“I’ve seen you on the streets before. How aren’t you knocked up yet? No matter, I’ll hose you full of sauce! Get ready to take it all!” The voice belonged to yet another amorphous male sounding voice that barely registered to her fractured mind. The memory of his manhood, however, was very much recognizable. Slam Kurtzal, the wielder of bane hammer, and sire of a thousand sons, or so he claimed, lived up to his name by slapping his rod deep within her swollen folds. His thick sweaty skin burned against her own, and his grip sent her mind aflame, and her head spinning.
“Fill me up, please give me your baby-batter!” Skye was drooling as she felt powerless underneath his hulking form. Every square inch of her body wouldn’t stop shaking, the endorphins flooding her system making it difficult to hold still.
Skye could remember every vein in his erection beating against her inner walls, and could practically visualize his bulbous mushroom shaped tip reaching her cervix. It was feral, how this lumbering brute soiled her as if she were a common whore in the streets. Then again, even whores often had a pimp to lean on for protection. As her abs clenched, and her stomach fisted into a knot, Skye felt much lower than the average street whore. She felt enslaved to the most lecherous thoughts of her own debased mind.
Ever since that night when she brought Brutus to her apartment, Skye lost the protection Brickwork Killjoy, and his gang, had offered. This meant she was now virtually homeless, and desperate for clits. Before throwing her out into the streets, Brickwork was sure to lather her in more flesh altering serums. Then, purely out of spite, he kept all the expensive jewelry and clothing so that she was deprived of any modesty.
Few could now sate her body’s desire for larger, more thriving, cocks, and lesser men often found her to loose for their own pleasure. It was a harsh reality to have fallen so low, but Skye was happy that, at least somehow, her stomach wasn’t swollen with child.
It was starting to make her worry. Rarely a day passed when she wasn’t filled with someones random genes. Just that morning, strolling to the bar for work, her lower lips were leaking a seemingly endless assortment of seminal fluids; the left-overs of her previous night’s proclivities. It didn’t seem to mind Slam Kurtzal, who courted her in the streets for what was supposed to be a quickie, and was now an hour of morning delight.
Skye was ok with getting to work late anyway. Her days at the tavern were like a mind altering malaise of dulled senses, mixed with random acts of sexual torment. The barkeep no longer held back his urges. Instead, Oliver groped her teats painfully, milking her behind the bar to serve the clientele at an exorbitant rate. He even named a new drink after her, using her breast milk as an added ingredient. Whenever her milk began to run dry, he forced his new cow to guzzle protein nutrients, along with strong alcohol, until her body would produce again.
Skye’s stomach growled, she had a long day ahead, and she hoped that Oliver would feed her when she finally finished pleasing this random grifter. The tavern was so close, part of her worried her boss would grow displeased with her tardiness. When Slam Kurtzal was finished, his pleasure surpassing its peak, he slid himself free with a wet slurping sound, and cast a few clits on the ground next to her. Skye could feel his warmth pooling inside her. It was slowly preading in her gut.
“There you go, enjoy the gravy.” Slam chuckled as a secondary spurt of semen shot onto her stomach. He paused a moment to look her over. Her breasts heaved in the air, her skin was hot and blushing violent red.
Slam continued after studying her lean, almost graceful, figure. “Not bad, a little loose, but not too bad. Maybe you can come to my place tonight, I’ll pay you thirty clits for all the milk I can get from those stuffed up milkers of yours.”
Skye had been feeling heftier lately, her mounds a bit heavier and a tad bulgy. Each morning they were sore, and it felt good enlisting the aid of a strong pair of hands to help relieve the tension. Her second lower pair of breasts were easy enough to draw from, for tiny streams were always budding to the surface, but her larger top pair pained her throughout day; they required a firm set of fingers to release the sustenance stored underneath the areola’s, and widening milk ducts. It was as if her body was intentionally testing her will, her mammaries stirred to full production while her womb proved reluctant to ripen. Her womanly cycles had also grown worse, more painful and more repetitive as her sex life expanded to new heights of depravity.
