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Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 01

By: RamonaE



I know I've left several storylines unfinished, but I swear this one is done. I'll be posting the next installments as soon as possible.

*****

I opened my eyes to steady white light coming from a panel directly above me. As I turned my head, I saw blank metal walls and Major Thrace standing in front of what I assumed was the door: a featureless rectangle of the same silver metal. Thrace stood with her arms crossed, a look of annoyed impatience on her face.

She was also completely nude. Totally, absolutely bare from her head to her toes.

I stared at her. Thrace she was one of those ripped, sculpted women who exercised and trained relentlessly, so rather than humiliating her, stripping her naked, even by force, only empowered her. She had warrior tattoos on her arms and thighs, and her pubic hair was trimmed into a neat strip.

"Well, somebody else is awake," Thrace said in her distinctive growl. Her black hair, usually pulled back tight, hung loose around her wide shoulders. "Good morning, ensign."

I rose on my elbows. I saw my own uncovered legs stretching before me on some sort of soft, mattress-like pad, and realized I, too, was naked. I put one arm across my breasts and clamped my thighs tightly together. I couldn't remember undressing...

Then I realized Captain Clark lay beside me. She was still unconscious, and also nude. While she was older than either me or Thrace, she was in great shape, although the harsh light revealed scars and stretch marks from her age. She had a lone tattoo, of her original combat unit, on her upper arm. Her face, slack in sleep, looked younger than it usually did bearing her command scowl. 

I got up, my head fuzzy, and said, "What happened, Major? Where are our clothes?"

"We've been captured," Thrace said. "We were undressed while unconscious. I woke up like this."

I felt the sudden rush of terror that all females in the galaxy felt at becoming prisoners. Males of all species had specific uses for women captives. "But w-we're not at war, who would-"

"Milkers," Thrace said grimly.

The terror I'd felt moments before was nothing compared to what I felt now. "Milkers" was our slang term for the G'Oran, a race of genderless humanoids whose favorite intoxicating beverage was human breast milk. As a result, they skimmed stray human females from the space lanes and used them as cows, modifying their bodies so that they produced milk constantly. The few women who'd escaped or been rescued described horrific conditions and a life that revolved around their frequent sessions at the G'Oran's ruthless milking machines.

And now those same aliens had captured us. We'd been in a shuttle, returning with the captain from a fleet meeting. It had been my first official assignment as her yeoman.

"Are you sure?" Captain Clark said. She sat up beside me, her short hair disheveled. In one graceful motion she stood and joined Thrace by the door. Neither of them seemed the least bit put out at being naked.

"I'm sure," Thrace said. "I woke up enough to see one of them when they brought the ensign into the cell. The way they played with her tits was a dead giveaway."

I gasped at the thought of aliens handling my breasts, and crossed my arms over them more tightly. The G'Oran had long fingers, with extra knuckles and two thumbs per hand.

"That is a problem," Captain Clark said flatly. She looked down at her chest, then lifted and squeezed her own breasts, examining them for any sign of lactation. "I don't think they've started modifying us yet. Do either of you feel any different?"

Thrace shook her head curtly. I still sat on the silver pad, legs tightly closed and arms covering my breasts, and had trouble keeping up. After a moment Clark said, "Ensign, I asked for a report. Do you feel any different, physically?"

"N-no, Captain," I said. I got clumsily upright. I had graduated from the academy only three months earlier, and I had never expected anything like this. The floor was cool beneath my bare feet, although the air was comfortable. I had a large chest, so my breasts swayed as I moved, but they felt no different. Of course, I had no idea what feeling to expect.

"Then they haven't started," Clark said. "That gives us more time. The G'Oran may not have realized who we were when they took us, but once they looked over our ship, they can't help but know. I'm a fleet command officer-this won't go down lightly. I expect them to release us soon."

"Y-yes, captain," I said. I tried to emulate the two officers and not instinctively cover my breasts, but the urge was overwhelming. I'd never been naked in public before, and knowing what Milkers wanted-and what they did to get it-made me feel even more vulnerable.

Clark seemed to sense that, and she put a hand on my shoulder. It was warm and soft against my skin. "Relax, Ensign. This will be a good story to tell some day, nothing more."

Something hissed in the air behind and above us. I now know it was the first of the treatments that would turn us into milk producers for the G'Oran. At the time, though, I remember exclaiming, "What's th-"

And then, once again, we all fell unconscious.

*****

When I awoke the next time, I did feel different, but not in the way I expected. There was no sense that my breasts were mutating or changing. Instead, the change was far more general, and much greater in scope.

I was horny. Unbelievably horny. Unbearably horny.

I lay where I'd fallen on the bare metal floor. I rolled onto my side with a moan that echoed off the metal walls. My hands were still numb, so luckily I didn't embarrass myself by doing what I so desperately wanted before I saw Major Thrace and Captain Clark. Thrace stood basically as she had before-back against the wall, arms crossed, face in a scowl. Captain Clark sat in a lotus position, eyes closed in meditation.

"C-captain?" I said.

"Shut up," Thrace snapped through clenched teeth.

I did as I was told, and managed to stand. I was so wet, I worried that I'd leave a visible puddle on the floor. I wished desperately for a chair, but settled for leaning face-first against the wall, my forehead on my crossed arms.

"Are you two...okay?" I asked.

"I said shut up," Thrace growled.

"Major," Captain Clark said calmly, her eyes closed. "It's not the ensign's fault."

"Yes, Captain," Thrace said. "My apologies, ensign."

Moisture trickled down the insides of my thighs. I sighed, but it turned into a whimper despite my efforts at control. How could I feel like this, now of all times?

When I looked down, I saw my breasts, my nipples hard and extended. I wanted to pinch them so badly, but how could I in front of two superior officers? I shifted my feet, and watched my breasts sway; the sensation was almost too much for me, and I whimpered again.

Thrace left her spot by the wall and began to pace the room in long strides. When she reached a wall she struck it hard with the flat of her hand, then paced to the opposite wall. Since the room wasn't very big, this didn't take long. I could feel the slight vibration of her blows through the metal wall I leaned against. "Goddammit," she muttered over and over, "goddammit..."

I let out a long breath and put my back against the wall. My bare ass, damp with sweat, slid against the hard surface. Thrace struck the wall again, and her feet smacked on the floor. She gleamed, every hard muscle of her body standing out in relief. I realized I watched her hips as she moved, her taut buttocks and muscular thighs rippling with each purposeful step.

"I can't stand it," I whispered, and closed my eyes. "I can't take this..."

"Shut up!" Thrace roared. I jumped.

"Major, that's enough," Clark said, and got gracefully to her feet in a single move. She walked over to face me, and I felt the heat of her nearness. "Ensign, what's wrong? Say it."

My voice was small and pitiful. "I'm so turned on, Captain..."

"So are we. You don't see us crying about it, though, do you?"

That sent a jolt through me. Somehow, in my sex-addled brain, I hadn't even thought that Thrace and Clark might be similarly affected. I stared at the Captain in wonder, suddenly seeing her clearly: there was a red flush across her shoulders and neck, her lips were swollen, and her nipples, like mine, were hard and extended. "C-Captain, I..."

"It's a side effect of the body modification the G'Oran are putting us through," she said clinically. "They reproduce by spores, so they have no concept of sexual arousal, or if they do, they don't care. It's only the first stage, and it's fully reversible, so don't panic. We still have plenty of time. The mutations don't start until we start having orgasms; it's the endorphins that trigger things. We just have to stay in control. Can you do that, Ensign?"

"Y-yes, Captain."

She nodded, satisfied with her answer, and returned to her meditation. This was her way of trying to resist what her body demanded. As she settled into her cross-legged position, I glimpsed her vulva, swollen and gleaming with wetness. The thought of what I must look like to her filled my mind.

