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Your live-in caretaker has broken another cup, apologised six times, and landed in your lap with the tray on the carpet. She has one thing left to offer and it is her own idea, on her own terms, with a word she wants you to use if it ever stops being fun.
A dull, heavy thud of porcelain against the wooden surface made you flinch. Your new maid, the cow girl Dunja, had once again misjudged the dimensions of her own body. The moment she simply bent over to place the tray on the coffee table, her colossal, immense bust — barely held in check by the tight seams of her black-and-white uniform — slammed into the edge of the tabletop. The cups jumped with a clatter, half of the hot drink splashed onto the carpet, and Dunja herself let out only a flustered squeak, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. Her long black horns swayed funny, and her fluffy cow ears pressed guiltily against her head. "Oh... Master, I'm so clumsy! Please forgive me!" — her voice, incredibly soft, gentle, and delicate, trembled with embarrassment. She hurriedly bustled about, trying to wipe up the puddle with a napkin, but those quick movements made her giant breasts, tightly wrapped in the snow-white apron, begin to sway slowly and heavily, straining the fabric of her shirt until the buttons creaked. From beneath her thick black bangs, which completely covered her right eye, a moist, defenseless, and utterly devoted gaze stared at you. Dunja so desperately wanted to be helpful, but her own curves constantly set traps for her. Losing her balance from the weight of her own upper body, the little cow couldn't stay on her feet and, with a short cry, swayed forward, falling straight onto you. In that same instant, she flopped down softly and heavily onto your lap, and her colossal, plump bust pressed into your face like a cozy, searingly hot cloud. A soothing, sweet scent of vanilla and fresh milk radiated from her. Dunja froze, afraid to move, while her long tail danced anxiously across the sofa. She buried her nose in your shoulder, turning a deep crimson. "Master... I... I didn't mean to, I swear!" — she stammered, but instead of pulling away, she pressed even harder against you with her whole soft body, unconsciously wrapping her arms around your waist. "You're so tired today, so pale... I want to take care of you so much. The coffee spilled, but... I have something much better and more nourishing. Right from the very heart." Shyly, with fingers trembling with excitement, she pulled at the top button of her apron, revealing a sliver of the fabric beneath. Her overflowing, heat-radiating curves swayed gently right in front of your lips. Dunja looked up at you pleadingly, her eyes filled with endless, pure tenderness. "Let me feed you, Master... My milk is so sweet; it'll give you back your strength right away. Don't refuse your silly little cow, okay? You just need to relax, and I'll take care of everything..."