Baldur's Gate 3 Lae'Zel

Like all good githyanki, Lae’zel was always prepared to move at a moment’s notice. Life and **** could be determined in the blink of an eye. Or at the speed of thought in the case of the ghaik, or the mind flayers as her companions called them.

So she was prepared when her party leader, Tav, called for her. Lae’zel had accepted Tav as her jhe’stil, at least until they reached the creche. The woman had a way with words, with people. A good commander for this makeshift warband, and as a good githyanki, Lae’zel knew when to obey and when to cleave true to Vlaakith’s will above mortal upstarts. This Tav was worth following for a while.

“What is it, Ma’am?” she asked of her commander.

Tav, lounging on one of the log benches that comprised their camp’s center, didn’t answer immediately. She instead took the time to look Lae’zel over. The githyanki warrior knew her commander would find no faults with her readiness. Indeed, she wore her people’s plate armor as per regulation and good common sense. No blade would find purchase on her skin where it covered.

If a layperson not familiar with her people inquired as to what it didn’t cover, most notably, her fat fucking udders (as Tav called them), then their lack of ignorance was not her problem. Her massive milkers would deflect most blows and any that struck cleanly would be cushioned sufficiently.

Lae’zel saw her commander eyeing them. Observing how they burst forth from her bra-like chestplate, like the armor had been designed for someone with a much smaller chest, like suddenly one day they grew ten-fold in size and cracked open the metal to make way, demanding exposure to the air and eyes. Like magic had altered their form. But such was not the case. They had always been this large.

And this full of milk.

Githyanki were naturally so milk-laden. Not for anything as gross as rearing young, like the creatures of this plane did. No, as creatures of the astral plane, their bodies were forged for a more martial purpose.

Still going through with her combat demonstration, she began to shake her tits from side to side. The motion set them to sloshing, jiggling this way and that within the loose confines of her metallic chest-plate-bra.

After a few shakes, she began to feel a current run through her, a raging river that demanded entrance into the world. Her nipples, fully-exposed, and already gleaming with some small white droplets, opened like a breached dam, spraying jets of milk.

This was her race’s most fearsome attack. The reason why they had been able to break free from ghaik control. Anyone hit by a githyanki’s milk spray would be locked down, unable to move under the pressure of the white torrent. And if they ingested any of the milk, then they’d be fully incapacitated, too drunk on the psionic power contained within to do aught by laze around impotently.

“Impressive as always, Lae’zel.” The githyanki warrior preened. She was impressive. Any k’chakhi fresh from their creche could see that, but it still warmed her heart to have it acknowledged by competent warriors such as Tav. “But where’s your weapon?”

Her weapon? Her weapon!

How could she have forgotten her weapon? Sure, her breasts were an important part of her arsenal, but no gith worth her salt left themselves face an enemy without being armed.

Lae’zel reached down to her side, and aha, there it was. She pulled out her feather duster from its leather holster and raised it above her swinging tits.

“Here Ma’am.” Her weapon, a Feather Duster of Abberant Hunting, was a mighty implement that knew no equal. While some peoples used swords or axes, githyanki used the most powerful weapon type of all: feather dusters.

Her commander gave her a small, knowing smile at seeing how well-armed she was. Tav hummed and tapped two delicate, un-burdened with physical work, fingers against their chin. As a warlock, the commander fought with her stave and her ability to wring power out of her patron. Some entity of some far-off plane or somesuch. Lae’zel had never inquired too deeply, more interested in the facts of her commander’s power than the details.

Those uncalloused fingers tapped again, giving way to a soft, almost mocking voice. “And what a fine weapon it is. Could you remind me what it’s used for?”

“Of course, Ma’am. There is the obvious, of cleaning dust from surfaces. As we are currently in a forest, this has little use. But the true power of it lies in its ability to make me look like an idiot servant.”

“An idiot? Whysoever would you want that, my dear Lae’zel?”

“Because why would a ghaik try to consume my mind if there’s nothing there?” This sort of question and answer was nothing new. Lae’zel had answered such a thousand times before when she was training with her crechemates. It was drilled into her with such precision that she would never forget. “So too why I drool so profusely. Why I let my tongue hang limply. Why I unfocus my eyes. All to fool the ghaik. Or any other enemy.”

Tav clapped politely. “And what an excellent actor you are.” Tav stood up, and hopped over to Lae’zel. She took the githyanki’s chin in her hand, letting the drool accumulate in a little puddle on her palm while she stared deep into Lae’zel’s eyes.

Lae’zel for her part stared at nowhere in particular, just as she had been trained to do.

Tav drew back, and Lae’zel thought that might be it. She was pleasantly surprised when her commander lowered their head and suctioned onto one of her tits. That Tav wanted to partake of the Ceremony of Astral Bonding was a welcome development.

The githyanki warrior concentrated and connected the two psionically, marking Tav as an accepted recipient. Now her milk wouldn’t incapacitate the warlock, but rather, it would enhance her. Increase her physical and mental capabilities commensurate with the power of the githyanki that provided it. Lae’zel was still but a fresh warrior out of the creche, so it wouldn’t do that much, but every little bit counted and her commander was right to finally avail herself of every advantage that could be taken. To get rid of their tadpoles and to avoid having their minds suborned to the ghaik, she would do anything, and so should her companions.

“Mmm.” Tav moaned her appreciation, while flicking her tongue in just the right ways against the warrior’s nub. That she should be so well-versed in the ceremony without ever having practiced or known about it prior to Lae’zel explaining its steps, it was but another testament to the commander’s prowess.

Lae’zel still remembered when she had first encountered Tav, how she had dismissed the woman as weak from her appearance, from her cowardly spellcaster nature.

How wrong she had been.

Tav was a warrior true. When Lae’zel thought back on the way her commander had fought the ghaik (how the warlock had crushed one of the tentacled skulls beneath her boot) and the goblins (how she had blasted an archer off a cliff with an eldritch bolt of crimson energy) and all the other monsters they had encountered, she couldn’t help but shudder a bit. Or perhaps that was from the especially rough tug on her nipple.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Lae’zel would find a way to continue working with Tav after the tadpoles were removed. It would be a shame to let one so talented slip away. And the woman clearly hated the mind flayers as much as she did.

Tav let go of her nipple, smacking her lips as she did. “I’d love to continue adventuring with you,” she replied, almost as reading her thoughts. But of course she wasn’t. Lae’zel would never brook such a violation. Her commander just knew her so well, she could tell just from looking at the lines on her face. “My dear Lae’zel,” Tav said, kissed the swell of her breasts, then spoke again, “how could I ever let you go?”