by Reed James
Her dusky-pink nipple squired milk. Several thin streams splashed into the dark coffee. She moaned, her face twisting with something that almost resembled orgasmic delight. I shuddered as I watched it splashed into my drink. My nipples throbbed, my bra growing wetter and wetter.
“Just like that, cutie,” she purred. “But you need to add quite a lot more. Just keep milking me. I'm your little human cow barista today.”
“My German milkmaid?” I asked.
“Exactly. So milk me. I love it.” She leaned closer to me, lowering her voice as she added, “It makes me so wet to be milked. So don't stop.”
I squeezed again, my hand sliding down her plump breast, sliding towards her wide areola. Her milk squirted out of her nipple in several streams. Thin, white, and so delicious looking. I smelled something sweet rising above the rich aroma of the coffee.
She whimpered and shuddered, squirming as I kept squeezing her tits, milking her large udders like a human cow. Her face flushed. Her green eyes grew glassier and glassier as squirt after squirt of her milk splashed into my coffee.
The liquid swirled with milky clouds. My heart thudded. My pussy and cock both ached. I wanted to lean down and suck directly from her nipple. I wanted to taste breast milk directly from the source as she cooed and moaned.
“Do it,” she groaned. “I don't mind. Just a quick suck.”
Could she read minds? Or was I drooling that bad as I stared at her dusky nipple.
Not caring that I was in the middle of the coffee house, I leaned over and sucked on her nipple. My lips sealed around her nub. My cheeks hollowed. Her milk squirted into my mouth. Warm cream spilled across my tongue. It had a sweeter flavor to cow milk, with a faint, melony aftertaste. Like cantaloupe. I shuddered, sucking again and again, the delight spilling across my tongue.
“Ooh, cutie,” she groaned, an absolute, orgasmic moan. “Ooh, yes, that's good. Mmm, but no more. You have to pay to enjoy more.”
I didn't want to release her nipple, but she pulled back from me, her nub popping out of my mouth. I panted, sucking in a deep breath, my heart thudding in my chest. That sweet, melony flavor lingered in my mouth, my nipples throbbing.
She tucked her breast back into her blouse and adjusted the bodice of her dirndl. She grabbed a long, silver spoon and stirred up my coffee, mixing her sweet cream into the bitter drink. “Sugar, cutie?”
“Your milk tasted sweet enough,” I said and then flushed at the line.
She just smiled at me as she handed over my cup. “Enjoy, cutie, and...” Her eyes fell on my tits. “Oh, wow, you're lactating.”
My cheeks burned for a different reason. I hunched my arms together, wanting to hide my big breasts and the two wet spots on the front of my pink blouse. My tits throbbed and ached, so swollen now.
“Yeah,” I shifted.
“You're a futa. Right?” She leaned over the counter, staring at my bulging cock. “Yeah, you are. Wow, nature was generous in every way, wasn't she, cutie?”
“I... well... I have the same condition as you. It, uh, can happen, rarely, to futas, too. Those hormones mess us up, also.”
“Wow,” she said. “That's so hot.”
I blinked. That was a new reaction I hadn't expected. “Um, most people just think it's weird.”
“I love busty futas,” she said, leaning back. “And breast milk. And you got both. That's so hot.”
“Thanks,” I said, my emotions buffeting me, sending me reeling in different directions. The sudden impulse to ask her out shot through me. She was so friendly and flirty. I opened my mouth to say that when I realized that she must flirt with all her customers. She was probably fishing for a big tip or something. “Um, how much is the coffee?”
“Oh, yeah, it's $2.19 with tax,” she said. “That's the cost without the special milk and the self-service charge. But don't tell my boss. Cassandra's cool, but her wife is a real penny pincher. And she's the one that runs the day-to-day operations.”
“Right,” I said. “I won't tell.”
“Thanks, cutie.”
I pulled out two folded, crumpled bills from my pocket and found a quarter. Then I pulled out a third dollar and threw it in the tip jar. I headed for a seat, not sure what else to do. What would I do for a job now? I should find a place. I pulled out my phone and...
Fuck, how was I paying my bill for this. I needed a phone to find a job. How else could they call me? And what about rent? Food? I'd have to get food stamps. And there was unemployment, but that was only half of what I made if I was lucky.
