Time enough for a meal

You cannot resist. Without a word you slide down Brigette’s body and latch onto a nipple. The green woman keens a **** moan and milk flows liberally into your mouth. The rhythm of milking her is now familiar, and your hands move against her ripe breast in gentle, kneading motions, pumping the thick, delicious milk into your mouth. Flavour explodes on your tongue and you eagerly gulp down the sweet nectar.

Brigette’s moan grows even throatier as her second nipple is attacked by the wug. Its large mouth envelops nearly half her breast and his webbed fingers grip and stroke at the firm green flesh of his goddess. Brigette begins to pant and writhe, her breasts heaving at the wugs knowing touch. You are startled. She never made such sounds with you. Shame at this fills you, and, self-consciously, you begin to mimic the wug’s actions.

You quickly recognize what you are doing wrong. Your supple fingers stop kneading her flesh and instead begin stroking gentle circular motions against her ripe orbs, as if coaxing the treasure within to rise. Brigette’s gasps grow more docile and her breath, though laboured, comes and goes more evenly. She relaxes against the wall of the cave, and both you and the wug follow her, feeding greedily from her without once removing your lips. A scent of flowers and greenery fills the confined air of your retreat, the musk a heady scent that makes your head spin.

Your breasts and hips again begin to ache. You remove one of your hands and push aside your robe to reach the soft flesh of your own breast. You grope and squeeze it, delighting in the pain even as you suffocate in the pleasure of the milk as it pours relentlessly down your throat and into your stomach. Your thoughts grow heavy and slow like a sated animal. Your fingers find your nipple and pinch.

You separate suddenly from Brigette’s breast with a gasp. You twitch and rub the bead of your nipple, feeling the pleasured jolts racing through you. You moan aloud and feel something wet and thick between your fingers. You feel like this is important, but feel so sated it slips from your mind as you fall against Brigette’s curvaceous form. Your open robe slips from your front, no longer able to stretch over your breasts. You look down at them with a smile. Pretty soon you’ll be as big as Brigette. But you doubt your milk would ever be as delicious.

In some silent agreement the wug too releases his breast. The three of you simply lay there, ankle deep in water, stuck in the small cave, yet perfectly content.

Something cold and smooth brushes against your leg. You look down to see the wug pressing against your side. You cannot read his bulging eyes, but his intention is clear as his webbed fingers push away the fabric which hides your mound. You shiver as his claw tipped fingers brush the hair around your cunny.