You stand beside the Minotaur, admiring your work so far. Within moments you've turned the tables on Bessie, leaving her locked in one of her own milking stalls. It's strange, how weak and defenseless she looks now that she is no longer in control. Now that she's unconscious, you can finally take a good look at her -- up until now you have focused on the pain and humiliation (as well as occasional pleasure) of being enslaved and milked.
Bessie is chubby, as would be expected of an anthropomorphic cow. Her fur is white and splotched with black; long, black, curly hair flows from between her bovine ears, partially obscuring her face. She's totally naked, something for which you are now strangely thankful -- you feel somewhat aroused by the sight of the Cowtaur's exposed body, especially her breasts... and, somewhat surprisingly to you, her udder. Her breasts are huge, nearly spherical; they hang heavily from her chest, topped by large, pink nipples. Her udder is similarly gigantic, fixed between her legs. The milk sack looks unnaturally fool, bulging at its edges, her teats strangely hard. You unconsciously lick your lips at the thought of milking Bessie's swollen mammaries.
"Milk her," you say with a grin. The Minotaur realizes what you're saying almost immediately.
"She milked us, we milk her," he says under his breath. The lumbering creature walks over to the unconscious Cowtaur and kneels down. He puts a hand to her swollen breast and chuckles. He gives the tit a squeeze, causing a small bead of milk to appear at the tip of her nipple. "I like the way you think, friend."
You find yourself grow harder as the Minotaur attaches Bessie to the milking machine. She's now totally trapped in her own contraption. The machine starts to pump, soft sucking sounds emanating from beneath the Cowtaur. You can see the milk fill the tubes of the machine.
"What should we do now?" the Minotaur asks, walking back to you.