Lorelei's Note: This story feature's a cisboy's perspective and features breastfeeding and dubious consent. In real life, consensual nonconsent kink should be practiced responsibly so it can be fun and sustainable for everyone!
"She'll be wantin' the strawberry cheesecake for breakfast."
Imon looked up from his work mopping the kitchen counter down. "Nothing to drink?" he asked tonelessly.
A giggle in response. The pretty red-haired maid shifted from foot to foot in the doorway with a wry smile. "Nay, I don't suppose so, Imon." She sidled closer, eyes darting to his. "Though if you're feelin' thirsty, I'm sure you but need ask~"
"But then who would have the wits together to bake her cakes?" Imon carefully avoided her hand as she reached for his, though he kept his tone sweet and friendly.
She smirked slightly. "Aw, dove, you've wits to spare." She twisted around him and gave his butt a little pat. He flinched, turning to keep her in sight as the maid made her way to the far door. "She'll want her breakfast in the meeting chamber."
"I--" Imon frowned, shifting uneasily. He walked after the maid, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Hold up, aren't you delivering it?"
"Ay, no." She flashed a smile up at him, filled with knowing mischief. He realized too late he'd overpursued her slightly as she leaned back, grinding her plump derriere against him briefly and almost spilling right into his arms. Instinctively, without thinking, Imon caught her. "Afraid not, Imon. This time Her Ladyship longs for you
especially
."
Imon swallowed. Amelie beamed up at him, her hot body wriggling in his grasp, her softness pressing against his slightly tented trousers--not that anyone could avoid getting a little horny with the castle staff always dressed like this. Amelie wore an exceptionally scandalous maid outfit, of the kind that were in fashion right now: a black white-frilled miniskirt and fishnet top over a lazy piece that was little better than lingerie, complemented with an elegant silver choker. The latter was a gift specially from their 'Mistress', he knew, and one of many signs of her favor that Amelie wore along with her fashionable pair of silver bell earrings.
"M-Me?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay level, nonchalant--and yes, he stammered, but, he told himself crossly,
that
wasn't exactly going to read as unusual with the maid grinding against him like this.
"Mm." She smiled with bedroom eyes and bounced away from him with an airy laugh, her ass swinging from side to side. "Seems so, my sweet. Oh!" Her fingers suddenly went to her bright red lips, eyes widening in mock-surprise. "Of course, I'd forgotten! Our new chef hasn't met the Mistress since he was hired, has he?
Ooh
, now
you're
in for a treat." She winked.
"... I expect I am," he said coolly, turning back to wiping off the counter and trying to tune out the maid's giggling.
So the Baroness had asked for him specifically. That wasn't strange--he'd been producing excellent meals for the last week, and of course she'd want to meet the newest member of her staff eventually.
Nothing to worry about.
He hoped.
~ ~ ~ ~
Later that morning, Imon emerged from the kitchens, so long his sanctuary from the sensual temptations of the Baroness's castle, wheeling his little cart ahead of him. The cheesecake smelled delectable, and the strawberry sauce steamed in its little pitcher, its scent as sweet and enticing as a nixie's laughter. He smirked, a little proud of that--turned out he was a pretty good chef, considering baking was hardly his main line of work under normal circumstances.
But his smirk faded as he made his way through the halls, careful to keep his eyes on the cart and not on the extravagant paintings and glimmering lights--nor on the lovely ladies who sometimes greeted him as he passed by.
In fact, he was rather trying to look as dul and unappealing as possible.
He came to the greeting hall, the warmly-lit, sweet-scented entrance area where the Baroness liked to deal with guests. As he proceeded, he kept his head carefully bowed, both as a show of reverence and--privately--in the hopes that he could just deliver the 'breakfast' and continue back to his business without being noticed.
Not to mention, he thought uneasily, the hopes that he could avoid looking at... whatever was creating those sucking and moaning sounds coming from the Baroness's throne.
He wheeled the cart up to the lavish valentine-paisley carpet. As he drew near, he made out a man's gasps and soft cries, and heard wet sounds he had come to recognize well.
Briefly, he considered just leaving it there and hurrying back to the kitchen. But no, it wouldn't do. If the Baroness realized he was trying to avoid her...
"Your... breakfast, My Lady," he said, clearing his throat, keeping his voice soft enough to hopefully avoid being noticed while still being heard.
The sucking sounds paused.
And a sweet, angelic, melodic voice like spring windchimes called softly, "Mm? What was that, dear?"
After a pause, Imon reluctantly looked up and met the eyes of the Milky Baroness.
The holstaur lounging back in her lavishly cushioned throne did not exactly look like your typical Western Plains warlord. With strawberry red hair that seemed to positively glow in the warm lamplight, cherry-red lips as luscious as roses in bloom, and big, heavy-lidded hazel-brown eyes, she looked more like the walking image of a wet dream from Imon's youth.
Not that, he thought, forcing his eyes to stay on hers, the face was the kind of thing he'd fantasized about back then. Even knowing the unique charms of a holstaur, even looking right at those slightly curved horns that betrayed her fey nature, he was stunned at how hard it was just to remember to keep from staring at her massive chest.
