The Milk of Her Gracew

Day One

 

George strained against the steel manacles holding him against the rock wall. He knew it was useless but he had to try regardless. He failed to break the steel bands. He wasn’t surprised.

It was cold in the dungeon especially since he was wearing only a loincloth. He had stopped bleeding from the multiple small wounds all over his body, but that was only a small bit of good news. None of the injuries were immediately life-threatening, but they would all need to be seen to if he didn’t want them to fester. The problem was he was in the dungeon and shackled. His captor didn’t want him dead, but suffering was apparently acceptable.

He remembered the battle. It was horrific. He remembered the fight with the evil queen’s champion, which he had won, but he didn’t remember getting captured. He didn’t remember much.

The dungeon was dark, but there was a faint light coming in from the tiny barred window cut into the heavy wooden door. From what he could tell the cell holding him was fairly large. That made him nervous. A tiny cell meant imprisonment. A large cell meant something else. Torture, most likely, interrogation was for certain surely.

He hated waiting but there was nothing for him to do but wait. He was seated on the floor. His arms were up and held against the wall. There was nothing around his neck or feet, but that was of little consequence.

After a few minutes he realized how thirsty and hungry he was. The hunger was easy to ignore. The thirst was the real problem. Sleep was a way to fight both of those problems, but after waking up he found it impossible to go back to sleep while trying to ignore the needs of his body.

It might have been a few minutes later, it might have been hours. The heavy door dragged open and an imposing woman walked in. She carried a bauble in her hand. It lit up the entire dank, ugly cell. In the midst of the cell’s dark, the woman was a center of light and beauty. She had long blonde hair falling down her back, the fairest, unblemished skin George had ever seen, and was dressed almost modestly in the most recent fashion of the king’s court. Her undercorset was bright green; it served to push up her large breasts which were modestly covered by her pale white dress embroidered with fine threads. The neckline of her dress revealed nothing; it went to her neck and the sleeves were large, almost poofy, gathered at the forearms. Beneath the corset the dress’s skirts descended to her knees, which was different from what was worn in the court. The ladies’ dresses there reached the floor. Here in the dungeon the skirt stopped, somewhat practically George thought, at her knees, revealing a band of skin between the hem and the top of her supple white leather boots. The boots had an incredibly high heel, impractical for the dungeon, or anywhere, but she walked in them with ease.

Her face…George blinked at her face. There were strong hints of beauty: a fine jaw, pale skin, high cheekbones, brilliant sapphire eyes, but this was all obscured by a mask of the sort worn a masquerade balls. George wondered why she would wear something like that.

The bauble was brighter than a candle or a lantern. It hurt George’s eyes to look at it so he focused on her other hand that was carrying a cup. Right away he knew what was in it, water or wine. The dryness in his mouth increased.

“What do you want?” he rasped after a long moment of her just staring at him, studying him.

“The question is, what do you want?” she asked, half offering him the stone goblet, but holding it more than an arm’s length away. And he couldn’t grab it because he was pinned to the wall. She was taunting him. “Would you like a drink?”

To his shame he was mortified to hear himself beg. “Yes.”

The woman—and he knew whom she was: Queen Ilyana the evil leader of the secretive nation of the kobolds that lived under the mountain on good King Roland’s lands—took a half step forward, the goblet still proffered. “Then I just need one thing from you.”

George said nothing. He remembered his training, his loyalties, his oath. He was silent. “You killed my champion,” Queen Ilyana said.

“It was my duty to do so,” George whispered.

“I need a new champion.” The words were stated flatly, but he knew immediately what she was asking.

“No,” he said.

She wasn’t the least bit disturbed by his answer. “Do you know how long it takes a man to die of thirst?” He shook his head. “Three days for most. Four or five for a strong man.” She stepped forward again, but moved the goblet back, away from him, and squatted down in front of George. She ran her fine fingertips lightly from his sternum down to his abdomen, stopping just above his loincloth. “You are decidedly strong, but wounded. You’ll be lucky if you last three days.”

He brought up his eyes and glazed into hers. “No,” he repeated.