I turned away and paced to a corner. I gritted my teeth against the urge to touch myself. How had a race with no sexuality done this to us? Even Major Thrace, a woman of iron self-control and discipline...did she feel like I did? Did her pussy ache?

I don't know how long we all stood, or sat, silent and immobile. I know that the whole time my clit beckoned my fingers, my breasts grew heavy and sensitive, and I felt warm trickles of my own juices down the insides of my thighs. Only the shame of being the first one to break, the first one to give in, kept me from dropping to my knees and fingering myself like I had when first discovered how good it felt. I'd been twelve then, and thought I knew what need was. I had no idea.

But I wasn't the one who snapped. And neither was Thrace.

Out of nowhere, Captain Clark sucked in a sharp breath and made us both look at her. She was still immobile, cross-legged and upright, but her face was tight with terror. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, God, no, not me, I can't...I can't..."

And then she came. Hard. Her back arched, her eyes squeezed shut and she let out a cry of ecstasy, shame and rage. A spray of juices shot from her vagina onto her crossed ankles.

And then Major Thrace collapsed to her knees, both hands between her legs. She roared with her climax, the muscles on her forearms flexing as she stroked and probed herself with the ferocity of battle. She grunted through clenched teeth.

And me? I barely remember falling to the floor, rolling onto my stomach and shoving my right hand between my thighs. I do, though, remember coming so hard that my groan of pleasure sounded, in my own ears, like some sort of death rattle.

The room echoed with our combined screams and cries. I'd like to say I paid attention to what has happening to my superior officers, but the truth is, I didn't. I was so wrapped up in my own body and its responses that the room could've burst into flames and I doubt I would've noticed.

I've masturbated all my life, but it had never felt like this. My breasts were tender and sensitive, and I never imagined my nipples could draw so tight and extend so far. And my vagina...well, it gave up any right to the dignity of that name. My pussy clenched tighter and tighter with each orgasm, my clit swelling and seeming to explode in overwhelming tingles with the slightest hint of a touch.

I spent most of the time on my belly, humping my hand with a ferocity I'd never expressed with any human lover. If only poor Gregory, who'd called me a cold fish, had been there then, I'd have let him do all the things he wanted to do that frightened me back in my academy days. For that matter, if any man had been there, he could've had me with no preliminaries. I would've begged.

But eventually all my muscles, even my Kegel ones, were too exhausted to continue, and I passed out. My dreams were just as raunchy, though, and in them my orgasm was always just out of reach.

To be continued...

Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 02



I woke up still on my belly, my right hand clamped between my thighs. When I tried to pull it away, I found that it was stuck to my pubic hair by my own dried juices. I moaned as the tender skin ached when I pulled my fingers free.

I rolled onto my back and draped an arm over my eyes. I was too tired to be scared. The room smelled of sweat and female juices. God, I wanted a shower.

Then I remembered my Captain and Major Thrace.

They, too, were asleep, or passed out. They sprawled nearby on their bellies, arms flung wide. Their legs were scissored together, with their asses snugged tight against each other, feet almost in each other's face. I stared at them, trying to envision what had happened. How had I not noticed that? How had I not heard them fucking each other? Had I passed out so quickly?

The Captain's face was turned toward me, her hand resting lightly on Thrace's ankle. Her features were slack, her mouth open, a pool of saliva on the floor. I thought for a moment she might be dead, but her back rose and fell with her breathing.

Her ass was so much bigger, and softer, than Thrace's rock-hard one. Thorne, too, was pale and pasty-looking in the harsh light, a harsh contrast to Clark's olive skin. Thrace's face was turned away from me, but her array of tattoos across her muscular body gleamed vivid on her still-sweaty skin.

I felt a sudden, shuddering sense of my own nakedness as I looked at them. None of us deserved to be humiliated like this, stripped and put on display, our bodies exposed and our basest instincts artificially encouraged. Yet our captors saw us only as animals, useful simply for the fluid our body produced: much as ancient humanity considered their cows.

I wondered suddenly just how they got milk from human women. It must involve some sort of pump, similar to what naturally lactating women used to store milk for their children. Or would it be closer to what was used on old-time farms, cold metal tubes that attached to our nipples and produced irresistible suction so that it pulled the milk from us forcefully?

What would that feel like? Would it hurt? Would we scream in agony? Captain Clark had read files about this, and seemed to know a great deal more than we did. Did I dare ask her when she woke up?

As if on cue, Clark moaned and slowly flexed her fingers around Thrace's ankle. I backed away. I wasn't sure about Thrace, but I couldn't imagine that Captain Clark wanted her yeoman to see her in this condition. Carefully, as quietly as possible, I lay back down on the mattress and pretended sleep, watching the other two women through my eyelashes.

Thrace sat up suddenly, twisting her upper body to look back at Captain Clark. Clark moved more slowly, disentangling her legs from the Major's before they both turned and looked at each other.

They said nothing. But something passed between them that I couldn't identify, and when they got to their feet, they briefly touched fingers, like they each wanted to hold hands but knew better.

I pretended to wake up as well. Captain Clark said, "Are you all right, Yeoman?"

"I'm sore," I said honestly as I got to my feet. My legs were wobbly and I had to use the wall for support.

"I know how you feel," Captain Clark said. "It was more difficult to resist than I expected. When we get back, I'll have to add that to the official files on this."

"What happens to us next?" I asked.

Before she could answer, the door opened, and I got my first look at G'Oran.

They were insectoid, with three-part bodies and heads with multiple eyes. They stood on their second and third pairs of legs, while their first pair ended in grasping digits halfway between hands and claws. They wore fabric outfits of various colors, which I supposed marked rank or status. Their chittering voices, made by the clicking of mouth parts, had never been translated. They also smelled, a sharp acidic odor that made my eyes water.

We were marched down a cold corridor. Captain Clark strode as purposefully as she did on her own ship, chin high, shoulders back. If she was self-conscious about her breasts bouncing with every step, she gave no sign. Major Thrace was tense, every muscle taut against her pale skin, ready to take any opportunity to escape or attack. Her bust was smaller, firmer, and did not visibly jiggle. I forced my hands to stay at my side, balling my fists against the urge to cover myself. Of course our nakedness didn't matter to the G'Oran.

We entered a room with a row of simple metal benches against one wall, and the G'Oran gestured for us to sit. Captain Clark did so, feet flat on the floor, back straight. Almost at once, manacles appeared and clamped on her wrists, and a strap slid around her waist. 

She said, "Don't be afraid. This is part of their training for us. They want our bodies to get used to this procedure, so that in the future, our milk will let down when they bring us in here."

The alien nudged Thrace. She snapped around, one hand raised to deliver a blow, but caught herself. Trembling with suppressed fury, she took a seat beside Clark. An identical strap slid around her waist, and manacles also secured her wrists.

Now it was my turn. The bench was cold against my bare ass, as was the wall against my back. I tried not to pull away as the manacles and strap secured me in position. I glanced at Clark, who still sat immobile and rigid, her breasts thrust out by her posture. The cold made all our nipples stand out.

Then I felt something beneath me.

With no warning, something rounded and phallic-shaped rose and tried to penetrate me. I squealed and tried to shift, to allow it to come up between my thighs, but the strap held me in place. It poked at me slowly, giving my body time to respond, before it parted my labia and began to enter me.

I looked over at the others; clearly they were experiencing the same thing. Thrace bucked against her bonds, shouting, "No! Stop it!" Captain Clark let out a sharp gasp but otherwise kept still and silent.

The device moved up into me with slow deliberation, as if careful not to injure me, but the sense of violation was every bit as awful. It was warm, and slippery, so the sensation was not painful, but I was being raped by the G'Oran yet again, and it was hard to ignore. I began to sob.

