Elf Milk

---

The princess was still deathly ill, and Arlette was running out of ideas. She stood at the girl's bedside, gnawing nervously at a fingernail and trying to ignore the stares of the guards. They were judging her for her inability to find a cure, she was sure of it. Arlette put her hand to the princess's forehead, noticing the girl's temperature. Her brow was moist with sweat. She was due to participate in the ceremony that would mark her eighteenth birthday, where certain official powers would be conferred to her, but it seemed doubtful she would even be able to stand, let alone take part in such a lengthy event. She groaned, semi-lucid, and rolled on to her side. Arlette stepped back from the bed, and turned to address the guards.

"I'll need to do more research," she said. "Until then, make sure she's kept comfortable."

She exited the bedroom, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor as she felt the guards glaring at her. They didn't understand how difficult a situation this was. She set off for the library, hoping desperately that she'd be able to find some relevant information.

Arlette considered herself far too young for her position as royal alchemist. Her apprenticeship under her father had been cut tragically short by an out-of-control chemical fire that had consumed an entire laboratory. She had returned one evening to find the place reduced to so much smouldering rubble, and had been present when the castle guards had pulled her father's charred bones from the debris. Since then, she had become an autodidact out of necessity, having to balance studies and experiments with her official duties. It was hard work, and had left her completely unprepared to deal with the princess's recent affliction. There was far too much at stake to contemplate failure, and yet everything she had tried so far had proved useless. She was running out of time.

She nodded to the librarian as she entered, and headed for the desk she had occupied during the last fortnight. The staff had been instructed not to interfere with, or tidy, any of the documents she had set aside. She very carefully removed a small book from atop a precarious tower of papers, and cursed loudly as it collapsed anyway. Someone shushed her, and she made a rude gesture in response. She sat down at the desk, and rested her head on the papers, as if trying to absorb the knowledge directly through her forehead. 

Arlette squinted at some note she had scrawled, delirious from lack of sleep on a previous night. She sat up, read what she had written, and then set about locating the relevant book, a collection of papers on the physiology of the Fey creatures. Hopefully she'd be able to pick up her train of thought once she found it.

Half an hour later, covered in dust, Arlette clambered down from a bookshelf with the book in hand. She flicked through its pages, scanning for the relevant piece of information that her previous self had concluded was hidden within. She reached the chapter on elven physiology, and found her answer soon after. Practically trembling with excitement, she went to the captain of the castle guard, and described what she needed. A plan was formulated, and squads of guards were dispatched to the surrounding villages. Arlette returned to her own bedroom, collapsing onto her bed without bothering to get undressed first. She was asleep before she could worry about whether or not her idea would work.

---

Mila kissed her father on the cheek before setting off, turning around again to wave at him, before the path turned and her home was out of sight. There was dew on the grass, and, this early, the morning air was still cool and fresh. Mila hoped that the selection at today's market would be better than last week. She didn't understand how the humans could be satisfied living off such stodgy foods as bread and cured meat. Some of the vendors had laughed in her face when she had enquired about loganberries or rye crackers, and the idea that one might drink juice obtained from fruits seemed completely alien to them - unless those juices had been transformed into some dark, bitter brew by months of fermentation. Despite these cultural differences, many elves saw opportunity in integrating with the human communities, and as a result, here she was. She would just have to try and make the most of it.

The walk to the market square took half an hour or so, and once she arrived she set about trying to find something palatable to take home. At the nearest stall, flies buzzed around half a dozen rabbits, hung up by their feet. She politely suppressed a scowl, and moved on. She was trying to pick out unbruised, intact apples from a basket when she felt a gloved hand on her shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss."
Mila looked up. The hand was that of a city guardsman, no, a member of the royal guard. It was rare to see them this far from the castle. He was accompanied by three others, all looking at her gravely.
"C-can I help you?" 
"May I just confirm that you are, in fact, an elf, miss?" 
The guard's eyes flickered momentarily off to the side, no doubt to glance at Mila's long, pointed ears.
"Yes," she said, cautiously.
"We'd like you to come with us. It's a matter of national importance."
"Right now?"
He nodded."
"Am I in trouble?"
The guard shook his head. He carried on shaking it while Mila asked if he could tell her how long she would be gone, or whether she could contact her family first. They offered no more answers, and soon she found herself gently, but firmly, guided away, still confused about what exactly was going on. 

---

"We've got one, miss. Wake up. Hey!"
Arlette swam up from the depths of her dreamless sleep, surfacing into the world of harsh, bright sunlight and responsibilities and things that needed to be attended to Right Now. She opened her eyes and realised she had not moved at all during the night, and then she noticed the eager face of the guard, who was leaning uncomfortably close. She flinched back, startled.

