Atlantea

"Gentlemen," intoned the smooth, male voice, "this is First Navigational Officer Damian Leonidas, hoping you've had a pleasant journey with us. Local time in Atlantea is 11:13AM, and the date is Shieldday, 14th of Smith. As we make our descent into Kumaiya International Aerharbor, please fasten your seat belts and check your surroundings for any personal belongings. On behalf of myself, the captain, our flight crew, and all my colleagues at Nautraxian Aeronautical Limited Charter Society, I would like to welcome you to Atlantea. And should you have travel needs in the future, we hope you will keep us in mind. Which is pretty funny, actually, since we are the only choice if you want to fly here."

Damian chortled over the intercom.

"Anyway, we'll have you on the ground in twenty minutes. Cabin crew, please prepare for landing. May the archetypes guide you."

We had been flying for over twenty hours, including a number of refueling stops. Our plane, an Airbus ACJ319, according to the safety card in the holder near my seat, appeared to have been modified in several ways. The outside was painted a matte, dark black color; although hardly an expert on the matter, a strange look for a private jet. The windows were made of some kind of clear material that could make itself fully opaque, and we had been unable to see outside until an hour before the descent began. Below was monotonous blue ocean, with no landmarks or other distinguishing features. Even had I known what to look for, there was no way to tell where we were on the planet, even knowing that we had departed, the day before, from the General Aviation terminal at Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport.

As the aircraft banked to the starboard side, I could see nothing but water, and wondered, briefly, where we were going to land. Then, as we dropped below 5,000 feet, a large land mass blinked into sight, out of nowhere. I could make out a broad, flat, verdant plain, with low mountains rising up, just out of sight. Our likely destination came briefly into view as the plane continued its long, sweeping turn: a large airport situated on an even larger, rectangular island, connected to the mainland by a miles-long causeway.

For no immediately obvious reason, our plane began to oscillate from side to side. First the port wing dipped twice, then the starboard thrice, then the port twice more. I peered out the window, worried we were experiencing engine trouble. Flying silently, about a thousand feet off of our wing, was a fighter plane, painted the same matte black color as our aircraft. I did not recognize the model, but it had an unusually sleek look which suggested advanced technology, to my layman's eyes. The small jet was in the process of executing a pattern of wing tilts itself, and once it stopped, our own plane made a few more, too. My best guess was that this bizarre set of maneuvers was a security protocol. It reminded me of how paranoid these Atlanteans were; the trailer where my immigration interview had been conducted had been lined with explosives, after all, presumably to avoid leaving any trace of their technology in the case of discovery by the US government.

Thinking about interview process, and the weeks that followed it, reminded me of home. I felt a tightness sweep across my chest. I looked down at the rings on my left hand, and, not for the first time on this journey, wondered if I had made the right choice. As the plane continued to descend, I slid into a daydream, my mind wandering back a little over a month.

* * *

I had returned home, in the afternoon after Xanthia dropped me off, to a mixed reception. The females of the households were unhappy that I had not somehow let them know I was okay, when I didn't come home the night before. Phoebe and Rosalind were standing on the wide porch of the big Victorian, looking cool, arms crossed beneath their prodigious breasts. I began to wave to them, with trepidation, when a blond streak crashed into my body, embracing me in a big hug. The streak then began sobbing on my chest, making a big wet spot.

"I was so worried about you!" Natasha exclaimed, tears streaking down her face.

I tried to extract myself from her grasp, but it was like wrestling with an octopus; the moment I peeled off one arm, she already had wrapped the other one back around me.

"Never do that again!" she urged, as she made loud sniffling sounds.

"Yes, ma'am!" I said.

"I'm serious!" she insisted.

"Dude, you shoulda let us know you were okay," Phoebe said, levelly, "we thought you got abducted by the NSA or something."

"And you'd better go see the Twins tonight," Rosalind added, "they were even more freaked than Tasha here."

"Auntie!" Natasha whined, "I wasn't that upset!"

"Okay," her aunt remarked, "if that's the case, maybe you could let Jason go then?"

"Mmm ... no!" the young blonde said. "Jason, come with me."

At this, Rosalind and Phoebe tried to suppress wry smiles, but failed. I shrugged helplessly as Natasha dragged me into the house, and then to her room. Her twin bed had a frilly pink comforter, which she plopped down on, motioning for me to join her.

