Page 128 of M!lked For His Pleasure

The alien leaned around me to check out my makeshift garment, then glanced up at the sky to where the sun—or suns—shined as if high noon.

“Little human cow, are you cold?”

He sounded sincerely concerned. Unsure what to say or do, I simply nodded. I was not one to cry, but I actually felt my eyes well, relieved to have not incurred his wrath.

“Come with me,” he encouraged softly, using two of his four arms to pull me close to his hard warmth. “Your kind are so soft and unprotected. Why evolution chose to put your skeletons on the inside, we will never understand.”

I was obviously overwhelmed. That could be the only reason I leaned into him for comfort. I hated feeling this weak—this vulnerable.

My throat made a little squeak when I noticed his hands. His two would-be fingers were thick like ostrich toes, but equal in size.

The ants on Earth had six multijointed legs and a pair of mandibles, with the mouth part essentially acting as hands to grasp, crush, and rip apart.

These alien ants also had six limbs, but less segmented. I imagined that all six appendages could be used to walk, but at some point in their evolution, these humanoid insects had grown bipedal, with four of their six legs more becoming arms with hands. I couldn’t see how their feet had evolved, as they were covered in heavy boots, and the lower abdomen and legs hidden under overalls.

I looked to where he led me.

My eyes widened as I took in the amazing sight. One side was a seemingly normal meadow all the way out as far as I could see, much like the farms of Earth. The other side was a field of giant flowers that reached into the air like wind turbines, with the unfolded petals casting shadows upon the land like low clouds hanging in the sky.

The old movieHoney, I Shrunk the Kidsfrom my ancient arts class came to mind. However, the scale was uneven. How could the grass appear the same as modern Earth when the flowers were as tall as prehistoric trees?

Such variety, too. Roses. Lilies. Geraniums. The air, perfumed and sweet, smelled of sugar and rose water.

Like the aphids on my world, these ones also crawled up the thick stems to pierce the plant and suck in the sap. It was wild to see it from this vantage— insects the size of manatees piled upon each other to drink from the phloem.

He guided me behind the barn, which I noted was made of clay rather than wood. Behind there, the other two ants were busy tending to an injured aphid in a stall, patching a leg.

In the distance, I saw a pond, a large garden, and a fruit orchard. Beyond that was a mound of tended soil that reminded me of a hobbit house from the fairytales the family nanny used to read us. It appeared to be a home.

And behind that, even farther out, was a massive mound of dirt that made me think of Silbury Hill in England. This anthill had to be 120 feet high.How deep did it go?My mind imagined the ancient underground cities of Türkiye with tunnels that went for miles to other subterrain establishments.

The ant leading me stopped us in front of a tall, stone-carved table. He then picked me up and deposited me on the surface like a sacrifice.

The ant leaned in, using his antennas and top hands to assess me. I squeaked and scrambled back when he pulled my covering open. But didn’t get far since his second set of limbs captured me and drew me back.

I whined and struggled in his grasp. My insect captor made hushing noises as he brought me to him.

“We need to milk this poor girl,” he said to the others in the exterior stall. “She is in a lot of pain and fussy.”

When he began massaging my breasts, I simply slumped in place. I wanted to stop him. I really did. But it felt so good.

“The human milking pump is in the barn” the one-eyed ant replied.

“She was cold in there,” my keeper countered. “She needs some sun. We can just do it here by hand.”

“We don’t want to spoil her. We need to be consistent in her routine,” the one-eyed droned as if I were a working dog to be trained. “And her food and water is in there.”

I clung to the ant massaging me. While hands one and two soothed my aching breasts, hand number three slipped in-between my thighs.

I gasped when one of his two thick fingers rubbed up and down my slit. Again, my logical mind protested, but my body preened beneath the monstrous touch.

Before I could come, he pulled his finger away.

“Why did you do that?” I whined. “It felt good.”

“See? The research was not wrong,” the youngest ant offered, pointing to his handheld device. “They can talk.” He then ran off to the barn.

I realized that these were my first words to my captors.

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