Milk of Dawn
Milk of Dawn
An Erotic Lactation Fantasy
Elliot Silvestri
copyright 2012 by Elliot Silvestri and Green Bush Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Contains adult material that might not be suitable for all audiences. This work is a fantasy; in your own life be sure to follow safer sex practices.
Also by Elliot Silvestri
Astrophil & Stella
The Breast of Dawn
The Breast of Day
The Breast of Night
The Collegiate Milkmaid
Cul-De-Sac: A Suburban Erotica in Around
Gretchen’s Twins
His and Hers Affairs
Jillian’s Contract
Luke’s Milkmaids
Margeaux Known As
Ménage á Milk
Milk Addict
Misanthrope – First Summer
Never Too Many Pregos
Penny’s Secret Life
The Red Collar
The Troll’s Trollop
True Cow Girl
Twins at Once
A Virgin Sacrifice
Collections
The Green Bush Publishing Collection Volume 1
The Green Bush Publishing Collection Volume 2
The Green Bush Publishing Collection Volume 3
Roman Charity: Four Tales of Erotic Lactation
Table of Contents
The Breast of Dawn
Chapter One
Dawn stared with disgusted disinterest at the troll suckling from her engorged breast. After a year of captivity she had become accustomed to the monster draining her breasts daily of her milk. It wasn’t a terrible existence. It could be worse. She was mostly well treated; there were no beatings or torturing, she was well-fed, she was even allowed to stay in the forest above the cave during daylight hours. Naturally she was chained by her ankle to a rock in the cave…but still, Dawn considered it a step up from her previous placement. The only downside was that her troll owner nursed from her breasts every day.
His lips were thick and strong, they pulled unnaturally at her nipples and his huge bulk closed in oppressively. Gornash was a typical troll as far as Dawn knew. He was huge, over seven feet tall, bulky, muscular, purplish skin, bald head, and pointed ears. Nothing remarkable. His thick lips latched to her breasts every day and drained her milk. She had become accustomed to it, but couldn’t help cringing every time at the huge incisors that poked out of his mouth, threatening to slash her tender flesh. That never happened, even the first time he nursed from her. Gornash was surprisingly gentle with Dawn, which surprised her, for she had always been told that trolls were horrid monsters that were more likely to kill you than to look at you.
That turned out to be untrue. Trolls were supposed to be stupid as well, but Gornash was also intelligent, much more so than most of the humans she had dealt with most of her life. Perhaps he was so careful with her because he needed her and had paid a high price for her slavery and maybe it was the nature of trolls to kill and eat elves, humans, and other trolls on a regular basis. She didn’t know. What she did know is that every time Gornash placed his lips upon her flesh she involuntarily recoiled—he said and did nothing about her autonomic response—and then she relaxed as her milk started flowing and she began to enjoy the sensation of being nursed.
That is what Dawn hated the most. The reason for her slavery was also one of the few pleasures in her life, a life of slavery.
As he continued to nurse from her, Dawn felt the tightness of her breast’s skin lessen. She knew that he intentionally fed her foods laced with herbs designed to make her lactate more than was natural, but since he was her only supply of food, she had little choice in the matter. Her breasts were too large for her thin frame, it seemed every bit of nutrition she took in immediately went to her breasts and then out to Gornash’s stomach.
The first breast was drained. He released it with a smack of his lips and immediately glommed onto the full tit. Again she had her involuntary reaction of recoil, then her milk started flowing and her body responded to the stimulation Gornash supplied. She had been certain upon her capture the big troll would rape and kill her. That was not the case. He needed her milk. What she didn’t expect was her growing attachment to the troll. True, he was her jailer and had only one use for her, but he showed her more affection and care than her previous owners.
She sighed heavily and rested on of her tiny hands on top of his smooth head. The other she let trail down to between her legs. A tiny scrap of material protected her modesty and innocence. Her fingers slipped under the magic cloth and caressed her nether lips. They were wet proving her arousal. The nub of her pleasure button was erect and she teased it with her fingertips before her hand was slapped away by Gornash’s meaty palm.
