Chapter 10: Training Results
The air in the shared bedroom hung thick and sweet, saturated with the cloying scent of vanilla candles melting in a puddle of wax on the cluttered dresser. Beneath it lay the musk of warm skin, spilled lube, and something faintly metallic. A low, insistent hum vibrated through the room, emanating from a forgotten vibrator buzzing softly against the rumpled purple silk sheets of the king-sized bed. Lyra sprawled across the bed’s edge, propped up on one elbow, her long pink hair fanned out like spilled candy floss. The loose, gauzy top she wore did little to contain the heavy swell of her E-cup breasts; twin dark patches bloomed where milk seeped through the thin fabric, dampening the material against her prominent nipples. A familiar, low thrum of pressure pulsed deep within them.
On the plush rug before the bed, bathed in the soft, pink-tinged light from a salt lamp, knelt Mara. Her coworker, Seren, sat on the edge of the bed just above her, one long leg draped casually off the side, the other tucked under her. Seren’s worn coding hoodie was pushed up to her waist, revealing her slender frame, modest B-cup breasts, and the unassuming length of her permanently flaccid cock resting against her thigh, her large balls nestled beneath. Mara’s focus, however, wasn't on Seren just yet. Her head was bowed intently over Quinn, who was reclined in a worn armchair dragged into the bedroom’s chaos.
Quinn grinned, her pixie cut tousled, one hand idly cupping the substantial bulge straining the fabric of her very short shorts – the gooey prosthetic filling her scrotum shifting like heavy liquid under the thin material. Her other hand rested lightly on Mara’s head. Mara’s tongue worked with devoted precision, swirling around the full curve of Quinn’s prosthetic-filled sac, tracing the outline through the fabric. Soft, wet sounds filled the space between the hum of the vibrator. Quinn’s eyes were half-closed, a sigh of pure, idle pleasure escaping her lips. "Mmm, that's it. Like kneading dough," she murmured, her thumb stroking Mara’s temple.
Lyra watched, fascinated. The pressure in her breasts intensified, echoing the low throb she felt whenever arousal sparked, untouched by her tiny cock. A bead of milk gathered at her left nipple, soaking the gauze darker. "She’s dedicated," Lyra remarked, her voice husky.
Seren nodded, her dark braids shifting over her shoulders as she observed Mara with detached interest. "She is. I trained her."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. Quinn chuckled, her hips shifting slightly, pressing the bulge more firmly against Mara’s questing tongue. "Trained her? Like a puppy? Fetch the limp dick?"
"Conditioned her," Seren corrected smoothly, her gaze analytical. "Behavioral modification. Positive reinforcement linked to specific stimuli. In this case," she gestured towards her own flaccid cock and then Quinn’s prominent bulge, "the specific state of detumescence. She used to struggle with premature ejaculation, as you know. Her girlfriend was frustrated." Seren’s voice was calm, clinical, a stark contrast to the scene. "Therapy involved refocusing her arousal pathways. Associating intense pleasure not with achieving erection or orgasm herself, but with the act of servicing… softness. The texture, the lack of demand, the inherent vulnerability."
As if on cue, Mara shifted. She left Quinn’s bulge with one last lingering swipe of her tongue, glistening saliva darkening the fabric. Turning with fluid grace, she crawled the short distance to Seren. Without preamble, without seeking permission she already knew was implicit, she leaned in. Her lips parted, pressing a soft, wet kiss to the flaccid head of Seren’s small cock. Her tongue emerged, not demanding, not sucking, but exploring. Tracing the veins, circling the corona, a slow, worshipful adoration of its unresisting state. Seren’s breath hitched, barely audible, a slight flush creeping up her neck. She didn’t thrust, didn’t demand more. She simply watched Mara work, a scientist observing a successful experiment. Her hand drifted down, fingers brushing lightly through Mara’s hair, a gentle reinforcement.
Lyra felt a sudden, sharp rush of wetness. She glanced down; the dark patches on her top had widened significantly. Milk wasn’t just seeping; it was trickling in thin streams down the curve of her breast, soaking into the fabric and threatening to drip onto the sheets. The thrumming pressure felt like a heartbeat centered in her chest.
Quinn whistled lowly, watching Mara lavish attention on Seren. "Damn, Seren. You made a connoisseur of the unhard." She squeezed her own bulge absently. "Kinda genius."
"It addresses a specific need," Seren said, her voice tightening slightly as Mara’s tongue swirled just under her glans. "Her girlfriend reports… significant relationship improvement. Mara finds profound satisfaction in this service. Physiological calm."
