Page 16 of Runaway Hucow

“I heard you crying.” There was the barest touch of sternness in the minotaur’s voice now. “Please, let me help you.”

Tess knew that please wasn’t for him, it was for her. He wasn’t begging to touch her, the way some weak men might do. He was asking her to submit to him so he could alleviate her pain.

When he placed his hands on her chest, Tess couldn’t help but notice how perfectly her breasts seemed to fit into his palms. The ache was still there inside her, but Spike’s warmth softened it a little, and when he teased her nipples through the clinging wet fabric of her shift, a little moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

She remembered what the bisonman had told her last night in the cave. Where I come from, ma’am, a woman’s word is law, and when she says no, a man ought to reckon she means it.

If she asked him to stop, he would.

She didn’t ask him to stop.

His hands went beneath the water, to find the hem of her shift. When he started to peel the wet garment off her body, Tess lifted her arms to assist him. The cool, clean morning air suddenly felt wonderful against her bare skin.

Spike turned her, so she was facing toward the middle of the river. Then he drew her body against his, so her back was pressed to his front, and her bottom was nestled between his powerful, kneeling thighs. She could feel his male arousal straining against the front of his britches, hard and huge.

He wants me, Tess thought, but not in the way those men had wanted her, the auctioneer and the three bounty hunters. They had wanted her the way men wanted a glass of whiskey or a good hand of cards. Something to be used once and then discarded. Not Spike. Not the bisonman. He wanted her the way an animal wants its mate. A deep, primal longing that surpasses ordinary human understanding. It made Tess squirm with nervous excitement, as if a thousand tiny feathers were tickling her inside and out.

Spike slid his hands around her body and cupped her breasts from behind. He began to massage her, gently at first, then a bit more firmly, gradually increasing the pressure until he was kneading her so strongly she could feel it deep within the inner tissue of her breasts. He worked his fingers from back to front, squeezing her taut nipples at the end of each stroke. Tess’s breasts still ached, but now it was a good ache, a needful ache, and she leaned back into the bisonman with a sigh as he continued to caress and massage her, slow and firm and deep.

Her milk began to flow.

It was just a drizzle at first, a few pale drops here and there, but soon the milk was squirting out of her in thin white streams that clouded when they hit the surface of the water in front of her. The sensation was more intense than anything Tess had ever experienced before. The closest thing she could compare it to was the feeling that came with relieving herself after holding her water for too long. Only this felt so much, much better. She mewled and writhed against the bisonman’s body, rubbing her bare backside against the hardness trapped inside his britches. If she rubbed long enough, would his body give out its own thick cream?

Suddenly, the massaging stopped.

The big hands fell away from her breasts.

“Spike?” Tess whimpered, her voice dripping with need. “Why did you stop?”

The minotaur turned her around so she was facing him again. He tugged her close, and she opened her legs to straddle his lap. She pressed her hands against his rippling midsection, hard muscles wrapped in smooth, soft suede. It felt even better than she’d imagined.

“Ma’am… it sure does seem like a shame to let your milk go to waste like that.”

He leaned her body back and lowered his face to her chest, kissing her softly, first on one side, then the other. His tongue came out and stroked against her, lapping up the milk that had dribbled down the underside of her breasts. Then, at last, his lips wrapped themselves around one of her nipples, and he began to suckle, pulling the milk straight out of her body with his mouth.

“Oh my God,” she moaned. “Spike, that feels so… so…”

She couldn’t quite find the word for it. Did it feel good? Oh yes, most definitely. But it was a dirty kind of good. Dirty and forbidden. It was right and wrong at the same time, and Tess didn’t ever want it to end. She clutched the bisonman’s horns and arched into him so he could drink from her even more deeply.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Spike, please don’t stop…”

Something was happening inside her, a sweet tension was building, rather like the tension she sometimes felt when she touched herself between the legs, only this time it was centered in her chest, and she wasn’t doing it to herself. Spike was doing it to her. Doing it with his lips. Doing it with his tongue. Oh God, even doing it with his teeth, nipping at her ever so lightly while he sucked her. That sweet, sweet tension continued to build inside her… and build… and build… and build.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop…”

He didn’t stop. He sucked her even more deeply, drawing almost half her breast inside his mouth. His hand was on the other half, squeezing, massaging, coaxing, milking.

When Tess’s release came, it felt like a river gushing out of her. She tossed back her head and sang with pleasure as the milk poured forth, flooding the minotaur’s mouth faster than he could swallow. Tess could feel it spilling down the front of her own naked body, thick and creamy and warm.

When it was finished, Spike drew his mouth off her with a wet sound, and Tess hung limp in his arms, panting and spent.

Was this how men felt when they came, she wondered.

If so, she envied them.

No. Not envied—pitied. A man only had one cock, but she had two breasts, and one of them was still nearly full.

She tilted her head up and looked at her own chest. The breast the minotaur had drunk from was noticeably smaller than its companion.