“Oh myfuckinggod,” Andromeda moans, milk streaming steadily under my gentle touch. Her breath heaves with relief, each movement sending a thicker spurt pouring out. The other breast lets out a small, steady stream, and I reach over to give it the same treatment.
Andromeda gasps and writhes.
“Too much?” I ask.
She whimpers, beyond words.
“Too much. Alright. We do this one at a time.” And at this rate, it’s going to take a while.
Now, my free hand is covered in thick, creamy milk. If I’m going to be here for a while, it wouldn’t hurt to start grading her production…
Still working her closer nipple, I press my fingers to my tongue.
It’s perfect. Better than perfect. The grading scale doesn’t go high enough. I moan as I cram my fingers into my mouth, tongue sliding along my skin to gather every drop. When my hand is clean, I hold it under the stream, bringing another palmful of milk to my mouth.
Every handful draws me closer and closer to the source.
Drool and milk run down my chin.
Andromeda’s moans of relief spur me on.
She’ll have no way of knowing this isn’t how it’s usually done…
And with that thought, my inner resistance melts, and I close my mouth around her nipple.
Milk floods my mouth, and I moan in pleasure. Arachnoids have an especially strong craving for milk—most of our natural diet is liquid to begin with.
I drink her down, and she moans with pleasure.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes—ohgod…Oh, I’m going to… I’m going to…”
I yank myself back in the nick of time. Andromeda shakes at the edge of orgasm, milk gushing from both breasts.
“You fucking asshole!”
“You can’t cum yet,” I pant, as frustrated as she is. I tug on my threads to pull her higher so I don’t have to crouch.
“You can’t tell me what I can and cannot do!”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
She fumes at me. Good. I need her back down from the edge.
I switch to her other breast, earning another moan of relief. My palms slide along her stretched skin, but I don’t dare touch her anywhere else.
The first orgasm after transformation causes extreme sensitivity. The pain of milking or of her full breasts would be equally excruciating. I haven’t seen it happen, but I’ve heard of cases where it’s bad enough to cause shock and permanent neural damage.
It iscriticallyimportant that her breasts are drained sufficiently before she climaxes and goes through the hormonal crash that follows.
A tricky thing when her moans make me suck harder and faster, and her shivers compel my hands to clench and knead in her flesh.
Her breath catches, and I jump back, followed by a thick stream of milk that splashes along my chest.
A frustrated noise rumbles in her throat. “God—dammit. You areevil, Sylvus.Fuck.”
I chuckle and smirk. “I’m flattered.” The eager kneading and dripping of my pedipalps belies my cool demeanor.
Her wetness beads on the silk at the front of her hips, and I reach out a leg as the drop falls. I bring my toes to my mouth, tasting her—and now I understand why the ancient humans worshiped the idea of milk and honey.