"You're a bad man, and you owe me for making me worry so much. So I need you to help me with something, and you have to do it."

"Um, okay. You do know that I had no way to contact you guys?"

"Whatev!"

I shrugged.

"So," she said, "I keep running out of milk before all the babies are done, and then Auntie Phee has to take over with her big ol' bazoombas. It doesn't happen every night, but often enough."

"There are four kids; I don't think Phoebe holds it against you."

"She doesn't; she's a frickin' saint, really. But I still feel bad, kinda like I'm not doing my job. And I'm so close to being able to handle them all, it's driving me crazy."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Help me increase my milk supply!"

"How?"

"The kiddos just aren't consistent, especially with three other moms to nurse them whenever they freakin' want. But then sometimes I get caught by myself, and they all decide to be hungry, and I run out. So I've done a bunch of research, and I need to nurse for longer, more often, and at the same times every day."

She hefted both breasts as she said this last part.

"Wouldn't the pump work better?" I asked; although my blood was racing, it seemed wrong to show too much excitement just yet.

"I hate those things! So no!" Natasha exclaimed.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked, even though it was obvious, I wanted to hear her say it.

"Could you," she said, biting her lip nervously, "nurse with me? Whenever there's a gap?"

"How often would that be?" I asked, pretending to a casualness I was no longer feeling.

"I guess two to four times every day. And sometimes at night. It'll depend on how much I get in with the babies."

"Hmm," I said, "I think I can do this. You might owe me, though."

I added the last part using a lower octave, hoping to be clear I was joking. Natasha ignored this, or pretended to, and responded sincerely.

"I already owe you," she said, "this just adds to the load."

"Okay!" I said, "It's a deal."

"Could we start now? My titties are about to explode!"

She took a lacy pillow from one side of the bed and placed it on her lap, then motioned for me to lie down at a right angle to her body. I lay down and scooted along the surface of the bed, resting my head below dark brown right nipple. Her breast was so full that I could see faint lines of stress radiating outwards from the areola. Having, by this time, breastfed from four different women, I latched on perfectly to Natasha's uniquely thick nipple, and sucked with precisely the right amount of pressure.

"Hey!" Natasha said, grabbing my hair and pulling me off her boob, "How'd ya get so much better at this all of a sudden?"

"I'll tell you later," I said, eager to drink more.

Before I latched back on, though, I noticed she had been to the salon; there were new pink highlights at the ends of her blond hair.

"Your hair looks cute, by the way," I said, sincerely; growing up with four older sisters had taught me to pay attention to these details. "The pink really suits your blue eyes."

Natasha blushed.

"Thanks," she said, biting her lip. "I also saw Marta. How do you stand going there so often? I felt like I was in a fuckin' Russian prison."

"Sometimes I ask myself the same thing!" I said.

"Anyway, it's not gross down there now, the next time you give me a massage. Which reminds me, are you up for that? My back's hurting again."

"For sure! Also I have to show you those exercises too, maybe tomorrow?"

"Okay!" she said happily. "Oh yeah, I also went to the gyno."

"You were a busy girl!"

"I was," she replied. "I was worried I tore when you and I ... you know, tried it out. But she said everything's fine down there, it's just gonna hurt a lot at first."

The dull pain in my cock, which had been present all afternoon, flared into full-blown agony, as her words made my member stiffen. It felt like shards of glass were being dragged along my urethra.

"Oof," I said.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked, concern washing over her features as she peered down at me.

"Yeah, sorry, I think I overused my, um, little friend down there."

"Now you really have to tell me what happened!"

Instead of answering, I put my lips to her nipple again and began to nurse, drawing down enough milk to mollify her.

"I guess I do need to let you do that for a while," she said, as she massaged her taut breast, pushing down from her collarbone.

She laced her hands behind my hand and gently pulled me tighter to her bosom. I looked up into her beautiful, melancholy-looking eyes, and felt my heart begin to race. She was staring at me intently as she combed my hair with her fingers. It sure seemed like she was falling in love with me, or at least was in the throes of a serious crush. What scared me was that I was beginning to feel the same way. I began to suck harder, looking for a way to distract myself.

"Hmm," she purred, "that feels great, Jay. No harder though, okay? That's right at my limit."

I murmured an affirmative in response. I was feeling guilty about my feelings for the young woman, and also faintly stupid. I had not known her for long.

