It was a stunningly beautiful day as the horse-drawn cart made its way through the winding hills of the Endless Lowlands. Like all that vast stretch of wilds the landscape was filled with low, rolling hills covered in a sea of tall grain-like grass. The cool breeze that blew across it left the grass looking like waves of an ocean, a soothing sight both occupants of the horse-drawn cart were enjoying.
The driver, an attractive young Human man, was a merchant, his cart loaded down with goods. This was far from his first time driving his one-cart caravan through the Endless Lowlands. Its beauty always enthralled him, but he knew that beauty was a lie. The Endless Lowlands might LOOK tranquil but they were far from it. Like most of Alaria they were considered to be part of “the wilds”, an untamed wilderness that had yet been reclaimed by civilization as it slowly reformed after long distant and mysterious calamity called The Great Collapse.
That tranquil-looking sea of gently blowing grass hid countless dangers. Behind every gently rolling hill might be ancient ruins hiding long forgotten treasure, treasure that’s power would attract ferocious monsters that would attack any who got near whether they knew the ruins were there or not. There were wandering monsters as well, and wild animals that were as ferocious as any monster. And now that a handful of cart-paths like the one the merchant was following crisscrossed the Endless Lowlands there were the occasional groups of bandits, lying in wait to pick off unprotected travelers.
Those dangers explained the second figure in the cart. Sitting beside the merchant in the front of the horse-drawn cart was a Dwarven woman, a large and menacing two-handed war hammer resting on her lap. The mercenary was young and inexperienced, but strong and fierce-looking.
She was also startlingly beautiful. Her long orange-red hair flowed in the wind trailing behind them as the merchant drove the cart along the trail they were following. Even those who didn’t find the bulky, short, wide build of Dwarven women attractive would be unable to deny her beauty. Her youthful face was stunning, her features giving her an air of being pure and untouched. Looking just at her face one could get swept away by her chubby beauty, feeling they were looking at a cherubic angel. Yet once a viewer’s eyes wandered southward the sense of angelic, pure beauty quickly became something else.
Like all Dwarven women the young mercenary had a short, wide build. Compared to most races of Alaria Dwarves looked fat, but even plump Dwarves’ bodies were as much muscle as fat. This was doubly so for Dwarven women, with their soft feminine curves covering a layer of dense, heavy muscles. The Dwarven mercenary’s body might look to be that of a plump woman with exaggerated curves, but anyone who had seen a Dwarven woman in a fight knew she was a physical powerhouse.
Of course, those who hadn’t seen Dwarven women fight might struggle to look past the size of the mercenary’s breasts. They were massive, at least when compared to what one would commonly find on a Human woman. She came from a Dwarven culture that embraced their womanly curves so the purple tunic she wore was cut low in the front, leaving much of her voluminous cleavage on display.
As the cart made its way along the rough trail they were following its wheels remained locked into the cartwheel grooves, rocks and uneven road causing the cart to bounce and rock. This left her overlarge breasts bouncing and jiggling as well, something the young Dwarve was feeling progressively more self-conscious about.
At least he’s not staring as much as most would, she thought as she noticed her employer glance momentarily at her breasts before quickly looking away. I wasn’t sure when I took on this job. He’s so young… I struggle with Human’s ages, but he can’t be more than thirty and is probably a little younger than that. Still, he had a good reputation for being a reliable merchant AND was offering a lot of money to work as his protector.
The money had been far too much to pass up, especially as payment for such a simple job. Sure, she’d be gone from her home a long time guarding the man’s merchant cart, but the places they’d be traveling wouldn’t be too dangerous. She was young and inexperienced, but her clan had trained her well. She was certain she’d more than easily able to handle any dangers they encountered, something he seemed to agree upon.
Her only regret was that the only armor she had was the pauldrons on her shoulders. They gleamed in the sunlight, the Dwarven artwork worked into them hiding runes that made them provide as much protection as a full set of mundane, Human-made armor would provide.
Why did I have to choose to spend what I had on THESE and not a chest plate? she thought, internally bemoaning what she now saw as a very poor life choice. With the money she’d had any chest plate she could have afforded, and the meager magical Dwarven runes that would have been worked into it, wouldn’t have provided her any more protection than the pauldrons did, but they WOULD have covered her chest up! Her breasts, which were overlarge even for a Dwarven woman, would be held in place under the armor. Instead, they were jiggling till they were sore and threatening to bounce so violently that they might flop free of her low-cut tunic.
To stop herself from dwelling on her poor choices she decided it was time to throw off the false persona she’d been wearing like a mask since meeting the merchant. She’d been silent and stoic, barely speaking to the young Human. It hadn’t bothered him, he did after all hire her for protection not to keep him company, but she had seen the young man was personable and enjoyed chatting. “So, ser Cilrodril,” she began but before she could continue the young Human cut her off.
“Just ‘Cil’, if you please,” he said, smiling pleasantly at her.
His eyes darted to her cleavage as the cart went over a particularly large rock, sending her tits into a fresh bout of bouncing jiggles. She appreciated how quickly he forced himself to look away from her chest and return to her eyes. Seeing SHE’D seen him look he flashed a charming, bashful grin and gave her a small shrug.