“Not while I feed,” he grunted at her then latched back on to her tit. She knew better than to argue. There were punishments that he had devised to keep her in line. They had largely become unnecessary lately, but there was always the threat. She nodded though he couldn’t see the motion and continued to stroke his head—that he didn’t mind. Her body continued its arousal and she absently rubbed her thighs together, waiting for him to finish his feed, waiting for him to leave, waiting for the opportunity to masturbate in peace.
What had surprised her about Gornash more so than her previous owners was his amount of self-control. He had never fucked her, had never abused her. Once she was in the possession of a troll she was certain rape and murder were in her immediate future. She had been wrong. She knew this was because the milk of a virgin elf was highly prized for its healing and other properties. It was why Dawn had been a slave her entire life, it was why she was still a virgin at the ripe age of nearly a hundred years.
“Done,” he muttered, letting go of her empty breast. She looked down and saw her chest was noticeably deflated. Gornash always insisted she stand while he fed from her. Because of their considerable height difference—he topped out over seven feet and she barely reached five—she was forced to stand on a short series of steps. She automatically assumed the position when he appeared for his evening feeding arms behind the back, chest out, back against the wall, eyes averted from his gaze. Once done with her milk he brought a bowl of her evening meal and left her in the cell.
She ignored the food and immediately got down from the steps and laid on her bed, legs splayed and both hands furiously masturbating her pussy. Now that she was alone and in relative safety she pulled off her tiny g-string leaving her wonderfully, gloriously nude. Her body was finely shaped into the epitome of elven beauty: long blond hair tumbled down her back, pierced by her highly pointed ears. Her almond shaped eyes were angled upward following the line of her eyebrows and ears. Her skill was the purest white and not a hair grew on her body only on her head. She didn’t understand why human women grew curly hair between their legs hiding their pretty pussies, maybe when she was older hers would grow.
It didn’t take her long to cum, it never did. Once her body was excited by Gornash’s nursing she just had to finish teasing her clit hidden among the folds of her taut pussy and a relaxing wave of orgasm washed over her body. When she was done she slipped her g-string back on and ate her food. She had to keep up her strength, her only value in life was in the magical milk her breasts produced, and once that stopped she was useless.
Dawn knew that elven breast milk was used the world over as a general restorative and healing potion, but to keep an elf slave for that purpose was prohibitively expensive for all but the richest of lords and kings. Gornash wasn’t terribly rich though she imagined he must have treasure of some sort. He was a troll after all. There was a steady trade in elf milk as an aphrodisiac—vials of such were often bought illicitly and most often were completely fake. The only way to be sure was to get it directly from the source. Dawn had been used to feed and heal many different humans by her first owner, but all of those she could see some obvious wound or illness, with Gornash there seemed to be no wound or illness from which he suffered. She doubted he kept her just as a trophy or because he savored the flavor of her milk—which she had to admit after tasting it many times herself was sweet and delicious. A few times Dawn had been used as the finest dessert table for the king, drinking directly from the source. Her milk had been highly praised and complimented.
But all that had changed a little over a year ago when she had gone to sleep one night in her cell and then been woken up in Gornash’s cave. He never offered an explanation, but his treatment of her was better than her human master so she did not press the issue. She was a slave and that was her lot in life.
Chapter Two
Beventen peered through the brass tube given to him by the wizard he was certain was a fraud, but it turned out the old man was the real deal. He could see nearly a mile with the device, through trees and leaves and anything else. His vision came to rest on the chained form of the elf. She was beautiful, as all elves were, and wore only a tiny loincloth protecting her modesty from prying eyes. Of course, in the forest there were few prying eyes, but Beventen took his time to study her curving buttocks, her long hair, her full tits that were too large for her tiny frame, and he even took the time to study her hidden pudendum. All of that was perfect. There were two items that disturbed this otherwise perfect vision of loveliness. The first was the iron manacle around her ankle and the chair that kept her within easy reach of the troll’s cave. That could be easily removed. The second problem was the scars and tattoos on her back. Some were exquisite, most were ugly. Those would be harder to correct. Still, that was a problem for the future. The immediate problem was her capture and dealing with the troll.
