It was an indescribable sensation.
Ash had never experienced anything like it before.
Something was coming out of his chest.
His master was sucking it, hard.
He moved his pale lips and licked the nipple with his red tongue.
Ash saw something milky white being drawn into the bright red tongue.
Ash was too shocked to even scream.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with the bizarre spectacle unfolding before him.
His mind raced, grappling with the impossible reality, but no coherent thought could form through the sheer terror and confusion.
“What have you done?!”
Ash’s voice, when it finally emerged, was a strained whisper, barely audible above the frantic pounding of his own heart.
The taste of copper filled his mouth as his teeth ground together.
He felt utterly violated, his body no longer his own, but a mere vessel for some grotesque, inexplicable act.
“Oh, Tyl, do you want some too? It’s not as sweet as I thought. The scent, though, it’s intoxicating…”
His master’s voice, casual and almost childlike, grated on Ash’s ears.
It was a bizarre detachment, a disturbing nonchalance that only amplified Ash’s horror.
The master, still latched onto Ash’s chest, seemed utterly oblivious to the profound distress he was inflicting.
His eyes, usually gleaming with mischief, were now half-lidded, lost in some private, indulgent satisfaction.
“What is this, what on earth…?”
Even Tylian, speaking those words, didn’t seem to know what it was.
His usually composed demeanor was shattered, replaced by a gaping disbelief that mirrored Ash’s own.
Tylian’s face was a mask of shock, his eyes darting between Ash’s chest and the master’s placid expression.
Ash even felt like he knew. It was something he never thought would come out of his own chest.
The very idea was anathema, a violation of everything he understood about his own body and masculinity.
The milky substance continued to flow, a relentless, horrifying stream.
“Mas-Master, th-this…”
Ash stammered, his breath catching in his throat.
A cold dread seeped into his bones, a premonition of something deeply unsettling.
He tried to pull away, to wrench himself free, but his bound wrists held firm, chafing against the ropes.
“Hmm?”
The master hummed, a low, contented sound, entirely out of place in the escalating nightmare.
He seemed to be savoring the taste, his cheeks moving rhythmically as he continued to draw the liquid.
“What is it?”
Ash’s face was flushed red, and he asked, almost weeping.
His tear ducts swelled, and his jaw trembled.
What on earth had this person done?
He couldn’t believe it.
The indignity of it all was overwhelming, pushing him to the brink of a hysterical breakdown.
Tears pricked at his eyes, hot and salty, blurring his vision.
His throat was tight, making it difficult to breathe, each inhale a ragged gasp.
His master blinked.
Ash felt like he blinked almost once every minute.
His heart pounded.
He didn’t want to hear what this person was about to say.
No, he had to hear it.
He needed an explanation, a rationalization for this insanity, even if he knew none could truly exist.
In the midst of it all, his chest was itching.
The sensation was maddening, a deep, persistent itch that clawed at his insides.
Ash unconsciously moved his hand to scratch his chest.
But his bound hands wouldn’t budge, and only his master, who was lying on his chest, felt it.
His master said, “Ah,” and squeezed Ash’s chest with his hand.
The touch sent a jolt through Ash’s body, a mixture of repulsion and a strange, unwelcome relief.
“Hmph!?”
A sharp burst of surprise escaped Ash’s lips as milky white liquid shot out from his chest like a water gun.
The itch was instantly relieved, only to return with a greater craving, a desperate urge to feel that release again.
His chest ached, a dull, throbbing pain that spread from the core of his being.
The place where the fluid had been squeezed out swelled again and became heavy, a tautness that was both uncomfortable and strangely sensitive.
Ash was terrified.
This was no dream, no hallucination.
This was real.
“Crazy, crazy person! What have you done?! What have you done to me? That I’d call a person like this my master, crazy, aren’t you going to turn me back right now?!”
Ash’s voice rose to a furious shout, raw with indignation and fear.
He thrashed against his bonds, a desperate, futile attempt to escape the horrifying violation.
His body felt alien, twisted into something unrecognizable.
“Ash, Ash, just a moment. Don’t be angry. Ouch. Don’t kick my stomach either. Ah… that hurts.”
The master’s voice was placating, almost whining, as if Ash were the one causing the trouble.
