ull and feeling like a cool shower might be nice, because it was getting sort of hot, even under the shade of the wood, Mantis found the French doors and all the windows of Master’s bedroom open, trying to coax a breeze through them. As Master’s bedroom was on a corner, this was sort of successful. Still, Mantis was glad he’d been able to give Draco a list of keywords and features to look up, aside from all the different things in Mediterranean architecture that Draco already knew about, some of which the Manor already had—like the loggia.
Evers was standing by a tea-cart type of thing made of a lovely wood that was reddish and very shiny, and Mantis recognised the colour of the green potion, waiting in a glass vessel atop it; and he certainly recognised the clyster in Evers’ hands. Evers didn’t say anything, letting him look, watching his reaction.
‘You know what this is, then.’
‘I doooo,’ Mantis said, biting his lip, and giving a shaky breath, his face feeling warm. He was aroused, but because he was being Perceived, he was also embarrassed and scared. He didn’t like those two latter emotions, they hadn’t been invited to the party. ‘I’m. Very into this. I just. I’m having trouble because I’m scared of—something. I’m not sure. Judgement, maybe? Can I talk this out with you for a second?’
‘Of course,’ Evers said. The boy was extremely articulate, and it made him a joy to work with; he helped with his own training, he wanted it. Not even Dream had been so cooperative, at first.
Mantis started to pace, gesturing—as he was wont—as he spoke. ‘Okay, so, I’m scared, why? Because I have to trust you and that’s scary. Okay, let’s unpack that. What does that mean, specifically? You could hurt me, obviously, but that’s not exactly why I’m freaking out. I… am… worried you’ll… what? Make fun of me? No, not… hm. It’s like… I’m… worried you’ll make fun of me behind my back? Ohhhh, okay. So it goes back to the… rape… okay. I wasn’t just raped, the guy also made fun of me publicly. I was anonymous but like, that doesn’t matter, you know? That was the trauma, was the contempt and the… the… word.’
‘Humiliation, perhaps?’
‘Yeah, somewhere around there. So, what do I need to be reassured that’s not happening again? I don’t know. Do you have thoughts, Everssir?’
A charming quirk of his, he appended ‘sir’ to the end of Evers’ name. He set the clyster down, and took out his wand. ‘I can put you in a partial trance, so you remain calm.’
‘What does that feel like?’
‘Much as you described Submissive Trance, except the reassurance of the dominant influence is internal and more total. Usually, only the Master does this to boys, but as you are so willing, I could also do it, if it would help you overcome you fears so that you could enjoy the arousal.’
‘Enjoying the arousal is important?’
‘The Master does not like to use force.’
‘Hm, for a certain definition of force…’ Mantis said. ‘I’m not objecting, I think it’s hot.’ He drew himself up into a character, splaying a hand on his chest and going into not an imitation of the Master, but nevertheless an English accent, a throaty, husky voice: ‘ “Oh, Nala, you know how I loathe violence”, you know,’ he said, switching back to his normal self immediately. ‘That’s very classic Villain, very sexy.’
Evers chuckled. ‘I must say, we’ve never had a boy enjoy such things.’
‘For real? That’s tragic, Master is so fucking hot. I would love if he were a little bit Villainous at me—but uh, after I get over this…’ he gesticulated for a few moments, trying to find a word. ‘Thing.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Okay, so… if I go under hypnosis, then I will feel subspace, and obedience will be rewarded with aaaaall the happies. Will that help?’ he asked himself, stroking his lips with one of his knuckles, face furrowed in thought. ‘What helps fear of humiliation?’ he asked himself. ‘What can I tell myself? I don’t know. There’s nothing there. I…’ he paused in his pacing, but only briefly, and his voice got intense.
‘Wait a second. This is about dignity. This is about losing my status as a person. …But that’s supposed to happen when you submit, to a certain extent, that’s what submissive headspace is and so—ohmygodit’saboutaftercare.’ He gasped, and swung around to look at Evers with eyes half-wild with revelation.
