Yes

You follow her inside, and she leads you into a small kitchen. A table with a single chair sits in the corner.

"Go ahead and sit," your host says as she pulls a large pan out of a cupboard.

As she fills it, you start to make small talk. "So, do you live here alone?"

"Yep. Have for years."

"Don't you have to worry about monsters?"

She laughs at that. "The smart ones learned to leave me alone."

"And the stupid ones?"

"Never got the chance to learn." A pulse of magic shoots from her hand and surrounds the pan. A few seconds later, the sound of bubbling reaches your ears, and steam starts rising from it. She must be quite powerful if she can bring it to the boil that quickly.

Pulling out a pair of mugs, she pours the warm liquid evenly into both, handing you one before taking a great swig from the other.

The smell rising from your mug is very inviting, and you raise it to your lips, downing half of it before continuing your conversation.

"If you don't mind my asking, what exactly are you? I've never seen anyone like you before."

She giggles. "I'm a sprite, silly."

You freeze. Sprites are dangerous.

Sprites are formed when wild magic happens to get bound to some material or substance in a self-sustaining form. If there isn't much of whatever they are bound to around, the sprite is weak, acting on little more than a vague instinct to obtain more of it. If they don't find it, the magic will eventually dissipate. Beyond a certain level, however, they grow intelligent, but their desire for more material only increases. Their power increases with the amount of material.

Intelligent sprites never do anything unless they think it will help them gain more material, and often trick the unwary into helping them by way of tainted gifts, usually to the **** detriment of the helper.

Placing down your mug, you look at her. "And what are you bound to?" you ask slowly.

A part of her hand drips down and is absorbed into her foot. "Milk! You have no idea how hard it is to gather enough power when half of me goes rancid every few days."

You turn your eyes to your half-full mug and firmly push it away from you.

"Oh, don't be like that, silly. It's already too late for you. You may not have drunk enough that I can do exactly what I want, but you have drunk enough that I can do this. You want to finish it."

"I want to finish it." The thought echoes constantly in your mind. Why wouldn't you want to? It tasted so good. You reach for the mug (why did you push it away?) and take another large sip.

Soon, it is all gone, and the thought fades from your mind. Your eyes widen. "What did you do to me?"

"Oh, relax, silly. That was nothing. You're mine now. Mind and body. You want to follow me to my barn and stand in the first stall."

"I want to follow her to her barn and stand in the first stall." This thought doesn't echo like the last, it simply is. You know that that is what you want; why would you need it repeated?

She leads you into the barn, and looks you over as you stand in the stall. "Those are some nice boobs you have, but some of these other parts are just silly. What do arms and legs have to do with milk production? Nothing. That's what.

"So," she says firmly, "lets fix you so those useless parts are actually doing something useful."

You feel a strange feeling in your hands, and watch in panic as they seem to flow back into stumps. A sharp pain strikes your chest, and you look down in horror as a second pair of breasts grows underneath the first.

The sensation repeats, and soon you have seven pairs of breasts spread down your front, and your shoulders have nothing attached to them.

"Hmm," she says. "No more room there. Guess I'll have to put the rest on the other side. But first..." She pulls a tube with a large cup on the end down from above you and attaches it to one of your tits. Her touch is cool and damp. The tube immediately begins sucking, and you are disturbed by how good it feels as a thin stream of milk flows out. She repeats this with your remaining breasts, before commenting, "Now for those pesky legs."

Similarly to before, your feet flow into you. This time, the now familiar sensation of growing a new pair comes from the top of your back. You are now supported entirely by the tubes sucking on you.

By the time your legs are done, and she has attached more tubes to your new boobs down your back, the pleasure of the milking is making it hard to concentrate.

She looks at you speculatively. "There's room for one more pair where your legs used to be, but no spare material to make them." Her face lights up. "Oh, aren't I silly. There is still a load of useless stuff. You don't really need all of those silly thoughts and memories, you just need enough of a brain to keep you alive and producing milk forever and ever."

Your mind fades to blackness, and you think no more.