Commission: The Milkmage - Preview 2

The world was set, now time to get to the story what's bein' told.

"She made it though, heart hammering as she barely beat out the storm to stand beneath the swinging sign of “The Leaky Teat”; a fitting name for a place only a few days out from the university. Their lamps were lit, casting a dim glow out from the frosted windows, and the smell from the dinner pot was strong enough to reach through the wooden door as an invitation. Hopefully it wasn’t too expensive for a bowl.

Stepping in there was a wave of rowdy cheering, the evening regulars raising glasses at the ring of the bell above the entry. It was good to be appreciated, Myri giving a cute little wave as she looked about the patrons, only to realize their attention wasn’t on her.

All eyes were up at the bar, where a cute little redhead had her shirt hiked up. She had to have been around Myri’s age, her chest pert, perky, with adorable cinnamon nipples just smaller than a pinky tip; fun to tease. More pressing however, she was in the middle of clumsily affixing a charm to her left breast.

How’d she gotten her hands on that? She wasn’t wearing a milkmage’s robes, and the pink flush in her cheeks was not that of someone who’d mastered control. Fiddling with that type of magic was asking for mishaps, and so the buxom traveler shot forth on clacking heels to intervene.

“Stop!” she commanded, sliding across the countertop with a hand outstretched.

The barkeep’s face went red, as Myri’s delicate hand snugly fit itself over her plump tit. It hadn’t exactly been the milkmage’s plan, but from the way that coloured nub was stiffening into her palm, it was the right move. A mixture of disappointment and excitement at the sight of the blonde cupping the cutie rang out, along with a few whispers from what she would assume were hicks who’d never seen a proper student of the university before.

The attention was certainly welcome, making her breasts swell with anticipation for expression, the little white droplets appearing on her chest and drawing an amazed stare from the redhead. “Ahem,” Myri cleared her throat, reluctantly removing her hold and taking the charm with her, “are not you aware of the dangers of milkmagic charms? You could end up overexpressing, growing to the extreme and spurting good milk all across your floor.”

It clearly struck a chord, the girl’s green eyes casting downwards in an unspoken admission that such things had happened before. “It ain’t so bad,” she mused shyly, still not fixing her top, “an’ we need it fer the Teat’s specialty drinks.”

“Yeah, jus’ let ‘er milkmage!” a semi-drunk voice came from the back. “Ah came ‘ere fer a show!”

Did they truly have so little care for the girl’s wellbeing? “Oh, can you not get your wife to lift her top with a mug like that?” she shot back at him, her ice blue eyes steeling a cold glare.

She struck a nerve. “Why ye little-“ the drunk was ready to rise when a member of his table stopped him with a hand.

“Ye wanna pick a fight with a milkmage?” she challenged, turning a skeptical eye on him. “All our fields need their blessin’s in the spring, ‘less ye want the lot o’ us pissed at ye keep yer ass in yer seat!”

A smug satisfaction twisted into a grin onto Myri’s lips; good to see some people at least had sense. With the room calmed down somewhat she was able to turn her attention back to the innkeeper, fixing a lock of her golden hair over her ear. “Specialties? What do you offer that needs milk charms?”

The redhead finally fixed her look, pulling her grease-stained tunic back into place to cover her cute little body. “Nan could do some milkmagic. Used ta use it fer mixed drinks an’ a few recipes,” she explained.

Well, that certainly explained it. “Do you need any tonight?” Myri asked with a cute little tip of her head.

“Stew’ll be mighty thin without good milk,” the innkeeper answered.

Stew sounded lovely, leading the milkmage’s stomach to rumble with need. “Well then,” she spun, planting her plush bottom on the counter and pressing her unbound breasts out as they continued to tease her expression, “how about a proper master of lactation provide for the guests tonight? In exchange for a bowl or two from that delicious smelling pot on the fire?”

You couldn’t put a price on the look of gratitude in the young redhead’s eyes. “O’ course! Ah’d be more’n grateful fer yer help milkmage,” she chirped, straightening with new vigor so quick her pert little tits bounced in her top.

“Please,” the intricately garbed novice turned with a grin, “call me Myri.”

The curvy blonde dipped deep, giving up the lightest bit of her control in order to dwell in her powerful desire. Her chest swelled before all their eyes, rounding out into full, heavy milk tanks that hung off her chest, each as large as her face, and looking enticingly obscene on her small frame. “So,” her voice struggled with a sultry moan, her cheeks warm as the space between her legs, “who had the order in need of proper milk?”

Hands shot up around the bar, and the innkeeper’s wide eyes were a good sign not all had been original requesters of the specialty beverage. “Hold up, lemme jot y’all down,” she chirped, scribbling names down with her grease pencil.