‘Fuck. Fuck, it’s about I’ve never gotten any aftercare. I’ve never had a good dominant who brought me out of sub-space, or—or let me be vulnerable without using that as a reason to punish me for it. Like…’ he was getting really excited now, his hands and voice speeding up. ‘Like—this whole time—it’s been—every time I’m vulnerable in any way—it’s like— “how dare you be vulnerable you’re supposed to be an object!”—and like—oh my god that’s IT! I’ve figured it out!!’ He gave a shrieky laugh, one that deserved a clap of thunder, a crash of lightning.
Evers’ years of training were the only reason he did not startle; thus far, despite his ebullience, Mantis had not been this loud—but then again, thus far, he had not had such an earth-shattering realisation about himself. Catharsis never happened quietly. He waited, patiently, and listened.
‘Okayokayokayokayso! I need to be reassured that, 1) I am being a good boy. 2) My body, specifically, is being a good pretty boy. That part’s important. 3) Some kind of indication you like me like this? Or? Hm, not sure how to articulate this need… like… that you do not have contempt for me, without just saying “I do not have contempt for you” because that is a negative statement, not a positive one. It doesn’t add anything it just subtracts. Does this make sense?’
It did. And considering everything he’d just revealed, Evers knew saying what he was treating as so extraordinary was merely common practise would… well, it would have to be phrased delicately, if at all. ‘You’re a boy that needs what we call narration,’ Evers said. ‘That is not so difficult, particularly for the Master. He has a way with words.’ He did not ask if the boy was ready to begin; you didn’t rush these things, there was time—it wasn’t as though the Master had demanded this be done before he returned. ‘I am not as poetic, but I have talked boys through this before.’
Mantis was sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, taking a few deep breaths, shivering every so often, clearly trying to calm himself. ‘Can you tell me what the general plan is, before we start? Like, the… steps. The sequence of events.’
‘After you undress, you will lay down on your back, just here,’ he gestured to the specially-made rug spread over the wide daybed sofa the Master kept for this purpose, that Evers had just cleaned after Master had filled Dream that morning. ‘And spread your legs however is most comfortable for you. And then, we shall fill you.’ He allowed a touch of velvet to come into his voice gradually, as he spoke. ‘Fill you very full. Have you ever had an enema before?’
‘O-once or twice. Just water though, and never… never by an expert.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere, my pet. Strip,’ Evers purred, sensing it was time to do so; and he was right, Mantis eagerly stripped down, not struggling at all with the clothes, as muggles usually did. ‘Good boy,’ Evers said, and Mantis made a soft, sweet whine in his throat. He was so sensitive! Evers had reported that to a delighted Master last night, too…. ‘Lay down, spread your legs for me.’
Mantis went over to the sofa, while Evers carefully prepared the clyster.
After taking a moment to run his hands over the fabric, Mantis lay down on his back carefully, raising the leg closest to the sofa-back and—very delicately, testing his weight—bracing his foot against the swan’s head carved into the frame. His other leg was more of a puzzle, having nowhere to brace, and he took a few moments but eventually ended up pulling it up into two complete right angles of hip and knee, half-twisted, intertwining it with the same arm in an equally-surreal position to make it hold. But it was, oddly, comfortable. His hips were just like this, always had been….
‘Oh, very good boy,’ Evers said warmly, when he saw Mantis, ‘you’re spread open so beautifully for me….’ He saw the flush to that bared quim, the way the boy’s clit—the size of a ripe berry—twitched, as everything else tensed.
This was his favourite task, truly; Evers had room to sit on the sofa, the boy was still so small, and bent nearly in half… ‘Take a slow, deep breath, and when you let it out, push… gooood boy, that’s it….’ He praised, as the boy obeyed and Evers slid the long glass nozzle of the clyster in. It had to be glass, the usual metals would react with the potion badly; and, because it was glass, the nozzle was by necessity bigger, and Evers savoured the little noises, the way the boy’s little ring of muscle had to stretch around it….
‘Oh… god…’
‘Good boy, you’re being so still, just a little bit deeper, we have to get all the way in…’ Because it had to go well past the far entrance of the rectum, the potion needed to penetrate in order to do its work….
