Seated at the controls of her ship, and still clad in her armor, Samus Aran let out a sigh of relief as she slowed the craft, now out of range of the umpteenth explosion she had escaped at the last second. The answer to the question of why so many space pirates saw fit to equip their fortifications with self-destruct mechanisms had remained elusive, if only because the ones that demanded their installation had likely perished in the inevitable self-destructive explosions, if not some time before.
It was a pattern that she could have easily lived without, but a successful mission was still a successful mission, regardless of the explosive end.
Having caught her breath, Samus sorted the events of the mission in her head. Her contact with the Galactic Federation government awaited her report. The explosive end aside, the rest of the mission was remarkably routine. No great revelations, no Ridley (thankfully), and no Metroids. Just a bog-standard pirate facility. Filing her report and collecting the bounty was a simple formality.
Once her ship was in range, Samus turned on comms and began tuning it to the appropriate frequency when a burst of static roared from the ship’s audio as well as the audio within her own helmet. Cringing, Samus took her hand off the controls for only a moment when an unfamiliar voice piped in.
”Yo yo yo, it’s ya gurl, DJ Cowtits, here to bring you the freshest beats in the Milky Way!”
Samus scowled. Who the hell was this ‘DJ Cowtits’, and how did she pirate her way into what was supposed to be a secure comms channel? Pondering the question on whether to attempt a response or simply turn her comms off, Samus listened as the mystery woman that had hijacked her signal continued her ridiculous broadcast.
”Pump out that warm goodness from your teats while I pump it up with these sick beats!”
Yeah, this was just…stupid. Extremely stupid. Feeling an odd, warm tingle within her bust, Samus reached to switch her comms off, when the low, echoing clang of a cowbell rang through the ship’s speakers, as well as her own helmet audio. Stunned, Samus again pulled her hand away from the controls.
”So let’s get a moo~oove on, whether you’re part of Lactation Nation, or Galactation Station! Up next, lo-fi sci-fi electronica, Milk It, Shake It, from the Holstein Honey herself!”
Galactation Station? Holstein Honey? What the hell was any of this nonsense? When she found this goddamn DJ, Samus promised to—
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
A low, electronic bass shook the cockpit and rattled Samus’s head, and her body quaked with each planet-shattering pulse.
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
A pressure built in Samus’s warm, tingling bust, around her hips, and in her head as, with each beat, her armor seemed to grow less and less comfortable.
Milk it!
Shake it!
Milk it!
Shake it!
The simple lyrics repeated over the electronic beat as Samus squirmed in the pilot seat. The pressure grew worse and worse, and she began to feel like a packed sardine in a suit custom-built to her unique physiology. Human, Chozo, Metroid…
How now, horny cow?
Pump those tits and present that slit!
Milking, breeding, you’re so needy!!
So shake those milkers and make the bulls go crazy!
“M-Milking…breeding…” Samus recited under her unsteady breath as she squirmed and rocked to the beat, and then slipped from her chair, falling to the floor with a metal-on-metal thud.
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
Sprawled face-down, Samus writhed, humping the cool metal surface through her suit. Her helmet’s visor blinked and blared warnings that grew increasingly frantic and nonsensical. Things about ‘Suit Integrity’ and ‘Lactation Overload’, but the bounty hunter, entranced by the beat, could only stare at nothing in blank, drooling wonder.
Milk it!
Shake it!
Milk it!
Shake it!
Unable to take the strain any further, Samus’s armor disappeared in a burst of energy, and with a flesh-wobbling, bone cracking FWUMPH!, her curves erupted in size, with tits twice the size of her head, broad, round hips, and a plush, yet firm ass all tearing through the seams of her Zero Suit.
How now, horny cow?
Tits full of milk, and hips that beg for cock!
Pump it up and pump it out
‘Cuz yer a champion piece of livestock!
In her tattered Zero Suit, Samus rose to her feet, her whole body continuing to writhe and grind to the beat. Her tits bounced and sloshed, her milk production taken from ‘bone dry’ to ‘overdrive’ as her once average nipples grew thick and fat enough to grasp and tug with a full hand. Two horns grew out from the sides of her skull and began to curve upward into points as a long, thin tail with a tuft of blond at the tip erupted from her tailbone and draped over her thicc dumptruck ass.
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
Her eyes glazed over in a vapid gaze of lust and need, Samus gyrated her hips built for a bull-fucking and tugged at her milk-dribbling nipples. Her once human ears grew long and floppy, still taking in every beat and every lyric of that hot, slutty, wonderful song that just made her want to moooooove.
Milk it!
Shake it!
Milk it!
Shake it!
Samus shook it, all right. Her hips shaking, her milk-heavy tits quaking, she sprayed spurts of her own fresh, creamy goodness in arcs across the cockpit, splashing and drenching the controls in warm milk. The ship’s controls began to flicker, spark, and short out, but she didn’t notice, nor did she care.
Samus’s tattered Zero Suit mended itself as it reshaped into multiple garments. One piece became a shoulderless halter top that bared her midriff and wrapped her tits enticingly, while leaving her nipples fully exposed and let her girls breathe. Another became a micro skirt hat hugged at her hips, offering next to no modesty. Fingerless opera gloves appeared over the length of each arm, and what remained of the suit on her legs shifted into thigh-high boots with tall heels. The full ensemble shifted in color from blue to a milky white dotted in large splotches of black.
And finally, a red choker appeared around Samus’s neck, with a large, bronze cow bell draped over her collarbone.
How now, horny cow?
Primed to get pumped and plowed?
Then assume the position, and complete that mission!
Beg those bulls to touch that cow, and do it NOW!
Samus let out a moo of pleasure and twirled, nearly falling tit-first into her empty pilot chair, when the chair, and the rest of the cockpit, shifted around her. Rather than a seat, she rested her belly over a padded support that forced her to keep her legs straight as her tits hung toward the floor. Hoses capped with suction cups emerged from a nearby panel and slipped on over her overstimulated nipples, relieving the pent-up pressure as they began to fill unseen tanks with powerful, spraying pumps of warm, wonderful milk.
At the same time, Samus’s lustful, needy nethers, presented for any behind her to see, grew wet and slick as they primed to take the biggest, most virile bullcocks in the galaxy. A puddle of arousal began to form on the floor between her feet, which stood spread and ready as cuffs locked around her ankles for her security.
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ
MOONTZ MOONTZ…
As the pulsing beat faded, Samus gazed blissfully into the stars ahead. Gripping a pair of support handles, she felt another pair of cuffs snap into place around her wrists. Her thoughts were hazy, pink, and sloshing with milk and lust, but she felt secure, and that security only heightened her pleasure and need.
”Let’s give it up for the Holstein Honey, Galactation Station! This is DJ Cowtits, once again come to ya with the hottest beatsl, so get ready to fill up a glass, or a whole fuckin’ tank, and settle in, ‘cuz we’re just getting started!”
Samus grinned, vapid, happy, and horny, as the DJ continued her show. Gone was the confusion and the sense of insult. hearing DJ Cowtits, Samus could only respond in one blissful manner.
“Mooo~oooo!!!”
Sat May 17 11:23:57 2025
4 comments Last updated: Wed May 21 03:43:01 2025