"Ensign," Captain Clark said calmly. Her face was tight with effort, and despite the chill she was sweating. "Be still, and d-don't fight it. We're valuable to them. They w-won't hurt us."

Her trembling voice scared me more than anything. 

Thrace sat fully upright, muscles taut against the manacles, teeth gritted. "Too far," she whispered. "It's too far...can't bear it..."

It certainly was far up inside me, dangerously near my cervix. I felt impaled, as if it might come up my throat if it went any further. My breath came in shallow little gasps, and I struggled not to give into the panic. I sat there helpless, naked, violated, with my breasts defenseless to whatever these aliens wanted to do to them.

Captain Clark, like Thrace and I, sat upright, back arched against the device violating her. Her voice trembled a little when she said, "This is j-just a dry run. All w-we have to do is enduh...endure it."

"Bastards," Thrace said through gritted teeth. She strained against the manacles on our wrists, and the muscles in her arms swelled with the futile effort.

Jointed, tubular devices descended from the ceiling and unfolded like mechanical insects. Two open-ended tubes leveled themselves at each of us, right at nipple level. I looked down to see the red light of some sort of targeting system playing across my breasts. The tubes slid slowly forward, and despite the way my panicked breathing made my chest heave, they unerringly snugged themselves against me. A gentle suction held them in place. Through their clear plastic, I saw my nipples.

Captain Clark was likewise positioned, the tubes attached. She flushed red across her neck and shoulders as she tried to find some sort of comfortable position.

Thrace, though, was not ready to give up. She fought as hard as she could, twisting her torso to keep the cups from locking onto her breasts. But the bonds that held us, and the devices deep inside us, severely limited her movements, and the cups edged closed, their red lights playing across her skin.

"No, you motherfuckers!" Thrace yelled furiously. "I'm not your fucking cow! No!"

"Major, calm down," Clark said. "You're just going to hurt yourself."

Thrace glared at her, but did as she was told, and the cups attached themselves to her breasts. She was breathing heavily, brow knitted with rage, when the vibrators inside us came to life.

We all cried out. There was no way not to. The metallic protrusion inside me rippled and buzzed, not painfully but certainly overwhelming. I squirmed in place, unable to really move and respond to it.

Then the suction cups began to pull on me. I winced as the edges of the cups dug into my skin, and when I looked down, I saw my breasts being pulled into the cups, my nipples distorting as they extended. The cups covered my entire aureolas, and the tension grew in slow increments.

Captain Clark sat perfectly still, eyes closed, but I could see the flesh of her breasts and ass trembling, and her toes flexed and curled. Thrace's whole body was tense, every muscle straining, as her own small breasts were tugged into the cups.

I let out a soft gasp. I couldn't help it. As horny as I'd been earlier, as many times as I'd come by my own hand, this machine was making me even more aroused. Later I'd learn that it was studded with sensors that measured every response and calibrated itself to them; in a short time, it learned exactly how to make you have an orgasm whether you wanted it or not. But on that first occasion, I wriggled my bare ass on the bench and tried not to react to it.

The suction cups attached to my breasts began to tug even harder as well. It wasn't painful, and with the vibrator doing its obscene work it was actually, awfully, rather pleasant, at least physically. But the pull grew stronger with each passing moment, and it was bound to start hurting soon.

Captain Clark cried out softly, a lone gasp of, "Oh." It was a sound of such eloquent agony that I felt my own cunt start to tingle and twitch in response. I looked at her: eyes closed, face tight, lips parted slightly. Her whole body gleamed with sweat, and her breasts rose and fell, making the cups and hoses attached to them sway. Past her, I saw Major Thrace with her teeth gritted, an expression of agony more than arousal. I wondered if she was in actual pain, or if the experience was just so awful that she was fighting it with all her strength.

Then, with very little warning, I came.

It was a small orgasm, nothing like the ones I'd brought myself to back in the cell. I let out a little sob, and my whole body shuddered. I looked down at my breasts again, and wished my hands were free to fondle them.

"Oh, God," Captain Clark whimpered. Major Thrace let out a raw, angry moan. I realized then that they, too, had come at exactly the same moment. Perversely, I wished I'd been watching; I wanted to see their orgasm faces, and have them see mine. Little did I know how familiar we'd become with those.

Then the suction cups suddenly shut down, dropped from our breasts and retracted. The manacles around our wrists withdrew. And the vibrators slid out of us, back into the bench. We all moaned at the sudden cessation, and I cupped my breasts gingerly. My nipples were engorged and red, and the cup had left a three-inch mark around my aureolas.

I looked over at the others. Clark, like me, cupped her breasts. Thrace turned away from us, hands balled into fists.

I met the Captain's eyes. She said, her voice shaky, "Th-this was just a c-conditioning session. They'll take us back to the cell now..."

And she was right. The G'Oran had to help us to our feet, since our legs were weak. We were marched down the same hall and placed back in the same cell, with one crucial difference: Major Thrace was not with us when the door closed.

"Wait!" Captain Clark cried, but it was too late. She and I were alone in the room.

To be continued...



Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 03



I went to the mattress and lay down. "I'm sorry, Captain, I'm just exhausted," I said. And I was-the experience with the milking machine had left me spent. My breasts, and especially my nipples, ached with what they'd endured. I couldn't imagine going through that every day, or maybe even multiple times a day. How often did the G'Oran milk their human captives, anyway?

I heard Captain Clark walk over. I opened my eyes and saw her bare feet and shins. "They'll drug us again soon," she said. "Make us feel aroused again. Just so you're ready for it."

I was too numb to feel anything at that moment. "Where did they take the Major?"

"I don't know. Apparently the information that I've read has been incomplete at best. Or they've changed their procedures since it was last updated."

I rolled over enough to look up at her. From my perspective, her face was bracketed by her breasts, her nipples still distended from the suction cups. "Someone will rescue us, won't they?"

"I'm certain they're trying," she said.

That was the first time she'd even implied that we might not be saved. I felt a rush of terror at the realization that she, the Captain, my Captain, might no longer be certain of the truth of her statements.

She knelt beside the mattress and stroked my tangled hair back from my face. "Panic won't help anything, Ensign. Yes, we're naked, and helpless, and they can do whatever they want to our bodies. But not to our spirits. That's where our courage is."

I looked into her calm, clear eyes. "Are you scared?"

"Terrified."

"Really?"

"Ensign, they're doing everything to me that they're doing to you. If you're scared, what makes you think I'm not?"

I sat up, too. I felt both ashamed and comforted by her admission, so I made one of my own. "I saw you and...Major Thrace together. After they drugged us the first time."

She did not appear embarrassed. "Are you married, Ensign?"

"No, ma'am."

"I am. I have a husband. And Major Thrace has a wife."

It took a moment for that to sink in. When she saw I understood, she continued.

"As bad as it was for us, it was far worse for the Major. Here she was, locked in a room with two attractive naked women, artificially aroused, and she believed she couldn't let herself touch them. Never mind that we, too, felt just like she did. I knew what she was going through, and so I went to her." She looked away. "I had to order her to fuck me. And she cried."

I couldn't imagine Thrace in tears, unless they were tears of rage. Which maybe they were.

"And when they drug us again, if Thrace isnt back, it seems inevitable that you and I will become intimate. I don't want you to feel guilty about it, Ensign. This is a crisis situation, and whatever we have to do to get through it is all right."

I looked into her face, so strong and intelligent. "Yes, ma'am."

"Have you ever been with a woman?"

"Not...fully, ma'am." It was only once, in a shower at the academy with my roommate, and we giggled through most of it. There were no giggles today, though. "I mean, I know...I know what to do." 