He still lay there, a picture of indolent contentment, his red tongue still visible.
“I’m kicking to hurt you! To hurt you! Don’t scream for politeness’ sake, do something! What did you do?!”
Ash’s rage was a burning inferno, consuming all other emotions.
He wanted to inflict pain, to make the master understand the terror he was feeling.
“Calling your master ‘you’…”
His master mumbled, a slight frown creasing his brow.
His eyes stared blankly into space, then turned back to Ash in surprise, as if just realizing the audacity of Ash’s address.
“…That’s not bad either.”
The master’s expression softened into a peculiar, almost pleased smirk, a clear indication of his deranged perspective.
“Listen to me! Are your ears blocked?! This crazy mage, crazy, crazy person… I should have known sooner! This is…”
Ash couldn’t say more and cried like a child, the fury giving way to an overwhelming tide of despair.
The dam of his composure burst, and hot tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision and making his throat ache.
He felt utterly helpless, a victim ensnared in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
A flustered Tylian approached him, his usual composure completely gone.
His face was pale, and his hands trembled slightly as he knelt beside Ash.
“Sir Ash. It’s alright. I will interrogate this person, so don’t be flustered… Don’t cry. It’s probably nothing serious. Surely this madman hasn’t… isn’t… pregnant… You, what have you done to Sir Ash?!”
Tylian’s voice, usually steady and calm, was strained with a mixture of concern and outrage.
He grabbed the mage by the collar, his grip tight and unwavering.
The mage’s body was lifted into the air, dangling precariously.
“Cough, cough. Ah, close combat is difficult…”
The master wheezed, his casual demeanor finally cracking under Tylian’s aggressive grip.
He waved a hand weakly, as if to ward off Tylian’s fury.
“Tyl, it won’t stop. It’s itching, it keeps coming out. What do I do?!”
Ash wailed, his voice raw with desperation.
The constant flow of milk was a chilling reminder of his altered state, a grotesque betrayal of his own body.
He wanted to scratch his chest, to rub away the maddening itch, to squeeze out the relentless pressure.
His chest kept swelling, not visibly on the outside, but something inside was becoming strangely sensitive and firm.
It was full.
If he left it like this, it would harden and become painful.
Someone had to massage it and get it out.
That’s what he felt, an instinctual, primal urge.
But Ash couldn’t do anything, his hands still bound.
As he cried uncontrollably, Tylian threw the mage down onto the bed, his earlier composure completely shattered.
He knew he couldn’t fix this himself.
“Sir Ash. I’ll call another mage, please wait a moment.”
Tylian’s voice was firm, but Ash could hear the underlying panic.
He rose quickly, preparing to leave.
“Where are you going! What mage? What mage is there in a place like this? Don’t go, I’m scared!”
Ash shrieked, terror seizing him.
He felt utterly vulnerable, abandoned to his bizarre fate.
The thought of being left alone with the deranged master was unbearable.
“But we can’t solve the problem like this.”
Tylian pleaded, torn between Ash’s distress and the urgent need for a solution.
“It’s itching!”
Ash suddenly shrieked again, his voice cracking.
His curled toes scratched at the bedsheets, a desperate, animalistic response to the torment.
His sensitive, twitching nipples heated up with the slightest movement of air, each breath a fresh wave of agony and perverse stimulation.
His lower body reacted accordingly.
He felt a warmth in his stomach, a strange, uncomfortable blossoming.
At some point, his penis had become erect, tapping against Ash’s stomach, an insistent, rhythmic throb that urged ejaculation.
The shame of this involuntary response was almost as overwhelming as the horror of his lactating chest.
“Mage!”
Tylian grabbed the mage’s collar again, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
His patience had finally run out.
“Turn Sir Ash back right now. Don’t think I’ll spare you just because you’re Sir Ash’s master.”
He shook the mage, his face grim with resolve.
“Cough! Ash, there’s no need to be scared. It’s nothing serious…”
His master, who had collapsed onto the bed, tried to comfort him with a choked voice, but it was no comfort to Ash at all.
The words were empty, meaningless in the face of his indescribable suffering.
He finally uttered the word, the truth he had been desperately trying to avoid.
“What do you mean nothing’s wrong? My… my chest is producing milk!”
He spat the words out, a mixture of outrage and disbelief.
