[Ophelia] Chantel looks thirsty.

{if Chantel_arousal < 3}"P-please let me go?" The criminal's plea takes on the tone of a question, perhaps because she's fighting the growing arousal in her, perhaps because she, like you, can't believe that's even being requested. {if@ Chantel_diana = true}

"Masaka," Diana sighs in what sounds like a taunting voice before resealing Chantel's mouth with her own.{endif}{endif}

You look to the {if Ophelia_badmother = true}(former){endif} mother in your clutch of women, her fingers daintily massaging her massive udders. {if@ Ophelia_milkrack = true}Without her constant milkings, their overproduction must be making her chest sore and her nipples ache with the need for release. Indeed, before she even arrived they were already drooling the excess of her tits in small rivers of milk, which now, bereft of any clothes, slide under her breasts and dribble down the length of her body. She looks to you, the one who ordered Devi to administer dose after dose of some experimental pro-lactation **** to the already milky maid, and her eyes glisten with pain and the hope of relief.{else}Each one forms droplets of white at their tips without so much as a squeeze, and it's clear that she's gone too long without a proper milking since you and Devi were both so preoccupied. She looks to you, the father of the zygote growing inside of her now, with eyes that glisten with the hope for relief.{endif} You'd provide that relief; after all, per Devi, every fluid out of your slaves also comes packed with some version of your pheromones. "Ophelia," you whisper, grinning at how excited she gets, "Chantel looks thirsty. Can you help her?"

Chantel, still moaning as {if@ Chantel_nutmeg = true}{if@ Chantel_xenia = true}Xenia and Nutmeg work her clit{else}the stench of Nutmeg's piss fills her nostrils{endif}{elseif Chantel_xenia = true}Xenia shoves deeper into her cunt{elseif Chantel_diana = true}Diana greedily sucks and chews on Chantel's perky tit{endif}, {if@ Chantel_arousal > 2}can barely think straight enough to catch your implication{else}tosses your amateur wet nurse an alarmed stare, but says nothing for fear of releasing another guilty moan.{endif} Ophelia looks to you in surprise, and then ever so slightly with disdain to the lesbian action on the bed.

Even parted from Cross and his control, she couldn't shake her opinions about homosexuality; all the same, or perhaps because she separates it from sex, she nods, and answers only by bringing her massive nipple, erect and wet with mother's milk, up to Chantel's face. {if Chantel_diana = true}Diana, still enrapturing your guest in licks and kisses all over her face and neck, relents only when Ophelia's pointed presence is felt.{endif} The Pacific girl finally notices the approaching tit and sniffs the scent of human milk in alarm, {if Chantel_arousal < 3}showing obvious disdain for it{else@}left confused by her swimming senses as she is{endif}. Ophelia presses the matter by scooping Chantel's head up, lowering the chubby protrusion to her mouth's level, and smothering the prisoner in the fat of her chest.

You walk around to see the act from the opposite side; from your perspective, Chantel's head comically vanishes into the soft, swollen pillow of meat, as if her neck and black hair were part of Ophelia... and because you know how much your **** ached for release, you predict that pressing Chantel this deeply means her mouth is already being filled with milk. Chantel has no option but to drink or drown. You scan her thin, swarthy throat, watching it twitch as she tries to yell past some mouthful of Ophelia's sweet white, **** for air to breathe... and your eyes widen as you see trickles of the same dribble down Chantel's throat, overflowing from the seal between her face as the giant sweater puppy engulfing her. The yelling stops... and for precious seconds you fear she choked and suffocated herself.

Ophelia smiles blissfully, and sighs with relief. You look back down, and smile too when you see Chantel's throat pulse as she takes her first swallows. "Thank you, Master," Ophelia coos, stroking the head pinned to her by her other hand. As if in anticipation, her other breast squirts a bit more milk out, dotting Chantel's {if Chantel_nutmeg = true}soiled {endif}chest{if Chantel_diana = true} and Diana's face{endif}. Chantel's body soon strains and twists, and you gently remind Ophelia to let her breath. Alarmed by her near-****-by-bliss, she release Chantel's gasping, **** head. Fresh tears form on the whore's face, which contrasts strangely to her newly excited moans and the licking of her lips. You stroke your meat as you walk around the bed again, and feel another orgasm coming after watching that engagement. "You must choose, 'Chantel': cum in your twat, or more milk in your belly." You give some extra hardy pumps of your meat, and let it point enticingly at the {if Chantel_arousal < 2}struggling{else@}gasping{endif} hooker. Her eyes hang on your hanging meat... but she doesn't break yet. "M-... more milk, pleeeeease," she moans.

As much as you'd love to punish her vagueness with a serving of what a Puerto Rican ex once called "leche de tu palo", you keep the game going: after quickly rounding the bed, you shove Ophelia down by her shoulders, forcing her to bend over more so her tits come back down, her unused nipple now hovering by Chantel's mouth. The prisoner waits for no invitation: her head pops back up from the mattress and takes the nipple into her mouth. Ophelia, shocked by this, turns to you. "M-Master, I believe she's... she's enjoying this! But it's wrong... all of this is..." Her old discomforts are quieted when you shove into her birth canal just as you begin to climax. Her pussy, ever-wet but tight from a lack of recent use, grips you to urge out her own favorite consumable. You bathe her cervix as demanded, and shudder as her complaints are lost in a greater sea of passion. Chantel struggles to drink the volume erupting from her breast, and even the well-suckled teat now sprays the crowd of hungry slaves.