Here's a quad amputee story, but with completely different vibe:

I’ve been a limbless hucow for just a few weeks now, and every day settles me deeper into this new life. Strapped securely to my comfortable frame in the stall, I can’t move my arms or legs—they’re gone, surgically removed to make me the perfect milk producer. But the frame cradles me just right, tilting my torso forward so my massive breasts hang heavy and full, swaying slightly with each breath. They’re enormous, swollen udders that lactate nonstop, warm milk dribbling from my thick nipples unless the machines catch it first.

The stall is cozy in its own way: soft padding against my skin, dim lights that mimic a sunset glow, and the faint hum of the facility around me. Right now, the milking machines whir to life every few minutes, their suction cups clamping onto my nipples with a firm pull. I feel the tug deep in my chest as they draw out the milk, rhythmic and insistent, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. My pussy clenches with each pull, wetness building between my thighs. It’s not just relief; it’s ecstasy, waves of heat that make me moan softly. I arch my back as much as the frame allows, savoring how my breasts empty and refill, the cycle keeping me in a constant state of aroused bliss.

Thanks to the neural implant wired into my brain, I don’t feel trapped. It lets me surf the internet like anyone else—scrolling feeds, chatting, even shopping for cute accessories for my stall. Today, though, I’m using it for a video call. The implant projects the holographic screen right in my mind’s eye, clear as day, while the stall’s camera captures me from the front, framing my face and those pendulous tits.

The call connects, and there they are: Mom and Dad on one side of the split screen, my younger sister Lily on the other. Mom’s eyes widen a bit, like they always do when she sees me like this, but she smiles warmly. Dad nods approvingly—he was the one who encouraged me to sign up for the program, said it’d be a fresh start after my accident. Lily, at nineteen, just grins mischievously, her ponytail bouncing as she leans in.

“Hey, Em! You look... glowy today,” Lily says, her voice bubbly through the implant’s audio feed.

I laugh, the sound vibrating through my chest and making my breasts jiggle. “Thanks, sis. Must be all this fresh milk I’m producing. The machines just finished a session—feels amazing, honestly. Like, full-body tingles.” The suction cups detach with a wet pop in the background, and I feel a fresh trickle of milk start to leak, warm rivulets sliding down my skin.

Mom chuckles softly, though there’s a hint of concern in her eyes. “We’re so proud of you, sweetie. How’s the rest of your day been? Any fun online?”

“It’s been good. I browsed some hucow forums this morning—lots of tips on enhancing lactation. And I watched a few breeding vids to get ideas for my session coming up.” I pause, shifting slightly in the frame, the straps holding me steady. The casual chat flows easy; they know what I’ve chosen, and no one judges. It’s just family catching up.

Dad leans forward, his face serious but kind. “Speaking of that breeding session—how’s the planning going? You pick a stud yet?”

I sigh, a mix of excitement and indecision bubbling up. “Not yet. It’s in a few days, and the facility sent me this list of studs. There’s like ten options, all vetted and ready. But I’m torn. Part of me wants to go with one of them—professional, no strings. But another part... I don’t know, I keep thinking about asking one of my guy friends from before. Make it personal, you know?”

Lily’s eyes light up. “Ooh, like who? That cute one from college, Mark? Or the gym buddy, Jake?”

“Both crossed my mind,” I admit, feeling a flush creep up my neck. My mind wanders to the list first—the facility’s studs are prime specimens. There’s Brock, tall and broad with a reputation for slow, teasing fucks that leave hucows begging. Or Tyler, who’s all about eye contact, making you feel like the only one in the world while he pounds deep. They’d mount me right here in the stall, strap me tighter to the frame, and slide their thick cocks into my dripping pussy, thrusting until they flood me with cum. The thought makes my clit throb, and I squeeze my thighs together—or try to, since they’re immobilized.

But the friends... that’s different. Mark was always gentle, the type to kiss my neck and whisper how beautiful I am before easing in. Jake’s got that steady rhythm, hands roaming soft even during the heat. I want gentle for my first time—someone who’ll take it slow, caress my swollen belly later, make the impregnation feel like a memory I’ll replay forever. Not some rushed pump-and-dump.

“What do you think, Mom? Dad?” I ask, pulling my focus back. The holographic faces nod thoughtfully.

Mom tilts her head. “Whoever makes you feel safe and cherished, Emma. It’s your body, your choice. But friends might complicate things—emotions and all.”

Dad agrees. “Yeah, but if it’s memorable, that’s what counts. The studs are trained for this; they know how to handle a hucow’s needs. Deep thrusts, holding you steady while you milk around their cock.”

I bite my lip, the explicit talk from my own dad oddly normalizing. “True. Brock sounds intense but caring—reviews say he licks and sucks your nipples while he breeds, syncing with the machines. But Mark... he texted me last week, asked how I was adjusting. I could invite him; he’d be honored, I bet. Slide in slow, kiss me through it, cum deep to knock me up.”

Lily giggles. “Girl, go for the friend if you want that romance vibe. Imagine him visiting after, rubbing your belly while you lactate all over him.”

We chat more, laughing about silly facility perks—like flavored milk additives—and my daily routine. The machines kick in again midway through, suction pulling at my nipples hard. I gasp, pleasure spiking, and explain it to them. “See? This is why I love it. Feels like... like being fucked from the inside out.” Milk flows freely now, the pumps draining me with wet slurps that echo in the stall.

By the call’s end, I’m no closer to deciding, but talking it out helps. As the screen fades, I linger on the options, my pussy aching for what’s coming. Gentle hands gripping my hips, a cock stretching me wide, hot seed spilling to start my new chapter. Whoever it is, it’ll be perfect—memorable, just like I crave.