She smiled gently. "I'm sure you do. And I'll try to reciprocate so that the experience isn't awful for either of us."

The gas began to hiss into the room, just as Captain Clark had said. I looked around in panic, but she grabbed my face in her hands and said, "Remember, Ensign-you're not alone."

I couldn't break away from her gaze, and we looked into each other's eyes for a long moment. She feels it, too, I thought. The same ache deep in her tortured pussy, the same agonized wetness, the same desire to...to...

My Captain wanted to fuck me. And I wanted to fuck her.

We tried for a gentle start. The captain closed her eyes and groaned. She put her hands on my face and kissed me softly, kindly. But she whimpered into my mouth and her tongue, which was light and sweet, grew more aggressive. She grabbed the back of my hair and held me in place.

"My control is not good for much more, Ensign," she said when our lips parted, and her voice quivered.

"Diana," I said. "My name is Diana."

My hands went around her, but then slid back to her breasts. I was careful as I squeezed them, knowing how sore they must be. She did the same with mine. Her fingers were light, and gentle, and made my battered nipples stand up again with their delicate ministrations.

I kissed her shoulder, then down her chest. Soon I was licking her nipples, fighting the urgency to draw the tips hard into my mouth. I felt tingles begin between my legs, and realized I was so turned on, so aroused, that just the act of sucking another woman's breasts was about to make me come. I pulled free and looked up at her; her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and her eyebrows drawn tight.

"Can we come?" I whispered. "I'm so close..."

"I think at this point, it doesn't matter," she said, not looking at me.

With a moan I returned to her breasts. Her hands tangled in my hair, holding my head close. I had her left nipple in my mouth when I finally did climax, and felt my own wetness surge out between my thighs. I moaned into her breast.

We stretched out on the pad and tangled our legs together then, thrashing with a desperation I never expected Captain Clark to display. Her hand slid between my legs and mine did the same to her, and we stroked each other to orgasm while we whimpered and looked into each other's eyes. But just as before, the desire did not fade.

I'd never touched another woman like this; she was neatly trimmed between her legs, and her labia was slick and loose. Her clit, when I pressed my thumb on it, was larger than I expected, swollen with the effect of the aliens' drugs. I knew mine was as well, and she found it expertly.

The tips of our noses almost touched, we were so close. All the times I'd seen her on the bridge, or in the corridors, or at meetings with the command staff, I'd never noticed how smooth her skin really was. I said softly, "You're so beautiful, Captain."

"Laura," she said in a shuddering whisper. "Call me Laura. We're fucking, it seems silly to stand on formality."

"Did Major Thrace call you Laura?"

"Major Thrace didn't do a lot of talking." She closed her eyes and her whole body tensed as, I assumed, another orgasm went through her. The idea that I had that kind of power over her made me come as well. I slid down and began sucking and kissing her breasts again, licking lightly along the stretch marks that their weight had caused over time.

"Go down on me, Diana," she said. "Please, god, lick me."

I'd never done that before, but I guided her onto her back and kissed my way down her belly. I felt her abdominal muscles clench and relax under her skin as my lips caressed her navel, then the skin beneath it, and finally eased into her damp, dark pubic hair. I stretched out between her widely spread legs, her hands on the back of my head, and followed the distinctive scent to its source.

The taste was intoxicating. I knew it from licking my own fingers after masturbating, or going down on my boyfriend after he'd been inside me, but I'd never imagined it could be so...so delicious. The alien drug coursing through me had something to do with that, no doubt, but whatever the source, it overpowered me.

Captain Clark...Laura...moaned and cried out as if she was in helpless agony. And perhaps she was. She grabbed my hair with one strong hand and pressed me close against her, her thighs clamping on either side of my head and muffling her voice. I knew we she came again, because her juices surged into my face, my mouth, and her whole body went rigid, then collapsed. Her legs fell away, and she released my hair.

I rose to look at her. Her belly heaved, and she was gasping for breath. A red flush covered her face and the tops of her breasts.

I wiped my face with the back of my arm. "Laura?" I asked uncertainly. I suddenly realized how against my nature all this was, and how I was being used by aliens in ways that would terrify and humiliate me, if I wasn't so goddamned horny. I looked down at my captain's quivering labia, wet with her juices behind soft, damp curls, and thought, I should not be seeing this. This is wrong. I sat back on my heels with a gasp and began to shake. Was I going into shock?

But then Captain Clark...Laura...sat up and reached for me. I'd never seen such naked desperation in her face; a week ago, I'd have sworn I never would. But she was desperate, and she made an aching groan as she grabbed my hair and pulled my face back between her legs. She crossed her ankles across my back and held me there until I began to lick.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm sorry, I just need this, I need it so bad, I can't fight any longer..." Then her back arched and another pulsing surge of her juices told me she'd had another orgasm.

She held me there through two more climaxes. She was strong, much more physically strong than I expected, although in the wanton heat of the moment I didn't fight that hard. At last I forced her legs apart, came up for air and gasped, "Now do me. Please."

She looked at me down the length of her body, her face flushed red and framed by sweat-tangled hair, and nodded. We quickly changed positions, and I fondled my own breasts as she drove her tongue into me.

Eventually we curled around each other, sixty-nineing on the pad as we slurped and licked. It was carnal, and raw, and so terribly wrong that we came more than we could count. I learned where and how to get her off quickly, and believe me, she learned the same about me. We continued until we were both exhausted, and finally fell apart, semi-conscious and weak, and continued to masturbate until we finally passed out. The last thing I remember seeing was her bare feet in my face, the toes spreading as she endured yet another orgasm.

To be continued...



Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 04



And so we slept, our sweaty, naked bodies entwined just as I'd found Captain Clark and Major Thrace. I had no memory of fucking in this position, but when I woke up there I was, on my belly, my legs scissored with the Captain's and my aching pussy snug against hers. The artificial arousal was gone, but the wanton urge to flex my hips and grind against her, just to see if she'd respond, was overwhelming. I fought it down. I was a soldier, a member of the space fleet, not some starbase whore.

"Captain?" I croaked. Then, "Laura?"

"I'm here," she said, and I'd never heard her sound so tired. She twisted her torso enough to look down at me. But she made no move to untangle herself.

I looked into her eyes, and saw, beneath the exhaustion and fear, the same wanton impulse I'd fought down. She wondered, just like I did, what it would feel like to fuck without being drugged.

Then the cell door opened. Instantly Captain Clark extracted herself from me and got to her feet. She held out a hand and helped me upright as well.

The G'Oran guards pushed Major Thrace into the room. She was wet all over, and her hair hung in limp, damp strands in her face. She limped past us until she ran blindly into the opposite wall, where she stopped and slid to the floor. She kept her face turned away from us.

"Major?" the Captain said.

Then first G'Oran chittered something in their harsh language, and pointed its eight-fingered hand. 

At me.

I looked down at Thrace. Whatever had happened seemed to have shattered her. I choked one word out past the fear closing my throat. "No!"

Captain Clark stepped in front of me. "No," she said to the G'Oran. "I'll go next. Ensign, take care of Major Thrace."

The G'Oran probably couldn't tell us apart anyway. One naked human woman was pretty much like the other, and all they really cared about was our breasts. It grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the cell. The door closed, leaving me alone with the Major.

I knelt beside her. "M-Major Thrace? Are you all right?"

She finally turned, pushed her hair from her face, and looked at me. She started to speak, but something caught in her throat. She choked, and expelled a thick stream of whitish liquid over her lips. It drained down her chin.

I recognized it immediately. Semen.

"They have men here, Yeoman," she gargled.

My battered brain couldn't process this. "What? Human men?"

"Some. Some are Baylunians."