Being a treasure hunter and general hero-for-hire was often a difficult job. Beventen often rewarded himself with the treasures of the women he freed. That would be impossible with this particular recovery job. At first he was certain he would have been able to resist based upon the amount of gold he was to earn on the job, but seeing the near-naked elf sunning herself on a rock in the middle of the forest, he lost some of his resolve. Taking her back to the wizard deflowered would make her worthless. There would be a tired whore in Cantaville tonight.
He wound up his tiny crossbow, checked the quarrel already loaded into small weapon, double checked the rapier in his scabbard and started the march through the forest. Her rock was only a mile away, but by the time he arrived there the sun would be near the horizon, dusk settling, and her troll owner would be coming to collect his possession. Beventen needed to be there at the right time.
The little elf was still on the rock catching the last of the sun’s rays when he arrived. No sign of the troll yet. That wasn’t good, but Beventen wasn’t worried, he was prepared. He didn’t bother to conceal his approach and the elf’s acute hearing picked up on him from a good distance. It was easy to see the sudden change in her posture when she detected him. He didn’t hurry or slow, but approached slowly and steadily. Once he broke into the clearing she regarded him silently.
“This is your lucky day,” he told her. She looked at him blankly, expecting nothing from him. “I’m here to rescue you,” he added.
“I don’t need to be rescued.”
He looked at her in surprise and then wondered if that was a ruse. Beventen looked around, expecting a sneak attack from the troll. But nothing was in sight. “You like being a prisoner?” he asked her, trying to look at her highly angled eyes and not directly at her oversized breasts.
“I didn’t say that. I said I don’t need to be rescued.” Her voice was even and a bit sweet, not beaten down like a person who had been a prisoner her entire life. He mentally shrugged. What she wanted was no concern of his. He just needed to complete his job and get paid.
“When does the beast come to get you? Surely it doesn’t leave his prize outside all night.”
“Gornash will be here shortly. And then he’ll most likely kill you.”
“I doubt that.”
“You don’t look like you could kill a troll,” she replied curtly.
If she wasn’t so valuable he would have smacked her for her impertinence. But his job was to deliver her undamaged, even if she did have a smart mouth. “I’m more dangerous than I look,” he muttered. And it was true. Though he wore some light leather armor and a brass helmet, carried a sword and a crossbow, he wasn’t tall or physically imposing. In the past he had considered intentionally scaring his face or taking up a more dramatic cloak or tunic to wear, but there was never a need. Sometimes subtlety was more effective.
Before their conversation could continue the troll emerged from the cave entrance not far from Dawn’s rock. The massive purple troll sniffed the air with his oversized nose and scowled at the unimposing figure cut by Beventen. “Thought I smelled human,” Gornash muttered. He wore animal hides artfully stitched into a suit; at his side he carried a heavy spiked mace. “Leave,” he ordered.
“Sorry, I have to take the elf girl,” Beventen apologized. “Nothing personal.” The troll was twenty yards away and he raised his tiny crossbow at the creature. He sprung the trigger and released the bolt. It struck the troll dead center on his chest. The troll reached down, plucked the tiny missile out of his armor, and tossed it away.
“That’s it?” he grumbled and charged Beventen, swinging his mace. He made it almost all twenty yards before he tripped over his big feet and went sprawling in the forest litter, sliding to a stop just in front of Beventen.
“Yes. Sorry,” he apologized and put the little crossbow away to draw his rapier. The troll wasn’t dead, merely stunned, struggling to get to his feet, but he had lost all control of his body and could merely flop around in the dirt.
Moving quickly but cautiously, Beventen moved in with his sword, avoided the giant’s flailing limbs and neatly sliced him across the neck. Bright red blood spurted and pumped from the open wound, staining the leaves on the forest floor. Dawn screamed at the unexpected and casual violence, seeing her captor and protector in his final horrifying moments before he died was a shock.