“It’s fine, ser Cil,” she said with a heavy sigh. “It can’t be helped and you’ve been more polite with your eyes than most men are.”
He gave her a polite nod to acknowledge what she’d said then quickly moved the conversation away from her breasts, something the Dwarve was thankful for. She adored her body. It was the perfect Dwarven body, immensely strong and sensually curvaceous. But now that she’d left the Dwarven stronghold she’d grown up in and was in a world filled with men she wasn’t related to, most of which weren’t even Dwarves, she wasn’t sure she enjoyed the kind of attention her breasts got. Sometimes it felt men couldn’t see past them, that in their eyes she wasn’t a warrior to be feared, just a pair of tits to lust after!
“What about your name?” Cil asked the Dwarve. “I know the Dwarves who come from your stronghold are particular about their proper names being used. Dorol of Clan Barrelstone. It’s a mighty menacing nomenclature, but a mouthful conversationally.”
“When we are alone you may call me simply ‘Dorol’, Ser Cil,” she told him after a moment of hesitation. There were members of her clan that would be mortified she was allowing such familiarity from a non-Dwarven man, but she didn’t see the harm if it only happened when no others were around.
“Thank you, Dorol. I know being given such an honor by a Dwarve is not a small thing,” he said, giving her a flirtatious wink that made Dorol fear she might blush and giggle in response.
He’s far from unattractive, she thought, turning to hide the flush she felt spreading across her cheeks. I suppose I just didn’t see it at first. He’s a Human man and one that’s not particularly strong. Compared to the Dwarven men I’ve lusted after he seems so… fragile? Still… there’s something to that dainty attractiveness. I suppose I’m starting to understand why there are so many Dwarven women who dally with the men of other races.
Her cheeks flushed deeper red as her mind wandered to places she knew were incredibly unprofessional. Stop it, Dorol. He’s your employer, not some man to lust over. This isn’t like you. You’re not some giggling foolish girl, you’re a mighty warrior looking to prove your worth through might, NOT feminine charms!
* * *
Cilrodril smiled fiendishly, enjoying the way the youthful, fierce warrior woman had flushed and grown flustered. He was certain it was uncharacteristic for the young woman and knew the feelings must be confusing and maybe even frustrating her.
He put the horse’s reins in one hand, slipping the free hand into a pocket. There he rubbed the Contract Stone the Dwarven woman didn’t know existed, using the magic in the stone to make the woman become more flustered. Willing her mind to wander to places it wouldn’t normally go. Willing her mind into a muddled state where she wouldn’t be able to realize how uncharacteristic and even wrong what she was feeling was.
The magic worked into Contract Stone was powerful, powerful enough that it was rightly feared in the lands where its power was understood. That power was something NOT well known in this region of Alaria, a fact he often took advantage of. The naive Dwarven beauty hadn’t understood her contract of employment had bound her to the magic stone. Now, until her time as his employee was done, the stone would allow him to have immense influence over her thoughts and feelings.
That power could be used like a bludgeon, forcing her to do as he wished. That was something that might be difficult to do now, he’d yet to test its true connection to the Dwarven mercenary, but later on when the stone was more fully connected to her such things would come easily. He didn’t plan on using the stone that way, at least not for now. For now he planned on working her subtly, playing with her body and mind secretly so she remained unaware of the control he had over her until it would be far too late for her to escape.
I’m going to have so much fun with her and those giant jiggly Dwarven tits of hers, he thought. When she turned back to look at him, cheeks still flushed slightly, he quickly hid his true face, putting back on the mask of the friendly, trustable merchant. That’s why I chose her out, he thought as they fell into pleasant, meaningless conversation. Her tits. The bigger the better, and they don’t often come bigger and better than Dwarven tits!
* * *
Dorol sat by a crackling campfire, sparks flying up into the night air as if trying to join the stars shining in the sky above. The merchant’s cart was nearby with the horse that pulled it tied to a post the Dwarve had staked into the ground.
As they were deep in the Endless Lowlands sleeping out in the open was dangerous, but there had been no place of safety in sight as the sun had set. Cilrodril had explained that his past trips through the Endless Lowlands had taught him that it would be much safer to make camp out in the open than try to push on in the dark to find somewhere safe.
“Even knowing following the cart trail we’re following would be easily by emberstone lantern and moonlight, the danger those lights would bring would attract too much attention,” he’d explained.
After they’d stopped to make camp for the night and he’d begun setting up a small campfire Dorol had inquired if that wouldn’t cause the same trouble that traveling by lantern would.
“It’s not really the illumination that’s the issue,” Dorol had explained with a patient, placating smile. “It’s the emberstone in the lantern. Something about it draws the attention of the monsters that live out here. Maybe it’s the particular shade of orange the stone glows with, or maybe it’s just that emberstone is magical in nature. Whatever the reason campfires seem to be safe and maybe even fend off some nocturnal beasts.”
