At His Service: Milk & Chains (A Lactation And BDSM Erotic Romance) Read Free Page A

fucking pitiful. An entire city of people, and we can't even tell each other exactly what we're thinking anymore." He pauses for breath, and I quickly feel myself becoming absorbed by his impassioned tirade. Finally, Mr. Cole begins to open up to me; maybe I can do my job today after all. "My accountants, my managers, the politicians and the authorities. Even the therapists and psychologists. Shit, I was sure I'd find some slither of honesty amongst those people. It turns out I couldn't."
     
    He finally quits pacing, coming to a stop beside me. I look up, and see him peering down upon me like some thickly built demigod, the lighting fixture above him illuminating the back of his head like a makeshift halo, watching me with those warm and understanding eyes.
     
    "Until I met you. You can't even hide your body's urge for honesty."
     
    I feel it; the blood rising to my cheeks, the radiating, sweat-inducing heat beginning to permeate my skin. He's speaking about my breasts, betraying any hope I had of hiding the intense attraction I feel toward this man. They're honest, that's for sure.
     
    I don't know what to say. So I just stay quiet, watching him from below, as he paces back over to the door, and opening it slightly, sticks his head out into the corridor to call to my erstwhile workmates.
     
    "Thanks folks. You can go home. A day off, on full-time pay. Please come back to work tomorrow."
     
    And with that terse announcement, he blocks off the rest of the world entirely. Now it's just the two of us, looking upon each other with patiently expectant, yet dubious eyes. The blood courses through my veins; my heart beats as rapidly as I've ever known it. What does Spencer Cole want with me? He obviously finds me interesting, like I'm some billionaire's plaything. Does he think he can just buy me, and use me like this?
     
    "I want to give you a job, Elizabeth," he finally says, his tone deep and courteous, and his eyes scanning my every limb, every twitch and every motion. "I want you to be by my side. My own, personal, counselor. I want your advice and your assistance. I want your honesty."
     
    He walks closer to me, kneels by me, and puts his hand upon my leg, rubbing the soft skin of my thigh through the coarse fabric of my pants. I can feel it; the surge of electricity shooting through me, the twinge of excitement growing between my legs. My nipples harden to a rigid hardness, I can't halt the flow of honest milk for long. I look into his eyes - round, brown, and burning with a resolute desire, a desire for me. This is the moment in the movies where I'd kiss him. Unfortunately for me, this isn't the movies.
     
    I turn my head, unable to bear the heart-pounding, sweat-summoning intensity of it any longer. I can't stand this. I can't stand any of it. I feel my breasts begin to purr with satisfaction, and realize the inevitable showering of watery milk has begun inside the extra-thick bra I wear. I'm going to stain my shirt before I know it.
     
    "What are you thinking?" he asks, trying to read me with those eyes of his, prying deep within me, into my clothes, and inside my soul. Remembering his previously expressed penchant for honesty, my eager-to-satisfy tongue can only think of one thing.
     
    "I'm turned on." I say, giving up all pretense of resistance to this man I know so barely. Then, turning my face down to my bosom, I quietly signal to him the flooding, onrushing tide of milk that will give away the dark, lusty intentions of my inner conscious for good.
     
    He says nothing. Just grins from ear to ear; a lascivious, salacious smile, that implies every dirty, filthy thought a power hungry man like him must experience. The pressure of his fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh grows deeper, and the buzz between my legs grows more intense. But I'm stuck, paralyzed. I'm so nervous about all of this, I can barely move. I look back up at him with pleading, pitiful eyes, and he surely sees what he has to