'On the other hand, we have kinda been through the trenches together taking care of all the kids at night,' I mused.

Only the firm knowledge that Calista would want me to pursue a loving relationship with Natasha assuaged my guilt. Calista believed so passionately that we should each have multiple lovers, that we had almost broken up over the issue. I began to relax, at this realization, and my concerns, blissfully, drifted away. My world narrowed down to the breast in my mouth and the delightful fluid shooting into my throat. Some time later, her left breast stopped producing milk, and she gently pushed my head away.

"Oh my effing God," she said, "You have no idea how much better that feels. Here, see the difference between my tits?"

I pulled back to get a better view, while she lifted each breast in turn. The left one was now loose, a relaxed bag of water, whereas the right was still taut as a drum. I scooted down and latched on to it, eager to bring her relief. Some time later, her right breast, too, ran dry. I am not sure how much I drank, but I noted that the slight hunger I'd been feeling earlier had disappeared entirely. I was in a fugue state, and simply lay on the pillow, staring at her breasts while she continued to weave her hands over my scalp.

"Like what you see?" she asked.

"Very much so," I said.

"Jason," she said, biting her lip again, "Are you really up for doing this? Like, I'm probably gonna to need to come by and nurse tonight if the babies don't drink enough."

"Sure, just wake me up if I'm asleep."

"Wow! You sure?"

"Having a beautiful woman wake me up to feed me her amazing breast milk? Yeah, not a problem."

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked.

"Of course!" I said.

"Well, you're a big fat liar and I know it. But at least you're a sweet big fat liar."

Something occurred to me then.

"I might be with the Twins tonight, so if I'm not in my bed when you need me, check there?"

"Are you sure they won't mind?" she said. "I'm still not sure if they like me that much."

"Oh, they like you. Otherwise they wouldn't have given you those cute nicknames!"

"Hmm, I'm not so sure. Anyways, no distracting me! What were you up to? Spill!" she said.

"I can't tell you much about interview and tests, they have this super-accurate lie detector, and they'll give me another one right before letting me travel there, to make sure I didn't tell anyone about the process, or what I learned about the country."

Natasha's face fell.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She put on a smile forced, obviously forced, and nodded.

"I was just thinking about something. So what can you tell me about?"

"Xanthia -- that was the admittance adviser -- invited me to her place after. I had taken a lot of the Super Viagra during the interview, which does come from Calista's country, as we already kinda suspected. So Xanthia used that as an excuse, saying she needed to monitor me 'cuz I mighta took too much. I think she actually wanted to have sex and get pregnant, though. And I wound up with her 'sisters', too. But they were mostly not actual sisters, more of a communal living type deal. Well, except for two of them, who actually were real sisters."

Naively, I was hoping that this explanation, confusing as it might be, would suffice. It felt embarrassing to go into more detail with the young nanny, even if we had been intimate ourselves. Moreover, despite Xanthia's willingness and encouragement, I was still wrestling with guilty feelings about being so hard on her body.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jay!" Natasha said, "Let's start back over at the beginning. You're not getting away from me until I have details. All of them."

True to her word, Natasha emulated an FBI agent for the next thirty minutes, albeit a heavy-breasted, topless one. She made me walk through the time at Xanthia's apartment almost minute-by-minute, and proved adept at catching me whenever I tried to gloss over anything. She was particularly interested in the telling of my ravaging Xanthia's pussy.

"So how many times did you cum inside her?" she asked, after I had finished explaining the part where Selene interrupted us in the morning.

"Maybe fifteen or twenty by that time? There were a few more times later too."

My head was still resting on the pillow, so I had a close-up view of Natasha's nipple. I noticed it swell as I answered her question.

"Lucky girl!" Natasha said.

* * *

Dinner that night was awkward. Natasha was taking care of the kids, while Rosalind, Phoebe, the Twins and I ate baked salmon, prepared by Ruby. Once again, the women wanted to hear what had happened to me, and since I couldn't tell them anything about Atlantea, I stuck to an abbreviated version of what had happened. Or, at least, I tried to, but between the four of them, they, as had Natasha, picked up on every nuance of my narrative. If I left out the slightest detail, one of them would pounce, making me go back and clarify.

"I, for one, approve," Rosalind said, when I wrapped up, referring to my extreme treatment of Xanthia's pussy.

