Page 11 of Milk
“This is where we would sit,” Nick says, studying my face carefully, cataloging my reactions. “Where we would rule our Kingdom, together.”
Emotions clog my throat as I stare at the throne, trying to envision sitting there beside him. “I…I don’t know anything about ruling a Kingdom,” I say quietly, and Nick strokes a hand down my back.
“I think you’ll find it comes naturally to you. It’s what you were born for. And I’ll guide you every step of the way, little one.” My nipples bead when he calls me that, a drop of milk dripping out. Nick inhales and lets out a soft groan.
“Can you smell me?” I whisper, and he nods, his throat working.
“Yes. Your milk is calling to me.” He moves closer, a dormant fireplace roaring to life in response to our magic. The embers glow a soft violet colour, and the floor beneath us warms almost instantly. My sweater clings damply to my skin now, the wet spots dark and spreading. The weight of my heavy, aching breasts feels so good, and my sweater is stretched so thin I can see the shadow of my nipples through the fabric.
Nick’s gaze drops, his pupils blown with lust and hunger. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice deliciously deep. “Such a pretty milkmaid. So full for your king.” He kisses me then, holding me tight against him, tasting me with long, slow sweeps of his tongue.
Gah. Making out with Santa is one of my new favourite hobbies.
“I have one last thing to show you,” he says, slightly breathless, after he breaks our kiss. “Do you trust me?”
I nod, because I do. More than I should given how short a time I’ve known him.
His hand is warm against the small of my back as he guides me out of the throne room, his touch both possessive and reverent. The hallway we step into is narrower, the lighting dim and soft. It feels more intimate here, and that feeling makes my pulse throb in my ears, makes my nipples tingle in anticipation.
The door at the end of the hall glitters softly, carved with intricate vines of frost. We step inside, and I’m struck by how soft the room is. More of those thick furs are strewn across the floor, and the fire crackling in the hearth casts flickering gold light over everything. Garlands of glowing white berries hang from the ceiling, their light pulsing gently. It’s small and cozy, clearly meant for only one or two people.
In the center of the room sits another throne. At least, I think that’s what it is, but when I move closer, I realize it’s not a throne, but a chair. Wide, curved, and padded with deep redvelvet. It looks plush and soft, and I have the instinctive urge to sink into it. I move towards it, inexplicably drawn, when something behind it catches my attention.
It’s machinery, made of polished brass, gleaming nozzles, and crystal tubes coiled like ribbon.
From behind me, Nick’s fingers trail up my spine, his other hand cupping my breast through my sweater. I’m so full it aches, the weight delicious, the damp fabric clinging to my skin. “This is the milking chamber,” he says quietly. “Where Winter Queens have fed their kings for centuries.”
My eyes go wide as I study the machine with a new awareness. “What is that?” I ask, even though I think I already know. And maybe I’m a kinky freak, because I’m getting wet and turned on just thinking about it.
“It’s a milking machine. Your milking machine.” He guides me closer to the chair and the machine behind it so I can take a closer look. Empty crystal bottles line the shelves on the far wall. There are dozens of them, empty and waiting.
I stare at the chair, my pulse thrumming in my throat, my nipples, my clit. The machinery behind it gleams, calling to me. Hot, prickling arousal washes over me as I imagine being hooked up to it, and another slow drip of milk soaks through my sweater.
“How does it work?” My voice comes out breathy, aroused. I think I know, but I want to hear him say it.
Nick’s fingers trace the curve of my waist, his other hand still cradling my breast, thumb brushing over the damp fabric. “Sit,” he says, guiding me forward.
The velvet is even softer than I expected, molding to my body as I sink into it. The chair cradles me, warm and cozy. Nick kneels beside me, his big hands sliding up my thighs, making my pussy throb. My sweater isn’t the only wet item of clothing I’m wearing right now.
“These,” he says as he nods toward the gleaming nozzles, “are the collection nozzles. They’ll seal to you here.” His fingers graze over my nipples, and I can’t stifle my moan. “Gently. Like my mouth.”
I swallow hard, watching as he adjusts one of the crystal tubes. It’s smooth and tapered, with a tip flared like flower petals. “The suction is controlled by the pump.” His knuckles brush my knee as he points to a lever on the armrest, making sparks dance across my skin. “You set the rhythm to whatever you need. The more aroused you are, the more milk you’ll produce.”
He turns the machine on with a flick of his fingers, and it whirs softly to life. “The milk flows through here,” he says, his finger tracing a coiled tube, “and into the bottles. Every drop is preserved. Sacred. You’ll make more than I can drink from you in a day, so this is necessary, both for your own comfort, and to create a store of milk to ensure the kingdom’s magic continues to thrive.”
His hand slides higher, his palm cupping my breast again, squeezing just enough to make me gasp. A fresh gush of milk soaks through the fabric, dripping down my ribs. Nick’s nostrils flare, his eyes darkening.
“You’re dripping, little one,” he growls, his thumb flicking over my nipple through the fabric. A fresh wet spot blooms, the milk soaking through. I’m a complete mess. “Would you like to be milked?”
I nod and whimper, arching into his touch.
“Take off your sweater, then. Your pants, too.”
I lean forward on the chair and whip my sweater off over my head, knowing I look eager and horny right now and you know what? I don’t care. I want this.
My bra follows, and I sigh happily at the feeling of having my breasts out. It feels good to be bare. Exposed. They’re huge, firm and achingly full.
I wriggle out of my jeans, and then meet Nick’s eyes. “Panties, too, Santa?”