Even though Cilrodril said they were doing what was safest Dorol insisted she stay up till sunrise on watch. “I can nap while you drive tomorrow,” she has said. “We Dwarves nap lightly and if there is danger by day I can be easily roused to protect you.”
Cilrodril had happily agreed, having known and even planned their trip accordingly. As a Dwarven warrior hired to protect him she’d serve many purposes on their journey, this being the most important one for their journey WOULD take them through dangerous areas. But there were the OTHER reasons he’d chosen her out. Two massive, heavy reasons.
That night, after bedding down in the back of the cart while Dorol sat by the fire on watch, Cilrodril dreamed of Dwarven tits. He woke in the middle of the night with an erection so hard it pained him. While still half asleep he’d lowered his pants slightly and pulled his cock out so he could play with himself to ease the aching of his member. But as the pleasure had woke him he made himself stop. He needed to take care of himself, but there were better ways.
Besides, he thought, Dorol is on watch. She’ll be hyper-focused on the world around her. Even though I’m sleeping in the back of the cart there’s a chance she’ll hear or perhaps even see what I’m doing. That wouldn’t do, Dorol can’t yet learn the depths of my sexual depravities.
He let go of his member and quietly righted his pants then pulled the Contract Stone from the pocket he kept it safely stored in. As he clung tightly to it he kept his eyes closed, breathing slowly so he’d seem to be sleeping. His mind, however, remained active. He tapped into the Contract Stone’s power, connecting to Dorol. Slowly he pushed on her mind, making the woman feel drowsy. He kept going, turning a light drowsy feeling into one of inescapable sleepiness.
It didn’t take long for Dorol to approach the cart and gently shake Cilrodril awake. “Cil, ser,” the Dwarven woman said, sounding so drowsy it was clear she was having trouble staying awake. When he made a production of groaning and sleepily opening his eyes she flashed a tired, embarrassed smile. “Ser, it seems the day has been more draining than I thought. I’m feeling more worn than I expected when the night began and I feel it’s not safe for me to continue to sit watch alone. Could you perhaps rouse yourself and join me for a few hours while I take a quick nap by the fireside?”
“Of course,” Cilrodril said, convincingly pretending he’d just been woken from a deep sleep. Everything is working perfectly, he thought as he joined Dorol by the fireside. The stone’s influence even made it so taking my place in the cart didn’t even enter her mind. Now I just need to keep pressing, put her to sleep then push her into a DEEP sleep nothing will wake her from so I can have a little fun.
In no time at all the Dwarven mercenary had fallen asleep on a bed roll she’d taken out. She lay close to the fire, its warmth helping lull her asleep. Cilrodril sat patiently using the Contract Stone’s power to push her into an even deeper sleep.
With her asleep he was able to ogle the Dwarve freely, something that ensured the wait was no hardship. The woman was beautiful, and that beauty seemed magnified by the peaceful look on her face in the firelight. Then, as her sleep deepened, the woman began to drool slightly. That pleased Cilrodril even more. She looked cute drooling peacefully in her sleep, and drool always brought pleasing memories of cherished sexual encounters to his mind. By the time he was certain she was in a deep enough sleep that nothing he did to her would wake her the sight of her drooling had left his manhood chubby with arousal.
He stood for a long time after that, hand resting on his crotch to massage and grow his erection slowly while staring at the mound under the blanket that was the slumbering Dwarve’s overlarge breasts. They looked huge even covered, a sight that made his heart pound and his manhood swell.
Cilrodril reached out with his foot, using the tip of his shoe to slowly pull down the blanket and reveal the Dwarves chest. She’d taken her pauldrons off before passing out, but like him had gone to sleep with the rest of her clothing on. He was glad she’d taken the magical armor off, its absence would make what he planned on doing easier. It wouldn’t physically stop him, but he wasn’t sure if the Dwarven rune magic worked into the armor would have given her some unexpected protection from his planned nocturnal molestation.
Not taking any chances, he thought as he watched her chest rise and fall. I’m taking things slow with this one. Giving the Contract Stone’s magic time to connect fully with her. Doing nothing that could scare her and lead to her breaking the contract, because even when the stone’s magic is strongest that could still put an end to everything.
He licked his lips lasciviously and rubbed his manhood through his pants as he stared at her cleavage. The sight of her overlarge breasts rising and falling with her sleep was a thrilling sight, almost as enthralling as the sight of all that mammary meat bouncing and jiggling all day in the cart had been. But now, unlike then, he could openly stare, ogling her freely.
“Ynara be praised for this gift you’ve brought into my life,” he muttered, giving a short prayer to the goddess he’d dedicated himself to. He felt the faith he was giving to the goddess of large breasts flow out, ascending to the Ethereal Plane above the realm of Alaria to feed Ynara. In return he felt the goddesses blessing him.
He’d used the blessing of his goddess to help him find and then hire Dorol. It gave him a kind of sixth sense when it came to breasts. Amongst other things it helped him feel out the true size of women’s tits even when they tried to hide them. It also would give him a sense of how much large-breasted women enjoyed breast play, something that helped ensure he didn’t waste time pursuing consensual sexual partners that wouldn’t allow him to indulge in his breast obsession.