“Yes, that’s right. It’s just milk.”
The master responded, completely unfazed, as if this were the most mundane thing in the world.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s right’?!”
Ash kicked his master’s stomach again, a desperate, futile attempt to inflict some of the pain he felt.
This time, the attack landed squarely.
His master made a sound like he was about to vomit and collapsed, clutching his stomach.
“Cough, ouch… Why are you so surprised? It’s not strange for milk to come from your chest…”
The master mumbled, still attempting to justify his actions, his voice a pathetic whimper.
“How is it not strange?! Why should milk come from my chest?!”
Ash roared, his voice hoarse from crying and yelling.
The absurdity of the situation was infuriating.
“Well, because I made it come out…”
The master confessed, his voice barely audible, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“You, not only did you violate Sir Ash, but now you’ve even… p-p-pregnant…”
Tylian uncharacteristically stammered, the word “pregnant” catching in his throat.
He looked at Ash, then at the mage, his eyes wide with horror.
“No!”
Ash shouted, even in his panic, correcting the facts with a desperate need for accuracy.
The idea of pregnancy, on top of everything else, was too much to bear.
“What do you mean no? Can you be sure?”
Tylian pressed, still grappling with the unthinkable.
“How can I get pregnant?! You have to ejaculate inside for a baby to happen, don’t you?!”
Ash cried, his voice laced with indignation.
He knew the basic facts of biology, even if his current situation defied all logic.
“Sir Ash… pregnancy can happen even with external ejaculation.”
Tyllian, unlike Ash, was an exemplary student.
With a pale face, he relayed the information he’d heard in sex education class, his voice a hollow echo in the chaotic room.
He looked at Ash with a mixture of sympathy and bewilderment, the standard knowledge he had absorbed from classes now jarringly applicable to this horrifying scenario.
Ash felt like he was losing his mind.
The carefully constructed world of his understanding was crumbling around him, replaced by this grotesque, inexplicable reality.
“Why, why?!”
He screamed, his voice raw with despair.
The thought of being pregnant, on top of everything else, was simply too much to process.
“It’s rare, but it happens,” Tyllian explained, his voice strained but still attempting to be informative.
“Why don’t you know? Didn’t you attend the same class as me? Surely you haven’t been using withdrawal as a contraceptive method all this time, have you?”
Tyllian’s voice, initially calm, gradually shifted to an incredulous tone.
His anger seemed to be redirecting, his frustration with the master now tinged with a bewildered exasperation for Ash’s supposed ignorance.
Ash desperately wanted to offer an excuse.
The simplest excuse here should have been, ‘No? Of course I know. I haven’t done such a thing.’
But, of course, Ash had frequently used that as a form of birth control…
The memory brought a fresh wave of shame and self-recrimination.
He had been so careless, so complacent.
Anyway, his chest felt heavy, aching and itchy, and he was on the verge of going crazy from fear and confusion!
The physical discomfort was a constant, searing reminder of the nightmare, and his mental state was rapidly deteriorating.
“Me… am I really pregnant?!”
Ash whimpered, the word feeling foreign and repulsive on his tongue.
“Wizard!”
Tyllian grabbed the Wizard by the collar, his patience finally snapping.
At the same time, his body was thrown backward by an unseen force.
The Wizard coughed, waving a hand in dismissal, a faint magical aura shimmering around him.
“Listen to my explanation, both of you. Why do you ask questions without listening?”
The master chided, his voice regaining some of its earlier petulance.
Before Tyllian could lunge again, the Wizard quickly added, “Ash isn’t pregnant.”
“…Is that true?”
Tyllian, who had been about to twist the Wizard’s limbs, stopped moving, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
He still held the mage’s collar, but his aggressive posture softened slightly.
Despite this, Ash couldn’t stop crying.
The emotional dam had broken, and the tears continued to flow, a constant stream of fear and relief and confusion.
“Then why is this happening?!”
Ash demanded, his voice hoarse and raw.
The immediate fear of pregnancy was gone, but the mystery of his lactating chest remained, an equally terrifying enigma.
“Ash, you truly don’t listen to others. I told you I did it.”
The master sighed, as if explaining something painstakingly obvious to a dim-witted child.
“So, what… what is it… a magic trick?”