I was so fucked.
I sipped my coffee and... Blinked. It was a great roast, the beans not burned, and the milk had sweetened it in a different way than I'd tasted. Not like cream and sugar, but something... nicer. It was a subtle difference, but it had me sipping my coffee more as I struggled to think about my life.
I pulled out my phone, googling for new jobs as I enjoyed my coffee. Maybe I shouldn't be wasting money on it, but I needed something nice after the day I had. I kept seeing adds for lactating women. They didn't want futas. I ignored those, looking for jobs that didn't require me working in public.
Then my embarrassing leaking wouldn't be a problem. Like a warehouse job.
“So, you're the lactating futa?” a bubbly voice asked me.
I looked up to see a futa with curly, brown hair standing before me. She had a sweet smile on her face, a friendly look about her. Beside her stood a tall woman with that was the opposite of friendly. She had a distant, remote look about her, almost staring down her nose at me like she thought she was better than me. She had short, black hair framing her mature and lovely face, her lips pursed into something almost like a hungry smile.
“Y-yeah,” I said, shifting.
“Ashley said you just lost your job,” continued the brunette futa. She sat down across from me. “That has to suck.”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing, the woman still standing over me. “Um, who are you?”
“Right, right,” the futa said, her smile growing. “I'm Cassandra, and that's my wife, Lisa.”
“You can call me Mrs. Owens though,” the woman said, her hazel eyes intense as they stared down past her nose at me. “Why did you lose your job, Miss..?”
“Harmony,” I said. I looked down at my large breasts and the wet spot slowly drying. “I keep leaking. I can't seem to pump enough in a day to stop it. I just have too much milk.”
“Now that's not a problem,” Cassandra said. “If you're working at the right place.”
“Which I wasn't,” I said, shifting. Why were they talking to me? These must be the owners that the barista, Ashley, mentioned. I glanced past Cassandra and spotted the redhead cleaning the counter.
She gave me a big smile.
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I thought that would have been obvious,” Ms. Owens said, her eyes narrowing.
“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows furrowing. “Really? You'd want to hire me?”
“You clearly are lactating,” Ms. Owens said. She licked her lips, her eyes focusing on my breasts.
I felt suddenly so naked before her. I shifted, a tingle racing to the tip of my girl-cock. “But... Wouldn't your customers prefer to milk a woman?”
“We have female customers,” Ms. Owens said. “And not all futas are that... particular. Especially those into lactation. They just enjoy milking HuCows. If you're interested, we can interview you.”
“Well, yes,” I said, my heart thudding. To work with Ashley. To have a job. I bet it paid the same as the last, which wouldn't be hard since I made minimum wage, but I'd also make tips her. “I'd love to interview.”
“Follow,” Ms. Owens said. She turned around, drawing my eyes to the tight pencil skirt hugging her curvy hips and bubbly rump. She sauntered away on heels, a delicious sway to her hips. Her futa-wife stood up and followed while my dick throbbed.
“Good luck, cutie,” Ashley said, giving me a quick wave.
“Th
anks,” I told her as I followed her boss to a door marked: “Employees Only.”
It opened onto a crowded hallway, supplies in crates lining the wall we had to squeeze past to get to their office, which was as cramped as my last boss's. Cassandra and her wife circled the desk, each sitting down on the other side while I sat across from them, so conscious of Mrs. Owens's eyes locked onto my breasts as they jiggled.
I swallowed, my cheeks so hot at the moment. I licked my lips beneath the woman's scrutiny. Her hazel eyes smoldered as she sat with grace. Her futa-wife sat beside her, a big, friendly smile growing across Cassandra’s lips.
“Okay, Harmony,” Cassandra said, “so where were you working?”
I explained about my duties at the electronic box store, emphasizing my experience as both a cashier and customer service. My stomach twisted the entire time, my skin feeling so tight. I really needed this job. Even if it meant I would have to pull out my tits and milk them. For money.
At least they would finally bring me something.
“Excellent,” Cassandra said, nodding her head. “That's sounds just like the attitude we want. It's all about making the customers feel important here.”
“Yep, my top priority,” I said, nodding my head, my blonde ponytail swaying behind me.
