Stupidly you drink

Your head swims and pounds to the pulsating beat of the drum. Before you know what’s happening you’ve tipped back the bowl to your lips. The milk goes down smooth, not as thick nor as flavourful as Brigette’s, but it warms your stomach and heats your blood. You take away the bowl and nearly drop it. You giggle. Your thoughts were muddled before but now they seem to drown in a sea of giddiness.

Voices surround you, echoing and strange. The fire dances and sways in your vision. The voices sound worried. You frown. You don’t want people to worry about you. You’re okay. You try to express this but your tongue is heavy and awkward in your mouth. You do not resist as arms pass under you and lift you up. You feel very tired.

You’re taken away from the warmth and glow of the fire. You whine faintly but nothing can be done.

You hear a shuffling sound. You’re lying down on something smooth and hard. Your breasts swell beneath you in weighty cushions.

You blink slowly. You vision begins to settle itself again. You’re in a dark place. There is a scent of herbs and something pungent and thick in the air. You shiver, cold in your nakedness.

You blink again and see a shape moving about the room. You recognize Kroak, the medicine wug, his fins faintly jingling with the rings and charms piercing them. He is gathering something from the old jars and urns, mixing it in a bowl.

“What…happened?”

His eyes are huge in the light as he turns sharply at your voice. You try to rise but lethargy fills you with exhaustion. He blinks owlishly at you for a moment, then seems to relax.

“Got sick. Did not take well to milk.”

“No?” You look about yourself. Faint firelight plays through holes in the reed walls, shining against the glass of dirty old bottles, tracing the curves of clay pots with orange light and fluttering plants hung on the walls to dry. In the corner are large wooden cages, and inside you catch the gleam of manacles. A cauldron sits in the centre of the room. “Where am I?”

“My hut. Brought you here.”

You blink again, events slowly lining back up in your mind. “What did…you put in my milk?”

Kroak stares at you silently. “You smart,” he says contemplatively and turns back to his work. “Maybe something special after all. No matter. Chief and tribe think Tokonga come. I not so sure.”

You open your mouth but catch it before you blurt out something you might regret. Fortunate, for Kroak thinks aloud as he continues to mix his concoction. “Tokonga has special milk. See that. Will want to test. Make clan strong. But you take young quick.” The medicine wug stops to put the bowl on the floor. From his abdominal slit comes the pink wedge of his cock. You stare and lick your lips, blood rising to your cheeks as he wraps his webbed hands about his arousal, and begins to methodically masturbate. “Chief thinks females carry young willingly. Thinks if given chance will want. Not so sure. Won’t risk. Should make female willing. Don’t need thoughts. Only breeding and white.” His breathing has begun to grow a little ragged as he continues to jerk himself off over the bowl. “Need only womb. Carry new. Nothing else.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what the medicine wug proposes. He wants to turn you into a mewling broodmare, little more than an animal to be fucked and milked for the rest of your life like the woman from before. And to your horror, you feel your nipples row pebbly hard, eagerly drooling milk down your massive teats. “You can’t,” you whisper. “Tokonga…”

“Will deal with Tokonga,” Kroak grunts. “Not like you. Need aware. But, maybe not so smart. Nice and willing. Be able to bring tribe strength. Bring other wugs together. Do what Tokonga says. Chief and warriors. Tokonga do what I say.” He grunts and thrusts into his hand.

You shudder in horror. A new kind of warmth takes hold of you, burning away the lethargy. He wants to **** Brigette! Turn her into some sort of mewling puppet to use. Your hands curl into fists. You prop yourself up on an elbow but are still weak from the effects of the ****. You look up in time for Kroak to give a mighty croak and cum, spilling his seed into the bowl at his feet.

He sags for a moment, weak with post coital bliss.