That blessing had not just led him to Dorol but given him a sense that there was something special about her breasts, something more than just their size. He’d yet to figure it out, and every hour since meeting her the blessing of Ynara had been wearing off. He’d had no chance to worship Ynara in any meaningful way since then, but he planned on changing that now.
Already the quick prayer while staring at her tits had renewed the blessing. The sense that there was something special about her breasts returned along with a sense that he was meant to hire her and bring him on his journeys. What THAT meant could wait, first he had to try and discover what about the well-endowed Dwarven woman’s breasts was special.
No, ‘special’ isn’t the right word. ‘Unique’ perhaps, he thought, trying to understand what the blessing was revealing to him. He thought, perhaps, the blessing was still too weak to get a clearer sense of the truth, or maybe this feeling was just too different from any he had experienced before.
It’s something she’s hiding, he felt as he stared at her tits. Yes… a reason she’s more bashful about them than most Dwarven women are. But it’s not their size, even though they’re large even for a Dwarve. And not something that can be seen just by staring at her cleavage or she’d keep them better covered up. It’s something hidden, something secret.
Cilrodril had kept the hand not rubbing his crotch in his pocket, fingering the Contract Stone pushing her into an even deeper sleep. He let go of the stone, certain he’d long ago put her into a deep enough sleep to do as he pleased.
He knelt by the slumbering Dwarve, eyes locked on her slowly rising and falling breasts. With Ynara’s blessing renewed he was able to get a clear sense of the clothing she wore and how it supported her breasts. A tight top that helped support them while pushing them up to make her cleavage more prominent. A finely tailored piece of sartorial Dwarven craftsmanship, the inner lining of the garment worked with subtle Dwarven runes to give the support a magical quality so that even without the aid of an undergarment her large breasts would be kept in check during combat.
It revealed things about her. She relies as much on agility in combat as she does brute strength, he thought. That lines up with what I’ve seen in Dwarves before. The men are more like hulking tanks, while the women rely more on speed, at least compared to the men of their race.
He felt no undergarment for support. It wasn’t needed, not with the top she had. Yet there was something else under the top. Not an undergarment for support. Perhaps cloth patches over her breasts? He couldn’t make sense of it, and not just because the blessing of Ynara was weak. Whatever the items were they were something he hadn’t encountered before. Almost familiar but not quite, and with more subtle sartorial enchantments woven into whatever it was by Dwarven runes.
When he bent over her and began loosening the lacing on the front of her top his hands were shaking. He’d planned from the moment he’d started putting her to sleep to expose her breasts and look at them in their full glory. He’d planned on jerking off to the sight of them. He wouldn’t fuck them yet, he wanted to take it slowly. Build to that moment.
Now that he was preparing to reveal them he thought he might feel them up a little… maybe suck on her nipple while he pleasured herself. But fucking them had to wait. It would build anticipation and his eventual pleasure, which would increase the power of his prayers to Ynara. For any sexual attention to a woman’s large breasts was in itself a prayer to Ynara, Goddess of Large Breasts and the greater the pleasure gained the more powerful the prayer.
But in that moment the revelation of her breasts wasn’t about his faith to his goddess. He still intended on pleasuring himself to the sight of her impressive breasts while praying to Ynara, but first he had to discover what the blessing of Ynara was telling him. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was divine inspiration. Ynara WANTED him to discover the truth about Dorol’s breasts. It was important in some way.
Once the lacing was loosened he grabbed her top and began to slowly pull it down, revealing the Dwarve’s breasts inch by inch. He breathlessly admired their size and the weighty look of their bulk, a sight that was made all the more breathtaking by how they were shaped as she lay on her back. He realized as he slowly exposed them just how much the top had been supporting AND suppressing their size.
As he neared the reveal of her nipples he realized he was barely breathing. He made himself breathe as normally as he could, excited for what he’d soon see.
Her areolas will be huge, he thought excitedly, feeling his manhood grow harder. Dwarven nipples are ALWAYS larger than human ones, and with tits as large as hers her areolas will look even more stretched out. I wonder what their coloring will be like? She’s light-skinned, does that mean they’ll be delightfully light-colored and pink? Or will they be deliciously dark…
And what of the buds of her nipples? Large, he thought, able to sense that much. And once swollen they’ll be like plump little berries. Sucking on them will be a true delight. And—
He stopped, feeling something as he used the blessing of Ynara to focus on her nipples. Something off. Something not normal. Something… magical? A divine blessing? No… Perhaps it was divine, but he couldn’t be sure of that. But NOT a blessing, that he was certain of it. Perhaps a curse? An ailment of some kind?
As he’d focused on feeling out her nipples through the blessing of Ynara he’d stopped lowering her top. Now, hands shaking with renewed excited curiosity, he kept going. His heart pounded as he expected her areolas to come into sight.
A groan of frustration left him when he was denied the expected view. He’d forgotten that he’d sensed she had something else on her breasts. It was some kind of pad, a thick patch of cloth covering both her nipples and adhering to her skin. Annoyed, he yanked her top down till her tits were fully exposed.