“So, what would you do if the customer didn't want to pay to milk your udders?” Cassandra asked me.
I swallowed, wanting to answer the question very carefully. “Well, I would be calm with them, and friendly. I wouldn't lose my temper. I would just explain it's an extra service that takes a bit more time and that requires a little extra money and...” My words trailed off. “And... I...”
A foot rubbed my leg through my khaki pants. It had me flustered. Mrs. Owens smile grew more and more hungry as she stared at me. She licked her lips again, the instep of her foot rubbing up and down my calf, sending tingles racing up my leg to my pussy and futa-dick.
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Owens asked. “You have nothing to be nervous about.”
“We're such a family business here,” Cassandra said, grabbing her wife's hand. “So relax.”
“I'm trying,” I said, as Mrs. Owen's foot rose higher and higher. My heart raced. I wanted to let this futa know what her wife was doing, but...
I needed the job.
“And if the customer kept objecting?” Mrs. Owens asked, her foot at my knee now. “If she was so persistent, just demanding to do things that are totally inappropriate, what then?”
My cheeks burned as her foot slid down my thigh now. She had long legs to reach that far. My pussy clenched, the tingles racing through my bodies. My nipples throbbed. My dick twitched in my panties as she came closer and closer to my crotch.
“I... I would just have to ask her to stop,” I said, staring at Mrs. Owens. “You know, if it was inappropriate.”
“And if she were persistent?” Amusement played on her lips; the type of smile a cat would have right before eating the mouse.
I shiver ran through me. “Well, I would have to... have to insist and...” My voice grew higher pitched as her foot came closer and closer to my crotch. My eyes flicked to Cassandra. “Remind her that she can't just do what she wants.”
“But eventually, she'll do something that crosses the line. Then what?” Mrs. Owens arched her dark eyebrow as her foot found my crotch, rubbing my futa-dick through my slacks, brushing my juicy pussy beneath it. The sole of her foot pressed hard against me, massaging me.
Pleasure shot through my body. I fought a sighing moan caused by the naughty sensation, my girl-dick twitching to the thudding beat of my heart. This couldn't be happening. Her oblivious futa-wife sat beside her as she rubbed her foot on my crotch.
“I'd have to insist that she leave,” I said. “I'd... I'd tell her to leave the shop. Can't... can't have people just doing that.”
“Milking your udders without your permission?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes,” I whimpered. “Or... Or touching me in other places.”
“Exactly,” Mrs Owens said, grinding her foot against me, her seat shifting slightly. Her nipples tented her tight, flowery blouse, drawing my eyes to her round breasts. “We can't have you being taken advantage of.”
My dick ached and throbbed. My face burned so hot. I should say something. Do something. Her futa-wife was right here. It was wrong of me to enjoy this. But... But it felt so good. I clenched my teeth, my face growing flushed, sweat breaking out across my bra.
The pressure swelled in my pussy. The heat growing, warming up my ovaries. The ache spread to the tip of my girl-dick, that throbbing, pulsing need demanding satisfaction. I wanted to cum so badly, and her foot massaged me, rubbing up and down my girth, her heel pressing into my pussy lips, stimulating my juicy labia.
“You look so flustered,” Cassandra said. “Relax, you're doing great, Harmony.”
“Oh, yes, you're just perfect,” purred Mrs. Owens. “And you don't have a problem baring your tits before strangers? Milking them? Or even letting them touch those big udders of yours?”
“I.... No,” I said. “I need the job.”
“Mmm, wonderful,” she said. “We are in need of another afternoon girl to work with Ashley. We lost another one to porn.”
“Uh-huh,” I shivered, shuddered. “Well, I... I don't want to do porn.”
“Good, good,” she purred, grinding her foot hard against my crotch, my dick aching, twitching, that pressure building in me. I sucked in a deep breath. “I want to give you all the incentive to stay here.” Her right hand toyed with the button of her blouse. She casually undid it, showing off more of her cleavage. “I think you'll be perfect. Just the right stimulation for our business, Harmony.”
“Thanks,” I squeaked, my voice so tight. Her foot felt amazing. I sucked in a deep breath.
“I agree,” the oblivious futa-wife said, giving me such a friendly smile. “I think you'll be a perfect addition. You're hired.”