And—oh—he was being so beautifully still. Evers usually had to lock them in place with a modified Full Body Bind, but not this time. He was so still, he had so much control over himself… It was so easy to praise him. ‘Such a good boy, your body just opening up for me like this…’ he murmured, feeling the nozzle breach the inner opening, and starting to, slowly, press the plunger down….
Mantis whimpered, but not in pain. The nozzle was very big, and not nearly as hard as one expected glass to be, exactly, and it was so warm he could just sink into the feeling of being stretched, of being penetrated, and, ‘Fuck,’ came out, throaty and desperate, ‘I can feel it in my throat, it’s so deep…’ It was so hard to hold back the honorific that fell naturally from him; but he didn’t know how to breach the subject, yet, and just bit his lip. ‘Siiiir….’ he moaned, feeling the liquid starting to push into him. It was so, so much thicker and warmer—and deeper—than any youthful stumblings he’d done before, with this particular act.
Oh, Evers thought, Master would like how talkative his new boy was, even like this… ‘It is so deep,’ he said. ‘We have to make sure it takes….’
Laboured breaths, little mewls with each exhale, as Evers kept pushing the plunger down. ‘Wh… what is it doing to me…?’ was dazed and deliciously aroused. ‘It’s… so…’
‘Mm, can you feel it, re-arranging things?’
‘Yes, fuck, it’s so… a lot…’
Evers chuckled darkly, and pushed the last quarter a little harder, a little faster, and enjoyed the gasp, the fluttering, panting, mewing breaths, and—
‘Daddy!’ was very small, accidental almost, said on a voiceless, pleading sob of a whisper, and Evers took note of it. ‘Please!’ was more expected.
‘Shh, that’s all of it, you’ve been such a good boy, Mantis,’ Evers said, gentler, using his name on purpose, as he carefully, slowly slid the nozzle out, using his wand to silently seal that quivering anus closed, before setting the clyster syringe on the tray of the cart at his elbow. ‘I’m so proud of you, you were so still and obedient….’
‘C-can I move now, sir?’
‘Put your legs down,’ Evers phrased it like an order, so the boy would learn to trust that orders were also used to care for him. ‘Good boy,’ he said, when Mantis unwound his left leg and arm, foot resting on the floor, let his right leg merely be thrown over the back of the sofa, rather than braced. Evers was surprised to see him squirming, still worked up.
‘Mantis, tell me how you feel?’
‘Good!’ came the desperate moan, ‘so good, oh fuck, I wanna cum so bad, ahh, please…’ He reached his hands down, and Evers caught them both with a flick of his wand, ropes twining around those long, thin wrists and pulling his hands away, over his head.
‘No,’ Evers said, and had to contend with squirming.
‘I—sorry I just—it’s so good, I wanna—i-is it supposed to make me horny…?’ He was squeezing his thighs together, and Evers realised… he wasn’t like a boy with a cock, he could make himself climax without his hands.
This was unexpected, but Evers was nothing if not unflappable, and adaptable; he bound the boy with his thighs apart again, so he couldn’t squirm, and thought for a moment, while the boy whimpered and noised.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Mantis said, struggling to get his breath back. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—it’s—thank you.’
‘Shh, I understand. You can only try your best. Tell me what you’re feeling, exactly.’
‘It just—it’s so—my insides feel so good? I didn’t know how much everything hurt all the time until it stopped, and… well, pain is the only reason I’m not horny all the time, I guess…’ he said, calming down a bit as he spoke, ‘Thanks for tying me up,’ he said again. ‘What is that green stuff? Vauquelinsir gave me a cup to drink before breakfast, too.’
‘It’s medicine,’ Evers said, and expected consternation from so curious a boy; but Mantis gave a shaky laugh, laying back against the pillow on the sofa.
‘ “Ours is not to wonder why, ours is to but do and die”, eh?’
‘Indeed. I am going to release you, and you are going to stand up, and go over to the bed, and lay back down, and not touch yourself. Is that clear?’