Beventen waited until he was certain the troll was dead, nodded once the body stopped moving and the blood flow dropped to a trickle. “Wait here,” he ordered Dawn and slipped into the troll’s cave.
“Where would I go?” she asked, mostly to herself. “I’m still chained.”
Inside the cave Beventen was impressed. It wasn’t an animal’s hole; it was a fairly nice home. There was no heavy, cloying animal smell. There were lamps lighting the darkness and furniture filled the rooms. Everything was neat and orderly. That made it easy to find the books Clotid had requested, along with additional restraints for Dawn. In a chest he found a shift and a dress she could wear. Once outside he recovered the key Gornash kept on his belt and approached Dawn with it.
“I see you didn’t try to escape,” he said to her.
“You know I couldn’t,” she sneered at him, her lip pulled back in anger. The key was made of iron as was the chain that tethered her to the rock. The manacle that went around her ankle was an alloy of iron, copper, and perhaps brass. An elf couldn’t tolerate cold iron against her skin; it would burn her tender flesh. There was just enough iron in the manacle to protect her flesh but also prevent her from attempting to remove it.
“True,” he nodded. “Let’s get you out of that manacle and into this dress.”
“And those bindings?” she asked.
“Of course. I can’t risk you escaping.”
“This is your idea of rescue?” she asked.
“Yes. Well, at least you’ll be treated humanely by a person instead of a troll,” he pointed out.
“What makes you think I want to be treated humanely? I’ve been treated humanely before. Gornash’s treatment was better.”
“Too bad you don’t have a choice in the matter.”
After a short struggle he imposed his will upon her. The dress was over her body, the manacle was gone and leather bindings were wrapped around her wrists. Her arms were bent behind her back and a leather leash was attached to her wrists. Beventen held this and led her out of the forest.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he replied. “But not far. I have a boat waiting in the river just a few miles away. We’ll be safely there before dark.”
Dawn said nothing as her breasts started to ache.
They traveled along the forest path used by the now-dead Gornash and other forest creatures. Soon they came to the boat as Beventen had promised. He loaded her in and they set into the water, traveling with the current. It didn’t take terribly long to reach the town of Cantaville. He pulled her out of the boat and led her through the mostly empty streets. Eventually they arrived at a crossroads were an inn stood across from a house of ill repute. Dawn was not surprised to find herself taken to the whorehouse.
Inside Beventen was greeted with cries of congratulation and mockery, all of which he accepted good naturedly. There were several offers to buy Dawn, but he declined them all. He already had a room waiting upstairs and was led there by an attractive, but assuredly underage girl. Beventen made no attempt to hide his leer as he watched the girl’s buttocks sway up the stair ahead of him.
Upstairs there was a bath waiting for him. But first he retied Dawn’s restraints, then stripped down in front of her showing no modesty, and bathed himself while she stared at the wall. Once he was done bathing, he picked her up. She screamed in protest, but there was no help coming. He pulled off her dress and attempted to do the same to her panties, but they refused to come off.
“Fucking hell,” he complained and pulled out his dagger from his pile of clothes.
“No, don’t,” Dawn protested.
“I’m not going to hurt you, girl,” he said. “I just need to get your panties off. Then a bath to get that troll stink off you.”
“You’re not going to get them off with a knife,” she cried.
“Oh?” he asked brandishing the weapon. “Then why didn’t they come off when I pulled them?”
“They’re magic panties,” she told him. “Only I can remove them. They’re impervious to any blade or attack.”
“Really?” he said, impressed. “Chastity panties, how nice. A present from the troll?”
“No, from my previous owner. To protect me.”
“Well, get them off and get in the bath,” he ordered. He watched the elf as she carefully bathed herself. She was beautiful, he admitted again. With her panties off he could take her right there and fuck her brains out. Which would make her useless and worthless. And probably get the wizard Clotid would kill him. It wasn’t worth it when for a few brass bits; he could have any whore in the house.
She washed her breasts very carefully. They were huge, which was nice, but she was taking too long. “Hurry up,” he ordered. “Get dressed.” He opened the door, found the hall attendant and ordered his reserved whore for the night.
