Milk In The Stardust

      Strutting around topless as a barmaid wasn’t her first idea, but the pay was good, and at least she wasn’t being asked to blow her clients. Her top set of hefty breasts were tear-dropped shaped, and rather plump, while her lower pair were still covered by the modified corset. The glossy black sheen of the costumes material reflected the reddish overhead lights. Tiny leather straps bound the corset around the arch of her lower back, and its modified trim gave something for her top bosom to rest on, rather than dangling uncomfortably for hours on end.

      Danicus station seemed to always bask in reddish light, externally from an aging red giant, and internally from the chosen luminescence on the walls. It was a soft amber hue that glistened off her skin, giving her a stunning visage while strutting up and down the isles. 

      The ‘Broken Pearl’ was just one of many brothels masquerading as a tavern on the station, but it just so happened to be one that respected its employes. Skye knew the owner well, and after providing more than one sexual favor she was allowed a measure of safety in his employment. 

      There was nothing she could do about the customers slapping her rear cheeks, or cupping her breasts as she poured them drinks, but in truth the attention was gratifying. ‘Better to be wanted than to be ignored,’ as her mother would say.

      Born with sensitive skin, Skye wouldn’t complain about being touched, or even groped for that matter, as long as nobody went any farther. Her ovulation cycle was in its second peak this month, and Skye had to remind herself repeatedly not to give in to her carnal temptations. Her body was young and ripe, ready for impregnation, and with her child bearing hips it was hard keep the mens eyes away from her supple hourglass frame. 

      “How much?” An aged man wearing a rough jumpsuit asked her, noticing the exquisite wine she was carrying. 

      Skye offered him a pleasant smile, thankful that his gaze only fixated on her chest for a split second rather than latch on and ogle her. “Twenty clits for a single glass, thirty for two,” she answered politely. The wine was overpriced, but there was little room for haggling, given the shortages. 

      “Twenty clits?” The customer sighed with disappointment. He eyed his empty cup, and grumbled to himself before placing a small jumble of tin coins onto the table. 

      Skye’s smile grew, looking at the tiny pile of coins. Her tits perked with excitement as she bent over to pour the wine to fill his cup. Her swelling breasts dangled openly in the crisp cool air like juicy tear drops before the customers very eyes. 

      Skye always felt a sense of pride for her perfectly formed, well rounded, breasts. Her lower set were a tad perky, and a lot more firm than her higher pair. The larger top set laid over the bottom pair when she stood straight, and they had a slight under curve which only helped demonstrate how natural they were. 

      What wasn’t natural was the damn butt plug lodged in her ass, squeezing her anal passage tightly, while a bunny tail was happily wiggling on display. Skye was happy that at least she wasn’t wearing the clamps, her nipples were far too sensitive for that kind of punishment.

      The customer’s eyes looked tired, and Skye couldn’t help but notice how sunken they appeared in his puffy eyelids. This was a man who had endured far too many hours of toil, just to scrap up enough clits to sit alone in a dingy tavern for a drink. 

      It was hard not to feel some pity for him, and Skye reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. Customers weren’t allowed to touch the serving girls, but there were no rules against the servers touching the customers. 

      A sense of surprise took hold, and a spark lit up behind his eyes.

      “It’s ok,” Skye took another step forward, letting her free breasts hang happily in front of him. She could feel his breath brushing against the tiny fine hairs on her skin, and it tickled her cherry colored nipples. “Come. I’ll let you have a sip. Just be gentle, they’re sensitive.”

      A tear strolled down the customers face, and Skye couldn’t help but feel greater sympathy for him. She glided her hand behind his head, as an added comfort, and Skye whimpered as she felt his lips latch onto one of her nubs. A soothing volume of sustenance flowed from deep reservoirs of motherly glands in her chest, and gently washed down the mans throat. 

      Typically, this kind of service went for a premium, but Skye was happy to provide the downtrodden, and weary, with a moment of relief. As he sucked from her teat, Skye made sure to finish filling up his cup, which proved a challenge as the pleasure jerked at her senses. A new wetness began to roll down her thighs, her body responding to the feeling of having his tongue play with her puffy areola.

      The costume clung tightly to her flat stomach, and threatened to slip down to expose her lower breasts after leaning forward for so long. Reluctantly, Skye had to draw herself back. The customer fought to keep suckling on her leaking nipple, and took a final slurp before being forced to lean back in his seat.

      “Bless you lady.” His voice sounded a little more alive, his throat a little less dry.

      “My pleasure,” Skye shot him a wink. “Enjoy your drink.”

      She almost forgot to take the small collection of clits on the table, and swore to herself in frustration. With the small pocket of change in hand, she took a step back, and strolled away, seeking the next table to offer service too. A thin trickle of moisture ran down her right breast, and many onlookers couldn’t help but stare. 

      Skye knew it was probably a mistake to let the man sup from her freely, but her generous nature got the better of her. She was smart enough to know that she couldn’t let it happen again, at least not anytime soon. It was so easy to be taken advantage of on this station, easier than being cornered in a back alley, or knifed in the markets in fact. Still, Skye was happy to relieve the suffering of one sorry soul before her shift was up.