Baylunians were the closest alien species to human that we'd yet encountered, so close that some scientists believed we had a common ancestor. Humans could have intercourse with Baylunians, but not produce viable offspring. They looked exactly like us, except for their powder-blue skin. I said, "Can they help us?"

She snickered, cold and desolate, and wiped her chin. "No. They've all had something done to them. They...." She shuddered. "They just want to fuck. Anything female. Anything."

"Did they--?"

"Of course they did!" she snapped, holding herself more tightly. "I'm freezing. They washed me in ice water."

I knelt beside her and awkwardly pressed my own body against hers, spooning her from behind as much as I could in her half-seated position against the wall. I had to ask. "Did they...r-rape you?"

She laughed again, the same cold, helpless choking sound, but she pulled my arm tighter around her. "Rape? Honey, what do you think I did when they gassed me with that fuck-juice they used on us in here? I was on my back with my legs spread before they even knew I was there. And...." She closed her eyes tight against the memory.

"What?" I said gently. This close, I saw semen matted in her hair, too.

"I...I was on my knees for them, too." She turned and looked back at me, and the tough, no-nonsense major was totally gone. "I sucked their cocks, Yeoman. I have a bellyful of cum right now." Her eyes filled with tears, something I never expected to see. "I was a gold star lesbian before this. Do you know what that is?"

I shook my head.

"It's a lesbian who's never, ever been with a man before. And I hadn't. I knew what I was, and what I liked, very early in life. But now...."

She began to sob. She was having a total breakdown, and I had no idea what to do.

"They *fucked* me!" she screamed. "They fucked me on my back, then they turned me over and fucked me from behind, then I crawled from one to the next with my mouth eager for their cocks! I swallowed them, Yeoman. I...."

And then we heard the distinctive hiss.

"No," Thrace whimpered. "Oh, no, not again, not this way, not with you...."

I tried to hold my breath, I willed my pussy not to flood, my breasts not to grow heavy and sensitive, my nipples not to extend, but it was useless. Within moments I sat gasping, my body alive with desire, my arms still around the major. I wanted to kiss her, to suck her tits, to drive my tongue deep inside her as I'd done with Captain Clark. I wanted to grind my pussy against hers. I wanted to have the power that came with giving her an orgasm.

She turned her whole body to face me. Her expression was tortured, sad and lost and defeated and all the other emotions I never expected to see there. Tears streaked her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Yeoman," she whimpered. "I don't want to...to...."

"It's okay," I said, helpless in the grip of my own desire. "Call me Denise."

She ran her trembling fingertips over my lips. "You're so beautiful," she said softly. "I've tried not to notice...tried to avoid thinking about this...." Then she kissed me, not roughly like I expected, but softly, gently. Not even Captain Clark had kissed me like that. I could taste the cum still on her lips.

"Th-thank you," I said when our lips parted. I gazed into her dark brown eyes, and saw a level of tenderness I never would have expected there. Thinking of her being used by a cadre of sex-crazed men filled me with sudden anger.

Then I realized Captain Clark, my sweet lover Laura, was going through the same thing right now. And rather than enhancing my anger, the images that flooded my imagination ratcheted up my own desire. I shifted on the floor so that I could rest my hand on Major Thrace's small breast, my thumb beside her erect nipple. She said softly, "Oh."

"It's okay," I said again. "This is survival, remember? Whatever we have to do."

She looked away. "I'm full of cum, Yeoman. If you go down on me, you'll...."

I slid my hand between her legs, and she spread them for me. "Don't worry. In another five minutes, I won't care. You know how they make us feel."

She was wet, incredibly so, and her vulva was swollen beneath my fingertips. "Ensign...." she whispered, and grabbed a handful of my hair in her iron-strong fingers.

"Denise," I repeated. "Call me Denise."

"Karla," she said. "I'm Karla."

"Karla," I breathed. As strange as it had been to call the captain by her first name, it was even stranger now. Thrace was so intimidating, so no-nonsense.

She gasped as I continued to lightly stroke her clit. "You're so good at this, Denise," she said with her eyes closed. "You're so good. Why haven't I touched you sooner? Oh, God...."

I felt, aside from the desire raging in my own dripping pussy, a sense of power knowing that I could reduce this woman to such a state. She began to whimper in rhythm with my strokes, and I shifted my weight again so that I could bend down and suck one of her nipples. This made her cry out, and she grabbed my hair more firmly, holding me there, as if I wanted to leave. "I'm going to come, Denise," she almost sobbed. "You're making me come, oh, God, make me come, yes, just like that, just like...."

And then she came. And then so did I, her nipple pinched tight in my teeth, overwhelmed by the sense of my own erotic power.

Dimly, I realized yet again that when the Captain returned, they would take me to the men. I should have been terrified at the thought of it, but as I gently pushed Karla Thrace onto her back, released her nipple and began to kiss my way down her belly, I couldn't imagine anything I wanted more.

And yes, I tasted male cum when I began to lick her: sticky, bitter, but unbearableyarousing. As I went down on her, I I rubbed myself hard, coming repeatedly even as she did. Was I losing my mind? Was I losing myself? Major Thrace said nothing, only tossing, spasming and making animal noises. Was this my future? Our future?

We fucked all over the room, in every possible position. She knew just how to touch me to get me off, and I tried to do the same for her. I think she was just relieved to be with a woman, to feel female flesh after her time with those men, that she didn't care who it was. I lost all track of time.

Until the door opened.

I rose up from Major Thrace's pussy, my lower face wet with her juices. Captain Clark stood in the door, and the G'Oran pushed her forward. Like Thrace, she was dripping with water, and as Thrace had done, she stumbled a couple of steps, then collapsed to her knees. 

She stared at us, her face blank, eyes wide. Her hair was even more disheveled, and there was something white and crusty on the lower half of her face. I realized with a start it was more dried semen.

She fell forward onto all fours, breathing hard, her breasts swaying. There was dried semen on the small of her back as well, and her ass cheeks. Whatever they did to wash us, it apparently didn't involve scrubbing. She raised her head with evident effort and looked at Major Thrace. What passed between them was the shared camaraderie of disaster, an experience that only the two of them had endured.

"I'm so cold," she whispered.

Thrace and I immediately crawled to her and wrapped ourselves around her. We made a cocoon of our arms and legs, rubbing her skin to generate heat.

And then the G'Oran chittered something, and I felt a sharp, cold digit poke me in the back.

It was my turn.

The fear burned away the last of the arousal from my earlier drugging. I got to my feet and backed into a corner. "No," I said, shaking my head. "No, I won't, you can't take me, somebody help me, help me, HELP ME!"

I was screaming by then. The G'Oran entered, stepped past the entwined forms of Captain Clark and Major Thrace, and grabbed my arms. I struggled, but there was no resisting it. The alien was too strong. 

"Captain, PLEASE!" I cried as it dragged me out the door, but the last thing I saw was Clark's blank, blasted face.

To be continued....



Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 05



They shoved me into another faceless room. As the door closed behind me, the first thing that hit me was the smell: harsh male musk, along with the unmistakable odor of semen. I'd smelled it before, but never this strongly, and as I tried to move, I had to peel my feet from something sticky on the floor. My stomach twisted into knots.

Unlike the brightly-lit cell that we'd occupied, this one was dim. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the shapes of numerous bodies on the floor, sprawled or curled up. They were all men, all naked, and all sported erections.

I backed up until my bare ass contacted the door. I'd never felt so vulnerable in my life. I'd nearly been raped once, in college, but I'd convinced him to stop before things went too far. I doubted I'd have that same luck now, with no clothes and no escape. 

