by Jolene Avonn
Cara’s Secret
Cara's best friend stole her boyfriend -- a typical scenario, to be sure. Not so typical: Cara's revenge, which involves a steamy chance encounter with her friend's father in a Chicago bar (and hotel room!), and the revelation of a secret Cara has fought for years to resist.
Breeding Her Gently
Jamie Starr takes on her first two partners in what will prove to be a rough, passionate, and ultimately fruitful stay in "Gardens of Hope," a breeding center designed to save a crumbling society. Jamie's supposed to be pleasured like no other, but the center's sadistic doctor has his own ideas about how her fertile young body should be handled. His rough initiation drives Jamie right to the edge...fortunately, the dashing Will Adams steps in to guarantee much more considerate and delicate service as Jamie's partners line up to fulfill (and fill) her again and again.
Double Discipline
Julie's been bad and needs a little legal help from her family's attorney, Allen. She's convinced she can satisfy his fees with her nymphomaniacal charms. Unfortunately for her backside, Allen's tired of her games and decides to teach her a firm lesson. Julie receives a heavy dose of spanking and then returns for a double-team teaching experience with Allen and an associate that will leave her sore, breathless, and thrilled!
You can connect with Ellie online, and learn about more of her work, at these sites:
Ellie’s B&N Catalog ~~~ elliesaxx.com ~~~ [email protected]
~~~
MILK ME, DOCTOR!
Copyright 2012 Ellie Saxx
Barnes & Noble / PubIt! Edition
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the B&N Store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TAKEN AND MILKED
Jolene Avonn
Alex took me to my favorite restaurant for a quiet dinner on my twenty-first birthday. It was a Wednesday night, so he’d scheduled a “special party” for me the coming weekend. I appreciated the gesture. Even though I was probably a few months from moving away from home, I still cherished our time together.
“So, a big day,” he said, raising a glass of wine. “Cheers!”
“I guess so,” I said, raising mine. He’d allowed me a splash of cabernet as a small celebration, as if I’d never had a drink before. We clinked glasses and he smiled warmly at me.
“I’m so proud of you, Rielle,” he said. “You’ve grown into a beautiful, smart young woman.”
“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks warming from the wine and attention. “And I owe it all to my wonderful stepdad.”
Alex truly was a wonderful person. My biological father was never in my life, and my mother was killed in a car accident when I was six. Alex brought us through the tragedy as well as could be hoped, making ends meet with a string of tough jobs, and as the years passed I grew to develop a strong bond with him. I’d been sheltered, for sure, by that close relationship. Never had a serious boyfriend, and never had sex. I was slowly making my way through community college while I lived at home.
So the bond was too strong, maybe. At least, that’s what I thought during that birthday dinner. For a long time I’d been having...thoughts about Alex. Perhaps it was only natural? He was a tall, strong figure, with thick dark hair that my school friends spoke about in rapid, hushed tones every time he picked me up from late-night labs. They talked about working their hands through his lush mane, gripping his tight ass, squeezing the large bulge in his crotch, always using language that secretly I agreed with. Currently, he worked as a roofer so his back was broad and tan and muscles rippled up and down his arms. It was impossible not to think impure thoughts.
So, like I said, it was probably only natural that when I began to discover myself – my frantic, desperate urgings – I thought of him lying asleep in the very next room.
What would it be like to crawl into bed with him? To pull back the sheet and run my hands over his powerful chest? What would his warm skin feel like under my lips?
I learned to let my fingers linger around my pussy; I touched myself and dreamed of him tonguing me. Then, after a girl at school showed me a series of increasingly dirty pictures from her boyfriend, I began to think more specifically about Alex’s cock. He seemed so big to me...obviously my fantasies about him involved a large, thick member. Though my first time would be painful, for sure, his touch was calm and kind, focused only on my neverending pleasure.
If only I had known how badly I was mistaken.