Cilrodril investigated the clothes covering her nipples, both visually and with the blessing of Ynara. They looked almost like bandages, but dense as though they were made of cloth meant to soak up fluids. The outside of the patches looked slick like they were sealed to be waterproof while his senses told him the side of the cloth touching her skin was soft and made to soak up and hold in moisture.
He could also sense the Dwarven runes worked into the pads. The subtle magic kept the pads adhered to her breasts and made it so they could better soak up whatever moisture they were created to contain.
She couldn’t possibly be lactating, he thought. It was the only thing that made sense, and the idea excited him in a way that left him wanting to pull his cock out and start jerking off right now. But he forced himself to wait, he had to confirm things first AND try to make sense of this discovery.
Slowly he peeled the pads off her breasts, exposing her nipples. Doing so required him to brush against her breasts, getting the first sense of their dense bulk yet pleasing softness. It was a small thing, yet it left him groaning in delight.
The sight of her nipples being revealed refocused his attention. Her areolas were as big as he expected. The coloring was not pink, yet it wasn’t too dark. There was a dampness revealed as he pulled the pads off, one that combined with the chill night air left her areolas quickly pebbling.
Knowing that would mean her nubs would be hard by the time he revealed them he slowed how quickly he was peeling the pads away. Once more he held his breath in, eager yet wanting to build anticipation. When he finally revealed the swollen, cherry-sized nubs he ripped the pads the rest of the way off.
The moisture made sense once her nipples were fully exposed. Her swollen nubs leaked a small but steady trickle of milk, seeming insignificant in the moment but he knew it would build up quickly. Over a short time the leakage would have left her top soaked through, making the pads essential especially if she wished to hide the fact she was lactating.
But why? And how?! There’s no way she’s had a child recently, he thought, certain of it. It was rare for a Dwarven woman to have a child when they were young adults. He knew by her people’s standards Dorol was barely considered an adult, although she was certainly older than him if counted by years she’d been alive.
And I’d have been able to feel it if she’d been lactating naturally, he realized. I SHOULD have been able to feel it regardless! The blessing of Ynara was still strong when I found and chose her. Could it be the enchanted pads? Could the Dwarven runes helping them adhere to her body and be more absorbent also hide whatever has been done to her breasts to cause them to lactate unnaturally?
He forced himself to look away from the glorious and highly arousing sight of her exposed tits to take a closer look at the pads. He realized that the absorbent underside, which had felt soaked through and heavy, was now nearly dry!
This isn’t simple runic magic that’s been worn into these, he decided.
After carefully setting down the enchanted pads he put his hands over the woman’s exposed breasts, holding his palms close to her milk-leaking nipples, then closed his eyes. “Ynara, I give you more of my faith in offering,” he said quietly in prayer. “Reveal to your loyal servant what I am seeing. Show me through divine revelation what makes this woman’s glorious breasts lactate.”
The answer came to him at once. It was a curse. He kept his hands there, waiting for more to be revealed but no further answer came. He was given no sense of what kind of curse it was, whether it be divine in nature or magically based. Nor was he given a sense of how long the curse would last and if it could be removed.
When he pulled his hands away he was slightly annoyed. Ynara had always revealed things like this to him. Why was she not doing so now? Either Ynara did not want him to know, or the curse was stronger than the power of the meager blessing currently bestowed upon her.
Cilrodril was eager to begin his fun, but with the mystery revealed he had to take a moment to think about some way to solve it. Perhaps a Priestesses of Ynara could reveal the truth?
Luckily for him it wouldn’t be long before they had access to a Priestess of Ynara. In fact they’d soon have access to an entire temple dedicated to Ynara, an ancient one brimming with the goddess’ power.
Cilrodril hid and lied about much of who and what he was, but he WAS a traveling merchant. What few knew was that he spent almost all his profit to buy supplies he then delivered to hidden or secluded temples dedicated to the goddess Ynara. It was to one of these temples they were now headed, hidden deep in the Endless Lowlands. And after that they’d head towards another, stopping to sell goods so he could spend the profit on supplies for the next temple of Ynara they reached.
The Priestess at the Hidden Temple of the Lowlands will be able to further illuminate this mystery, he thought. And with that decided he was able to abandon the mystery for now and enjoy what he’d discovered.
Before the discovery he’d intended on trying to pleasure himself to just the sight of the young Dwarve’s gloriously over-sized tits. Maybe feel her up, but only a little. He wanted to take this slow. He ALWAYS wanted to take it slow, but often didn’t have the self-control to do so.
The sight of the small but steady stream of milk leaking from her hard nubs was driving him wild. He was obsessed with tits, all tits as long as they were large. He’d devoted himself to the goddess of large breasts and had indulged in every sexual pleasure one could when it came to large breasts.