I covered my pubic area with one hand, and my nipples with my other arm. I found myself perversely hoping for the rush of forced arousal, for the drug that would make me want what I had no doubt was about to happen. I'd seen the result of visiting this room on Major Thrace and Captain Clark; if those two strong, confident women could be reduced to the numb, traumatized shells I'd seen, what chance did I have?

One of the human men stirred. With a groan of either pain or exhaustion, he got to his knees, his erection bobbing with every move. I assumed they'd been drugged as well, and wondered if it hurt to have that sort of irresistible hard-on?

He looked at me, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus. I was surprised to see, not blind animalistic desire, but agony and despair. He was about forty years old, broad-chested and narrow-hipped, and seemed to be in great physical shape. He reached down and shook the shoulder of the man sleeping face-down beside him.

This man was younger, about my age. He had longish hair, sweat-matted and tangled. His erection was larger than the older man's, and yet when they stood side by side, I saw a distinct resemblance.

The older man pushed the younger one toward me. "Please," he croaked, "let my son fuck you first. He didn't get a chance with the other two."

I tried to think of a response, but no words came.

"Please!" the man said desperately. Both he and his son looked tormented beyond belief. "Let him fuck you before the others wake up."

The boy-he was a boy, I realized, maybe even younger than me, the age of first-year cadets fresh out of high school-was trembling, and when I glanced down, I saw a drop of thick white liquid seeping from the tip of his penis. He was about to come just from looking at me. They were drugged, just like we had been, but it seemed to hurt them more than it did us, and he had a helpless look in his eye that I hadn't seen in my fellow female captives. I understood the physical differences between male and female sexuality, but it hadn't occurred to me that there would be such emotional differences.

"I'm not..." I started to say. I stopped when I realized I was actually hoping for the arousing gas.

The boy made a desperate keening sound, pitiful and horrifying at the same time, and lunged at me. He pushed my arm away and fastened his mouth on my left nipple, sucking hard and painfully. His father dropped to his knees and sucked my right one, both of them shouldering for position, their hands pawing at my ass and thighs. The sensation was overpowering and, I had to admit, arousing even without artificial help. After the relatively gentle feminine encounters with the Captain and the Major, this entirely masculine approach actually did, at some level, turn me on. That it also felt like the insistent tugging of the milking machines was not lost on me, either.

They pulled me down to the floor. Their unwashed naked bodies smelled of sweat and maleness. The father disengaged from my nipple and looked into my eyes. This close, I could see the stubble on his chin and the way he strained to stay composed enough to get out the words.

"Please," he whimpered, "let my son fuck you first. It's killing him."

As he spoke, his son ran his mouth down my belly and used his hands to push my legs apart. I twisted and fought, but the father grabbed my face and said, "He won't last long. None of us do. Just please...let him fuck you."

The son grabbed my ankles and pulled me away from the wall, fully onto my back. He crawled up my body, and I felt his erection pressing into the skin of my inner thigh as he sought my vulva. I began to fight in earnest, realizing in that moment that I was about to be raped.

The father grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the metal floor, stunning me. The son positioned his cock against me. I hoped I was wet enough to accept him, since there seemed to be no way to avoid it. Why had the G'Oran not drugged me? I would've been begging for this.

The father looked at me, tortured by his own agony. "My wife...daughter...both here somewhere. Carmen and Emily. Have you seen them?"

I raised my knees to ease the boy's passage inside me. He was still fumbling for position.

"No, I haven't-AHHHHHH!"

With one motion, he pushed into me. I'd never felt anyone so hard; his cock was like a metal vibrator, but hot instead of cool. Almost at once he ejaculated, with a rocketing intensity unlike anything I'd ever experienced. He let out a cry, so loud it made my ears ring, then collapsed on top of me. I lay there, stunned by what he'd done inside me and wondering if he might, in fact, be dead. 

The father pushed him off me, though, and crawled into the same spot. He said, "I'm so sorry," and like his son, pushed into me and came after a mere three strokes. Also like his son, his ejaculation felt stronger and more voluminous that any man I'd ever been with. What had the G'oran done to them?

He lay down on me and began to cry. Over his shoulder, I saw the others stirring, men and Baylunians, all ages, all naked and rock-hard.

I wrapped my arms and legs around the man, even as his cock softened and slipped out of me. "Please," I whispered, "stay on top of me. Don't let them get me."

"I can't," he said into my shoulder. "I can't..."

He pushed himself up and off me. I was left on my back, my legs spread, the roomful of men all staring at my exposed vagina. I tried to scream, to protest, but the hoard of bobbing cocks, the human ones red and the Baylunians' purple, choked the sound in my throat. What had Major Thrace done when confronted with this? How had Captain Clark responded?

I scooted up against the wall and curled up, wrapping my arms around my tightly-clamped knees. I couldn't handle them all, I couldn't take them into me, not all of them...

And then my stomach flipped, my pussy flooded, and I realized that they'd gassed me again. I sobbed with relief, and started to turn toward the men, but it was too late. Like a pack of zombies in a horror movie, they were already on me.

I don't know how many men fucked me. I was passed between them like a doll, turned this way and that, pressed flat on my back or pulled up onto all fours. I had to work to protect my ass, because they were desperate, and clumsy, enough to try any hole.

The worst part was that they didn't last. Five strokes at the most and they came, shooting off like a water gun inside me. I wasn't sure how much come I could hold, and eventually it started seeping out around their cocks, mixing with my own juices.

I sucked them off, too, except I quickly realized I had to make them come outside my mouth, because their rocketing ejaculation was too much for me. My chin and neck were coated with their semen before long, and they showed no sign of slowing down. I could not imagine how much I actually swallowed, and remembered it drooling from Major Thrace's mouth. 

Because each one was so brief, I couldn't get off myself. I tried to hustle them into me faster, to keep the momentum, but they were like blind, insistent animals, only capable of comprehending one thing: my pussy. When they came, they immediately softened and collapsed, then were pulled away by the next desperate male.

At last I felt one fall away, his hands sliding from my sweaty waist, and I realized no one scrambled to take his place. I looked back over my shoulder and saw that they were all sprawled on the floor unconscious. Many of them had erections again, but none of them were moving to fuck me.

I let myself collapse then, aching limbs relaxing for the first time in...how long? My loud gasps for air echoed off the walls, and some of the men began to snore. That made me laugh. I wiped the drying semen from my mouth and face, ignoring the way it coated my breasts and matted my hair. It was all I could smell, or taste.

And then without realizing it, I was stroking my clit, and finally getting the orgasm their constant switching had denied me. My pubic hair was coated with semen, and my inner thighs dripped with it. Then, like them, I passed out, or at least fell into a numb semi-consciousness.

I don't know when the G'Oran returned for me, but they did, yanking me to my feet and making me stumble along between two of them. They took me to a shower, and the tepid water snapped me away as it struck me with the force of a blow. There was no effort to be delicate about it, and they directed one nozzle between my legs, hammering my already-sore intimate parts until most of the residue was gone. They used no soap, and did not dry me. They simply finished and pulled me back into the metal hallway. I was so intimately sore that each step was agony, and my sobs echoed around me.

I sobbed the whole way back to my cell. When they tossed me inside, neither Captain Clark nor Major Thrace looked up. They were both asleep on the mattress pad, sprawled on their backs. I felt my heart catch a little when I saw they held hands, their fingers threaded delicately together.

I fell to all fours as the door closed behind me. With the last of my fading strength I crawled over to them, planning to curl up asleep on the floor beside them. But as I got closer, I froze.

Both women's nipples were erect and wet. Little trickles of liquid ran down from their aureolas as their breasts gently rose and fell. They were leaking milk, which meant their breasts must be full. As if to confirm this, Major Thrace moaned in her sleep, a sound of such quiet, eloquent agony that I no longer had any doubt.

