Chapter Five
Monday morning his belly rounded under the sheet.
The swell was noticeable, a soft forward curve that made him look kept and claimed when he stood sideways in the mirror. His breasts had grown fuller overnight, heavy enough that he had to support them with a forearm when he walked. Milk leaked without being asked whenever Lena’s voice dropped low.
She collared him after coffee smell filled the kitchen. Black leather. Solid ring. She buckled it at his throat, checked the fit with two fingers, and tugged once.
She walked him to the full-length mirror naked except for the collar and the plug. Long dark brown hair brushed his shoulder as she stood behind him. Her hands cupped his breasts and lifted them so he had to watch the weight. She slapped his belly and milk jumped from his nipples.
“Moo for me.”
Heat flooded his face. “Lena…”
“Don’t me embarrassed. I want to hear it.”
He mooed, broken and quiet. She rewarded him by pulling the plug free and pushing into him right there in front of the glass, one hand on his collar, the other milking him in time with deep thrusts.
He had to watch his own body jiggle, take it, and leak.
Humiliation and arousal braided until he couldn’t tell which strand made him harder.
She fucked him until his knees shook and milk ran in thin streams down his stomach. When he came it striped the mirror. She filled him and held him upright by the collar so he couldn’t hide his face from the reflection.
“I have a breeding bench in my room. Do you want to see it?” she asked.
Evan’s reflection looked back at him: collared, marked, leaking, full of her. The ordinary life in his apartment felt like a rumor.
“I want the bench,” he said.
“Then crawl. I’ll meet you there.”
He crawled because walking made his breasts bounce and his open hole drip and the collar ring chime, and because crawling felt true in a way standing didn’t. Bent over on all fours with his hole out and the open and ready to use…it was embarrassing but it turned him on.
The play room held a padded breeding bench, rings in the ceiling, a rack of cuffs, and a low shelf of plugs and clamps.
The air was cool and smelled of clean leather.
A freestanding mirror faced the bench. Evan stood in the doorway with the collar on and felt his cock try to rise against the weight of his belly.
Lena clipped the leash to his collar and walked him a slow circle of the room, naming what she would do with each piece in complete warm sentences. Bench for face-down taking. Cuffs for keeping him honest. Clamps for sexy teats that leaked too prettily.
She made him stand in the center first, leash short in her hand, while she circled him once more. She pinched each nipple until milk beaded, slapped his belly, checked the plug base, tugged the collar ring.
She seated him on the floor mat, set the leash aside, and went to pour herself water and leave him alone with the equipment.
Evan lay on his side and watched the bench. His breasts ached. His belly curved into the mat. Milk dampened the leather under him. Panic lived in his throat beside the collar and didn’t leave.
Want lived there too and pressed harder.
He thought of his clean apartment and neat takeout stacks. He thought of her hand on the collar ring.
He crawled once around the bench just to feel the plug shift and the collar move at his throat. The padded surface was cool under his palm. Ceiling rings caught the light. On the shelf the clamps waited in a neat row. His cock rose against the curve of his belly anyway.
He tried to invent the speech that would put him back in his own apartment.
The speech died half-formed.
What rose instead was the memory of her cock at his lips in the guest room, the heat in his belly that first night, the first bead of milk under morning light, the sound of his own moo and seeing his changed body in the mirror.