voice was low, smooth, with a hint of an old-money East Coast accent that made my stomach flip. “Yes. Hi. Thank you for—” “Call me Alex,” he said, cutting me off gently. “I’m president of Theta Kappa Rho. We’r