     When she was finished serving wine, Skye returned to the tavern barkeep with a pouty look on her face. Her breasts ached, which always seemed to happen whenever someone took a drink from them. Sitting on a narrow stool, her thighs resting on the padded surface so that her rear cheeks, and the butt plug was untouched, the beautiful woman leaned forward, letting her top breasts rest on the sticky bar table while her lower pair pressed against the rubber corners. 

      “Long night?” Oliver was busy cleaning one of the glass cups nearby, looking just as tired as the poor sods at their tables. The lights flickered overhead, and Skye couldn’t help but realize that her nipple was still leaking.

      “Can I get a wipe please?” Skye asked the Oliver with a dreary expression. 

      He looked at her, too tired to be aroused, and simply offered her a nod. “Sure thing Skye, just give me a second to find something clean.”

      Something clean, those were the words of the day. On Danicus it was almost impossible to ever find something clean. The air itself had been recycled thousands of times over, making it smell like dust and mildew in every crevice of the station. As if that wasn’t bad enough, If one sat next to one of the conditioning units they would find themselves with a violent cough. 

     Oliver was a tall lanky man, with pale skin and almond eyes. His long face betrayed him, making him seem malnourished and strung out. His hair had been trimmed to the scalp in order to fend off lice, a sign that he never made enough clits for decent shampoo. As a woman, blessed with certain qualities, Skye was able to find decent toiletries at a discount, provided she earned that discount through sexual favors. Even still, Skye kept her hair short.

      He returned with a small wad of gauze, and while they weren’t fresh they were at least cleaned. Skye took a small pad and pressed it firmly against the bud of her top right breast, holding it firmly until the lactation finally ceased. Until then she eyed Oliver warily. She could tell he was thirsty.

      While her sympathy for the elder patron had won out, such feelings weren’t shared with Oliver. Skye had tried to be generous with him once before, only for it to turn sour. Oliver’s appetites were…not easily satiated. It was only a week ago when she offered him her milk, and he not only guzzled her dry, but pinned her to the floor. His raving desires took hold, and Skye could do nothing as he took full advantage of her kindness.

      She was terrified of getting pregnant immediately following the incident, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief following her next cycle. Despite the violation, Skye hadn’t told anybody about it, feeling too ashamed about how much she enjoyed Olivers usurpation. Evidently, Oliver felt similar.

      Skye knew there was something wrong with how she enjoyed the way he took control, especially with the way he slammed his scorching hot manhood deep inside her loins. It was as if all the dopamine in her system surged forth in a flood, and stars lit up her eyes when her body screamed with pleasure. He made her climax multiple times, and she could practically visualize her womb opening to receive his seed. When he had finished inside her, Skye wanted him to continue dominating her. Even when he slapped her on the cheek the pain only complemented the pleasure, and Skye goaded him to do it again.

      She knew she should’ve felt angry, hateful, or even deeply betrayed with the way he treated her. Instead, that encounter stirred something in her that was hard to forget. The feeling of being so ruthlessly manhandled, power stripped from her without a hint of mercy, spiced things up to a whole new level. Skye could remember how it felt having his spear plunging into her warmth, the head of his shaft kissing her cervix, and Skye found herself wanting him to use her however he pleased again. 

      It had to be something with her nature; Skye knew there were many women like herself, born from the Voluptas genome, that preferred being taken advantage of. Submission seemed to be encoded in her genes, and whenever someone threatened to abuse her, it only sent a jolt of excitement through her soul. Even now, her heart skipped a beat just thinking of how Oliver could seize her. It wouldn’t take much. Skye could practically smell the animalistic lust barely being held back inside Oliver’s pants. All it would take is a bit of goading, and maybe…he would thrust his pipe in her face again.

      For all these reasons she hadn’t run away from the tavern following Olivers assault. In fact, Skye wondered if she could stir such aggression again? She pressed the thought down, ignoring the knot in her stomach, and reminded herself that just a single drop of his seed could prove fruitful. She got lucky once before, and doubted she could be so lucky again.

      “Are you alright?” Oliver asked, noticing how she stared at him with a twitchy smile.

      No, she decided without saying a word. Oliver might’ve lost control before, which was almost forgivable for any man on this station, but he wasn’t naturally inclined to do so again. She could tell there was a hint of shame behind his eyes, and he kept himself at arms length. He might even feel guilty, or maybe he was simply worried that she could blackmail him to the boss for his molestation. 

      “Of course,” Skye shrugged, feeling the weight of her mammaries shifting with her shoulders, and looked at a glass. “Could you make me one of your special drinks? With the special sauce?”

      “Special drinks?” Oliver looked up at her in surprise.

      Skye licked her lips, already imagining the taste of his seed in a nice vodka tonic, “Yes please.”

      Oliver caught his breath, then took the glass before going to the back room. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

      “I’ll be waiting.”

      Skye wiped her breast clean once the stream finally relinquished. It was so easy to draw it out, and so hard to make it stop. It had always been like that, ever since she came of age, and her body began producing. 