I stared. Thrace's breasts were still small, but they were firmer than I remembered, more round. The Captain's full, heavy breasts, instead of standing up as they'd done before, now sagged slightly to either side of her torso. I looked down at my own breasts. They weren't leaking, but now that I was aware, I felt the strange sensation within them, the beginnings of lactation.

I lifted my breasts. They were tender and sore. I didn't think I had any tears left in me, but I began to cry again, soft and defeated. I was a cow for the G'Oran now.

I lay down on my back on the floor beside my fellow victims. In moments I, like them, was unconscious. But oddly, my last thoughts were of the mother and daughter mentioned by the agonized man who'd fucked me. Were they together in a room like this, naked and helpless? Had they been forced to make love to each other by the strange aphrodisiac drug the G'Oran used? Would mother and daughter eventually be fucked by father and son?

And what would become of them, and us, once we began to produce milk in earnest?

TO BE CONTINUED



Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 06



I awoke to the sound of women moaning. At first my fuzzy brain thought, "Oh, great, we're fucking again." But as my head cleared, I realized these cries were different. These were moans of pain, of agony.

I opened my eyes. I was on my side, and something about my body wasn't right. My first sight was Captain Clark, back in her cross-legged position, eyes closed. I tried to sit up.

Then I discovered that my hands were bound behind my back.

When the fuck had this happened?

We'd all passed out from exhaustion, but surely...and then I understood. If the G'Oran had drugs that could lower our inhibitions and make us fuck each other, then a simple sedative must have been a breeze.

As I forced myself awkwardly up into a seated position, jolts of serious pain went through me. I shook my head to clear it, trying figure out what hurt so badly. It wasn't my manacled wrists or wrenched shoulders...

My breasts.

They were full of milk. Overfull. Massively overfull. 

And with my hands bound, I could do nothing about it.

I looked down. My breasts were distended, misshapen by the fluid accumulating in them. Their once-smooth surfaces were now bumpy from the swollen milk glands inside them. Whitish droplets oozed from my nipples and aureolas. I was on fire with the need for relief from the agony.

I looked at the Captain. She sat cross-legged, but her hands were also shackled behind her back. Her large breasts looked even bigger and rounder, like the ones in porn holograms, and her nipples jutted out. Milk trickled down their smooth undersides and dripped from their tips. Although she was immobile, with her eyes closed, I knew she was in agony. The muscles of her jaw worked as she clenched her teeth against the sensations, and tears streaked her cheeks.

A roar of pain and fury rang off the walls, and I looked up with a start. Major Thrace was on her feet, writhing as she attempted to break out of the cuffs holding her wrists together behind her. I felt little splashes as her contortions made her heavy breasts violently sway, and slung droplets of milk around the room. She roared again, the cords on her neck standing out and her face red with anger.

"I'm not a cow!" she bellowed. "You hear me, motherfuckers? I'm not a whore and I'm NOT A COW!"

She twisted her upper body violently, and her breasts slapped into each other. Milk sprayed out, but not enough to really ease the pressure. I winced in sympathy.

I got to my knees. I never knew my own breasts could feel like this, so heavy I could barely straighten my back, so full they felt like the skin might burst open just to let the milk out. The hot trails of milk mixed with sweat on my naked belly.

Thrace looked down at me, and I saw the terror in her face. She was the strongest woman I'd ever known, and she was terrified at what was happening to her, the way her body was being changed against her will. If she looked at me for comfort, for reassurance, for strength, then I let her down, because I began to cry, each sob painfully rippling through my aching breasts.

She thrashed even more madly. The floor was splattered with her milk by now, and she rushed to the wall, face first, mashing her breasts against it in a futile attempt to squeeze out the milk and get some relief. She screamed in agony but did not stop. Her bare feet slipped on her own milk as she fought to gain traction. The muscles of her shoulders flexed as she brought all her strength to bear; her calves and buttocks tightened, crushing her breasts into the wall.

I couldn't imagine the pain she must be enduring, but I understood her anger, all right. I was just as angry, and just as helpless. The cuffs on our wrists were the final indignity, the last thing I could stand.

Wincing as my breasts jiggled, I finally stood upright. I faced the closed door and screamed, "Is this what you want? You want us dripping milk? Well, then, come on and milk us, motherfuckers! Suck us dry!" I kicked the door with my bare foot, and cried out as, again, my overfull breasts bounced with the movement.

Thrace backed away from the wall, two dripping, whitish wet stains left there. She looked at me for a long moment, eyes haunted with pain, and said, "We have to suck each other."

I blinked, not comprehending. "What?"

"We have to suck the milk out of each other. There's no other way."

I looked at her small, distended breasts with their jutting nipples. I'd sucked on them before, of course, but that was during sex, when we'd both been drugged. To do it now...

"That's an order!" Major Thrace roared, her voice cracking. Then she added, in the most defeated tone I'd ever heard, "Please."

I stepped forward. She was right; what choice did we really have? I bent slightly, then gasped as the weight of my own unsupported breasts shifted. I changed position and crouched instead, moving my lips toward her nipple.What would her milk taste like? What would mine, for that matter? My idea of milk was cold, and pasteurized, not raw from the...from the teat, I thought bitterly. 

"Oh..." she said softly as my lips closed around her nipple.

I tasted the droplets that had already escaped. They were sweet, and warm, and creamy. Then I closed my eyes and sucked gently.

The liquid pooled in my mouth, hot and thick, reminding me of another liquid I'd held there not long ago. I swallowed the first mouthful, and it settled in my stomach with a pleasant, warm feeling. Then I sucked again.

"Oh," Major Thrace repeated, the same way I'd heard her say it when I went down on her during our sexual encounters. Was this turning her on? Would I be turned on when she suckled on me?

I felt a presence beside me. Captain Clark worked her way in and closed her mouth around Thrace's other nipple. "Unnnnh!" Thrace said, a sound of such aching eloquence it broke my heart. Clark's shoulder rubbed me as we sucked, bobbing our heads slightly. Her bare hip pressed against mine. I risked a sideways glance and saw the Captain's closed eyes open and meet mine. We couldn't speak with what we were doing, but there was nothing to say: we all understood that each of us would take a turn as the center of attention, yet another form of physical intimacy forced on us by the G'Oran.

Captain Clark moaned, her mouth full of nipple and milk. When I glanced over I found her already looking at me, and suddenly the totality of my situation-naked, helpless, on my knees, suckling the breast of a woman I truly barely knew-filled me with a sense of my own utter femininity to a degree I'd never experienced. This was, in some twisted way, what I was meant to do: be naked, be helpless, be drinking or producing milk for males. I felt a weird sense of peace, of finally knowing what I was for; then I wondered if the Captain felt the same thing.

The door opened, and a trio of G'Oran entered. They pulled me away and to my feet. One jiggled my breasts, and I gasped with pain. Apparently satisfied, they pushed me toward the door. I glanced back and saw Thrace and Captain Clark following.

***

I'd heard the term "milk let down" before, and read bits about it, but to experience it the way we did was so far beyond my expectations as to leave me speechless.

When they affixed the suction devices to us, after chaining us into place again and inserting the vibrators inside us, my breasts suddenly tingled, the way your foot does when it's asleep, only much stronger. It felt...both horrifying and somehow good, and I closed my eyes in helpless wonder. The vibrator began its work, this time sliding very slightly up and down, and I looked down to see milk pooling in the tubes affixed to my nipples.

It was happening, I realized. I was being milked. Like a cow.

And it felt GREAT.

I looked over at Clark. She was very still, eyes closed, as if she were meditating. And perhaps she was. But she was also spraying jets of milk into her tubes. And I knew a vibrator was also working on her.

