Captives Of Alien Milkers Pt 01

I know I've left several storylines unfinished, but I swear this one is done. I'll be posting the next installments as soon as possible.

*****

I opened my eyes to steady white light coming from a panel directly above me. As I turned my head, I saw blank metal walls and Major Thrace standing in front of what I assumed was the door: a featureless rectangle of the same silver metal. Thrace stood with her arms crossed, a look of annoyed impatience on her face.

She was also completely nude. Totally, absolutely bare from her head to her toes.

I stared at her. Thrace she was one of those ripped, sculpted women who exercised and trained relentlessly, so rather than humiliating her, stripping her naked, even by force, only empowered her. She had warrior tattoos on her arms and thighs, and her pubic hair was trimmed into a neat strip.

"Well, somebody else is awake," Thrace said in her distinctive growl. Her black hair, usually pulled back tight, hung loose around her wide shoulders. "Good morning, ensign."

I rose on my elbows. I saw my own uncovered legs stretching before me on some sort of soft, mattress-like pad, and realized I, too, was naked. I put one arm across my breasts and clamped my thighs tightly together. I couldn't remember undressing...

Then I realized Captain Clark lay beside me. She was still unconscious, and also nude. While she was older than either me or Thrace, she was in great shape, although the harsh light revealed scars and stretch marks from her age. She had a lone tattoo, of her original combat unit, on her upper arm. Her face, slack in sleep, looked younger than it usually did bearing her command scowl.

I got up, my head fuzzy, and said, "What happened, Major? Where are our clothes?"

"We've been captured," Thrace said. "We were undressed while unconscious. I woke up like this."

I felt the sudden rush of terror that all females in the galaxy felt at becoming prisoners. Males of all species had specific uses for women captives. "But w-we're not at war, who would-"

"Milkers," Thrace said grimly.

The terror I'd felt moments before was nothing compared to what I felt now. "Milkers" was our slang term for the G'Oran, a race of genderless humanoids whose favorite intoxicating beverage was human breast milk. As a result, they skimmed stray human females from the space lanes and used them as cows, modifying their bodies so that they produced milk constantly. The few women who'd escaped or been rescued described horrific conditions and a life that revolved around their frequent sessions at the G'Oran's ruthless milking machines.

And now those same aliens had captured us. We'd been in a shuttle, returning with the captain from a fleet meeting. It had been my first official assignment as her yeoman.

"Are you sure?" Captain Clark said. She sat up beside me, her short hair disheveled. In one graceful motion she stood and joined Thrace by the door. Neither of them seemed the least bit put out at being naked.

"I'm sure," Thrace said. "I woke up enough to see one of them when they brought the ensign into the cell. The way they played with her tits was a dead giveaway."

I gasped at the thought of aliens handling my breasts, and crossed my arms over them more tightly. The G'Oran had long fingers, with extra knuckles and two thumbs per hand.

"That is a problem," Captain Clark said flatly. She looked down at her chest, then lifted and squeezed her own breasts, examining them for any sign of lactation. "I don't think they've started modifying us yet. Do either of you feel any different?"

Thrace shook her head curtly. I still sat on the silver pad, legs tightly closed and arms covering my breasts, and had trouble keeping up. After a moment Clark said, "Ensign, I asked for a report. Do you feel any different, physically?"

"N-no, Captain," I said. I got clumsily upright. I had graduated from the academy only three months earlier, and I had never expected anything like this. The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, although the air was comfortable. I had a large chest, so my breasts swayed as I moved, but they felt no different. Of course, I had no idea what feeling to expect.

"Then they haven't started," Clark said. "That gives us more time. The G'Oran may not have realized who we were when they took us, but once they looked over our ship, they can't help but know. I'm a fleet command officer-this won't go down lightly. I expect them to release us soon."

"Y-yes, captain," I said. I tried to emulate the two officers and not instinctively cover my breasts, but the urge was overwhelming. I'd never been naked in public before, and knowing what Milkers wanted-and what they did to get it-made me feel even more vulnerable.

Clark seemed to sense that, and she put a hand on my shoulder. It was warm and soft against my skin. "Relax, Ensign. This will be a good story to tell some day, nothing more."

Something hissed in the air behind and above us. I now know it was the first of the treatments that would turn us into milk producers for the G'Oran. At the time, though, I remember exclaiming, "What's th-"

And then, once again, we all fell unconscious.

*****

When I awoke the next time, I did feel different, but not in the way I expected. There was no sense that my breasts were mutating or changing. Instead, the change was far more general, and much greater in scope.

I was horny. Unbelievably horny. Unbearably horny.

I lay where I'd fallen on the bare metal floor. I rolled onto my side with a moan that echoed off the metal walls. My hands were still numb, so luckily I didn't embarrass myself by doing what I so desperately wanted before I saw Major Thrace and Captain Clark. Thrace stood basically as she had before-back against the wall, arms crossed, face in a scowl. Captain Clark sat in a lotus position, eyes closed in meditation.

"C-captain?" I said.

"Shut up," Thrace snapped through clenched teeth.

I did as I was told, and managed to stand. I was so wet, I worried that I'd leave a visible puddle on the floor. I wished desperately for a chair, but settled for leaning face-first against the wall, my forehead on my crossed arms.