Ash stammered, grasping for any explanation, however improbable.
“Exactly. Do you understand now? How else would I make milk come from your chest when you’re not even pregnant? There’s only one answer, isn’t there? I’m a wizard. …Ah?”
The master explained, a triumphant, almost smug look on his face.
He seemed genuinely surprised by Ash’s outburst that followed.
Ash kicked his master with all his might.
His master, who had been sitting on the bed kindly explaining, tumbled back down with a yelp of pain.
The sheer audacity, the casual disregard for his autonomy, was infuriating.
“Are you insane?! Who does something like this without permission?!”
Ash screamed, his voice cracking with rage.
No, it’s something you shouldn’t do even with permission!
Shouldn’t you not even think about asking for permission?
The very idea was preposterous, a gross violation of personal boundaries.
Ash wanted to do something, anything, to his master if only he could move his hands.
But his chest felt strange.
It was itchy and then felt damp… milk was overflowing, a constant, viscous stream that soaked his clothes and the bedsheets beneath him.
“Ah. What a waste.”
His master muttered blankly, his eyes fixed on the overflowing milk.
Then he met Ash’s gaze, a flicker of bewilderment in his eyes.
“But you already gave permission, didn’t you?”
The master asked, his voice laced with a genuine confusion that only made Ash’s rage burn hotter.
“When did I?!”
Ash demanded, his voice a disbelieving screech.
“You promised you’d do anything in exchange for me letting you escape. Have you already forgotten?”
The master stated, his voice now calm and matter-of-fact.
Ash fell silent.
The blood drained from his face as the memory crashed down on him, cold and undeniable.
He had.
In his desperation to escape the confines of their magical imprisonment, he had indeed made that reckless promise.
‘Tyllian was right?’
The thought flickered through his mind, a jarring realization.
No. His master wouldn’t harm Ash.
That premise was correct.
Ash wasn’t wrong.
According to his master, this was just… just milk coming out.
The problem was that his master was insane.
In other words, there was a vast difference between what his master considered ‘not harmful’ and what Ash considered ‘not harmful.’
The master’s definition of harmless was terrifyingly broad, encompassing things Ash would never have imagined.
“Why… why do you make milk come from a normal person’s chest? And why do you drink it?!”
Ash wanted to understand his master’s mental world, to find some shred of logic in the madness.
His voice was no longer accusatory, but a desperate plea for understanding.
His master smacked his lips regretfully, a gesture of disappointment, before slowly approaching Ash.
He then leaned down and, with a casual intimacy that sent shivers of revulsion down Ash’s spine, licked the milk that had wet Ash’s areola.
The warm, wet touch was simultaneously horrifying and strangely arousing.
Ash really didn’t want to, but his hips arched involuntarily, a visceral response to the unexpected sensation.
Twitch…!
A sharp, involuntary twitch ran through his lower body, a stark betrayal of his conscious will.
“…Because it looked delicious?”
The master mumbled, his eyes still fixed on Ash’s chest, a peculiar gleam in their depths.
‘Crazy, crazy person…’
Ash thought, his mind screaming in despair.
There was no logic, no reason.
Only this unhinged obsession.
“It’s not as tasty as I thought.”
His master evaluated, a touch of disappointment in his voice.
Then he kneaded Ash’s chest as if massaging it.
The wizard’s hands were cold and slightly damp, like those of a reptile, a disconcerting touch that made Ash’s skin crawl.
Those hands squeezed and released the areola and the surrounding flesh repeatedly, with a startling intensity, as if to burst them open.
Ash struggled, a choked gasp escaping his lips.
The knotted, engorged parts of his chest loosened with each forceful manipulation, and a painful yet refreshing sensation ran down his spine.
It was a bizarre, contradictory feeling, a perverse mixture of agony and release.
Splat!
His master received the gushing milk directly into his mouth, his head tilted back in satisfaction.
In contrast to his cold, reptilian hands, a warm tongue suddenly engulfed Ash’s chest, drawing the milk with an almost desperate hunger.
“Ah!”
Ash cried and begged, his voice a choked sob.
He was utterly at the mercy of this madman, his body a plaything, his will shattered.
The raw, primal sensation of being suckled was overwhelming, a terrifying violation that resonated deep within his core.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.