She smiled, not annoyed, not amused, not angry. Bemused. “We shall see,” she promised and poured out the contents of the goblet on the flagstones between his legs. Before standing up she tugged down the edge of her dress’s neckline, giving him a quick glimpse of her cleavage. Despite the situation and his wounds, George still looked down hoping to catch a view of her naked nipples. But he was either too slow or it was too dark. Nothing. It was still enough to cause his cock to stir which further shamed him. “We shall see,” she repeated as she stood. His eyes went to her bottom. The material of her dress pulled against her buttocks. There wasn’t much to see, but there was enough.

George hung his head and cried in shame as the door closed and left him in the dark.

 

 

Day Two

 

It was impossible for George to tell how much time had passed, but he simply assumed when he work up it was the next day. There was no food or water brought to him. The door opening would have woken him. It was the door that woke him, but it was Queen Ilyana walking in. George’s heart quickened. This was hope for escape, but not a good hope.

“Have you reconsidered your answer?” Ilyana asked him.

George shook his head weakly. “I haven’t changed it.”

“You’re dying,” she told him while dropping a silk handkerchief on the floor in front of him and placed one knee on it. “Do you want to live?”

“Yes,” he moaned. “But not on your terms.”

She was carrying the same glowing bauble and the same stone goblet. She was still wearing the same white dress. George wasn’t sure if it was the same dress or one exactly like the previous one, or if she had multiple dresses that were similar. Ilyana smiled sweetly at him. It was the smile of a woman being honest with a man. There was no hidden agenda behind her smile. What her motives were George couldn’t say. “Shall I change the terms?” Ilyana stopped another silk handkerchief to the floor and placed the bauble and goblet on it. Reaching up to the tie that held the top of her dress closed, she pulled the string and allowed the dress to open up and fall down exposing her breasts. “Are you sure?” she asked as she noticed George’s cock hardening inside his loincloth. “Is living so bad? Is death so honorable?”

His answer took too long. They both knew that as soon as he said the words. “Death is honorable compared to what you are offering me.”

Her smile didn’t waver. “Of course.” In the weak light from the bauble George immediately noticed something was wrong with her breasts. It took him a moment to realize there wasn’t something exactly wrong with them. They had simply been altered in a way the women of the court would never consider. Golden rings pierced the pink flesh of her nipples. Light flashed off the pure metal as the queen moved. Her fingers moved nimbly over her nipples and their jewelry. It seemed it should have caused her great pain, but the rings were removed easily enough and she placed them next to the bauble on the silk square. Ilyana then picked up the stone goblet and showed George that it was empty. He wasn’t sure if he should have been relieved there wasn’t any liquid there to tempt him or if he was crushed she hadn’t come to save him.

“No water for you today,” she informed him.

“No,” he vaguely agreed.

Then she did something that seemed more appropriate for the barnyard than a prisoner’s cell. She held the goblet in one hand and massaged her breast with the other. It was a large, fully organ, swollen to the point where he could see the blue veins tracing under her skin, even in the weak light. She wasn’t a fat woman by any means, yet her tits were outsized for her small frame. That was explained in a blink when her massaging miraculously produced a drop, then several, then a fine spray of white fluid from her breast. Milk, George realized right away. Apparently the queen was a lactating mother.

She continued the display in front of him for some time, until the goblet was nearly a third full, then she switched hands and proceeded to fill the goblet another third from her other breast. George looked on in curiosity and dread. What was she planning?

When Ilyana was done relieving her breasts of their milk—though George could detect no change in the size of her mammaries—she placed the goblet back on the silk handkerchief, put the rings back into her nipples, and tied the top of her dress closed.

“My milk will sustain you,” the informed him, lifting the cup up in the air between them. “The stone was warmed before I came here. The milk is still warm, as warm as my heart. Would you like a taste?” she asked. “Would you like it all?”

George flopped his head back and forth against the uneven rocky wall. “No,” he whimpered.

“You don’t seem to have much strength in your refusal,” she pointed out.

“I’d rather die,” George all but spat at her, but his mouth was too dry.

