Milked by Master: A BWWM Lactation Romance, Box Set by Quinn Rossi Page B

stomach
and a round ass, Clara now loved her new figure. Whereas
most women abhor what havoc child bearing can wreck on their body,
Farmer6969 convinced her that she was a work of art that
deserved to be milked, bred and worshiped daily. Clara
found herself drooling over her anonymous virtual lover, who had
mercifully taken on the task of teaching her to experience the
erotic rush of love, trust and pleasure that only
exists between a slave and her Master.
    Submissive
by nature, Clara had always secretly been fascinated with
white slave owners who bred their female slaves. There's
little documented about that time period, but what she  was  able
to find fed her growing obsession. When Farmer6969 mentioned
“breeding” her, Clara allowed herself to be intrigued.
Before she knew it, she'd engaged in a salacious ongoing email
exchange with him, where he made her deepest most shameful desires
come to life. He had an amazing way with words and an uncanny ability
to transport her to a completely different time and place. Farmer6969
had awakened a hibernating sexual beast within her that was now
clawing to get out.
    As
Clara walked towards the den with Darod's dinner tray, it took
everything she had not to clock him upside the head with it. She'd
never been in love with him and she only married him because her
family expected her to. Clara laughed to herself.  What
I wouldn't give to see the look on their bigoted faces had I brought
a white boy home. Mama woulda dropped dead then and there.  Clara
was startled when she realized how happy she felt imagining her
mother dead.  Bitter
old   hag ,
she thought as she inched closer to Darod's recliner. Tellin'
me all my life was how white people were the devil. I've been hit on
by more white men than any other race. Darod treats me   like
yesterday's hot   garbage.   I'd
be happy now if it weren't for her and her bullshit
prejudice,  Clara
lamented. She chuckled again as she thought of the contrast of what
she'd been taught growing up and her deepest, darkest fantasy: To be
a whore to a white man.
    “Hurry
up, Claire, damn!” Darod's shrill voice broke through her
thoughts. Clara sat the tray on the end table.
    “Your
rows look tight, Shanice outdid herself this time,” Clara
commented.
    “Yeah,
you know,” Darod said absently, his eyes still fixated on the
tv. “Glad you understood why I stayed over her house last
night. It was an all-night job,” he smirked, blindly reaching
towards the tray. “Yo! I know you ain't forget my drink!”
    “You
didn't ask for-”
    “Yo,
the fuck is that? You splash water all over your shirt or some shit?”
Darod cut her off, gesturing towards the growing wet spots around her
nipples.
    “No,
it's milk Darod. You know, the substance I use to feed and nourish
our baby?” Clara responded through clenched teeth. He was in
rare form this evening.
    “Hmph,
yeah, 'Our baby.' That shit is sick yo, go change your shirt. I'm
bout to eat,'” Darod scoffed as he brushed past her to the
kitchen.
    Clara
was dumbfounded. “What the fuck do you mean, “‘our
baby?'” she spat back, twisting her face imitating him.
    Darod
shrugged as he poured a glass of grape soda. Clara felt a wave of
nausea roll over her as she watched him gulp the syrupy junk down
like it was nothing.
    “Yo
man, all I'm sayin' is Shanice n' them were talkin' last night and
some things just ain't add up, aiight? Like dates and shit.”
    Clara's
blood boiled. “Shanice n' them? Really? What else did Shanice
have to say about “our” baby?” Clara glanced down
at her knuckles. They'd began to turn white.
    Darod
downed another glass. “You know he don't look nothin' like me.
I wasn't gonna say nothin', but Shanice said she saw you hugged up
under some white boy a while back  before  I
supposedly got your ass pregnant. So you tell me wassup Claire,”
he finished, spreading his arms out to the sides.
    “Interesting,”
Clara started, calmly. “I'm