“I’m glad…I could…please you.” Skye found herself crawling up the larger mans leg, hoping to earn a little more attention before he departed. She would even let him sup from her breast, which ever one he preferred, if it would make him stay longer.
The man looked down at her, his eyes sparse of empathy, and his face seemingly locked in a brooding scowl. “Stop clinging, whore!” With a firm hand he slapped her on the cheek, and then grabbed a fist full of hair so that he could enjoy punishing her again. “You know, for a good lay, you’re quite pathetic. Keep crawling for just anyone on the streets, and you’ll find yourself collared in no time.”
Skye gulped, grasping the meaning of his words. Her eyes darted back and forth, from the open street to the small collection of market stalls just outside her place of work. Instinctually, she reached for her throat, as if just now realizing that her freedom was very much on the line.
Slam shoved her away without another word, clearly annoyed with her presence. He didn’t even leave her a towelette to wipe the cream from her stomach, which was something of a custom for average street whores. Her legs were still twitching, and her groin ached from his member.
When her strength returned, Skye stood up slowly, and walked into the Broken Pearl. She could feel Slam’s essence dripping down her inner thighs when she reached the door. Inside she found the tavern mostly empty, except for a few passed out customers who had clearly spent the night at the bar. There was one half naked server laying on a table with her top torn apart. Whoever she had been pleasing the night before had left her there.
Only one person stood out who was still sober. Skye noticed him talking to Oliver at the bar table with a cigar in his right hand, an electro-quill in the other. He was a gentlemen in a tailored uniform that looked marvelously out of place. His clothing was neat and tidy, devoid of a single stain, and his broad trimmed hat reminded Skye of the Old-Earth movies she used to watch when she was younger. A pair of dark brown eyes peered from under his cap, and he looked over to Oliver for confirmation.
“Is this the girl?” His voice was handsomely courteous, like a rich amber whiskey brimming with smoke. A small ray of light met his face, revealing a scarred chin, and pale skin covered by a trim beard.
Oliver cleared his throat, his shoulders seemed weighed by indecision. His face was easy enough to read, however. Without having to say a word, Oliver’s dreadful silence was somehow enough to answer the strangers question. Skye was frozen in place as she watched the transaction take place, a transaction that governed her very freedom.
From a pocket inside the strangers coat, a large wallet was presented on the bar table, to which Oliver accepted without meeting her gaze. The payment was complete, its terms and conditions settled without her even knowing about it. Her new buyer then stood up from his seat, and approached with a gait in his step.
Skye motioned to leave, only to unravel by his mere touch. Her skin tingled from the feeling of his gloved hands, and her knees gave way to the dominating forbearance that was now her enslaver. She didn’t know what to do, but before she could even summon a word, a silk collar was bound around her neck, and a black suction cup planted on each of her budding nipples.
“From all the rumors, I knew you would be slightly spoiled, but I can tell there is still plenty to work with.” His hand gently touched her shoulder, while another patted her soft curves. “How about I take you home to clean you up. I think you’ll find my company suitable.”
“What…would you have me do…?” Skye’s voice was barely a whisper.
The owner couldn’t hide a look of genuine surprise from her question. “My, weren’t you told? Oh well, it’s of no consequence.” He sighed, then offered a moist cleansing wipe to wipe away some of the grime from her cheeks. “I purchased your services after getting a taste of your milk, and simply couldn’t stand not having it to myself. You are to join my crew, as my official milk sow. And don’t worry, I think you’ll find your new accommodations quite comfortable.”
His smile alone spoke volume to his claim, but there was something in his eyes that sent tingles down her spine. And yet, there was nothing Skye could do. Skye cursed herself inwardly, for this was all her fault. Falling for a deranged pirate, sleeping with Brutus, and giving herself effortlessly to every man in the street would ultimately lead to something like this sooner or later. It was a miracle Oliver hadn’t put a collar around her neck weeks ago, all the while forcing her to live in the tavern so he could enjoy her motherly fluids whenever he desired for that matter. She just wasn’t sure if this handsome devil was an improvement, or something far worse.