"Are you two...okay?" I asked.

"I said shut up," Thrace growled.

"Major," Captain Clark said calmly, her eyes closed. "It's not the ensign's fault."

"Yes, Captain," Thrace said. "My apologies, ensign."

Moisture trickled down the insides of my thighs. I sighed, but it turned into a whimper despite my efforts at control. How could I feel like this, now of all times?

When I looked down, I saw my breasts, my nipples hard and extended. I wanted to pinch them so badly, but how could I in front of two superior officers? I shifted my feet, and watched my breasts sway; the sensation was almost too much for me, and I whimpered again.

Thrace left her spot by the wall and began to pace the room in long strides. When she reached a wall she struck it hard with the flat of her hand, then paced to the opposite wall. Since the room wasn't very big, this didn't take long. I could feel the slight vibration of her blows through the metal wall I leaned against. "Goddammit," she muttered over and over, "goddammit..."

I let out a long breath and put my back against the wall. My bare ass, damp with sweat, slid against the hard surface. Thrace struck the wall again, and her feet smacked on the floor. She gleamed, every hard muscle of her body standing out in relief. I realized I watched her hips as she moved, her taut buttocks and muscular thighs rippling with each purposeful step.

"I can't stand it," I whispered, and closed my eyes. "I can't take this..."

"Shut up!" Thrace roared. I jumped.

"Major, that's enough," Clark said, and got gracefully to her feet in a single move. She walked over to face me, and I felt the heat of her nearness. "Ensign, what's wrong? Say it."

My voice was small and pitiful. "I'm so turned on, Captain..."

"So are we. You don't see us crying about it, though, do you?"

That sent a jolt through me. Somehow, in my sex-addled brain, I hadn't even thought that Thrace and Clark might be similarly affected. I stared at the Captain in wonder, suddenly seeing her clearly: there was a red flush across her shoulders and neck, her lips were swollen, and her nipples, like mine, were hard and extended. "C-Captain, I..."

"It's a side effect of the body modification the G'Oran are putting us through," she said clinically. "They reproduce by spores, so they have no concept of sexual arousal, or if they do, they don't care. It's only the first stage, and it's fully reversible, so don't panic. We still have plenty of time. The mutations don't start until we start having orgasms; it's the endorphins that trigger things. We just have to stay in control. Can you do that, Ensign?"

"Y-yes, Captain."

She nodded, satisfied with her answer, and returned to her meditation. This was her way of trying to resist what her body demanded. As she settled into her cross-legged position, I glimpsed her vulva, swollen and gleaming with wetness. The thought of what I must look like to her filled my mind.

I turned away and paced to a corner. I gritted my teeth against the urge to touch myself. How had a race with no sexuality done this to us? Even Major Thrace, a woman of iron self-control and discipline...did she feel like I did? Did her pussy ache?

I don't know how long we all stood, or sat, silent and immobile. I know that the whole time my clit beckoned my fingers, my breasts grew heavy and sensitive, and I felt warm trickles of my own juices down the insides of my thighs. Only the shame of being the first one to break, the first one to give in, kept me from dropping to my knees and fingering myself like I had when first discovered how good it felt. I'd been twelve then, and thought I knew what need was. I had no idea.

But I wasn't the one who snapped. And neither was Thrace.

Out of nowhere, Captain Clark sucked in a sharp breath and made us both look at her. She was still immobile, cross-legged and upright, but her face was tight with terror. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, God, no, not me, I can't...I can't..."

And then she came. Hard. Her back arched, her eyes squeezed shut and she let out a cry of ecstasy, shame and rage. A spray of juices shot from her vagina onto her crossed ankles.

And then Major Thrace collapsed to her knees, both hands between her legs. She roared with her climax, the muscles on her forearms flexing as she stroked and probed herself with the ferocity of battle. She grunted through clenched teeth.

And me? I barely remember falling to the floor, rolling onto my stomach and shoving my right hand between my thighs. I do, though, remember coming so hard that my groan of pleasure sounded, in my own ears, like some sort of death rattle.

The room echoed with our combined screams and cries. I'd like to say I paid attention to what has happening to my superior officers, but the truth is, I didn't. I was so wrapped up in my own body and its responses that the room could've burst into flames and I doubt I would've noticed.

I've masturbated all my life, but it had never felt like this. My breasts were tender and sensitive, and I never imagined my nipples could draw so tight and extend so far. And my vagina...well, it gave up any right to the dignity of that name. My pussy clenched tighter and tighter with each orgasm, my clit swelling and seeming to explode in overwhelming tingles with the slightest hint of a touch.

I spent most of the time on my belly, humping my hand with a ferocity I'd never expressed with any human lover. If only poor Gregory, who'd called me a cold fish, had been there then, I'd have let him do all the things he wanted to do that frightened me back in my academy days. For that matter, if any man had been there, he could've had me with no preliminaries. I would've begged.

But eventually all my muscles, even my Kegel ones, were too exhausted to continue, and I passed out. My dreams were just as raunchy, though, and in them my orgasm was always just out of reach.

To be continued...