This came as little surprise, as Rosie enjoyed being dominant, herself; why wouldn't she support me?

"I do too," Phoebe said.

Phoebe's reaction was more surprising, at first, until I realized that she was approving of Xanthia's submissive behavior. The Twins, on the other hand, chose to ignore the question of morality altogether.

"No wonder you're not eating," Alicia said, pointing at my plate.

I'd enjoyed the fish dish, which had been excellently prepared, but was still feeling satiated from draining Natasha's boobs, as well as Xanthia's sisters that morning. Half of the filet was still sitting on my plate, and I could not eat another bite.

"You filled up on lady-milk!" Alicia continued.

"I bet Ace of Base topped him off, too," Ruby added, with eerie accuracy.

"Ace of Base" was one of the Twins' nicknames for Natasha. I had not figured out why.

"So, JB, from now on, can you let me know if you're actually going to be hungry for a meal? I don't want to waste food if you're not gonna eat it, and I have a sneaking suspicion you're not gonna be hungry that often. At least for a while."

I must have blushed furiously, because all the women looked bemused.

'Wait, why is she calling me JB?' I thought.

I found out the answer to that riddle later that evening. I was lying between the two, nearly-identical looking women. Alicia had just levered her hips up off of my face. When I had shown up two hours earlier, I tried to say hello, but Ruby made the buzzing sound they used when they didn't want to talk. Instead, they motioned for me to strip out of my clothes and lie on the bed, and then proceeded to sit on my face for the next two hours, swapping positions with each other each time they climaxed.

I had been planning to tell them that my cock was off limits due to overuse, but I never got the chance, as my lips were smothered in vagina the entire time. As it was, they never showed any interest in that part of my anatomy; I suspected they knew it was in a painful state. Even so, as I licked and rubbed their pussies, I got hard enough to cause some nasty shooting pains to lance through my shaft.

Bringing Alicia to her second orgasm, her wife having already reached that mark, was apparently enough to get back in their good graces, and engage in verbal communication again.

"So, James," Alicia said, lowering her voice an octave and feigning a remarkably realistic British accent, "do you like your breast milk shaken or stirred?"

Ruby burst out laughing at her wife's witticism. I was having trouble keeping up with their thought processes, however, so I just lay there, savoring the feel of Alicia's vaginal fluid on my lips. After about a minute, I got the joke the Alicia was making. My new nickname, "JB" must have been short for "James Bond", no doubt a reference to the cloak-and-dagger nature of my interview with the Atlanteans. Proud of myself for figuring out their obscure reference, I decided to play along.

"Which one of you is Pussy Galore?" I asked, trying to sound like Roger Moore.

"You have a terrible English accent; please, never try that again," Ruby commented.

"We both are," Alicia said, "Pussies Galore!"

"So, Mr. Bond," Ruby continued, having once again adopted her accent, "Welcome to the Island of Lactatia. We have designed a ... special ... way to torture you to death. I don't expect you will leave here alive!"

Ruby scooted up and brought her right breast to my mouth. A jolt of pain hit my aching penis as I realized what she wanted, but it didn't stop me from latching on with my impeccable technique. Her small breasts, laden with milk, were just big enough for me to suck in the requisite amount of areola and surrounding flesh. I had a sufficient surface area to work with and was able to push the nipple, with my tongue, to the roof of my mouth.

"Mm," said Ruby as my initial, slow sucking motions brought her milk down.

Alicia had gone around the other side of Ruby, to massage her wife's shoulders while she nursed.

"Babe," said Ruby, uncharacteristically serious, "he's good at this. He's very good at this. You gotta try it."

Ruby's breast milk was similar in taste to Natasha's. This was no surprise. I figured all the women's milk would have the same flavor, given that we ate communal meals most of the time. Alicia lay down behind her wife and cuddled up against her, pressing her body tightly against her wife's back, and hugging her loosely around the stomach. I felt their legs intertwine. Ruby's eyes were closed, her facial muscles loose and relaxed. I drank for a surprisingly long time, albeit only half the time it would have taken to empty one of Natasha's bosoms. Ruby made an oohing sound when her milk ran dry, and I switched to her left breast. Alicia had fallen asleep at some point; I could hear her breathing heavily into the nape of Ruby's neck. Although feeling full by the time Ruby was done, I was still eager to nurse with Alicia too. Ruby reached behind and shook her snoring wife.