~~~
Early Saturday morning, the day of my party, I was awakened by a loud banging on my bedroom door. The noise stunned me awake. I sat up in bed and pulled my blanket to my chest. I couldn’t tell if I as dreaming or not.
A huge man burst in, and I instantly screamed for Alex. He wore a pair of black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. And, most frighteningly, a black hood with two small slits for eyeholes
“What...what is it?” I stammered. “Who are you? What do you want? Alex! Alex help!”
The man strode across the room and grasped my arm. Then, in one swift move, he slapped me so hard across the face that spit flew from my mouth. I was stunned silent.
He yanked me from the bed and I gasped in shock and pain. His hand was crushing my wrist. I stumbled to my knees, but he pulled me up and hefted me over his shoulder
“Wait!” I cried, kicking and screaming. “Help!”
Strangely, I was quickly and instantly ashamed of my clothes. It’s one of those silly things that overwhelm you in a moment of sheer panic. I had fallen asleep wearing a leather jacket Alex had surprised me with as a present, and under that I had on ugly blue sweatpants and a green t-shirt, my standard sleepwear. I liked that oversized shirt because it sort of hid my breasts. I was still unsure about their size – I’d always been bigger than the other girls, and the full, voluptuous orbs seemed so strange and so sensitive that I almost thought they weren’t mine. I was otherwise petite, with a thin waist, curvy but small bottom, and lean legs. The man had no problem hauling me down the stairs.
I started yelling again as he carried me quickly through the kitchen and into the garage. A black sedan was parked there, and the man shoved me roughly into the back seat. Then, in a flurry of movement, he slipped a loop of rope around my wrists and bound them tight in my lap.
“What the – ” I cried.
Just as quickly, he jerked a black hood over my head and tied it tight enough around my neck to be uncomfortable. Only then did he secure my seatbelt. Finally, he lashed my ankles to somewhere under the frame of my seat, rendering me almost completely immobile in just 30 seconds. He rested his large hand on my thigh and I began to tremble.
“Please, sir,” I begged. “This isn’t funny anymore. What’s going on? Please let me go. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
He gripped my thigh tighter and moved it toward my crotch. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. Then he let loose of my leg and slammed the door shut. A few seconds later we were moving, the man silent in the driver’s seat and the road thumping by below me.
As soon as we got to what I thought was our neighborhood’s last 4-way stop, I screamed and started to paw at the handle of my door. The man must have disabled the mechanism because yanking the handle did nothing.
“Let me out!” I screamed.
I heard nothing. Then another hard slap, one time, across the cheek. That simple act stopped me cold. My face stung with pain and furious tears. I sobbed silently and prayed for Alex, or anyone, to help me.
There was nothing I could do. I was trapped. The world was dark. My wrists and ankles burned under their rope bindings. My chest heaved against the seat belt. I couldn’t slow my breath; I cou
ldn’t remain calm.
I’d been taken. Right out of my own bed.
The trip seemed to take hours. We stopped one time, and during the break I heard the man eating. I was starving. I begged for food, but he ignored me. Finally, after he noisily smacked his lips and sighed contentedly, he reached back, raised my hood slightly, and lifted a cup to my mouth. I drank down what tasted like chamomile tea, so greedily that it dripped from my chin and left warm spots on my shirt.
Within five minutes, I was fast asleep.
That’s all I remember of Saturday.
~~~
I awoke in a small room, all alone. I was tucked tightly into a cot, my body snug underneath a thin wool blanket and cotton sheet that compressed my breasts and made me feel cocooned and warm. I was groggy, and for a few moments I thought I was in my bedroom. Maybe everything had been a dream. A nightmare.
But as I came to, I realized the nightmare was reality. I sat up slowly. I was naked under the sheet. I saw my reflection in a mirror across the room – my long blonde hair was tied back in an elaborate braid, and my eyes were puffy from crying. There was a neat pile of white clothes on a chair in the corner. On the other side of the room, a small table beneath a window high on a painted brick wall. Sun trickled down but didn’t warm me.