"One what?" 
"An elf, just like you asked. They found her at a market this morning. The squad's waiting with her outside your laboratory now."
Arlette sprang from the bed. All traces of morning grogginess disappeared. "Tell them I'll be there in ten minutes."

---

Mila fidgeted nervously while she waited with the guards. An hour's brisk walk had brought them to the castle, and she had been hurried inside, escorted through opulent, marble-clad chambers and corridors, and eventually brought here, to a wing of the structure that seemed to be tacked on to the side of it. Metal pipes ran along the walls in this part of the castle, and there were strange, mechanical sounds emanating from somewhere. They had been standing before the metal door, the word "laboratory" stencilled upon it, for about a quarter of an hour. The guards had said nothing to her since entering. She had caught one of them staring at her ears, and he hadn't even looked away, seeming completely unconcerned at his rudeness. She had found herself blushing, and averting her own gaze. Her people were a long way from fully integrating with the humans' society.

A girl came striding down the corridor, wearing an arcane-looking robe, with a book under one arm. From what Mila knew about humans, she estimated that she was somewhere in her twenties. The girl looked up and down Mila's body once, then nodded to the guards. She was brought inside the room, and then the guards departed, leaving her alone with the human girl, who set her book down on a table.

The room was cluttered despite being quite large. Glassware was strewn about the place: bottles and flasks and larger, more elaborate pieces of equipment, the purposes of which Mila could only guess at. Books and papers were stacked here and there, having subsided in some places into disorganised piles. On the floor in the centre of the room, someone had got halfway through erasing the runic design of a magic circle. The girl pointed to a chair, and indicated that Mila should sit down. She did so, and the girl came and sat upon the table, next to her.

"The princess needs your help," she said.
Mila wondered what role she could possibly be here to fulfil.
"She's deathly ill, oh, I'm Arlette by the way, the royal alchemist," she continued, "and she requires a medicine with quite specific ingredients." She paused. "One of which, you can provide."

Mila didn't think she possessed anything out of the ordinary that a royal alchemist wouldn't have access to, and then it dawned on her that the girl might well be referring to some part of Mila's own body. She had heard about wizards harvesting the blood of elves for use in anti-agathic serums, in an attempt to exploit their unusually long life spans. Her guts went cold. She looked at the human girl uneasily.

She apparently noticed Mila's expression of concern. "Nothing gruesome, don't worry. You won't be harmed."
"Then, what is it you need?"
"I need to harvest some of your milk," the girl said.
"Milk?" 

Mila was old enough to bear a child, but she hadn't done so. Those were the only possible circumstances that could involve her producing milk. She explained as much to Arlette.

"I have no children," she said, "so it doesn't sound like I can be of any help to you."
"Doesn't matter. There are ways to get around that. Would you mind taking off your blouse, please?"
"Here? Now?"
"Nobody else is going to see, it's just us. It'll be quick, I promise."

Mila stood up, and disrobed reluctantly. This 'matter of national importance' was becoming increasingly bizarre. She crossed her arms over her naked chest self-consciously. Arlette, meanwhile, was reviewing something in the book that she had brought. She hopped down from the table.
"Just stand there," she said, "and I'm afraid you're going to have to stop covering yourself, just rest your hands by your sides. That's it. Try and relax."
Mila was sure that the girl's gaze had lingered on her breasts perhaps a little longer than was necessary. Arlette spoke some magical incantation that Mila didn't understand, moving her hands in elaborate patterns, and as she completed the spell, her palms took on a faint glow.
"I'm going to need to touch them now," she said. "It's not going to hurt."
She placed one palm over each of Mila's breasts, and Mila was unable to prevent herself from blushing. This was the first time any hands had been there besides her own.

The spell discharged into Mila's chest with an electric surge, and the glowing subsided. Arlette lowered her hands.
"Feel any different?" she asked.
"They feel a bit heavier, perhaps? I don't really know." The effect was subtle. There was the faint suggestion of a certain tenderness in Mila's breasts. Her nipples seemed to be standing slightly more proud.
"Let me try something."
Arlette cupped the underside of Mila's breast with her fingers, and gently rubbed the upper surface with her thumb. To the surprise of both girls, a squirt of milk issued forth from Mila's nipple.
"It worked!" Arlette laughed delightedly. "Oh, this is an excellent result. Look at that!" she said, giving Mila's breast another squeeze. A fine stream of droplets arced through the air and landed on the tiled floor. "Brilliant. Now we just need to collect enough for the remedy."

Arlette rummaged through a box of glassware, leaving Mila to contemplate the transformation that her body had undergone. The sensation of producing the milk was strange, but what concerned her more were her body's responses elsewhere. There was a certain pressure, a kind of pleasant warmth, in a particularly intimate area. It intensified if she squeezed her thighs together. Mila didn't know what to make of it. Meanwhile, the girl had found a mason jar and had set it on the table, lid open. It was worryingly large, looking like it could hold about a pint of liquid. 