“The more the merrier,” the swollen milkmage giggled, turning and plopping her weighty bust onto the counter. “I am afraid that I do not know how to make your goods, so these are at your disposal,” her words were a purr, an invitation for the redhead to return the grope she’d incidentally given her earlier.

The bartender paused, her face pink at the sight of the beautiful woman and her offer. It was clear she knew how to work the crowd, there were already hoots and hollers of, “Come on Nemee! She’s askin’ ya nicely.” So that was her name.

Nemee cleared her throat, wiping her messy fingers off on her tunic. “Awright, keep yer coppers fer the drinks!” she plucked a bottle from her racks, shaking the fine mead and juggling a half-dozen tankards to fill the new orders.

Milkmagic was an art, as much as any other; watching the young innkeeper work the bar was its own thing entirely. She laid out the deep mugs, popping the cork of the fermented beverage with a thumb, and fluidly poured each of them without even a stutter in her movements. It was all in some part muscle memory, as her hand moved to her chest, only to remember she was getting the secret ingredient from another source today.

Her green eyes turned to the buxom magician, the first mug in her grip as she held it under one of the girl’s “taps”. “Jus’ lemme know if ah’m doin’ somethin’ ya dun like,” she whispered.

All the speed from just a moment ago transformed into elegance. Her fingers were soft, delicate as they gently took hold of one of Myri’s pebbly nipples. Such tenderness spiked the milkmage’s desire, her breasts filling another size and leaking a steady stream of her pale expression down the curved underside of her tits and onto the counter. The barkeep didn’t have three hands, all she could do was slip the current drink into place and carefully pinch the bud in her grasp to aim the flow where she wanted.

The blonde bit her lip, realizing she needed to reel back a bit or she’d end up spurting across the cute girl. “Ah’m not bein’ too rough, am I?” Nemee asked at the sight.

“N-not at all,” her voice rasped, the tease of the redhead stopping making her squirm, “Keep going!” she pleaded as she felt her desire growing, threatening to swell her further with sweet bounty.

Once more warmth filled the girl’s face. She didn’t need further prompting, tipping the tank to maintain the booze’s foam head as she pinched the teat in her grasp. Myri’s flow picked up, a stuttering moan singing out from her core to the background of her milk pouring into the drink. It was full in seconds, and the seasoned bartender slid it across the bar with an “Order up!” before taking the next to the rapidly squirting nip.

The way she was handled left the milkmage in ecstasy, savouring the girl’s touch as she beckoned out her creamy expression. The whole bar got to watch the rock of her hips while she danced on her toes, heels clicking like the tempo in her lustful orchestra. She must have filled a dozen drinks, alternating between left and right, her stream never slowing as the gentle caressing of her buds helped keep her at a steady balance between the disciplines.

It had to come from somewhere though, the blonde’s tight tummy sending a reminder with another whimpering growl. “Awright, jus’ need some fer the stew an’ we can see to fixin’ ya a meal Myri,” the lithe innkeeper’s tone had lightened, accented with a fluttery giggle, “Doubt ya wanna be holdin’ those beauties over a hot pot.”

“Not in particular, no,” the hungry mage joked along, happy to know her efforts had broken the girl’s nervous shell.

As they bantered, Nemee pulled out a bowl, setting it on a stool beneath those milky fountains; she didn’t need the accuracy of a single teat into a mug for this job. Both hands rose up, taking a brief moment to fondle the sheer, impressive size of the head-sized mounds on the milkmage’s chest. Once more the buxom traveler’s song rang, as the bartender kneaded from base to those hard nubs in a proper milking motion.

Long spurts fell, painting the bottom of the container and splashing up over the lip from their sheer volume. Sweet smelling droplets soon dotted her milker’s trousers, and though the suntanned blonde was making more than enough to spare, she still let out a precious whimper at the waste. “Jus’ a bit more,” the greasy server assured, misinterpreting her whines, “then we’ll getcha somethin’ ta fill ya proper.”

She wasn’t lying, Myri’s copious bounty soon filling the bowl near to the top. The milkmage did her best to hold her tongue, watching the redhead get to her feet, licking the errant droplets of her milk from her fingertips with a cat-like grin. “Oh, that’s real good.”

“Ah’d say, might need another round,” one of the patrons hooted from their seat in the corner, mug held high, with a telltale line of white on their upper lip.

The barkeep shot a playful leer, “Come now, let’s give the lady a break. She’s jus’ give the better part o’ a gallon.”

“I can handle a few more glasses,” the sleek dressed woman purred from the counter. In reality, she really just wanted those skilled hands back on her needy teats.

With a chuckle Nemee shook her head. “Ah dun’ doubt it Myri, but ye should, if nothin’ else, stretch yer back. Ye’ve been hopped over the bar fer longer n’ a whore getting’ a railin’.”" The Milkmage by Madam Materia