Mara’s head tilted back slightly, her eyes finding Lyra. Lyra saw the focused devotion in them, the same intensity she’d shown Quinn and Seren. And then Mara’s gaze dropped to Lyra’s chest, to the unmistakable dark, spreading stains. A flicker of something new – a different kind of hunger – crossed Mara’s face.
She moved. Leaving Seren with a final, soft press of her lips, Mara crawled across the rug towards Lyra. The scent of milk mingled with vanilla and musk. Lyra instinctively leaned back a fraction, the ache in her breasts sharpening. Mara knelt directly before her, face upturned, eyes fixed on the damp patches. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. Lyra felt a jolt, part surprise, part intense awareness of the pressure building, demanding release.
"Seren?" Lyra breathed, her voice tight.
Seren watched, utterly calm. "Her conditioning is robust. She associates non-genital softness, vulnerability… lactation fits the profile. Wetness. Sensitivity without the expectation of erection."
Mara didn’t wait. She leaned forward, pressing her face lightly against the soaked gauze covering Lyra’s left breast. A small, needy sound escaped her. Her lips parted, and she began to suckle gently, experimentally, through the fabric. The sensation was electric. Not sexual in the way her nipples responded when pressed, but raw, intimate, and deeply connected to the physical relief. The suction, however light, pulled at the engorged tissue. Lyra gasped as a stronger stream of milk pulsed out, soaking Mara’s lips, her chin. It wasn't the violent spray of the bathroom sink; it was a warm, steady flow, accepted with quiet eagerness.
Quinn laughed, a bright, delighted sound. "Look at that! The buffet expands! Got milk, Ly?"
Lyra couldn’t answer. Her head fell back against the piled pillows, a moan catching in her throat. Mara’s gentle suckling was a direct tap into the core of that pressure. It wasn't an orgasm, but a profound, spreading release, warmth flooding her chest, the ache momentarily receding like a tide pulling back. She felt the milk flowing, saw it glisten on Mara’s skin in the pink light.
On the bed beside her, Seren shifted. Lyra heard the soft rustle of fabric, then the distinct, slick sound of skin moving against skin. She turned her head. Seren had her hoodie pushed higher, one hand down her loose pajama pants. Her eyes were half-closed, fixed on Mara nursing at Lyra’s breast, her expression distant but intense. Her hand moved rhythmically beneath the fabric, stroking her small, soft cock, a quiet counterpoint to the hum of the vibrator still buzzing somewhere in the sheets, the wet sounds of Mara at Lyra’s chest, and Quinn’s low chuckle. The air crackled with shared vulnerability, strange pleasures, and the sweet, heavy scent of milk mixing with vanilla. Mara sighed against Lyra’s breast, the sound one of deep contentment, her tongue flicking softly against the soaked gauze, drawing out another warm rivulet. The vibrator’s hum seemed to pulse louder in the charged stillness.
The vibrator’s hum seemed to pulse louder in the charged stillness. Mara sighed against Lyra’s breast, the sound muffled by damp fabric, her tongue flicking softly against the soaked gauze, drawing out another warm rivulet. Milk glistened on her chin, catching the pink light like liquid pearl.
"Okay," Lyra breathed, her voice thick and unsteady, her hand settling gently on Mara’s head, not pushing, just feeling the warmth. The profound relief spreading from her chest was almost overwhelming, a deep physical unknotting. "Okay, yeah."
Quinn shifted in the armchair, her grin lazy, satisfied. "Looks like she found the main course." She squeezed her goo-filled bulge again, the prosthetic shifting audibly. "Guess the appetizer wasn't enough." Seren’s rhythmic stroking beneath her hoodie continued, her gaze fixed on the intimate tableau, a faint flush on her cheeks the only sign of her arousal. Her breath hitched slightly, a quiet counterpoint to the room's other sounds.
Mara finally pulled back reluctantly, leaving a damp patch cooling on Lyra’s top. Milk smeared her lips and chin. She looked dazed, satiated in a way that transcended simple pleasure, her eyes slightly glazed. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice husky, addressing all three, but her gaze lingering on Lyra’s stained chest and Seren’s hidden hand. "Got my fix."
Seren finally stilled her hand, pulling it out from her pajama pants. She adjusted her hoodie, her usual calm composure settling back like a mask, though her cheeks remained flushed. "Conditioning holds," she stated simply, her tone returning to its analytical cadence. "The positive association is strong."
Mara pushed herself up, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. "I should go," she said, stretching. "Ilda’s expecting me." Lyra felt a sudden, surprising pang of emptiness when Mara’s warmth left her side, the pressure in her breasts already beginning to rebuild faintly. Quinn gave a mock salute. "Give Ilda our best. Tell her our little cocksucker’s got skills."
