Epilogue III #2
With that, his huge hand took hold of her right breast. In a practiced, expert downward squeeze-slide, he worked the milk glands. Gently massaging them at first, he finally pressed firmly, relentlessly.
Myriad, tiny white streams sprayed downward, hissing into the leaves and soil.
“You’ve got a good flow already today, human.
” Malcolm said, touching her cheek. “Cooperate with me. It’s so much easier when you give in to it.
Allow the let-down to come. More…more. It’s silly to resist this—it’s going to be done to you anyway.
That’s my sweet girl!” He gave her nipples the gentlest of tweaks, far less than she needed.
Angry throbs pulsed through her clit as he methodically milked her by hand, first the left, then the right. But it was only seemingly to prime her for something else.
He pressed a soft kiss to each impossibly hard nipple, grinning into her face. “It’s their turn now. Be good. Be obedient. Let it happen.”
Her blush flashed hot and deep at her cheeks, a reaction that never ceased, no matter how many times she’d been subjected to this use of her body.
The vines usually kept her in the “milking pose” (as Malcolm had dubbed it long ago, with only barely contained lurid glee) and today was no different.
Suspended above the ground, countless vines controlled her, wound about her four limbs completely, but left the entirety of the rest of her form—her broad bottom, her enlarged, throbbing breasts, and her hugely round, swollen belly foremost—completely exposed, helpless to anything the vines desired.
Another length ensnared in her hair, pulling her head up firmly by her thick, dark locks—but not so much that she couldn’t see what was being done to her.
Nor how the forest reacted to her treatment.
Malcolm walked with her as the vines took her about, intent on this ritual, which had grown ever more frequent (and prolonged) with each month of her pregnancy.
Meticulously, she was brought to various locations in the forest, and when the vines had found the spot they preferred, they pushed her low, until her heavy, swollen breasts swayed just above the loam, the pink, hard-as-stone nipples jutting, almost throbbing with the blood flow, the enticing tracery of pale blue-green veins calling to his fingertips to follow their every meandering path across her skin.
She gasped as, again and again, the vines cinched upon her breasts, her milk spraying the ground.
Sometimes, the milk soaked into the ground at the base of a tree, and the foliage would explode in growth in seconds.
Others saw the barest of soil wetted with her creamy harvest, and in a shockingly short amount of time, verdant grass sprouted everywhere she looked.
Malcolm alternated with squeezing the milk from her breasts, sometimes kneeling down and tugging at her aching nipples himself, murmuring to her to be his “good girl.” She shivered at the words, both embarrassed and filled with a dark delight.
Giving in to him—to them—wasn’t really a choice, but in her heart, she knew she was in a place where she would never truly be harmed.
She feared what was to come—she’d have to be insane not to, considering how huge she already was—but Malcolm had confirmed (thankfully) that the baby could come at any time now.
A fresh rush of let-down had her shuddering in her bonds, the deep pleasure of it earthing in her womb, her clit swelling with it.
She was still conflicted by the duality of her debasement, her ruthless exploitation by the vines and Malcolm for their mutual pleasure, and at the same time, the almost paradoxical arousal coursing through her with a power that was far more than mere third trimester raging hormones.
You hide nothing. You fool no one. I see you. And I love all that I see.
The kind words from him were completely at odds with the degrading use her body was being put to at that moment, but somehow, insane though it might well have been, that made it easier. It helped her to just…accept.
Yes…sweet girl.
She lost track of how long they kept at her, watering countless patches of ground with her precious harvest. At times, Malcolm would take position behind her as the vines squeezed yet more aching—and embarrassingly pleasurable—streams of milk from her throbbing (and seemingly endlessly productive) breasts.
As he cooed at her to give in, to let the vines have their fun, he’d push inside her, cupping her huge belly in broad palms as she groaned.
He’d stroke her, in time with the languid, unhurried strokes of his cock within the clutch of her pussy.
Leaves tickled at her nipples, stimulating the very tips, encouraging the let-down with a gentleness that was so at odds with the vines’ typical avariciousness.
And, in a way, she’d come to make peace with that too, over the many months.
Their dominion over her, if not comfortable had become something she’d come to accept as part of her life, as much a part of her experience as her submission to Malcolm.
She no longer feared the forest at all, knowing that it would do anything to keep her, to protect her. It didn’t matter that the forest’s covetousness was self-serving, that it protected her simply so that it could plunder her body all the more.
You accept that too, don’t you?
He said it softly, even in her mind, a touch of wistfulness in the way his thoughts flowed through her consciousness.
And it was the truth. Being the subject of two rulers…it was right. On this planet, it was simply the way of things.
She’d never understand just how she’d come to be this person, someone who acquiesced to the use of her body as if she were a toy, a plaything…but there was no denying how much part of her loved that too.
Always—and it will never end, Selena.
That final truth filled her with both exhilaration…and a tiny bit of trepidation.
The baby was Malcolm’s, but that he was far more than mere mortal…it meant that what they were making together was something other just a baby. This new life, growing within her, meant something more than just the product of their union.
It meant a new beginning.
The exact form of that beginning was yet to be seen, but she could feel it. It was real. This was real.
Especially in those quiet moments they shared deep into those endless moonlit nights, the muted sounds of the slumbering forest all around them, the warmth of his breath on her skin, the scent of the wildflowers drifting upon the whisper of a breeze.
The way his arm draped protectively over her hip, his huge, taloned hand cupping her round belly so gently, and yet, so possessively. She’d never felt more owned, more a possession.
Most of all, she’d never felt so safe.
It touched her, at a level she couldn’t hope to explain or even understand, that even for a being who was practically immortal, there was still such intimacy, such warmth, such meaning in those stolen, silent moments with the man who loved her so dearly, he’d sacrificed even everlasting life.
Just then, a deep weariness overtook her, and she called out to him in his mind this time.
Malcolm…please, mercy. I can’t take it anymore. I’m…I’m ready.
For what, she wasn’t quite sure, but something had shifted within her. A gathering of force, of fate, a milestone reached, somehow.
They sensed it too—both Malcolm and the vines—that she was at her true limit.
She gulped a breath of air as her pussy instantly squeezed on nothing, as Malcolm withdrew, leaving her stretched and a little sore, as he always did.
The vines zeroed in immediately, moving directly to her nipples, cinching them in tiny loops, caressing, sucking, pinching.
In moments, she was flying over the precipice, convulsing in mind-shattering pleasure as they worked her body, her nipples and clit foremost, until the orgasms came in waves, her cries swallowed up by the vastness of the trees all around her.
More painful, harsh, mind-blowing orgasms were wrung from her as her long-denied nipples received far more pleasure than she’d been allowed in weeks.
But this had an effect beyond sparking her orgasms.
It sparked her labor, too.
Oh no…
The rivulets of warm fluid down her thighs had her biting down upon the vine gagging her.
Rather than be the passive receiver of his thoughts, she called out to Malcolm again, with a new, far stronger telepathic link—plead with him.
No more. No more! PLEASE!
In an instant, he was upon her, shredding the vines with a deafening, monstrous roar. His huge, sinewed arms enveloped her, cocooning her in his strength, and love, and protectiveness,
Shockingly though, she reached back, her nails scratching at his bare chest. “But I need…I need them too…”
The vines were already lurking, for they knew.
Though it was as much a curse as it might be a boon in that moment, they were as privy to her mind now as Malcolm was.
As Malcolm held her close, her back to his chest, the vines slipped around her legs, drawing them apart, preparing, receptive, protective now in a way she’d never felt, but was so grateful for in that moment.
Anticipating…
It would not be a long wait.
She cried out as the first harsh contraction ripped through her…