That included lactating breasts. Memories of a few rare but highly enjoyable sexual encounters he’d had with lactating women ran through his mind. He shivered as he remembered how heavy milk-leaking breasts had felt in his hands. He shivered again as he fondly remembered the taste of lactating women’s milk. Perhaps not something enjoyable for its taste, but the erotic naughtiness of it was enough to make that taste a carnal delight he had savored like a fine wine.
And once I was even able to sample a Nemorvian’s milk, he thought as the memory flooded into his mind. The race of bovine-horned horned, plump, huge-breasted women were rare in most Alaria but where they could be found they were valued prostitutes and slaves. Not just for their delicious curves, huge breasts, and hyperactive libidos but for their milk.
A Nemorvian woman ALWAYS lactated once they were of age, and as Nemorvians only ever bore female children that would be born full-blooded Nemorvians no matter the race of the father there were ONLY female Nemorvians. A mouthful of that milk would make a man hard, horny, and feeling as refreshed as if he’d just ingested a reinvigoration potion even if they’d only just climaxed moments ago.
The Nemorvian he’d met had been a Priestess of Ynara in one of the temples he’d visited on his journey to drop off supplies. He’s spent a night worshiping Ynara with the woman through the goddess’ favored manner: mammary intercourse. He’d been able, thanks to the Priestess’ milk, to “pray” all night with her.
With the joyful memory of the night-long “worshiping” session running through Cilrodril’s mind he pulled his cock out of his pants. After spitting into his hand he grabbed his throbbing member and began lightly stroking it. As he did this he leaned over the slumbering Dwarve, leaning down till his face was close enough to one of her exposed breasts to feel the heat of her skin in the cool night air.
He parted his lips slightly, waiting for the next time Dorol exhaled. He moved closer as she did, allowing his lips to meet her milk-leaking nipple as the rising of her chest brought the nub of her nipple to him.
Cilrodril let the moist nipple fall away when she exhaled. He licked his lip, testing the taste of her milk. It left him moaning in surprised delight. The natural breast milk he’d tasted before had an almost too sweet taste, but this? It was impossible to describe, but if he’d had to try he would have said, “The pure sexual essence of breasts in all their arousing glory.”
It was like a Nemorvian’s breast milk. Not exactly the same, but close. With that in mind he couldn’t stop himself from greedily attaching his mouth to her nipple the next time it rose to meet his lips.
He pressed his face into her tit, moaning deeply as he experienced just how soft yet dense and fat it felt. It was one of the reasons he adored Dwarven breasts so much, they were so much denser and heavier than the breasts of most other races. Yet even when young a Dwarven woman’s breasts weren’t too firm, not like young Human women or Elven women of almost any age. The beautiful natural sag that he loved so much was present from youth, and unlike Human women didn’t increase in any meaningful way with age until they were hundreds of years old.
As he hunched over the Dwarve sucking on her nipple he pleasured himself. Slow strokes at first, planning on trying to make the masturbation session last. But that changed as her breast responded to his sucking and the faint trickle of milk turned into a free flow of ambrosia-like mouthfuls of milk he couldn’t help but greedily gulp down.
He felt himself grow harder, almost painfully so. The natural arousal and excitement he’d felt was kicked into overdrive. Soon he was furiously jerking off, the friction drying out the meager moisture he’d spit into his hand. He knew he should stop sucking on her tit and spit into his hand to renew the lubrication, but he could neither stop himself from sucking desperately on her tit to get more of the delicious milk nor stop pleasuring himself.
The friction of his quick strokes grew more intense as more of the moisture was jerked away. That made the pleasure a little painful, leaving him feeling as though if he continued he’d work his cock raw. He still couldn’t stop, especially knowing such dry, intense friction always led to him cumming quickly.
Again his mind flooded with memories of that night he’d spent “worshiping” Ynara with the Nemorvian Priestess. She’d insisted he only have a small amount of milk each time he drank from her breasts, and only after he’d reached climax. He’d thought he’d understand, he could see how the startling effects the milk had on him could drive one into a sexual madness that might have led to a sexual encounter where he’d not have had the clarity to worship Ynara properly.
It was only that memory that allowed him to focus enough and remember he should be praying to his goddess as he pleasured himself while feasting on this Dwarven woman’s milk. He began thinking the words of the most common prayer to the goddess of large breasts, altering them slightly to better fit the situation as he often did.
Praise be to Ynara, goddess of fat tits and bringer of all mammary pleasure, he thought quickly, worrying he wouldn’t be able to finish the prayer before he came. May she bless this coupling, may it please her and my faith manifesting in my sexual pleasure flow into her divine being. May this please her and allow my worshiping of her to be rewarded with her blessing.
The moment he thought the word “blessing” he came. The burst of pleasure and the sated feeling of relief at the burning away of the driving need to get off forced him to unseal his lips from around Dorol’s nipple and let out a long, deep, shuddering groan of male pleasure as his cock quivered and pulsed, blasting out thick strong bursts of cum.
He fell to the ground beside the sleeping Dwarve, panting heavily and basking in post-orgasmic bliss. The pleasure had been intense, more intense than it ever could have been without the aid of Ynara’s blessing. She’d responded, as she almost always did to prayers such as that, by enhancing the intensity of the prayer giver’s orgasm.
