Alien Milk Fiend

For Ellie

 

 

Part One: Blue Milk

Chapter One

 

I dreamed that a man stood over me holding a can of spray paint. That in and of itself wasn’t all that strange except for the fact he had blue skin and four fingers and two thumbs on both hands, one thumb on each side. It wasn’t the blue of someone who isn’t breathing. It was the blue of the sky; it was his natural color. His face was handsome except for some strange bulges along the jaw; not exactly jowls but it gave his a steel-jaw look.

“You’re asleep,” he told me.

“I know,” I answered with the type of logic that only exists in dreams.

“You won’t remember this.”

“That’s okay.”

“Open up your mouth and lift up your tongue.”

It wasn’t the weirdest request I’d ever gotten from a guy, but when he asked it I realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes yet I couldn’t see his cock. It was like his body didn’t exist below the waist. Or maybe I was afraid to look that far down. Still, I did what he asked, parting my lips and lifting up my tongue for him to get whatever thrill he experienced by looking under nubile young ladies’ tongues.

I just expected him to peer into my mouth and then go running away to jerk off. Instead he looked in for just a second, and then raised up his can of spray paint and pressed the button.

Stupidly, again under the logic of dreams, I just stood there letting him spray the paint under my tongue. It wasn’t just a quick squirt; it felt like he emptied the can and I didn’t protest at all.

It tasted horrible, but I didn’t complain. I’d had lots of guys cum in my mouth and none of them had spunk that was quite as horrible as this spray paint. Only then did it occur to me that it probably wasn’t spray paint, but that’s how the logic of dreams works. But I was similarly convinced that the inside of my mouth, my chin, and my neck were all being coated in a bright cerulean blue, to match my new friend’s skin tone. And of course the guy with the blue skin and the extra thumbs was my friend. Why wouldn’t he be?

When he was done I coughed once and tried to spit out the flavor, but it wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t cloying and thick like a man’s cum, it was thin and acrid, bitter beyond words and it wouldn’t go away.

“Go back to sleep,” he Blue Skin ordered me.

“Why?”

“Because I said so,” he explained gently. “When you wake up, you’ll feel much better.”

“I feel fine now,” I argued.

“The taste will disappear,” he clarified.

“Okay,” I replied and closed my eyes, fell backward into infinity, and landed on my bed. When I woke up I was still coughing and the taste hadn’t gone away. It tasted like I sucked the dicks of a hundred unwashed smelly back-alley alcoholics.

“I hate when my dreams lie to me,” I muttered as I staggered out of bed and headed for the shower. I ran the shower until the hot water started to give out. Most of the time I just stood under the showerhead letting the water spray directly into my mouth. I knew the taste was purely psychosomatic, but realizing that made it even worse. When the water got too cold I turned it off, dried off, and got ready for the day.

 

Chapter Two

 

By the end of the day I was ready to go home, eat a cheap, reheated meal out my freezer and go to bed. The office building I work in is huge and we are unlucky enough to have to use a parking garage next door. Everyone says it’s completely secure and safe. And up until that day I believed them. But when I unlocked the door to my ancient Volkswagen Golf there he was, standing next to the passenger door, the man of my dreams.

Actually, he was the man from the previous night’s dream except he didn’t have blue skin or extra thumbs. Neither did he have the weird bulges on the sides of his jaw. He looked like a completely normal man dressed in a dark suit with a plain tie and white shirt; the epitome of normality. Nothing for me to be concerned about.

“I’d like to go home with you, Molly. Would that be all right?” His voice was pleasant, but a bit flat. He was completely normal. Too normal.

I just nodded. Why would I say no to a stranger asking me to take him home to my place? Just common sense, that’s all. “Okay,” I agreed.

I got in and unlocked the passenger door. He sat down and I carefully drove out of the parking garage and headed for home. It would have been completely normal if not for the fact it made no sense at all.

There was no conversation in the car. What did we have to talk about? I didn’t even play the radio because that might have upset him. When I arrived home I led him to my apartment door and let him inside as if he were a long lost friend.

I didn’t even know his name.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you last night,” he began. An apology is nice. It was very polite. “Normally you aren’t aware when we visit. It’s better that way.”

“I’m not aware?” I asked. My words felt thick on my tongue and the terrible taste was back.

He blinked and shook his head. “Sorry. I sometimes have difficulty with the subtleties of English. When I said you in this case, I mean humans.”

“Humans,” I repeated.

“That’s right. Please take off your shirt and brassiere.”

Who actually says brassiere? This guy. He was sort of handsome and had a strong, almost lantern-like, jaw. It was almost too square. Still, I liked him and automatically started stripping. My shirt was off and draped over the living room couch and I was reaching up behind my back to unhook my bra when I stopped to think about what I was doing.

