Examined by your masters

Your float into wakefulness is slow and easy, like resting on bubbles rising to the surface. Your eyes flutter open and see three figures before you. You squint, their figures resolving themselves. They look familiar…Two of the masters, and a tall green skinned woman look down on you. You frown. They’re speaking, but though you understand the words you can’t make sense of them.

“I am sorry, my chief. She did not take to the ritual,” one of the masters say, his every movement accompanied by the jingling of metal rings that pierce his fin.

“She did not seem so during the feast,” the taller wug says regretfully.

You look around yourself at the unfamiliar walls. You’re in what looks like a stall, crouched between short walls and lying on a bed of straw. You’re cold, your full naked figure curled up.

“It can take time, Gorak. No female can keep their mind against us.”

“Sister…”

The green one looks so sad. You feel you blood quicken at the sight of her. Through the haze which fouls your mind, some urgency rises. There’s something important here. Something important. You try to remember, brow furrowing but can’t quite do it. You try to go to her, but something about your neck holds you back. Your arms paw at the air like a puppy **** for attention. A low cry escapes your throat.

“What is the matter with her?” the tall one asks.

The one with the rings watches you, bulbous eyes intent. He rubs his pale stomach slowly, eliciting a low rumble from his throat. “Nothing. She is only frightened. It will pass.”

“Sabine.” The green woman comes towards you. She is naked, like you, but her curves seem somehow so grand. The way she moves sways her wide hips, her hourglass figure accentuated by the hugeness of her breasts, fairly as big as your head yet lacking any sag. She folds her legs beneath her and kneels at your side.

“Tokonga. What are you doing?” the ringed one asks, sounding faintly alarmed.

The green woman doesn’t answer. Can she not understand him? All such thoughts fade as you see the syrupy milk which leaks from her engorged breasts. She takes your head and leans you back. You submit at once to her touch, mouth falling open in a silent gasp of rapture.

“She needs me. Please, Sabine. I need you.”

The green woman sounds so sad. You see tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. You wish to kiss them away, but instead she draws your lips to her leaking teat. Her scent overwhelms you. Strong and earthy, sweet and delightful. Happily you latch onto her breast and begin to suckle.

Warmth falls down your throat, suffusing your whole body. It’s strange, feeding on her, but it seems a peace comes back to you, the haze in your mind calming and fading. You stare up into her face, and gradual recognition returns to you. Yes. Her name’s Brigette. Your mistress. Your love. And…something else. Something tickles at the back of your mind. That important thing. You try to grasp the thread of thought, feeling the strength of her milk aid you, but it’s so far off, and it’s so tempting to simply submit to the warmth of her embrace and the cloudiness of your thoughts.