Yet as he lay there, breathing heavily and staring up at the embers floating into the night sky, he realized there had been more. It hadn’t just been divine favor that had made the climax more intense, it had been Dorol’s milk. And he hadn’t just cum hard, he’d ejaculated an almost alarmingly large load. So much that it had begun messily leaking from his hand as he held his softening member. He had to roll over and wipe the mess into the grass and dirt lest it run down his member and make a mess in his pubic hair.
He marveled for a moment at how much there was, wondering how glorious such a large load spread over the Dwarve’s tits would look. Ynara found the spreading of a man’s seed on a woman’s large breasts pleasing, often rewarded such offerings with stronger blessings. He’d have to make sure next time he took liberties with the Dwarve’s breasts he ended by spreading his seed on her tits, both to test if his load would be as large as it had been this time and as a better offering to his goddess.
The temptation to lean back over her and latch his lips to her other nipple was intense. He suspected that her milk would act much like Nemorvian’s, allowing him to get hard again. But he forced himself not to indulge, even if he was burning to discover if he was right.
I wanted to take it slow with this one, he reminded himself as he lifted his ass to better pull his pants back up and put them to rights. If her milk DID make me hard again I might not have the self-control to just jerk off. No, I KNOW I wouldn’t.
And, he thought as his sated, happy mood turned dark, I know she has some kind of curse. There might be reasons to avoid ingesting too much of her milk. Until I reach the Hidden Temple of the Lowlands and can have the Priestesses there appraise the curse on Dorol I must try my hardest to abstain from drinking any more of her milk. He doubted he’d be able to do so and that made him even more worried that drinking it might present unseen risks.
Cilrodril quickly put the pads back on Dorol’s breasts, happy to see the runic magic worked into them ensured they adhered back onto her skin. After that he pulled her top back up, putting her glorious Dwarven breasts out of sight so the temptation to do more to them didn’t overtake him.
After that Cilrodril spent a long time sitting by the campfire, one hand in his pocket idly fingering the Contract Stone to ensure Dorol remained in a deep sleep. He dwelled on what he’d discovered, trying to puzzle out her curse. He knew to him it seemed more a glorious blessing, but he could see how the Dwarve might think otherwise, especially if the milk did more to a drinker than it seemed. And even if it didn’t he could see how the young Dwarve might be horrified by what drinking it did to man.
Perhaps I could just ask her, he thought then instantly dismissed the idea as idiotically reckless. How could he reveal he knew her breasts were cursed in a way that wouldn’t make her suspicious of him? If she found out what he’d done tonight she’d break her contract and leave. She might even do me harm after breaking the contract, he thought darkly.
For a moment he entertained the idea of using the stone to compel her to tell him. He quickly abandoned that idea. It wasn’t yet strongly connected enough to her, not for something like that. Perhaps later… or if he started making her feel more comfortable with him.
That might work, he thought. Push on her emotions to make her trust me more. Push her to begin opening up. Maybe before long I could push her to confess she suffers from a curse, and once she does push her to confess where it came from.
He knew that even that might take days or even weeks. And if her curse was something she was determined to hide it might take even longer than that.
I’ve the time, he reminded himself. We have a long journey ahead of us. My life as a traveling merchant is one I have no plans to end. Her contract is open-ended, she’s able to stay on as long as she wishes. She knows my travels as a merchant are endless as I make the long trek along my chosen trade routes.
He also reminded himself there was probably no need to try and trick or force the information out of her. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the Hidden Temple of the Endless Lowlands. The Priestesses there MUST be able to tell me about the curse, he assured himself.
His mind then turned to how he’d handle things when they reached the temple. He’d picked up Dorol in a land where Ynara was not openly worshiped. She wasn’t as hated and feared as some of the perverse deities the goddess was often associated with, but her followers knew better than to proclaim their worship of Ynara freely in these lands.
She may not even know who Ynara is, he realized. And even if she’s heard of her she may know little or have no meaningful opinion of the goddess. Still… I must be cautious. And I must ensure the location of the hidden temple remains a secret.
He fingered the Contract Stone, reassured that its magic would help keep the secret. This would be far from the first time he’d used the stone to keep the temple’s existence or location a secret. He’d put traveling companions into hypnotized stupors so they wouldn’t even know they’d visited the temple, or used its power to erase the memories of the place when the revelation of what it was did not go as well as he hoped.
And the Priestesses themselves could take care of matters should they need to be taken care of, he reminded himself. The temple was an ancient one and maintained for good reasons. Ynara’s might flowed freely to the place, endowing all her faithful that maintained it with immense divine power.
With his nerves calmed and the hope his curiosity would soon be cured he finally used the Contract Stone to allow Dorol to begin waking from the deep slumber he’d sent her into. He’d allow her to wake and return to her watch while he got some much-needed sleep.