Ilyana lifted the cup higher until it was right under his mouth and nose. George could feel the warmth of the sustaining liquid, he could smell its sweetness and the promise it held.

“Are you sure?” She pursed her blood-red lips, licking them ever so slightly with the tip of her tongue.

“I’m a knight of the king’s guard. I will not betray him.”

“Not even to save your own life?” she asked. “Not even to serve me?”

“Especially for those reasons,” he shot back.

Ilyana nodded and stood up, picking up the silk squares and the bauble. She was about to tip the stone goblet on its side, spilling the milk where she had spilled the water the day before, but she stopped herself. “No. There’s no reason to waste good milk,” she said. “I know of others who would die just for a taste of my ambrosia.”

Once again she left his cell, the door slamming shut behind her, propelled by unseen hands, and George was alone in his misery.

This time he didn’t have enough energy to weep.

 

 

Day Three

 

The third day was the worse. George came to consciousness with his parched mouth and weak limbs. Long ago he had lost all feeling in his arms. There was not a drop of moisture in his body. He knew he was next to death. All he had to do was wait.

He hated waiting.

When the door opened to admit Queen Ilyana. George wasn’t surprised. He was certain she wanted to see him dead. This time, while she was carrying the glowing bauble, her other hand was empty. The stone goblet was nowhere in evidence. George could barely lift up his head to look at her.

Ilyana didn’t say a word to him. She was wearing her beautiful white dress with the green corset on the outside. The silk handkerchief went down on the stone floor and she opened up the top of her dress. Despite knowing he was dying, George couldn’t tear his gaze away from the display. His cock struggled to come to life even as he approached death.

Today her nipple rings were still in place but now she had a matching golden chain linking her nipples together. George was horrified at what she had done to her body. It was bad enough that she had lowered herself to mar her body like the northern barbarians with their tattoos and body alterations, but now she was strutting about proudly and unashamedly as if mutilating her perfection was something to boast about.

“This is literally your last chance,” the queen said to him as she once more went down on one knee before him, bringing her breasts even with his face, seated as he was on the floor. “You can choose to live or die just by taking a simple drink.”

George studied her tits. They—like the rest of her—were beautiful…even with the chain and nipple rings. The pink of her areola’s faded in from the perfect white of her skin. It was impossible to tell where her breast ended and the areola began. On the other hand, the firm nubs of her nipples stood up in high contrast to the areolas. Then there were the small golden rings and the chains attached to them. Her entire torso was strangely beautiful. It was the conventional beauty of the king’s court where warm skin tones were treasured along with dark, curly hair. Queen Ilyana had long blond straight hair. She would have found time in the court difficult to endure when listening to the high snark of the female courtiers and noblewomen.

“I must serve my king,” he rasped out, certain they were his last words. It would be a noble death to have those syllables on his lips.

“You can serve me,” she promised. “I am queen of my lands. Your service would be the embodiment of highest honor.” Her hands went up underneath her tits, lifting them ever so slightly, offering them to George. He reflected that the current style of female dress in court was one that sought to hide large busts. Noblewomen were teachers and courtiers and advisor, not mothers or prostitutes, roles that were suited to large breasts.

In the end George knew he was weak, not just in body, but in spirit. He nodded once, only once, but it was enough. Ilyana smiled and moved in close to his failing body. It took supreme effort for George to purse his lips and accept her nipple into his mouth. His lovers had been few but willing. The softness of their breasts had always intrigued him. He prized the way their nipples would harden in his mouth. That didn’t happen with Queen Ilyana; her nipple was firm enough as it entered his mouth, but immediately softened when he suckled from her. It didn’t matter. It only took a few pathetic pulls on her nipple for the milk to start flowing.

George tasted the wetness and the sweetness of her milk. It was almost impossible to swallow the ambrosia because of the ring and chain. The ring pressed oddly behind his teeth and up against his soft palate. The thin chain passed between his lips, making it impossible to form a perfect seal, his flesh with hers, but it was enough. After a few clumsy suckles the milk practically squirted into his mouth. With every swallow it became easier to keep going. Death was being held at bay.

