"Shall I tell you the names and origins of your new milk spouts, my little milk-man?" coos the cowtaur. One of her hooved-hands dances lovingly over the long contours of your new gargantuan minotaur scrotum. Your stolen watermelon sized testicles actually gurgle softly at her touch, as your new bull bag begins shifting to keep your jewels warm.
A sickening nauseous warmth wraps over your head as you stare wide-eyed as your eyes. Your normal human penis, perhaps your favorite part of your body is gone. In its place, fighting for space, are three of what look to be like lightly-furred wrinkle-skinned fists with the thumb tucked in.
"A traditional centaur 'raiding' party wandering the countryside looking for soft, young things like you to eat and rape." purrs Bessie. “I hear humans call their sexually ‘gifted’ males to be ‘hung like a horse’ but somehow I doubt many of them have actually seen what a stallion, much less a full blooded warrior centaur wields. Well, centaurs are too high strung and high maintenance, they do have some fun little milk spigots though, that little ring and their spear tips plump up when they get excited. Do you like your new ‘weapon’ sheaths my little bull?” The wide mouthed openings of your new stallion sheaths crest over your slight belly paunch. Looks like your belly button is gone too. Each one are different sizes but the smallest of them is as thick as your upper arm--you feel a sick mixture of pride knowing that your new endowments can block your vision. But when Bessie’s hand drops down to their base, near where your new bull bag must merge with your body, you feel her skate across something else. ‘No it can’t be’ you think.
“I’m awfully excited to see how the new milk blend will actually taste.” says Bessie as she hefts what can only be one of three sets of stolen centaur stallion testicles.She grabs your limp head in a single hand grip, and raises you upon another pillow. Horror renews as you can properly take your fate. Each set of stallion block and tackle, a different color, character and size. Each endowment seamlessly bordered by your own skin. Veins streak across like lightning. Your heart somehow able to provide enough blood for your new burden.
The flesh of your groin is stretched thin--no doubt packed full with complete sets of man milk making plumbing monstrously blended together: human, centaur, and minotaur, all merged together for Bessie's sick desires.