Something is wrong with Brigette

As you neared the cave, a change came over your companion. The darkness blinds you, but you can hear her steps as they fumble among the grass, how her breath grows short and heavy as in sudden exhaustion. You slow. “Brigette?” you call into the darkness. Something suddenly crashes into you. You start back and instinctively grab it. Your palms sink into firm, warm flesh and generous curves.

“Sabine,” Brigette groans. “I…I don’t feel so good.”

Fear grips your chest. You cling to her, supporting the weakening sister and hasten forward. The air soon turns the cool dampness of stone, and you know you have arrived. “Brigette. Shh. Don’t worry. Here. We’re in the cave,” you say.

The former sister groans in your arms.

Fearful, you lay her carefully on the ground, her back against the wall. Her hot breath steams the air and warms your face, and you can’t help but notice it carries a strong, but pleasant odour. You lean back. “Stay here. I’ll get a fire started,” you assure her and rush back out into the forest.

There are many dried branches scattered about the forest floor, quickly dampened by your sweating palms. You gather as many as you dare and hurry back inside. Your wood lore is sparse, but you can make a fire at least. Two stones serve for a spark, and in a matter of minutes you have a warm fire illuminating the cave.

You sigh in relief at the crackling flames and turn back to Brigette, and freeze at what you see. The fair sister’s skin is flushed a lime green. She’s groaning and writhing her naked flesh against the wall.

“Sabine,” she groans.

You are instantly at her side. You take her hand comfortingly. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“It…hurts…”

“Where?” you breathe. Brigette’s hands shake as she reaches up and suddenly grabs her overflowing tits. You stare, amazed, as her touch squeezes, and in response a jet of thick milk squirts from a teat, splashing across your face.

You blink. Realization comes at once. “Oh, Brigette,” you sob softly. The brunette simply groans in still greater anguish. You quickly wipe the milk from your cheek. Holding it on your finger, a sudden impulse grips you. Your tongue darts from between your lips and tastes the fluid on your finger. It’s a strange taste. Deep and musky, with a faint nutty flavour. Another groan recalls you. You bite your lip and eye her leaking teats jutting wantonly from her chest. You need to milk them. Yet, as you reach for them, the sudden urge to use your mouth, to taste and suckle your sister’s milk comes over you.