Ilyana brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Drink,” she whispered to him. “Drink to live. Drink to survive. Drink to serve me.”

He heard the words but didn’t dare say anything in response he didn’t want to risk her removing her breast. Everything in his life at that moment focused on her nipple and her supply of milk. To his great shame as he suckled and felt better, his cock seemed to come back to life first. It hardened in his loincloth and strained against the material, looking for freedom. George said nothing to his queen about this new problem. He was simply glad to be alive.

Their time together passed quietly. The vague sounds of other prisoners in the dungeon faded away. The noise of a steady drip of water somewhere that he hadn’t been able to pinpoint disappeared. The scuff of feet walking outside the door stopped. The world became her breast and his mouth.

And then Queen Ilyana pulled her nipple free of his mouth and he gasped in shock and grief. “Shh,” she consoled him, running her hand down the side of his face. He found he now had enough strength to look up at her. Her eyes were still ice blue and half-hidden by her mask. They were not unkind. “Feeling better? Invigorated?”

Nodding his head George said, “Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled and moved her eyes away from his face to study his body. Her hand drifted down his body and rested on his loins. He tried to jerk away, but he was held fast to the wall. She massaged his manhood through the loincloth. “You are feeling better,” she said softly, her smile broadening.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized and looked away.

“Don’t be. I’m looking for a strong, virile champion. You might just be that man.” With one hand she caught his chin and with the other she lifted her other, still full, breast up to his lips.

This time there was no hesitation or weakness. George immediately latched on and started nursing from her. Ilyana made a little noise of surprise but quickly became accustomed to his more aggressive nursing. She continued to stroke his face lightly as he nursed, her breast in his mouth, the chain protruding from the corner of his lips, until he completely emptied her and he drifted off to sleep.

When she stood up Queen Ilyana picked up the silk from the floor and stepped through the cell’s door. “He’ll be out for hours. Take him to a proper room. Restrict his movements, but he will not try to leave.”

She pulled her dress closed and strode with great confidence out of the dank dungeon.

 

 

Day Four

 

George awoke with a start, sitting up in bed with a gasp. The nightmare that had disturbed his sleep was already fading from memory. A quick look around the room told him he was in an unfamiliar place. The apartments of one of the ladies of the court? Another knight’s house? A vague pounding in his head told him he must have been drinking earlier but he couldn’t remember anything from the night before. There was light streaming in from the pair of windows in the wall, and he judged it was early morning. The fuzziness in his head slowly faded away but he still couldn’t place where he was or where he had been. When he looked down at his body he saw he was filthy and wearing next to nothing. He grinned. It must have been a hell of a night.

When he levered himself out of the bed—it wasn’t luxurious but it was better than sleeping on the ground which he had done many times when serving in the king’s army—he groaned and barely managed to stay on his feet. A moment later a serving maid appeared from the gods knew where. She nodded to him and gestured toward a door leading out of the bedroom. It wasn’t the same door she had entered, he was fairly certain of that.

“I could use a bath,” he said to the girl. She was plain, not pretty, which was an advantage for young serving girls working with the king’s knights because they often took liberties with the girls. “And some breakfast,” he added when his stomach rumbled.

She nodded and gestured to the door once again.

With a shrug George stumbled through the door and found a bathing pool. It wasn’t huge, but it was more than large enough to accommodate his large, muscular body, another knight, and a pair of girls if they wished. It would be tight, but that was okay. Steam was rising from the water and a small pipe let a steady flow into the pool. It must have been draining from some hidden channel. Somehow he must have wound up in the house of some nobleman who could afford such refinements. Hot flowing water and huge bedrooms for near-strangers…he smiled at his good-fortune as he doffed his loincloth—not at all ashamed of his nudity in front of the servant—and eased his body into the water. It was blood warm and he felt his muscles start to relax immediately. Even the throbbing in his head slowly started to abate.

“I could use your help in here,” he leered at the girl, but she was already gone. George frowned. “Silent help is apparently also next-to-useless help.” His cock was stirring with morningwood and if the girl was gone