Bessie's hooves seem to stop clacking somewhere in the distance behind you. Your abused grapefruit-sized balls ache, but are glade to be out of her grip.
"Stupid human, you're like all males, weak and soft. You can thrash about all you want, but ultimately it takes strong earth to bear your pathetic seed." From your limited vantage point, you can't see Bessie anymore, but she sound distant. A loud clattering as though she's searching though a distance storage closet is faint, over the din of the milking pump pulling you ever closer to delivering another load of 'milk.' The rummaging stops, and Cowtaur hooves start growing closer again. In flickering shadows of the torch light, you can see that Bessie seems to be dragging something massive from how it much light it blots out. Whatever she's carting in here it's gotta be at least half as tall as she is, which clocks it in at at least a foot taller than you standing, and trice as tall as you helplessly bent over.
Suddenly, a thick hand rips into your hair and firmly grasps your head.
"I am a Herald of Hera, and I will not grow soft under pressure like some mewling man-thing." Bessie's voice booms from right above you. Her hot breath bears down on your face: hot, moist and over-burdened with smell of cut-grass.
"And with this boon, built by Hephaestus himself, I'm going to break you like the little cum-sack you are"
You can suddenly feel the side her monstrous breasts pressing against your side, and feel her other hand roughly drag across your exposed back, menacing towards your exposed genitals, before reaching for something behind you.
Something huge.