Once back inside he looked at his prisoner. She was wearing her magic panties and nothing else. “You put back on your dirty panties?” he asked with a snicker.
“They’re magic,” she reminded him. “They can’t get dirty. Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
“I’m going to fuck a whore in a minute, there’s no need.” He called out to the hallway. “And get a fuckin’ servant to wash my clothes.” Then he turned back to Dawn, grabbed her and quickly put a metal collar around her neck. To this he attached an iron chain. “Don’t bother to try to escape,” he warned her.
“Where would I go?” she asked.
He pulled her from the bathing room to his rented suite. Inside the sumptuous rooms there was an oversized bed upon which lounged a pretty whore. Beventen ignored the half-naked woman and instead led the half-naked elf across the room to where a series of large metal rings were set into the wall. Picking one at random he locked the end of the chain to it and only then turned to the whore.
“Mabel, where have you been?” he asked her.
“Waiting right here for you, Bev,” she answered, but her eyes flicked over to the beautiful elf. “I see you have a prize already.”
“Yeah, but I can’t fuck her, and I’ve already paid for you.” He walked calmly over to her. The woman couldn’t have been more different from the elf. Her long brown hair fell in curls around her shoulders, her breasts were much smaller, barely bigger than those of a teenage girl which somewhat reduced her value as a prostitute, but once a man had experienced her pussy, that quickly changed. She wore a shift that was translucent, showing her dark brown nipples to the wandering eye and didn’t come down long enough to hide her sex. A bounty of tangled curls hid her pudendum from sight.
Beventen approached her, lifted the shift off her body and pushed her down on the bed. “Ready for a quick fuck?” she asked him, spreading her legs. He looked at her open sex and started forward, but then remembered himself.
“Wait a moment,” he said, turned to his pack on the floor and extracted a silver phallus with a white crystal affixed to one end.
“Don’t tell me you can’t get it up any more,” she giggled at him. “But if that’s your kink, I can indulge.”
“I’m not getting the drips from a two brass whore,” Beventen muttered. She ignored the insult and allowed the mercenary to slide the device into her pussy. It didn’t hurt, there was a tiny bit of pleasure involved in being filled, and he smiled once the crystal lit up blue. “You’re clean,” he announced and pulled the magic device from her.
“Of course I am,” she complained. “Lady Desdem runs a very hygienic establishment.”
“Uh-huh,” he commented absently. “Let’s get down to business.” He got on the bed and pushed her head down to his crotch.
She automatically responded, opening her lips and taking his substantial cock into her mouth. He responded almost immediately, his cock hardening and growing delightfully huge. Though too many women became whores out of need, those who worked in Lady Desdem’s houses actually enjoyed their work. They had to be beautiful and skilled, of course, but Mabel went beyond that to truly enjoying every sex act her performed. When Beventen was sufficiently prepared—hard, erect, and wet with her saliva— she tossed a leg of his hips and lowered her moist and hot pussy onto his cock. She sighed, her eyelids fluttering slightly as he filled her void.
He grunted in approval, bucking his hips a bit and then allowing her to establish a rhythm with her hips. Mabel was used to working with all manner of men who had all sorts of needs. From farmers and simple laborers at the bottom of the rung who wanted a simple fuck and suck because the wife was pregnant or there was no wife, all the way up to high class clients like Beventen who knew the finer things in life and wanted a quality whore to fuck. Still, that didn’t make him much different from every other client she had. The mercenary thrusted pleasantly in to her reached up and caressed her breasts like an affectionate lover. It didn’t take too many wriggles of her hips to extract a decent orgasm out of him. He came hard inside her cunt, a nice thick flow of spunk that filled her pleasantly. She faked a small orgasm for his benefit and then leaned forward, letting her breasts and skin connect with him. He embraced her for a minute, basking in his dénouement. And then he—which did not surprise Mabel the least—lightly snored. It took him less than two minutes to cum and fall asleep.
She grinned and shook her head as she threw one leg over his prone body, releasing his cock from her body. Her immediate thought was to leave him sleeping there, go down to the common room and perhaps ...