“Weird,” I whispered, still hazy with drugged sleep. “What is this place?”
I stood and reached for the clothes. They were nothing more than a tiny pair of thin see-through cotton shorts and a lacy smock, but I pulled them on anyway. The smock was too small, and it accentuated every jiggle and curve of my breasts. My dark nipples easily showed through, as well, and I blushed in embarrassment. The shorts barely covered my bottom, and in front, they were tight against my virgin sex.
I sat in the chair and took a deep breath. There was nothing to do but wait. The door to the room was locked and the window was clearly padlocked on the outside, and besides, it was too high for me to see out.
A few moments after I dressed, I heard a woman’s low moan in what must have been the next room. The moan quickly turned into a louder cry, and I blushed even harder once I realized that she was making sounds like I did when I touched myself.
Oh! Oh! Oh! Ah! Oh!
The cries grew frantic, turning to shrieks. Something – furniture, maybe a bed post – pounded rhythmically on the wall. Her sounds persisted, even after I thought she must have climaxed. On and on the pounding went...the crying...the shrieking...the sobbing. The pleas. Whoever was with this woman was treating her harshly, but also imparting great amounts of pleasure. I pictured a naked woman on her back on a cot like mine, and a big man between her legs, savaging her. A huge cock slipping deep into her pussy and coming back out shiny with her juices. I couldn’t figure out why my thoughts instantly turned to lust, but now I know it was the drinks my captors fed me.
I retreated to my cot and pulled the covers to my chest. My chest was flushed pink, my pussy growing damp and my mouth dry as I listened to the carnal sounds of sex next door. I felt like a voyeur. The woman’s cries were meant to be private but I was deriving pleasure from them, too. Unwittingly, I began to trace a finger over my nipple until it was firm and peaked. I closed my eyes and let my body relax. Every millimeter of my flesh felt alive. Every sense heightened. I can only guess that the mystery drink had done something to me. I couldn’t control myself. The woman’s voice drove me to spread my legs and...
Unh! Ugh! Unnnnh-ahhh! Oh! Please! Please, sir! Please master!
She reached a new level of desperation, and finally faded into a softer fury of whimpers and pleas, until all was silent.
Then a door slammed. I froze, my hand wedged into my shorts and cupped warmly over my wet sex. Footsteps. A person stopped outside my door, then proceeded down the hallway.
I let out the breath I’d held in.
A moment later, softer footsteps and a noise in the lock. A key turning. When the door swung open, my eyes went wide.
A woman entered, naked except for a pair of shorts like mine. She had long auburn hair, bewitching green eyes, and pure, pale skin. But what amazed me most: her breasts. They were enormous and full, sitting plump on her chest and spilling outward. Her areolas were lighter than mine, her nipples like tiny pebbles.
She was holding a tray, which she set on the chair before walking back to the door and closing it. Every step she took mesmerized me. Her breasts and full hips moved so naturally, so beautifully, that I couldn’t stop staring.
“I’m Maggie,” she said softly, smiling when I glanced up at her open and expressive face. “Welcome, Rielle.”
I was speechless, and afraid to sit up lest my slightly damp shorts betray my self-pleasure. My ears buzzed with anticipation.
“It’s okay to be unsure, dear,” Maggie said. She bent to prepare something on the tray. “When you first encounter Master’s supplements it can be bewildering. I went through it once myself. But you’ll soon see how much joy he can bring.”
She rose and turned to me, presenting a small cup. She knelt by my side. Her breasts were mere inches from my face...my lips. I’d never wanted a woman’s touch before then.
“Drink, dear,” she said in a voice that drenched me in warmth.
I reached out from the covers and took the cup, sipping a different type of tea.
“Good, Rielle,” Maggie said. She returned to the tray, and brought a small jar to the bedside.
“Now,” she said, “it’s time for another treatment. I’m going to pull the sheet back and apply some of Master’s salve. Please just try to relax.”
