Chapter 108 McTitties.

Chapter 108: 108 McTitties.

She paused. "That’s you."

The Grey in my mind sat up in his chair, punched the air, and started doing the Running Man and the Shopping Cart dances. Somewhere in the background of my imagination, a choir of angels erupted into songs. I subtly performed the Sign of the Cross.

"Let me make sure I’m tracking," I said plainly, keeping my voice level with a heroic effort. "You can make your breasts produce milk. On command. And you’ve been saving this ability for someone special."

"For my Champion, yes." She was definitely not looking at me now. Her forked tongue flickered nervously. "In demonkin culture, sharing one’s first lactation with a mate is considered an act of profound intimacy and trust. It’s... sacred, in its way."

"Sacred tiddy milk," I said, nodding solemnly.

"Indeed," she whispered back reverently.

"Juniper, I need you to understand something about me as a man, as a Champion, and as a mammal who was breastfed for what my mother described as a socially unsettling amount of months." I set my tea down and turned to face her fully. "There is nothing in this dimension, the next dimension, or any dimension that Black Lazarus could cook up in his evil wizard kitchen that could stop me from accepting this honor. I am moved. I am humbled. I am also, with God as my witness, profoundly, oppressively erect, but that feels secondary to the emotional gravity of the moment."

She finally looked at me and smiled. That genuine Juniper smile crinkled the corners of her crimson eyes and made her look more beautiful than ever before. "You might be mentally impaired to some degree," she giggled, squeezing my hand.

I chuckled. "Hurtful, but no take-backsies allowed. Now get over here and let me worship at the altar of your sacred boobs."

She slithered forward and I pulled her onto the couch. Twenty-odd feet of copper-and-black tail redistributed itself around the furniture, and her upper body settled against mine. I could already feel her heart hammering through the bond already.

"I should warn you," she said as I lifted the hem of her top. "I don’t fully know what this will feel like. The texts describe it as... intense."

"So is camping. You’ll be fine."

She cocked her head in confusion as I continued to tug at her top suggestively. "Huh?"

"It’s in tents."

She sighed, then pulled her top over her head and Juniper’s world-class, nation-state-destabilizing, Geneva-Convention-violating mammaries tumbled free, and as always, I needed a moment just to reflect.

You know how in movies when it’s like the third act, and the lead character just recovered from their dark night of the soul trial? And there’s always a shot of a character when they have that moment of clarity, maybe seeing something significant or beautiful that puts everything into focus for them? And then the camera holds on their face for a beat while the music swells, and a single tear goes down the dude’s cheek? It was like that.

I’ve described these tits before, probably too many times, but every time I saw them I felt like I was seeing them anew because there was just so goddamn much to take in. Each one was bigger than my head, heavy, warm, impossibly soft, somehow perky yet still challenged by their own weight. They were dark-skinned, tipped with those puffy nipples that now held so much promise for the future, more than anything ever had.

"Whenever you’re ready," I said, cupping one in each hand with the gravitas of a man accepting the Holy Grail. "Just relax and trust me."

She nodded, her forked tongue flickering against her lower lip. I felt her coils settle around my legs. Not too tight, thankfully. It was more like a hug from a very large, very warm garden hose.

I took her left nipple into my mouth and started slow. Gentle suction, tongue circling, worshiping her tit with kisses and sucks. She made a soft sound and her hand found the back of my head. Her coils twitched once.

"That’s... good," she managed. "Keep going."

Oh, m’boy, I kept going. I added my hand to the right breast, thumbing the nipple in counterpoint to what my mouth was doing on the left. Her breathing changed. Through the bond, something was building. It was something I hadn’t felt from her before. It wasn’t just arousal, though there was plenty of that. It was more like a dam filling behind a wall.

"Grey." Her voice had dropped an octave into a register that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "I think it’s... I can feel it starting."

The first drop hit my tongue, and everything made sense.

I don’t have the vocabulary. I’m a guy from Minnesota who won the lawsuit and fights interdimensional monsters for a living. I am not a poet. I am not a food critic. I am the man who coined the term Biggle McTitties and I do not have the linguistic infrastructure to explain what demonkin breast milk tastes like with the literary nuance it deserves. But I’m going to try, because you’re reading this and you deserve to understand what I experienced.

It was awesome. It was warm, slightly sweet, and it had this quality that I can only describe as what comfort would taste like if it were a beverage. It was like honey from a unicorn bee. It tasted like a mother’s love in liquid form, but the mom is a total MILF, and not your mom for Amazon Terms of Service reasons.

"Oh fuck," I whispered against her skin, and went right back in like Pac-Man at a power pellet. Waka waka waka.

"Ahhh!" The sound she made would have inspired erections in all men in a five block radius. Her coils tightened around my legs and her back arched so hard her horns nearly gouged the ceiling. "Grey! Oh, that’s—I didn’t know it would—nyahhhh!"

The flow increased. I was getting genuine mouthfuls now, and each swallow seemed to amplify whatever was happening on her end because her moaning escalated proportionally. It was like a feedback loop—I drank, she felt it, she produced more, I drank more, she felt it more, and the sounds she was making were rapidly leaving the realm of bedroom noises and entering the magical land of noises that make neighbors call the police.

Her hands gripped my hair. Her forked tongue lashed against the air like it was trying to escape her mouth. Her coils, which had been resting casually around my legs, began to tighten with purpose.

I noticed this. I want the record to reflect that I noticed.

I did not stop.

"Don’t stop!" she gasped, her accent so thick it was practically a different language. "Please, don’t stop, it feels—I can’t—Grey—I’m going to—AHHHH!"

Again, I did not stop.

Her coils constricted.

Let me elucidate the sequence of events here, because it happened fast and I was distracted by the fact that I was motorboating the Fountain of Youth.

Juniper came, and when Juniper came, every single inch of her twenty-plus feet of supernatural snake muscle did what supernatural snake muscle does when its owner experiences epic cummies.

Everything clenched.