Mara chuckled, a low, warm sound. "She knows." She grabbed her bag, offering a final shy smile before slipping out of the pink-and-purple sanctuary, leaving the scent of milk lingering in the vanilla-scented air. The hum of the vibrator seemed suddenly louder, more solitary. Lyra glanced down at her damp top, then at Quinn’s prominent bulge, then at Seren’s now still form. The shared energy fractured, leaving them adrift in the aftermath.
The air in Ilda’s apartment was different – warmer, spicier, laced with the scent of incense and Ilda’s signature jasmine perfume. Soft jazz played low. Mara felt the pleasant buzz from the trio’s place still humming under her skin, mixed with a fresh surge of anticipation. Ilda greeted her at the door, a vision of lush curves barely contained by a crimson silk robe that gaped open, revealing the deep swell of her C-cup breasts. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face lit by a welcoming smile and intelligent dark eyes. Her flaccid cock, a substantial length nestled against her thigh, twitched slightly as she pulled Mara close.
"Hey, you," Ilda murmured, her voice a low purr as she kissed Mara deeply, tasting the lingering sweetness of Lyra’s milk on her lips. "You smell… interesting." Her hands slid down Mara’s back, cupping her ass possessively. "Missed you." Mara melted into the kiss, her own arousal flaring hot and immediate. The devoted focus she’d channeled for the trio shifted, transforming into a fierce, possessive hunger focused solely on Ilda.
They stumbled towards the bedroom, shedding clothes. Ilda’s robe pooled on the floor, revealing her full, voluptuous form, the softness of her belly, the inviting expanse of her back. Mara’s eyes fixed on Ilda’s rear, the smooth curve leading to her hole. "Want you," Mara breathed, her voice rough. "Now. Like this." She grabbed the lube from the nightstand, her hands trembling slightly. Ilda chuckled softly, bending gracefully over the edge of the bed, presenting herself, her large, soft cock hanging heavily between her thighs. "Take me, baby," she encouraged, her voice thick with promise. "Show me what Seren’s training really did."
Mara slicked herself quickly, her own cock responding, filling faster than usual, spurred by the visual feast, the scent of jasmine, the memory of worshiping softness now fueling a desperate need to possess. The head pressed against Ilda’s entrance, slick and yielding. Mara pushed. A low groan escaped Ilda as Mara slid in, the tight heat enveloping her, impossibly good. "Fuck, yes," Mara gasped, burying herself to the hilt, the sensation overwhelming. She pulled back slowly, savoring the drag, then thrust forward again. Two strokes. Three. The coil inside her, wound tight by the evening's service and the sudden intensity, snapped violently.
A strangled cry tore from Mara’s throat. Her hips stuttered, slamming deep one final time as her cock pulsed, spasming uncontrollably. Hot spurts flooded Ilda’s channel, the orgasm intense, undeniable, and devastatingly premature. Her thrusts ceased abruptly, her body shuddering as she emptied herself, collapsing forward slightly onto Ilda’s back, panting heavily. Silence hung for a beat, thick and heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing and the soft jazz.
Ilda shifted slightly beneath her, a low, rich chuckle vibrating through her body, resonating against Mara’s chest. "Oh, baby," Ilda drawled, her voice laced with amused affection and a potent edge of condescension. She craned her neck, looking back at Mara with a knowing, slightly pitying smile. Her large, soft cock twitched against the bedsheet. "That eager? Barely got started. Guess Seren’s therapy didn’t fix everything." She wiggled her hips, a subtle, dismissive movement. "Poor little thing. Finished already?"
Mara’s face burned crimson. Shame, hot and prickling, washed over her. But beneath it, intertwined, a darker, sharper thrill ignited. The humiliation, the gentle mockery in Ilda’s voice, the very inadequacy laid bare – it sent a fresh, shocking jolt of arousal straight through her spent body. Her limp cock twitched again against Ilda’s skin, utterly traitorous. A needy whimper escaped her, muffled against Ilda’s shoulder blade. The scent of jasmine, mixed with their sweat and sex, filled her senses as Ilda’s chuckle deepened.
