"story) Milky coffee (reluc, cann, debreasting)" By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu) URL: https://pastebin.com/ApG4iaxh Created on: Saturday 6th of August 2016 01:53:22 PM CDT Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:29:32 AM UTC story) Milky coffee (reluc, cann, debreasting) « on: Today at 06:10:21 PM » ReplyQuote a complete one-shot. I've been watching a lot of lactation porn recently. enjoy! + “Hello ma'am! Table for one?” Emylia arched an eyebrow at the waitress who had met her. She'd been expecting this, of course, but the reality of being greeted at the door by a stunner in an open-fronted dirndl and shelf bra that lifted and displayed her bare breasts rather than concealing anything was still a delight. The waitress smiled shyly and bit her lip as she noticed the attention on her mammaries. “Table for one,” Emylia agreed. They were on the slow end of the shift, in the mid afternoon and in fact Emylia was the only customer at the moment. She was shown to her table, and the waitress took a quick order for a coffee and then left her to peruse the menu. Emylia studied it politely until the waitress was on her way back, and made a show of turning it over to study the “specials” menu when she knew it would be seen. Sure enough there was a flush of excitement on the waitress' face and she was breathing a little more heavily by the time she deposited a black coffee and sugar on the table. “Would you care for milk, ma'am?” “Yes please.” The waitress smiled prettily and leaned over the table to present her stiff nipples until they were only inches away from the steaming black liquid. “Self-serve or shall I be mother?” she asked. Emylia unbuttoned her own blouse. “Serve me please, and I'll make my own contribution,” she said. The waitress licked her lips and smiled as Emylia scooped her breasts out of her bra and let them hang free before she leant forward until they were presented to the coffee cup as well, only an inch at most from the waitress'. Her nipples stiffened as she felt the moist heat of the coffee play over them, and with a smile Emylia began to massage and squeeze herself. The waitress followed suit, and in seconds there were four steady streams of milk dripping into Emylia's coffee. Neither of them were too careful, Emylia smiled at the feeling as the waitress' warm breast milk sprayed over her breasts and dampened her nipples. Pretty soon, the coffee was a nice creamy brown. Emylia stopped squeezing and cleaned herself up by squishing her boobs upwards so she could suck her nipples dry before returning them to her bra. The waitress simply took a step closer and presented her breasts to her customer. Emylia happily sucked on her nipples, drawing a little more milk out of them which she drank with a smile. “...And have you decided what you would like to eat, ma'am?” the waitress asked. “I was thinking… these.” The waitress gulped. “Are you sure, ma'am? My breasts are valued at twenty thousand dollars each, paid up front and there are no refunds.” “I'm sure. Both of them, please.” “...Ye-uh-yes. M-ma'am.” “There's a good girl.” Emylia sat back and watched as the waitress vanished through the staff door. A minute or so later she returned with another waitress in tow and a transaction machine. The device could take contactless credit cards, implanted credit chips or any other form of digital currency at just a tap. When handed to her, Emylia added a ten thousand dollar gratuity to the “tips” window and then, while making intense and level eye contact with her waitress-slash-dinner, she reached down and lifted the front of her skirt, revealing her bare pussy and the credit tag on the ring piercing through her clit. It vibrated slightly as she swiped it against the pad and made her eyes flutter. The second waitress – checked the transaction. “And… authorized. Sorry, girl” she added to her colleague, who was trembling. “It's… okay. So, ma'am. Ho-how would you like your meal prepared?” “Thin self-slice, please.” Emylia requested, choosing the most painful and drawn-out preparation. “And I'll take them in the creamy breast milk sauce.” “Of c-course, ma'am.” The waitress nodded. “Will there be anything else?” “No thank you.” The waitress licked her lips, gulped, nodded and followed her colleague into the back area again. Emylia had nearly finished her coffee when her dinner preparation began. The waitress returned, naked except for an apron that covered her belly and thighs but nothing else. Behind her came her coworker pushing a cart with a mobile grill, a chopping board and a steaming clay pot full of the breast milk sauce. Emylia knew that there was a first aid kit hidden in the cart too, as well as the warm plate her meal would be served on. Her chosen girl had the glazed expression of a woman walking to her execution. Emylia could hardly blame her – she doubted the poor thing had ever anticipated that anybody would pony up the five figure payment needed to do this to her. Her job must have seemed so safe. They arrived at the table, and meat-girl licked her lips nervously and slowly presented her full milky breasts to the holding rings on the cutting board. Her colleague helped her squeeze them through the metal frame, and then picked up the three long metal skewers that would secure them. “Sorry girlfriend,” she said sympathetically, and presented the first skewer to the top hole in the left breast ring. The meat girl gritted her teeth and made a pained noise as the skewer first dimpled and then sank into and through her breast until it tented and then eruptedfrom the opposite side and was guided into place through the hole on the opposite side. She was now pinned into place. The procedure was repeated on the far side, and then one last time through both breasts from left to right. By the time the third skewer emerged from the side of her right breast she was shaking and pale from the pain and her mascara was starting to run. Her