Only Thrace continued to fight, gritting her teeth and thrashing as much as the bonds allowed. "Stop it, stop it, stop it," she repeated over and over, even as her milk was pumped out of her.

I tried to think straight, but I was getting dangerously close to orgasm, as the vibrator aroused me more and more. The pressure in my breasts eased, leaving behind a warm, contented feeling. I never knew I could feel like this. I still felt deliciously feminine and helpless, but now I also felt like it was how I was meant to be. The G'Oran not only owned my body, they were close to owning my soul.

Then the whole deck under us shuddered.

TO BE CONCLUDED



Captives of Alien Milkers Pt. 07



Being milked felt so GOOD.

After the agony of helplessly feeling my loose, full breasts sway and bounce, with my hands bound behind me, the sensation of the suction tubes attaching to my nipples filled me with relief. I may have even cried out. The suction was gentle, not rough, and the sensation of milk leaving my body was so sensual, so physically amazing, that I no longer had the strength to resist. Even the vibrator gently sliding into me, then trembling as it urged me to arousal, did not feel like the violation it had earlier.

Captain Clark looked similarly relieved, similarly turned on and content. She had her eyes closed, her mouth open, and her back arched. Her breasts, hard and round from their milky burden, rose and fell with each deep breath. I'd never wanted to touch her more.

Only Major Thrace continued to resist. She writhed against the vibrator, twisted to avoid the suction cups, and screamed every curse she knew at the G'Oran. Of course, we'd relieved some of the pressure in her breasts back in our cell, Captain Clark and I on our knees before her, each with a nipple in our mouths. But she would've fought no matter what.

"Get these fucking things off me! I'm not your fucking property! I'm not a cow, do you hear me? You can't make me your cow!" 

Not that her fighting made any difference. The targeting mechanisms on the suction tubes eventually found their target, latched unerringly onto her nipples, and she began to express her milk. Hers flowed much more rapidly than either mine or Captain Clark's, and she roared her impotent rage at the aliens milking her.

"Stop it!" she screamed. "Stop milking me!"

So we sat there, three naked human women, tubes attached to our nipples and vibrators slowly working on our pussies, until a sudden violent tremor went through everything.

The three G'Oran exchanged looks. One of them checked an instrument, and apparently didn't like what it saw. They conferred for a moment, then went to Major Thrace and injected something into her neck. She went limp.

"No," Clark said weakly, struggling to come out of her stupor. "Leave her alone..."

But they removed her from the milking machine and carried her to a corner. Milk dripped from her breasts, leaving a trail across the deck. They stepped onto a teleporter pad.

One of the G'Oran activated something, and a space opened behind them, a dimensional portal that showed us wherever they were going. It displayed a vast, long, brightly-lit room with rows of naked human women seated just as we were, attached to the same machines that worked on us. All the various skin tones of humanity contrasted with the gray sameness of the G'Oran equipment. And the sound: moans, cries, and whimpers, a chorus of women providing the accompaniment to their own milking. It sounded one moment like an orgy, the next like a gang rape.

I remembered the father and son who'd first fucked me in that awful room. Were any of these women the mother and daughter they'd sought? Would the G'Oran keep them together, or move them apart? Would they even care? What would it be like to watch your mother, or your daughter, writhing and being milked? 

Just before they winked out of existence, Major Thrace raised her head and looked at me. I saw the rage, but also a kind of terror I'd never known a woman like her could feel. My heart wrenched for her. Then, in a buzz of teleporter energy, she was gone and the portal closed.

The door to the chamber opened, and a half-dozen colonial marines burst into the room. When they saw us hooked up to the machines, one of them called, "Medic!" And, moments later, I too was being sedated, although this time by a human, who was there to rescue me.

***

Three months later...

I stood outside Captain Clark's quarters. I'd been reassigned to lighter work than my previous job as the Captain's yeoman, at least until I was fully recovered from the trauma I'd experienced. Captain Clark had no such luxury, but from all indications, she'd had no trouble. The door opened, and she said crisply, "Come in."

When I entered, I found her behind her desk. Her new yeoman, a man, stood and said, "With your permission, I'll leave you two to talk."

"Thank you, Ensign Redding," she said without looking up. When the door closed after him, she leaned back and gave me a once-over. "You're looking well."

"No physical damage," I said. And it was true: the medical staff had reversed the G'Oran's effects of me. If I'd been milked even once more, it would have been much more difficult, if not impossible. But since they'd interrupted my first milking, before my body had time to fully adjust itself, they were able to bring me back to normal. "And the psychological damage is...manageable."

"Are you able to wear a bra yet?"

"I started this week." For over two months, my breasts and nipples were so sensitive that a bra made me feel claustrophobic, choking me as if a great hand was crushing my chest. The doctors said this was a common side-effect in women used by the G'Oran, and would pass in time. And so it had. "Is there any word on Major Thrace?"

"No, sadly. When they searched the ship, there was no sign of her. All the males had been euthanized, and there were no other human females beside us. Every G'Oran ship in the quadrant has been stopped and boarded, but no luck."

"And her wife?"

"She left the service. The last I heard, she planned to search for Major Thrace herself." She arranged some of the file discs on her desk. "Are you wondering why I asked to see you?"

"I'd hoped it was to resume my old duties, Captain."

"No, that's a decision for the ship's doctor, not the captain." She stood up. "I have to ask: can you keep what transpires at this meeting a secret?"

"As you wish, Captain."

"It's not an order, ensign. It's a request. You see..."

She came around the desk and stood before me, close to me. She lifted my chin with one finger, then bent and lightly kissed me. I was so surprised I couldn't move.

"I want to be with you again," she said softly.

I was speechless. 

"We were raped on that ship," she continued. "What we did with each other was forced on us, and we had no choice. Now I want to exorcise that by...well, to put it simply, by fucking each other of our own free will. If you want to, of course."

Memories that my therapy had never succeeded in erasing flooded back to me. I could only nod.

Captain Clark smiled knowingly, stepped back and undid her uniform tunic. It dropped to the floor, followed by her bra. She looked at me expectantly, bare to the waist, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. The overhead light cast shadows beneath them, making them seem even larger.

"I haven't been able to stand having my husband touch me since we got back. Especially on my breasts. He's too rough, too..." She searched for the word. "Masculine."

I hadn't sought out any physical companionship, either, although I'd masturbated myself silly the first few nights I was back in my own quarters. For days, I couldn't bear the touch of anything on my skin, and so had wandered around my quarters naked. I wondered if Captain Clark had done the same.

"This is a one-time thing, Ensign. So don't hold back. If there's anything you want to do to me, or that you want me to do to you, this is your chance. Do you understand?"

Again, I could only nod. I felt as aroused as I had back on the G'Oran ship.

I stepped closer. She put a hand on the back of my head and drew me firmly down to her chest. I licked, kissed and finally sucked her right nipple, just as I'd done on the G'Oran ship.

She whimpered. The sound was so delicious, so carnal, that I stepped back and quickly removed my own tunic and bra. The relief as my breasts fell free, their weight catching in my shoulders, was palpable. 

We faced each other bare-breasted, each of us displaying the very things the G'Oran had so coveted. She gazed at mine just as I did hers, our attention almost masculine in its focus.

"We should lie down," Captain Clark said. She took my hand, threading her fingers through mine, and led me into her private quarters. My nipples hardened in anticipation of her mouth.

We didn't speak again. We kissed, and fondled, and undressed all the way. But we both knew what we wanted. So it wasn't long before we lay on our sides, staring at each other's stomach, sixty-nining the other's nipples for what seemed like hours. It was the kind of sensation that I never wanted to end.

But then I thought of Major Thrace. And although I continued to lick and suck the Captain's nipples, I also began to cry.

THE END