* * *
Dorol struggled the next day to keep up the pleasant conversation Cilrodril seemed so intent on indulging in. Something had happened during the night, something that had left her distracted and disturbed. She labored through the day, doing her best to keep him from growing suspicious. When they made camp and he retired for the evening to sleep in the back of the cart she’d breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to let her guard down and openly wear her frustrations, frustrations that had only grown worse throughout the day of travel through the Endless Lowlands.
She’d woken from her nap the previous night horny to the point of distraction and it had only gotten worse since then. By the time they’d restarted their journey in the morning it had grown so bad that she’d lost all interest in trying to get some sleep while Cilrodril drove the cart along the path meandering through the wilds. She’d feared what would happen if she laid down in the back of the cart able to pull a blanket over herself and be unseen.
I’m already struggling to keep my hands away from places it would be improper to touch while in this man’s company, she thought. If I was out of sight I don’t know if I’d be able to keep from playing with myself, and to do so with the man so close? I’d shame myself…
She’d wanted to groan in frustration but had forced herself not to. Dorol knew she needed to do her best not to show signs of the torment she was in less she caused Cilrodril to grow suspicious. I must keep this awful curse a secret from all, she thought, hating as always whenever she was forced to acknowledge the curse’s existence. She wasn’t the best liar and worried she’d be able to hide the shameful secret from someone she’d be spending so much time with, someone so kind and friendly and who seems so wholesome.
Or is he perhaps not what I think he is? She’d side-eyed the young, charming Human then, hating the suspicions she’d been having since waking. She’d woken with her breasts tender and throbbing, aching for a milking. There had been a slight sense that they HAD recently been milked, but she’d dismissed that feeling at first. But as time went on and she felt herself growing more intensely horny and felt the ache to be milked grow ever more intense she was left wondering.
It was part of the awful curse. Her breasts, swollen and heavy with unnatural lactation, always ached to be milked. But give in to that aching need even a little and things would grow worse. After a short respite her breasts would only ache for further milking, producing more of the dreaded milk that left her breasts heavy and painfully full while grossly leaking.
Along with the increase in milk production came overwhelming horniness. The desire for sexual attention, especially to her breasts, was another part of the curse’s fiendishness. Indulge in her aching sexual needs and her breasts would lactate more intensely leaving her feeling an ever-deeper ache to be milked. Give her breasts what they ached for and she’d end up even more horny. It was a terrible cycle of humiliating and shameful wants and needs that could never be quenched.
So far she’d found the only way to soothe the maddening cycle was to deny her cursed body what it longed for. She never expressed the unnatural milk building up inside her breasts and tried her best to abstain from all sexual stimulation, even self-pleasure. There would be distraction and pain at first, but after a time the horniness and the aching in her breasts would lessen then subside almost completely.
Waking up feeling what she’d felt made it seem like something had happened in her sleep. Could it be that Cilrodril had done something to her? Her mind filled with images of the man lurking up to her while she was helpless and asleep, exposing her breasts then sucking on her nipples. Feasting lasciviously on her milk while he put his hand down her pants and played with her pussy. The fact the imagined nocturnal sexual assault left her nearly panting and so turned on she felt she’d wet her seat filled Dorol with intense shame.
Stop it, she kept telling herself whenever the suspicions turned to shameful sexual fantasies. Ser Cil is a kind, friendly, sweet young Human man. He’d never do such a thing! It HAS to be something else. Perhaps I rolled over in my sleep, pressing into my breasts and accidentally forcing some milk out. I’ve done such before and it’s enough to get the maddening cycle of aching desires started.
Now she sat by a crackling fire, brooding miserably as she struggled to ignore the ache in her breasts and throbbing needs of her womanhood. She was so horny it felt like she was in a muddled haze. Her body was warm, her skin and especially her womanhood burning with desire to be touched.
She kept finding herself glancing at the cart where Cilrodril slept, unable to keep from wondering what the kind man’s touch would be like. Images of him kindly bringing her relief flooded her mind. Her laying on the ground, him sucking on her nipples to drain them of milk to ease the throbbing, maddening pressure building up in her breasts. His hand in her pants, fingers dancing on her womanhood then thrusting into her sopping hole to bring her relief from the sexual pressure building and building till she felt she might scream.
But it would only make things worse, she thought bitterly. The relief would be short lived then the building pressure and maddening desires would return even stronger than before.
Still, the thoughts wouldn’t leave her mind. He’s handsome for a Human. And kind. And his mouth, she thought, shivering and wanting to grab her breasts to squeeze them as she imagined his lips locked around her nipples as he sucked her aching breasts dry.
STOP. Stop, stop, stop! Clear your mind or you’re going to do something reckless. Never mind how giving in will just ensure the curse makes the desire and aching worse, think about how Ser Cil will lose all respect for you. Even if I could hide my curse by finding some lie about why I’m lactating he’d think I’m a shameful, slutty woman if I beg him to pleasure me. And the precedent it would set! I know how men can be, once you’ve given yourself to them they expect you are theirs to have whenever they wish. He’s my employer, not someone to have a distracting tryst with.
How is Dorol going to deal with her building sexual frustrations and breasts aching to be milked? (Choose up to 4 options from this poll)
Philo Hunter Erotica 