"Let's get this filled," she said. "Do you think you can take care of it yourself?"
"I think so."

Mila leaned over the table, allowing one breast to hang above the mouth of the jar. She took it in her hand, and squeezed in the same manner Arlette had done. Nothing happened.
"No, you have to sort of push downwards with your thumb, then out."
She tried again, still nothing. There followed a few frustrating minutes where Arlette seemed to be giving her increasingly nonsensical instructions, until finally she was forced to give up.
"Oh, here, just let me do it," she said.
Mila looked away as she felt the touch of the girl's hand, but a small stream of milk did indeed come forth and splash against the bottom of the container. Arlette tugged again, and there was another surge. The tingling deep in Mila's body, somewhere below her abdomen, also intensified. Apparently unable to do it with her own hands, she resigned herself to being milked by the other girl.

"Am I supposed to be feeling anything else?" she said.
"Like what?" Arlette established a rhythm of tugging, releasing her grip, and then once more squeezing the fluid from Mila's breast. Liquid began to splash into the jar.
"Down... down there," said Mila. She blushed from what she was describing, as well has having another girl fondling her so shamelessly and perfunctorily. "It feels strange."
Arlette cocked her head to one side, not breaking stride in her milking. "I suppose it could have more general effects of, um," (she lowered her voice) "of a sexual nature. Because of what's happening to the body, there are certain associations, you know... things." Mila noticed that Arlette's cheeks had gone red during her description, and she was no longer making eye contact.
She tugged again, and this time Mila let out a gasp. The feeling was intensifying. While the sensation in her breasts was strange, she couldn't deny that it was now taking on a certain pleasurable aspect as well.

"Let's just keep going," the girl said, "and we can analyse the effects later. I haven't done this before, so it's actually quite interesting. Are you okay? You look flushed."
Mila nodded, biting her lip. Her legs were trembling. It felt like she needed to pee, but that wasn't it. There was an overwhelming sense of something built-up, some kind of potential energy growing and pulsating in her nethers. Each squeeze of her breast added a little to that sensation. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of her own, laboured breathing, the splash of the milk into the jar, and Arlette talking about something or other, it didn't matter what. 

"Can you change to the other one?" she panted, "it's getting a bit sore."
"Oh, right, sorry."

The jar was shifted a few inches to the left, and the process started anew with Mila's other, unmolested teat. She was resting on her elbows now, head hanging down, gritting her teeth and in complete incomprehension of what was happening to her body. Her thighs squirmed. Some kind of wetness seemed to have manifested in her undergarments. The milking continued. 

"All right, it looks like we're about done, just need to-"
"No!" Mila was surprised the desperation in her own voice, "don't stop! Not now!"
"What? Why?"
"The way..." she gasped, "the way it feels, I can't describe it. Something needs to finish. It doesn't feel over yet."
"Oh." Arlette thought for a moment. "Oh. I see. Would you call it a sort of tingling sensation?"
"Yes."
"A kind of pressure, like something needs to be released?"
"Yes!"
"Hmm, I didn't expect the side effects to be this pronounced. But I think I know what's going on. What if I do this?"

Arlette sealed up the jar, now filled almost to the brim with creamy, white liquid, and set it carefully to one side. She came around so that she was standing directly behind Mila, and reached forward to take one breast in each hand. She squeezed them both at the same time, and two jets of warm milk spattered against the tabletop. Mila let out a cry.

"Don't stop!"

Arlette continued to squeeze and palpate Mila's tender breasts, which were turning pink from the exertion. Her milk continued to issue forth into the spreading pool on the table, eventually reaching the edge and trickling down onto the floor. The sense of impending release was overwhelming now, every squirt from her nipples bringing her closer. One particularly firm tug finally pushed her over the edge, and the ecstatic release washed over Mila's body like a wave. She shrieked and gasped, clenching her thighs together as her whole body shuddered. Then the pressure abated, leaving in its wake a sort of warm glow that suffused her body. She drooped forward onto the table, lying in the still-warm puddle, gasping for breath. She didn't know exactly what had happened, but it felt exquisite.

Half dazed, she eventually gathered her senses, stood up, and cleaned herself with a rag that Arlette handed to her, and put her blouse back on. She winced at the feeling of fabric against her still-tender breasts. She took her first proper look at the full jar of milk, surprised at how much it contained. Arlette seemed happy with the result, too.

"I've got what I need," she said. "So... thanks. Thanks for that."
"Are we going to need to do this again?" 
"I'm not sure. I'll make up the remedy using this, and see if there's any improvement in the princess's condition. I'd appreciate if you could stay for a few days until we can verify the effects, in case we need any more. There'll be a private room where you can sleep. The guards will show you where."
"I see," Mila said coolly, trying to downplay exactly how she felt about the prospect of being milked once again. "I suppose I could stay, for now."