Bessie's cum muffled laughter at your embrace burns in you. Stifling that ember of anger for a moment, you twist about in Aster's powerful arms to look down at yourself. As a newly minted minotaur, your penis is flaccid and bound in a furry sheath that stretches from your nut-udder up your belly toward your chest--the new found foot of bovine length blending with scaled-up human girth proportions. Were Aster's arms not in the way, you could lick your musk dribbling cock-head inside your prepuce easily. Like a fleshy baseball bat, it rests eager to be wielded. Part of you wonders just how big it will be when you need it.
You reach down probing at the mutant male mammary sac. Bessie's punishment had turned your scrotum and it's precious contents into a big soft bovine udder but built for making cum. No fixing that, but Aster's attempt at alchemy worked and embedded in the back of your bloated balloon of milk-making flesh and fat, you can feel your balls are back. But they're immense, heavy and hard as brass. The balls of a prime breeding bull minotaur--built to monstrous proportions and now wrapped in tit-flesh. If they weren't obscured by your milk making meat, by touch you'd guess your pair of minotaur calf makers combined would be as big as your old human head. To top it off, the jiggling of your own udder around them is incredible. It's as though each one of your boys were individually wrapped from stem to stern in warm massaging bosom. Each one of your nuts now entitled to their own delicious tit massage. Every twitch of your monstrously improved leg muscles, hell even your breathing, sends pleasant oscillations that tickle every nerve. You're a bull minotaur but at the base of your up-sized member, is a fusion of male and female parts fighting for space. Four thick sensitive teats mounted on a large heavy udder that feels like four taut perky breast joined as one and delightfully filling with more warm milk in the front, conjoined to your newly regrown balls better suited for a prime stud-farm bull in the back. You can feel your hybrid anatomy churning full of two distinctly different kinds of white liquid. Equal part scrotum and udder, an array of powerful sensations made all the better, knowing it's all you. Reveling in the conjoined juxtaposition of perverse sensations hanging between your new powerful furry thighs.
And yet, although she's forced to periodically swallow to clear her chain bound snout, Bessie is still laughing through her teeth. New bullish rage burns free now. You lock eyes with her and grit your teeth. "Aster that stuff she injected into our balls--you know her 'every male will need to make five gallons of cum a day, and a minotaur should produce ten times as much' stuff? What happens if we inject that same ball growth potion into Bessie?"
Suddenly the cowtaur stops laughing, as her eyes go wide with worry.