Captives Of Alien Milkers Pt 06

I awoke to the sound of women moaning. At first my fuzzy brain thought, "Oh, great, we're fucking again." But as my head cleared, I realized these cries were different. These were moans of pain, of agony.

I opened my eyes. I was on my side, and something about my body wasn't right. My first sight was Captain Clark, back in her cross-legged position, eyes closed. I tried to sit up.

Then I discovered that my hands were bound behind my back.

When the fuck had this happened?

We'd all passed out from exhaustion, but surely...and then I understood. If the G'Oran had drugs that could lower our inhibitions and make us fuck each other, then a simple sedative must have been a breeze.

As I forced myself awkwardly up into a seated position, jolts of serious pain went through me. I shook my head to clear it, trying figure out what hurt so badly. It wasn't my manacled wrists or wrenched shoulders...

My breasts.

They were full of milk. Overfull. Massively overfull.

And with my hands bound, I could do nothing about it.

I looked down. My breasts were distended, misshapen by the fluid accumulating in them. Their once-smooth surfaces were now bumpy from the swollen milk glands inside them. Whitish droplets oozed from my nipples and aureolas. I was on fire with the need for relief from the agony.

I looked at the Captain. She sat cross-legged, but her hands were also shackled behind her back. Her large breasts looked even bigger and rounder, like the ones in porn holograms, and her nipples jutted out. Milk trickled down their smooth undersides and dripped from their tips. Although she was immobile, with her eyes closed, I knew she was in agony. The muscles of her jaw worked as she clenched her teeth against the sensations, and tears streaked her cheeks.

A roar of pain and fury rang off the walls, and I looked up with a start. Major Thrace was on her feet, writhing as she attempted to break out of the cuffs holding her wrists together behind her. I felt little splashes as her contortions made her heavy breasts violently sway, and slung droplets of milk around the room. She roared again, the cords on her neck standing out and her face red with anger.

"I'm not a cow!" she bellowed. "You hear me, motherfuckers? I'm not a whore and I'm NOT A COW!"

She twisted her upper body violently, and her breasts slapped into each other. Milk sprayed out, but not enough to really ease the pressure. I winced in sympathy.

I got to my knees. I never knew my own breasts could feel like this, so heavy I could barely straighten my back, so full they felt like the skin might burst open just to let the milk out. The hot trails of milk mixed with sweat on my naked belly.

Thrace looked down at me, and I saw the terror in her face. She was the strongest woman I'd ever known, and she was terrified at what was happening to her, the way her body was being changed against her will. If she looked at me for comfort, for reassurance, for strength, then I let her down, because I began to cry, each sob painfully rippling through my aching breasts.

She thrashed even more madly. The floor was splattered with her milk by now, and she rushed to the wall, face first, mashing her breasts against it in a futile attempt to squeeze out the milk and get some relief. She screamed in agony but did not stop. Her bare feet slipped on her own milk as she fought to gain traction. The muscles of her shoulders flexed as she brought all her strength to bear; her calves and buttocks tightened, crushing her breasts into the wall.

I couldn't imagine the pain she must be enduring, but I understood her anger, all right. I was just as angry, and just as helpless. The cuffs on our wrists were the final indignity, the last thing I could stand.

Wincing as my breasts jiggled, I finally stood upright. I faced the closed door and screamed, "Is this what you want? You want us dripping milk? Well, then, come on and milk us, motherfuckers! Suck us dry!" I kicked the door with my bare foot, and cried out as, again, my overfull breasts bounced with the movement.

Thrace backed away from the wall, two dripping, whitish wet stains left there. She looked at me for a long moment, eyes haunted with pain, and said, "We have to suck each other."

I blinked, not comprehending. "What?"

"We have to suck the milk out of each other. There's no other way."

I looked at her small, distended breasts with their jutting nipples. I'd sucked on them before, of course, but that was during sex, when we'd both been drugged. To do it now...

"That's an order!" Major Thrace roared, her voice cracking. Then she added, in the most defeated tone I'd ever heard, "Please."

I stepped forward. She was right; what choice did we really have? I bent slightly, then gasped as the weight of my own unsupported breasts shifted. I changed position and crouched instead, moving my lips toward her nipple.What would her milk taste like? What would mine, for that matter? My idea of milk was cold, and pasteurized, not raw from the...from the teat, I thought bitterly.

"Oh..." she said softly as my lips closed around her nipple.

I tasted the droplets that had already escaped. They were sweet, and warm, and creamy. Then I closed my eyes and sucked gently.

The liquid pooled in my mouth, hot and thick, reminding me of another liquid I'd held there not long ago. I swallowed the first mouthful, and it settled in my stomach with a pleasant, warm feeling. Then I sucked again.

"Oh," Major Thrace repeated, the same way I'd heard her say it when I went down on her during our sexual encounters. Was this turning her on? Would I be turned on when she suckled on me?

I felt a presence beside me. Captain Clark worked her way in and closed her mouth around Thrace's other nipple. "Unnnnh!" Thrace said, a sound of such aching eloquence it broke my heart. Clark's shoulder rubbed me as we sucked, bobbing our heads slightly. Her bare hip pressed against mine. I risked a sideways glance and saw the Captain's closed eyes open and meet mine. We couldn't speak with what we were doing, but there was nothing to say: we all understood that each of us would take a turn as the center of attention, yet another form of physical intimacy forced on us by the G'Oran.

Captain Clark moaned, her mouth full of nipple and milk. When I glanced over I found her already looking at me, and suddenly the totality of my situation-naked, helpless, on my knees, suckling the breast of a woman I truly barely knew-filled me with a sense of my own utter femininity to a degree I'd never experienced. This was, in some twisted way, what I was meant to do: be naked, be helpless, be drinking or producing milk for males. I felt a weird sense of peace, of finally knowing what I was for; then I wondered if the Captain felt the same thing.

The door opened, and a trio of G'Oran entered. They pulled me away and to my feet. One jiggled my breasts, and I gasped with pain. Apparently satisfied, they pushed me toward the door. I glanced back and saw Thrace and Captain Clark following.

***

I'd heard the term "milk let down" before, and read bits about it, but to experience it the way we did was so far beyond my expectations as to leave me speechless.

When they affixed the suction devices to us, after chaining us into place again and inserting the vibrators inside us, my breasts suddenly tingled, the way your foot does when it's asleep, only much stronger. It felt...both horrifying and somehow good, and I closed my eyes in helpless wonder. The vibrator began its work, this time sliding very slightly up and down, and I looked down to see milk pooling in the tubes affixed to my nipples.

It was happening, I realized. I was being milked. Like a cow.

And it felt GREAT.

I looked over at Clark. She was very still, eyes closed, as if she were meditating. And perhaps she was. But she was also spraying jets of milk into her tubes. And I knew a vibrator was also working on her.

Only Thrace continued to fight, gritting her teeth and thrashing as much as the bonds allowed. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," she repeated over and over, even as her milk was pumped out of her.

I tried to think straight, but I was getting dangerously close to orgasm, as the vibrator aroused me more and more. The pressure in my breasts eased, leaving behind a warm, contented feeling. I never knew I could feel like this. I still felt deliciously feminine and helpless, but now I also felt like it was how I was meant to be. The G'Oran not only owned my body, they were close to owning my soul.

Then the whole deck under us shuddered.

TO BE CONCLUDED