“Thank you!” I moaned as my dick erupted.
My futa-cum erupted into my panties. Her massaging touch, and my long abstinence from anything other than my right hand, surged rapture through me. My pussy spasmed. Juices flooded out of my cunt as my jizz spurted out of my dick.
I tried not to moan as the pleasure shuddered through my body. I convulsed before them, my breasts bouncing in my bra. The fabric felt wetter, my nipples leaking as the ecstasy surged through me. Mrs. Owens just grinned at me, savoring her naughty game beneath her futa-wife's nose.
“Are you okay, Harmony?” Cassandra asked, staring at me with such concern.
“She's just overwhelmed with rapture for getting the job,” Mrs. Owens said, pulling her foot away. Then she gasped. “Oh, no, the time, honey. You have to get back to your job.”
“Damn,” Cassandra gasped. “You can handle doing the paperwork, honey? I know you hate it.”
“I'll be fine,” she said so sweetly. She gave her futa-wife a quick kiss. “Now go. I'll attend to Harmony. Don't you worry.”
I shivered, my body buzzing from my orgasms. I knew just how she would attend to me. She would devour me. I couldn't believe it. She pretended to care about her futa-wife while she was really aching to play with me.
Family business... Poor futa.
Cassandra stood up. I should tell her. But I needed this job so badly. I flushed, shame twisting my insides. I couldn't look at her as she stood up and past me. I was so weak. I... I wanted to enjoy her wife. I wanted to cum again.
It wasn't even about the job, I realized. I was just horny. And she was so sexy. And it was so nice to be craved. To be seen as something desirable even with my lactating tits.
The moment Cassandra was out of the room Mrs. Owens stood up, her breasts jiggling in her blouse. She'd undid another button revealing her lack of bra. I could see the side-swell of her boobs. They could spill out of her blouse at any moment. She walked around the desk. I swallowed, staring up at her.
“Let's see those tits, my little futa-slut,�
� she purred, grabbing my ponytail. “You have to earn this job.”
“Y-Yes, Mrs. Owens,” I gasped, throwing a look over my shoulder. “But your futa-wife.” I had to object. I had to remind her. I glanced at her left hand, her wedding ring glinting there. “Wh-what about your wife?”
“What about her?” She arched an eyebrow. “She's got her day job. She leaves me all alone to run the coffee shop. All alone with you. You'll be here, working so close with me. Now let me see those udders, HuCow-slut! I want to see a futa's big, lactating tits!”
“Yes, Mrs. Owens,” I gasped, hastening to obey. I pulled up my blouse, revealing my white bra, the cups almost soaked with my milk. The sweet scent filled my nose, reminding me of Ashley's cream.
It was a nursing bra—it had been so embarrassing shopping in the woman's section for it—and I pulled open the two flaps to reveal my fat, pink nipples. White smeared across them both. I licked my lips and cup them.
“I want to see those beautiful tits,” hissed Mrs. Owens, jerking on my ponytail. “Not just your nipples.”
“Sorry!” I flushed. This woman... She had such a commanding presence about her. I couldn't help but leap to obey her.
She let go of my ponytail long enough for me to pop off my blouse and bra. Then she seized it again as she stared at my heavy breasts. They'd swelled two cup sizes when I started lactating last year. Big and ripe, my areolas so large now. I shivered as she hauled me up to my feet, wincing at the pain even as it made my pussy clench and my dick throb.
She pushed me down onto the desk, her left hand squeezing my right breast. Her fingers were so warm and slim, yet strong. She groped me, making my nipple throb. Electricity ran down my body to my pussy. My snatch grew hotter, my panties a sodden mess of pussy cream and futa-cum.
She released my ponytail to clutch my other breast as she leaned over. She squeezed my tits just right; milk squirted from my nipples. The streams of white splashed across her face. I swallowed at the sight of my cream bathing her features, running in pearly rivulets down her cheeks. Her tongue swept out, brushing the liquid.
“Mmm, you are sweet, futa-slut,” she purred before nuzzling her tits in between my breasts. She pressed my mounds against her cheeks, breathing in deeply. “Such lush, big tits. I love young futas with huge boobs.”