“Why am I doing this?” I asked out loud. I wasn’t sure if I was asking him or myself. He answered, though.

“Because your breasts hurt,” he said. “It will feel good to release them from their containment.”

“Right,” I agreed and found that he was right. They had been getting heavier and sore all day. I thought it was because of my cycle. The timing was right. Or maybe it was because I was tired and wanted to go to bed. “I should take off my bra.”

“Yes,” he agreed and watched me intently. Any man would be happy to watch a woman take off her clothes. I don’t want to brag, but I always thought I had a great set of tits. Not too big and not too small. Bright pink nipples that were just slightly upturned and when I was cold they made incredibly distinctive bumps through my clothing. I was always aware when I was showing but had also developed the good sense to ignore people’s stares. Like I said, I was proud of my tits. I didn’t show them off in an obvious way with huge amount of cleavage, but I was always aware of the cut of my clothes.

I took off my bra and let him inspect me. I didn’t flinch away when he reached out and caressed my tits, running his hand over them, feeling my soft skin, weighing each breast and carefully evaluating them.

“Good,” he nodded. “I was afraid the catalyst hadn’t taken when I administered it last night. It appears you physiological response is correct, but your psychological one is the one in error.”

“Are you saying I’m nuts?” I asked him half seriously.

“Nuts?”

“Crazy. Insane. Wrong in the head. Brain damaged.”

He tilted his head slightly to the side as if processing what I had said. “No, you are not brain damaged. That would have shown on our scans. And you appear to fall within typical parameters of human personality and emotional norms.”

It only now truly struck me that his words were stilted. I was starting to think he was the sort of person who appeared completely normal but after a few minutes conversation—such as it was—he was probably somewhere on the autism spectrum. That was okay. Normal is overrated.

Then I really processed what he had said. “Scans?”

“It is our typical procedure to scan all our candidates,” he said as if that explained everything.

Our conversation had completely gone off the rails. I was standing topless in my living room with a stranger essentially giving me a breast exam. My life wasn’t exactly a paragon of normality up to that point but this was a turn for the epically bizarre. “Wait a fucking second,” I said managing to get control of myself and take a step back from his hands. When his contact broke I felt a sudden sense of loss. As much as it hurt to not immediately rush back to his professional and clinical mauling of my tits I stood firm. “What are you talking about?”

His head tilted back the other way. “When your scans came out within our sought-after normal range we initiated contact in the normal way.” He paused. “By that I mean I visited you last night to administer the catalyst.”

My sarcastic nature came back to me. “Spraying a girl’s mouth with anti-Binaca on a first date isn’t the best opening gambit. I’m pretty easy. You don’t have to roofie me.”

Now his head tilted in the other direction. “The catalyst wasn’t intended to lower your inhibitions. It was designed to induce lactation. Your breasts should be getting swollen and sore right now.” He looked down at them and it struck me that during our conversation—strange as it was—he wasn’t acting like a typical man and staring at my naked tits. He was staring me in the eye.

“They are sore,” I admitted.

“What we didn’t anticipate is your wakeful state during the procedure. Human woman are supposed to remain in REM sleep. You did not. That is not good.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m pretty sure right now I’m high and hallucinating or maybe I’m still dreaming.”

“This is no dream,” he assured me.

“Fine. What do we do now?” Despite everything up to the moment, this little encounter—or fever dream, whichever—I was vaguely turned on by this strange man’s unusual wiles in getting me…well, topless and interested in bedding him, if nothing else. I knew myself; I could feel my pussy moistening at the idea of having sex with a stranger. It wasn’t my top shelf fantasy, but it wasn’t something I had managed to do just yet.

“I drain your breasts and we repeat the process until the catalyst has worn off. Usually it takes it month.”

“A whole month of romance,” I told him flatly. “You know how to sweep a girl off her feet. What if I say no?”

“You will not,” he commanded me. I knew I wasn’t going to say no, but I wanted to hear his reaction.

“Why is that?” I challenged him.

“You will not,” he repeated. He paused and tilted his back to neutral. “Do you want me to drain your breasts or not?”

I was so tempted to say no, I didn’t want him to touch me further and to please leave my home, but I didn’t. I wanted to see what happened next. “Okay, let’s do it.”

The next thing I knew he had somehow moved us both to my bedroom and I was falling backward onto the bed. Then he was atop me and his mouth glommed onto my nipple. It sounds like I wasn’t willing to go along with what he wanted but…the opposite was true. Everything he did felt wonderful. Especially when his lips and tongue touched my nipple. It was positively electric. My back arched up—I had no control—and I immediately started breathing heavily as if I were about to cum. But I couldn’t cum. I could just feel his mouth on my breast and…