colleague dried her eyes and mopped up the black tears, and handed her the knife before stepping back to watch sympathetically. Emylia met her dinner's eyes as she considered the knife she was holding. “Th...” she choked, cleared her throat and started over. “Thin slice, ma'am.” “That's right, dear.” The girl closed her eyes, swallowed, and then presented the blade to her own left nipple. She took a deep breath to steel herself and then, in one swift and decisive moment, sliced the little nub of flesh off her body. Her face immediately contorted in pain and she drew a shocked breath, but she bravely touched the edge of the knife to her right nipple and this time she didn't hesitate, but rid herself of her nipple quickly and ruthlessly. It was a very sharp knife. She barely needed to apply any pressure at all to make it sink into her flesh and slice away first her areolae, then slices of equal thickness from behind that. Emylia loved watching these kinds of performances. This was far from being the first girl she would ask to debreast herself slowly and painfully, but there were beautiful similarities and interesting differences between each one. This one had a good pain tolerance, or at least a good instinct for how to get herself through this, and she quickly got into the meditative rhythm of mutilating herself where she just cut and cut and cut, staring meditatively at her own flesh as it parted in front of the blade. Her teeth were clenched and her breathing heavy, and she wept openly with her colleague occasionally stepping forward to dry her face, but like a trooper she kept at it as slice after slice of succulent breast tissue still moist with milk peeled away onto the plate. She got so into the trance, in fact, that when she scraped her knife against the skewers and swayed free with nothing left to hold her in place, it seemed to confuse her. “Thank you dear,” Emylia told her. “That's enough.” The knife fell out of the girl's fingers as she realised that her ordeal was over. The other waitress stepped forward and sprayed medical solution all over the huge bleeding wounds on her chest. In seconds the blood stopped flowing and, Emylia knew, in a few days time the stimulating enzymes in the spray would have prompted new skin to grow. A week from now, the poor girl would have the chest of a little girl minus the nipples, but that was nothing that modern cosmetic surgery couldn't fix. She'd never produce milk again, but that was hardly Emylia's concern. Instead she watched with interest as the other waitress quickly flipped her colleague's severed slices onto the sizzling grill and gave them just a light dusting of kosher salt and black pepper to bring out the flavor, along with an olive oil rub. The slices were so thin that it took hardly any time at all for them to cook to tender perfection with just a little crisping of the skin around their edges, and they were reassembled on Emylia's plate like a stack of curious pancakes, with the two nipple nubs impaled gently in place on top with their own metal skewers, before the two disembodied, sliced and cooked breasts were poured all over with the milk sauce, garnished, and then handed to their original owner, who gazed wistfully at them for just a few seconds, and then handed them to Emylia. “Please enjoy your meal, ma'am.” “Stay here and watch me eat, dear.” Emylia instructed her, as the other girl bustled away with the cart. There was no pleasure in the world quite like watching a woman's expression as she watched her own breasts being devoured. “...Yes ma'am...” With a smile, Emylia skewered a few slices with her fork and then sliced off a section to eat. Rather than eating it herself, she offered the meat to its former owner. “I always think it's unfair for a girl not to know how she tastes.” “I… couldn't possibly, ma'am...” The waitress said. “I insist, dear.” The girl stared at her with a heavy expression, then obediently opened her mouth and leaned forward. She picked her former flesh off the fork with a delicate slide of her full lips, and stood up. This was the best part. The flash of guilty pleasure always went straight to Emylia's cunt and moistened it. “See?” she asked. “Now how do you taste?” “I taste… good” the girl admitted. “Good. Sit with me and eat the rest of that breast, dear. My treat.” “Ma'am-!” “I INSIST, dear.” “...yes ma'am.” The waitress glanced guiltily at the kitchen door, sighed, then sat down. She stared at the food in front of her for a long time, and then plucked the nipple from the top and ate it with a guilty expression. Emylia gave her an encouraging smile and tucked into hers. She made an appreciative "mm!" as soon as she tasted it - the meat was succulent, moist and rich. “I plan on doing this myself some day,” she said conversationally. “Eating my own breast. Someday soon.” “It's… different.” the waitress conceded. They finished their meal in silence, with Emylia polishing her plate off with the last slice. Half an hour before, there had been two perfect milk-producing breasts. Now, their donor watched with a blank-faced expression of profound sadness as the last morsel of her breasts was folded luxuriously into Emylia's mouth, to be chewed, savored and finally swallowed. Where her tits had been, there was now only a clean plate and a satisfied diner. There was a dull edge to her voice as she asked a question, clearly by rote. “Was my meat satisfactory, ma'am?” Emylia dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before folding it and dropping it onto her plate with a smile. “You know perfectly well that it was delicious, dear. thank you.” “Thank you, ma'am.” the poor thing was clearly trying to be resentful and failing. Emylia knew that she was feeling guilty about enjoying her autophagia. She stood up. “Shall I get you the dessert menu?” Emylia shook her head. “Just a coffee, dear. And, one last thing?” The waitress went very still and licked her lips nervously. “Yes ma'am?”