The scent of jasmine, mixed with their sweat and sex, filled her senses as Ilda’s chuckle deepened. It vibrated through Mara’s own chest where she lay slumped against Ilda’s back, sticky and spent. "Poor little thing," Ilda repeated, the words warm breath against the sheets, laced with that impossible mix of fondness and crushing dismissal. Mara squeezed her eyes shut, burying her burning face deeper into the warm, damp skin of Ilda’s shoulder blade. Her useless cock lay flaccid against Ilda’s thigh, a traitorous echo of its brief, explosive life. Shame pulsed hotly, a counterpoint to the lingering tremors of her orgasm and the sharp, unwanted spark of renewed arousal ignited by the humiliation itself.
"M'sorry," Mara mumbled, the words muffled and thick. "So fast… again." She felt utterly deflated, a balloon pricked the moment it inflated. All that focused energy from Lyra’s milk, from worshipping Quinn’s bulge and Seren’s softness, had evaporated in two frantic thrusts.
Ilda shifted, a graceful roll that eased Mara off her back. Cool air hit Mara’s sweaty skin as Ilda turned onto her side, facing her. Her dark eyes, still heavy-lidded with the beginnings of her own arousal, held Mara’s captive. A large, soft hand, smelling faintly of jasmine and Mara’s own release, cupped Mara’s cheek. "Hey," Ilda murmured, thumb brushing away a tear Mara hadn’t realized had escaped. "No sorries between us, remember? It happens." But the unspoken hung heavy: It always happens. Her gaze drifted down Mara’s body, lingering for a fraction too long on her limp cock nestled in its sparse hair, before returning to her face. "That 'craving softness' thing Seren taught you…" Ilda trailed off, her expression softening further, almost pitying. "It worked wonders for your mouth, baby. Your tongue tonight… incredible." She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Mara’s lips. "But it hasn't exactly translated to this department yet, has it?" Her hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting down Mara’s belly, stopping just short of touching her again.
Mara flinched, the feather-light touch another spark on dry tinder. "N-no," she admitted, her voice cracking. "Feels like… it rewired it all wrong. Like my body only knows two speeds now: zero… or explode." She looked away, staring at the indentations her fingers had made in Ilda’s plush hip. "I wanted to give you something. Make you feel it." The frustration welled up, hot and sharp. "Seren said associating pleasure with softness would… calm the trigger. But seeing you… bent over… wanting me…" She swallowed hard. "It just flips the switch. Harder than ever."
Ilda sighed, a sound of deep, weary affection. She pulled Mara closer, tucking Mara’s head under her chin, enveloping her in warmth and the comforting, familiar scent of her skin. Mara’s larger frame curled instinctively into Ilda’s softer, more voluptuous one. "I know you wanted to, sweetheart," Ilda murmured into her hair. "I feel it every time. That desperate wanting." Her hand stroked slow circles on Mara’s back. "That’s why I bend over. Why I ask you to take me. I want you, Mara. Always." She paused. "But wanting alone doesn't make the mechanics click, huh?" Her fingers traced the line of Mara’s spine. "We both just… fall into the wanting. Neither of us knows how to drive." A soft, rueful laugh escaped her. "Two bottoms trying to top each other. It’s a cosmic joke."
Mara clung tighter, the truth of it tightening her throat. They loved this closeness, this tangled intimacy, the safety of being vulnerable together. Yet the space between wanting and satisfying felt like an uncrossable chasm. "Ilda…" Mara whispered. "What if… what if I can't ever last? What if Seren’s 'craving soft' is all I’m good for now?" The thought of only finding release through worshipping Quinn’s prosthetic bulge or Seren’s limp cock, while Lyra’s milk spilled over her face, suddenly felt like a consolation prize, not a cure. It wouldn’t give Ilda the deep, sustained connection she craved. The scent of Lyra’s milk, faint on her own skin now, felt like a taunt. "I want to stay inside you. Make you feel me."
Ilda’s arms tightened around her. "Shhh," she soothed, pressing another kiss to her temple. "We figure it out. We always do. Maybe Seren needs a software update for her conditioning protocols." She tried for lightness, but the underlying concern was palpable. "Maybe… maybe we need different tools." Her hand drifted lower again, this time cupping Mara’s soft, spent cock gently, possessively. "This beautiful thing… it just gets too excited for its own good." She squeezed softly, not to arouse, but to hold. "We’ll find its slow setting, baby. Promise. Even if it means borrowing one of Lyra's vibrators and making you watch me use it alone for a month." The joke landed softly, meant to reassure, but it only highlighted the gap. Mara buried her face deeper into Ilda’s neck, breathing in jasmine and defeat, the lingering phantom sensation of Lyra’s milk leaking onto her tongue a stark reminder of where her training had taken her, and how far she still was from where she needed to be. The vibrator’s phantom hum from the trio’s apartment seemed to echo faintly in the quiet room.