BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Strictly fantasy. Humiliating + degrading little erotica

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Strictly fantasy. Humiliating + degrading little erotica short.

White shirts only, crisply ironed. That was a crucial point of her uniform, in addition to the heels that elongated her the line of her legs. Frivolously delicate heels at tottering heights, which made her have to take three or four quick little steps to match every one of his strides. He never slowed down for her of course; it was her job to accommodate him, not the other way around. And he derived a great deal of pleasure from watching the graphic movement of her braless breasts bounce as she had to practically skip to keep up with him.

Skirts with hemlines that ended well above her knees when she was standing, and would slide to mid-thigh when she was seated. He expressed a decided partiality for tight skirts that hugged her pert and often punished bottom. Aaron had made it clear that he enjoyed looking at her shapely figure, and as an added benefit, he preferred the vulnerability those tight skirts placed her in, when she had to wrest them over her hips to her nipped-in waist in order to spread her legs properly for him. Those flowy skirts could be dropped back into place all too easily, Aaron decided. Having those tight skirts hiked up around her waist left her so bare and exposed down there, and kept her thrumming with that little edge of anxiety. Made her so eager to please him as quickly as possible before they were interrupted and she was discovered in this position.

He liked watching her struggle to right herself, to engage in the futile act of smoothing out the wrinkles in the mussed fabric, twisting the skirt around so its seams aligned properly again, etcetera. All of her little ineffectual fussing and charming blushes only served to underscore how very far from the bounds of propriety his little secretary had strayed. No amount of fiddling with her uniform could take away from the fact that her boss had just banged her on his desk and his come was now seeping from her pussy. And there was simply no way to disguise the disarray of her hair from when he’d ejaculated down her throat while he held her head in an inescapable grip, using her hair as just an effective means of bondage as his ropes and belts and chains.

The white shirts though, that was a new update to her uniform. The change was in direct reflection to the new change to her breasts…

“Good news, whore,” Aaron said, thrilled with the discovery that her tits had begun lactating. “No more of those nasty shots. We just have to keep milking you regularly to keep your lactation going from now on.”

“Oh for how long, sir?”

Aaron pulled slowly on a dusky nipple, marveling at the milky fluid that beaded at its tip. “For the foreseeable future, whore. I’m going to have a lot of fun with these.”

It took a while to build up her milk production, but now he could regularly drain around two pints of milk from her udders. She leaked a lot, especially when he held off milking her for a while and then fucked her. Aaron loved seeing her at her desk, trying her best to do her work as her white shirts clung damply to her full udders. He’d stopped referring to them as her tits, except when he wanted to punish or fuck them. Instead, he called them what they were: udders.

Today, Aaron had his whore ride his cock, her crisp uniform blouse open around her big udders. He bounced her vigorously on him, watching the udders swing up and down. He hadn’t milked her that morning early conference call with the Japan office so she was feeling tight and swollen.

First the pearly white liquid started to well up, and then when his cock hit her G-spot well, his whore’s udders started to spray milk all over him.

She moaned loudly from shame and relief. “Oh- oh- sorry, sir! I’m sorry!”

“My messy milk whore,” Aaron growled. “You deserve to be kept in a stall outside with the other animals on my ranch, don’t you? You’re going to have to get my spare suit after this.”

But there wouldn’t be a change of clothes for her. No, she’d have to finish her day with her milk-sodden blouse drying slowly. Until it dried, the white fabric would be completely translucent, clinging to her udders, showing off the jut of her ripe, biteable nipples.

After, he had her lean forward until her udders were pressed to his chest. He made her rub her big, slippery udders all over the milky discharge, and then he helped button up her blouse himself. The wet patches quickly spread, and he tweaked the clearly visible teats, further crinkling the shirtfront.

“Get back to work, whore,” Aaron dismissed her.