I nodded. I finished my tea and my body went warm and partially numb. My fingers relaxed, and the cup tumbled to the floor with a clunk. My legs felt like rubber. I dropped my head to the pillow as Maggie pulled back the sheet. She carefully raised my smock, letting my breasts spill out wide and quivering across my chest. I was nervous and embarrassed, but only in the faraway reaches of my consciousness.
Maggie scooped a pale blue cream from the jar, smoothed it in her hands, and placed her palms directly on my breasts. I gasped and tried to reach for her, but I couldn’t move any of my limbs. The new tea was now taking full effect. Even though every one of Maggie’s touches thrilled and shocked me, I couldn’t move a muscle.
“Just stay calm,” she whispered. “This will feel very, very good.”
Maggie slowly massaged my breasts, working the cream into my skin with a steady warm pressure. She pushed my swollen orbs together, squeezing gently, and let them fall back against my chest with a heavy jiggle that left me nearly breathless. The pleasure! It coursed through my veins like a drug!
Again and again Maggie went to the jar for more cream. I thought she’d move elsewhere on my body, but she focused entirely on my breasts. Wringing and cupping and squeezing, smiling at me the entire time. Her green eyes held me in a trance. The heat built in my chest and between my legs; my hottest juices spilled freely and uncontrollably from my pussy now, soaking the sheet beneath as my lips blossomed open with every tug and tweak Maggie made up above.
I realized I was moaning. Low, strange noises escaped my throat. Maggie only smiled and continued her work, pulling one engorged tit at a time now, studying my firm and slick nipples intently. She squeezed a little harder. She made milking motions, first one breast, then the other, and I felt tiny spasms begin to fire off in my belly, then my cunt. Almost before I realized what was happening, I was climaxing, wanting to buck my hips up off the cot and thrust and squirm in delight...but completely unable to do so. The panic at being trapped only heightened the erotic pleasure. Maggie ignored my obvious distress and worked her warm, slippery hands all over my chest. Then, as the height of my orgasm rendered me completely mute, she let out a quick “Yes!”
My left tit, which she was pulling and working firmly, released a small drop of milk from the nipple. Then a longer spurt. The warm milk ran down to Maggie’s finger and dribbled on my side.
I could still only gasp. My pussy quaked with the most i
ntense set of climactic fits I’d ever known. Maggie’s touch was electric. She milked both my tits until both were releasing thin streams. Then she stood and leaned over me, compressing my breasts with her palms flat, her own tits hanging right before my eyes. Our gazes locked, and she pursed her lips slightly. I thought we might kiss, but she pulled down my smock, stood up, and returned to the tray just as I closed my eyes and surrendered.
When I opened them, I saw Maggie furtively licking her fingers. She stopped, embarrassed, when she saw me watching.
“You’ve done so well, Rielle,” she said, her voice thick with a far-off longing. “Master will be pleased.”
“Pleased with...what?” I gasped, finally rediscovering my voice.
“You’ve already begun lactating,” she said. “He was right. You’re truly a fertile young woman. Normally the tinctures and salve take two days to show effects like this.”
“Lactating?”
“Yes, dear,” Maggie said, returning to my side and stroking my cheek. “Our sweet milk is what Master desires, more than anything. He’ll be along to explain tomorrow.”
With that, she gathered her items and walked to the door. She turned to add, “You truly are a beautiful woman, Rielle. It will be my pleasure to be your Mother.”
Then she was gone.
Mother? I had no idea what she meant.
I felt some tingling in my arms and legs, and a few minutes after Maggie left I was able to rise. I stood and studied myself in the mirror.
Could it be? My breasts looked even bigger than before. I could almost feel them expanding. My nipples ached. There was a soreness behind them. They felt full and swollen. My areolas were darker. The smock looked as if it would burst. I reached under and caressed myself, enjoying the fading warm slickness from the salve. I wobbled back a half-step. I felt drunk.
