Heavy Petting

16. Vanya

16

VANYA

M ahz-uhrr grabs me off his desk faster than I can comprehend. My mind is whirling, and my body trembles with anticipation. He’s taking me to the milking room.

My breasts are full and achy, and my nipples are prickling with hot and cold tingles. I’m making milk.

My monster sets me on the counter and reaches underneath for a jar of the blue fruits. He feeds me two and can barely look me in the eyes. From the intensity and direction of his gaze, he is obsessed with my breasts, and when he leans in to suckle at one, we both moan as if it’s the most wonderful thing either of us have ever felt.

He draws my breast deep into his mouth and greedily gulps down the milk he pulls forth. He’s thirsty. Hungry for me, like he’s been starving and needs to drag urgent nourishment from my very soul. Pride swells inside me for providing him with what he needs, and pleasure tugs at my core.

Every time he swallows, his pointed teeth press into my flesh. They add a subtle, dangerous pressure and make the latch twice as secure, clamping my breast firmly in his jaws. There’s no chance of escape without pain, but I wouldn’t dream of trying to get away. I don’t want this to stop.

He pulls back with a pained groan and feeds me another of the blue lactation fruits. His nostrils flare, and he parts my legs to stare at my sex. It must look a slippery mess. I was already wet, but the way he drank from my breast pushed me into an even needier state. My desperation for relief is so bad, I can’t sit still. The tops of my thighs are soaked with my juices, and he bows down to lick them.

Without thinking, I grip his horns and buck my hips at his face, wanting him to make the magic happen. He rears back with a warning growl and strokes his horns as he glares down at me.

Did I hurt him?

“Sorry, Mahz-uhrr,” I whisper.

“ Kung ,” he growls. He picks me up and locks me between the bars of the milking brace.

I knead the cushioned surface below my hands and knees, eager for the delicious suction of the milking machine’s cups. His taking milk from one breast has eased the taut ache there, but the other is still swollen to the point of being hard, hot, and throbbing.

But instead of hooking me up to the pump, he leaves the room.

I call after him, wanting him back. Needing him to return and care for me — make me feel better and satisfy the overwhelming cravings inside me the way only he can. “ Mahz-uhrr .”

He rushes back into the room, tosses something aside, and drops to a crouch in front of me. He searches my eyes and murmurs soft, soothing sounds that bring my heart rate back from the anxious peak it was cresting. He strokes my face and my hair and presses a kiss to my forehead. “ Es dobraw, mo spraah. Mahz-uhrr bre shan .”

He palms my full, heavy breasts, turns on the whirring machine beside me, and guides each dripping nipple into its own milking cup. The strong suction draws my flesh deeper and forms a perfect seal against my skin, and I moan at the heavenly sensation that washes through me. My scalp tingles, my mind clears with the welcome wash of a cool tide, and I lean into the bars for support, as the evidence of my intense enjoyment begins dripping down my legs.

The rhythmical pumping in my ears is as hypnotic as the tugging at my breasts, and my body yearns to rock to the same beat. Too confined to move much at all, I can only shift restlessly on my hands and knees and give soft, needy hums as words evade me.

It feels good, but my body knows it could feel better. I need my master. My monster. The big, handsome male who makes me feel wanted and has made my life a pleasure since the moment we met.

Mahz-uhrr, runs a slow, firm hand down my spine, smothering the jitters that wrack me.