      She left the pad on the table, and noticed how it was soiled through. Skye then leaned back slightly, and grimaced as her swelling breasts bounced from the sudden movement. Her lower breasts also ached from the shift in pressure, the padding of her corset straining to hold onto her girth, but Skye could ignore them for now.  

      There were other servers there as well, each doing there best to keep the patrons comfortable. Some were just like herself, women of the Voluptas sub-type, while others were spared from the mutated genome. There was one girl that Skye was wary of, for she may be of the Fascinum sub-type, although she couldn’t be sure. It was hard to tell, but the skirt around that particular girls hips wasn’t typical, and could hide a pearly spear easily enough.

      Most the serving girls were fairly normal, with varying degrees of experience. Some enjoyed being eye candy for needy patrons, while others clearly felt uncomfortable strutting around bare chested. 

      There was a shy girl clinging to the corners of the room, the corset covering only her sternum so that her small perky breasts were on display. She fought the urge to cover herself, and seemed quick to jerk aside whenever someone took notice of her. Skye knew the poor thing wouldn’t last long in this business unless she learned to be comfortable wearing stuff like this. 

      Watching the young server scout along the wall, Skye’s eyes slowly drifted away to a new patron just now entering the tavern. The man was tall with a thick muscular chest, broad shoulders, and a strikingly handsome face. His skin was rather pale, and his dark brown hair ran down the length of his back. His eyes were like sharpened daggers, bearing the look of a man who had strangled the life out of someone all too recently. The vest he wore was opened down the center revealing scarred muscle tissue, and crude tattoos. Skye found herself salivating at the thought of his thick hands held tightly around her throat while ripping the corset crudely from her sweaty skin.

      “You shouldn’t stare.” Oliver tapped the wooden table to grab her attention. He had returned from the back room with a glass of semen in hand, and was already working on Skye’s vodka tonic.

      “What?” A thick bead of sweat strolled down in-between her cleavage upon noticing the thick wad of cream in the cup. For some reason semen suited her palate, and she relied upon it heavily to use as a protein supplement for her daily meals. Most women of the Voluptas sub-type were the same, although Skye wouldn’t deny she enjoyed the taste. 

      Given the lack of sustainable nutrients on the station, semen and milk were often exchanged. Mothers milk was sometimes more expensive than water, just as male semen was sometimes more expensive than gas. For Oliver to offer his special sauce so willingly was a sign of how he wished to make amends, and Skye decided right then that one day she would return the favor.

      “That’s Brickwork Killjoy,” Oliver’s eyes glanced over to the man Skye had been looking at.  “He’s got a reputation in the sub levels. Strange really, I’m not used to seeing him here.” His voice was a whisper.

      “Brickwork Killjoy?” The name was obviously a street nickname, but that didn’t suit his handsomely patrician face, and coy smile. 

      “I’ve heard he likes killing people with bricks, hence the name.” Oliver tapped the bar again hoping to keep Skye’s attention grounded.

      Once he finished mixing her drink, Oliver carefully added his special ingredient to the mixture, and Skye could feel her hands getting clammy while watching it sink to the bottom. Like white jelly, it clouded the contents of the alcoholic beverage, and Oliver topped it off with a small umbrella.

      Skye nearly forgot about Brickwork Killjoy as he lead his crew to an empty table and took a seat. She certainly didn’t notice the small girl they dragged in with them. Naked, her skin was a shade of pink that definitely wasn’t human. Two sharp horns protruded from her scalp, and a whip-lash tail extended out from her skirt. 

      Even as Skye took a long sip of her drink, enjoying the salty aftertaste, Oliver was up in arms over the customers bringing in a Suklean slave from the lower brothels. 

      “Hey, this is a tavern not a pleasure house. No outside workers allowed.” Oliver was already reaching a hand under the table, where a plasma carbine was kept, just in case the man calling himself Brickwork Killjoy took offense. 

      He did.

      Skye froze in panic as he saw the mercenary jump up from the seat, and pull out a large sidearm from his side holster. He didn’t point it at Oliver, instead he froze while noticing Skye with her lips glued to the rim of her cocktail.

      A spark of recognition seemed to flash before his eyes, and his entire crew had forgotten about the Suklean slave long enough for her to pick the lock of her chains. The slave then rushed out of the room, and half the mercenary crew charged after her while yelling obscenities. 

      “Weird,” Brickwork Killjoy spoke with a strong baritone accent. He fired a round into the air, shattering one of the luminescence lamps, before holstered his gun. “You cost me a nice squeeze barkeep.” 

      “Get out!” Oliver refused to back down.

      Brickwork sneered. “You better pray I get her back, or I’ll be taking that slut next to you as recompense.”

      Skye knew he was serious, and there was probably little anyone could do about it, but still, she found some comfort in how Oliver kept his composure. The gunshot had disturbed the peace in the tavern, but it wasn’t long after Killjoy had gone that the serving girls were back in their proper routine.

      “Are you ok?” Oliver asked Skye, noticing the color rising on her face.

      She swallowed, then sat the empty glass down. “I’m fine,” Skye said while playing with the umbrella, having the tooth pick skim up the last bit of cream at the bottom. “I’m just really horny.”