Hucow Breeding Farm

Our stable of women always keeps it fresh!

That's the slogan painted on the sign at Margot's Hucow Breeding Farm, and I just paid for a twelve-week season there to prove I can get a woman pregnant.

I'm Nathan. I'm forty-one. Eleven years married, four years trying, three rounds of treatment, and then my wife decided whose fault it was and put me out of my own house. Here at Margot's, every conception is confirmed by test and put on the record. A piece of paper I can lay on a table in front of Corinne. That's all I came for.

Then I met Claire, twenty-nine, the newest hucow in Margot's stable of women, every one of them chosen for milking and breeding.

She arrived the same wet Tuesday I did, soaked to the skin, signing her forms with her coat still on. On the Wednesday she said she wanted out. Margot put her pay on the desk and told her a truck could have her at the bus station within the hour. Claire handed the envelope back and asked what her shift was.

Within days she was in the milking parlor twice a day, lactating on schedule. Then she picked me off the client list to breed her: a twelve-year age gap, forty-one to her twenty-nine.

Then I did the arithmetic. Getting her pregnant is the one thing I came to this breeding farm to buy, and it's the exact thing that wins her the season. We want the same thing. She said so first.

Told entirely from the client's point of view, this is the first half of a two-part, all-spice hucow fantasy from legendary taboo storyteller Bree Mills, with zero slow burn. Part Two is coming soon. You are going to want it.

"Good people do bad things and bad people are still human. Trust me, nobody in this book makes a good decision!" XOXO, Bree

No realism. Pure fantasy, maximum filth, for mature readers (18+).