The squirming man currently nestled against her side and suckling at one breast with hopeless need had clearly struggled even more with the challenge.
"I said," Imon said, keeping his voice very carefully level, "that your breakfast is prepared, My Lady." He presented the cart with a relaxed smile. "It is my honor to serve."
"Oh, thank you!" Lady Aura beamed as her eyes--slightly unfocused as the man's suckling intensified--came to rest on the decadent meal. "How sweet!"
"It is a dessert, after all," Imon said with reflexive wryness. He immediately shut his mouth and felt his face heating up slightly. Was he
trying
to get waylaid.
But to his relief, the Milky Baroness didn't seem to notice his dumb little joke. She seemed rather distracted, in fact, as the man (Imon only now recognized him as Ayor, one of the manservants) clutched her tightly. Her lashes fluttered, and Imon saw her hands running through her current boytoy's short dark hair. "Mm... it's so important, don't you think, to start the day off right?"
"Yes, Madam." Imon gave his best patient smile. "Will... that be all?"
"Mm." Aura wriggled slightly. Imon caught his eyes starting to drift down to her breasts, only one of which was still covered by her diaphanous negligee. "You're
quite
the baker, aren't you?"
"I am happy to serve."
"Of course you are." Aura smirked. "It's Imon, isn't it?"
"Yes, My Lady." Imon gave a small bow. He was starting to get uneasy at the delay. Apparently Aura wouldn't let him go until they'd finally had the introduction. Well, he'd longed to delay this as long as possible, but... "I'm new. I arrived a week ago and was hired by your majordomme." He swallowed reflexively. That had been quite the interview. Luckily, his cover story had held.
"Ah, yes, I remember." Aura gave him a beatific smile. "And how are you enjoying your new position, Imon?"
"Very well, My Lady."
Please let this conversation end soon. Just give me leave to go.
"I'm so glad to hear it." Those plump red lips extended in a slight pout. "It's such a shame we haven't met before. I had no idea such a
handsome
young man was hiding away in my kitchen!"
Imon shifted uneasily as those eyes poured into him, curious, admiring. "Thank you, Lady Aura." He kept his voice cool, but not cold. It was a delicate balance with fey in general, especially in this case--he could
not
let Aura suspect that his mind was completely clear of charms and suggestions, but he also could not afford to act so submissive that she got it into her head to call him over for a... a...
"Why don't you come closer, sweetie?" The holstaur gave a wide, innocent smile. "Cut me a slice of that
beautiful
looking creation of yours."
"Yes, My Lady," Imon said with a smile that he couldn't quite bring to his eyes as he wheeled the cart forward, stopping as close to the throne as he dared. His heart fluttered slightly as he could now make out the distinct creamy scent of holstaur milk. He heard Ayor moan softly.
"Good boy." Aura smirked at his obedience. Imon gulped and focused his attention away from those eyes and towards the cake he was cutting. "I've had such a busy week, honestly. It's been so hard to make time for my darlings."
"Madam must attend to her duties." Imon gave a slight smile up at her. He was good at acting interested in what his betters said, and he could tell that Aura wanted to talk right now.
"Oh, I know!" she breathed. "But... oh, I simply
must
attend, too, to my..." She wriggled slightly, her voice getting softer as she moved her boytoy to nurse at her other breast. "...
good, loyal
servants." The man let out a happy moan, and Imon risked a glance up only to realize that she had started to... to touch him. Her long, slender fingertips stroked ever-so-daintily along her 'loyal servant's' twitching cock. "After all, they do
ever
so much for me!"
"O-Of course, m'lady." Imon licked his lips and turned back to the cake. He couldn't imagine what Ayor was feeling right now. Suckling at a holstaur's breast was risky enough--especially a holstaur like Lady Aura, famous for her intensely addictive milk that was supposedly able to render the strongest-willed foe into a docile, owned plaything even when drunk from a glass, let alone from the warm, comforting source...
... but Lady Aura was
also
infamous for the ease at which she could overwhelm a plaything with pleasure, how skilled her touches could be, how soft her skin was, how skilled she was at drowning her servants in pure pleasure with just one hand.
Most holstaurs didn't seek positions of power. Most holstaurs were content to just get a couple suckleslaves to cling to and avoid notice aside from that. The Milky Baroness, though, had a particular fondness for games, for the slow reduction of her independent pets into obedient slaves--slaves as intelligent and free-spirited as ever but utterly helpless to resist her every little whim. She'd been around for a long time, by holstaur standards, and was... experienced, they said.
From the sounds of Ayor's cries and whimpers, Imon believed every word of it.
"But as I said," Aura giggled, "I've been
dreadfully
busy lately, sweetie. Glaze, too, dear."
Imon froze. He'd finished cutting the slice, despite his distracted thoughts, and had been moving it to the saucer plate. He glanced up at Aura reflexively. "What?"
Aura smirked. "Strawberry sauce?"
"Oh. R-Right." Imon cleared his throat and nodded, reaching for the warm pitcher with a smile. "My apologies, m'lady."
"Good boy."
Imon squirmed slightly. "You... you were saying?"
"I was saying." Aura giggled. "I've been
so
