Pixie Isobella

‘Ask me to milk you.’ My boss’ voice was implacable. ‘I can’t,’ I wailed. It was too embarrassing. I couldn’t understand why I was letting him do this to me. ‘Don’t be coy,’ Mr Hunter said flatly. ‘Say. ‘Please milk me, Mr Hunter’.’

Chapter 1 of Molly’s Cage is here.

Thank you for reading my stories!

My novel, Capturing Clare, is an erotic story of a Christmas gangbang with that leads to Clare’s enslavement… Read Chapters 1 to 6 here, and if you enjoy them, buy the book at All These Roadworks or Smashwords.

Molly’s Cage: Chapter 15

[Femsub maledom office erotica with non-consent, discipline, chastity belts and lactation]

‘Well,’ my boss, Mr Hunter, chuckled meanly. ‘You’re the one with the udders dripping milk. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Stand back up. Get dressed.’

I stood, feeling suddenly unsure and scared. I scrambled my clothes on, my fingers shaking as I did up the clips and the buttons. Even once dressed with my skirt pulled back down, I felt so much more exposed than usual.

‘Go fetch me a coffee,’ said Mr Hunter, sounding bored. ‘And then you can get this list of files from the archive.’ He handed me a handwritten list, and I flinched at the length of it.

Walking and bending was even harder than usual, with the chastity belt tighter and the dildo forced deeper into me. I knew I was walking strangely and I felt that my colleagues, as they slowly started to trickle into work, must be able to see. I fetched boxes and boxes of files for Mr Hunter, until I was hot from all the exercise, my work clothes feeling messy from all the lifting and carrying. My larger breasts made the boxes awkward to carry as well, especially given how tight my shirt and bra were.

Mr Hunter seemed really uninterested in me since I had dressed again, and I didn’t understand why. Actually, I didn’t understand why he had let me off so easily. He had never let me win before when I complained about the compromising things he ordered me to do.

I didn’t even think about the milk in my boobs until I finally sat down at my desk, sometime after 10am. Looking down, I flinched with horror. My white blouse was wet with milk, in two increasingly large circles centred on each nipple, expanding across my breasts.

Oh no, I thought. I looked frantically around but I didn’t have a shawl or a cardigan I could wrap around myself. I had stopped bringing them into the office, because it was warm enough in the office and anyway, Mr Hunter never let me wear anything that covered me up.

Logging into my computer, I flushed to see a chat message from Mr Hunter.

‘Come and talk to me when you need that problem solved.’

I won’t, I thought fiercely. I can’t.

I started working, flushing as I remembered to spread my legs for Mr Hunter to watch on the camera under my desk. But I couldn’t take my mind off my breasts. Even worse, as colleagues kept walking past my desk, I became convinced that they could all see. Each of my breasts felt warm and engorged, and my nipples were sensitive against the wet cotton of my blouse.

I can’t, I thought, as my cunt pulsed again and again around the stiff dildo inside me, reminding me again and again how deeply I was impaled on it today. Mr Hunter is so cruel, I thought, but that didn’t solve my problem.

After a couple of hours trying to work, feeling nothing but the growing heat in each breast, and the occasional runnel of a trickle of milk slipping down the curve of my breast, I broke. My breasts felt overfull, and when I looked down, the nipples were eager and perky, pushing out against the wet fabric with the too-small blouse on.

I rose and knocked on Mr Hunter’s door, hearing his firm voice calling ‘come in, Molly.’

I flushed at the trickle of warmth that slid into me from hearing that voice. I shouldn’t enjoy hearing his voice. He was so cruel to me.

I shut the door behind me, leaning back against it. Mr Hunter looked up from his computer, his eyes surveying me in a single, quick glance. I could see from the amused expression on his face that he had been waiting for me. He had known I was going to break and he had been waiting to see how long it would take.

I flushed, suddenly struggling for words.

‘Well?’ he asked, his voice flat. ‘What did you want, Molly?’

‘Please,’ I said, hating the whimper in my voice, hating asking him for anything.

‘Please, what?’ he asked, his eyes back on his computer screens. I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw something at him for being so deliberately difficult. He was making this hard for me on purpose. He wanted me to struggle.

He wants to remind me of my place, a little voice inside me reminded me, and I flushed with the knowledge that it was true.

‘Please,’ I said again. ‘I can’t go on like this. Let me go home, or something.’

‘You’re not going home,’ Mr Hunter grinned, typing some words on his computer. ‘You work here, though I can’t say you’re dressed appropriately right now. If you want your leaking breasts fixed, you know what you need to ask, Molly.’

‘I can’t,’ I said, tears suddenly welling in my eyes and sliding down my face. ‘It’s too degrading. Too embarrassing.’

‘Then, I guess you’ll just have uncomfortable udders forever, then,’ Mr Hunter said, opening a file on his desk and starting to flick through it, looking for a particular document. ‘Remember, all of this is your fault, Molly.’

It isn’t my fault, I thought silently, but I still wasn’t sure about that. I had taken the pills, and I hadn’t asked what they did. I hadn’t wanted to know. And, like an idiot, I had liked the feeling that Mr Hunter was doing something to me that I didn’t know about, as if by submitting deeply to him I had become more settled and calm in myself.

‘Please,’ I said, and then, sensing that his patience was running out. ‘‘P-please m-milk me, Mr Hunter,’ I stammered in a rush, hating him, hating everything about the situation that I was in.

‘Like a cow?’ he asked, still not looking at me, still flicking through documents. ‘Are you my milk cow, Molly?

‘Yes, Sir,’ I flushed hotly, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m your milk cow.’

A wide smile broke out across Mr Hunter’s face at the words.

‘Such a good girl,’ he chuckled, ‘for asking so nicely. And it’ll get easier over time. As you get used to it. We won’t have these problems with you tomorrow, will we?’

‘No, Sir,’ I said, flushing, my voice small.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Take your shirt and bra off, and get on the coffee table.’

I obeyed him, feeling awkwardly exposed on the coffee table with my breasts fully naked. It was such a relief to have them free of the bra and shirt though. They were so much bigger and rounder than they ever had been before.

Mr Hunter stroked across my breasts again, his fingers teasing the sensitive nipples. Then he fastened some suction cups over each of my breasts — I saw out of the corner of my eye that it was actually some kind of breast pump machine — and then I moaned in a mixture of embarrassment as he flicked the switch.

I thought it was going to hurt, but it didn’t. There was a feeling almost like pins and needles deep inside my breast, and then a stretching sensation across each nipple. Then I gasped in relief as I felt milk start to flow out of each nipple and down the plastic tubing.

‘Good girl,’ said Mr Hunter, stroking my cheek while I fixed my gaze firmly downwards with embarrassment.

Fuck, this was awful. I was a cow. I was his milking cow.

‘We’ll keep you in the breast pump for at least half an hour. To encourage milk production. I don’t expect much today though. But I do want you to start producing a lot of milk. My little dairy cow.’

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