‘Yes sir,’ Mantis said, and stood up obediently as soon as he felt the spell release, going over to the big bed, which had been stripped of the duvets for the day, and lay himself down on the black linen of the crisp sheets. ‘God, it’s… it’s heavy,’ he whispered, putting a hand on his belly, which was just barely showing the lade. But he didn’t hesitate, only climbed onto the bed carefully, moved carefully as any boy full of enema, and got himself on his back, limbs spread.
‘Good boy, Mantis,’ Evers said, tying him to the four posts of the bed, the ropes settling into the brass-lined grooves hidden among the gilding of the posts for just that purpose. ‘There.’
Mantis wiggled, testing the restraints for a few moments, though not trying to escape, before relaxing even more, with a sigh, staring idly up at the night sky enchantment of the canopy. ‘Am I still a good boy even though I got overwhelmed?’ he asked, after a few moments, worried.
‘Yes, Mantis. You are an astonishingly good boy, in fact.’
‘Yaaay,’ Mantis said softly. ‘What happens now, Everssir?’
‘We wait for the potion to fully absorb. Would you like me to read to you?’
‘Oh,’ Mantis said, ‘Yes, I would like that. I might fall asleep.’
‘That’s perfectly alright, you didn’t sleep very long, last night. Poetry or prose?’
‘Poetry please, sir.’
⁂
The Malfoy stable had not had horses in it in years; it was a large building of grey stone the same as the house, nestled in a spot protected from the deeper wood by some boulders, shaded by two large oak trees on either side. When Narcissa had acquired her herd, the rafters had been enclosed by a flat ceiling, to keep the stalls warmer for the little cows, with the usual enchantment to be a perpetually-clear sky, cycling day and night to keep the calves on a natural cycle, and make up for the lack of windows.
Narcissa had travelled just as Lucius had, in their youth, before the War had taken over their lives, and one of the places she had relations was up in Dalarna, where she had learnt her love of milchcows—
Narcissa took a breath, and pierced the air with a lilting call, as she got in sight of the tall hedges of thorn and elderberry that fenced the paddock.
—and the ancient skill of kulning. By the time they got to the latticed gate, the sound of the bells was coming toward them, and Lucius could see the calves, with their heavy, milk-swollen tits, waiting inside. Unlike Lucius’ slaves, there were no thoughts behind those big, dark eyes, unless those thoughts centred around ‘food’ and ‘milking’.
Narcissa opened the gate, and Buttercup, one of the tallest, biggest calves, lowed softly at her Mistress. Her teats were red, veins standing out sharply against the swollen flesh, and her lowing was tearful and miserable.
Narcissa switched to a softer call, shooing them along toward the stable. ‘Kidididi, go on! Go on, now, you know how to fix that.’
She walked through the gently waving pasture of wildflowers, Lucius closing and locking the gate behind, before catching up. The calves paid little attention to him; they knew him well enough to know he wasn’t dangerous, and that was all the room they had in their heads.
There were six calves in all, and unlike Lucius’ orderly, careful way of naming, Narcissa simply named them on whim, not theme or symbol. The calves went ahead of Narcissa, heading for the open stable doors, their bells tinkling in the late morning breeze. Unlike four-legged cows, their bells were attached to the heavy, silver rings that were threaded carefully through the natural fold in their very un-naturally, very permanently Enlarged clits, that swayed and bobbed as they walked, brushing against the flowers and leaves they walked through, only kept from drying out by various potions.
‘Come on, girls, that’s it,’ Narcissa said, as the calves lined up, trained to lean over the slanted milking benches, putting their tits within easy reach over the long brass rail that ran along the higher end, their legs forced on tiptoe by each padded strip of support they leaned on being the perfect height to be just a little too tall for them, forcing them to rest their legs on the only available thing—the long, carved cradles on either side of the lowest end of the bench, that meant their legs were spread, their clits hanging heavily down, swaying. The benches were enchanted with complex magic Narcissa had designed herself, that meant they were stuck there until she emptied their udders of milk.
And she went around the back of the first in the row—Merry, according to the plaque on the bench—and Summoned the jar of thick moisturising potion, dipping her hand into it and starting to rub it into Merry’s clit with both hands, with businesslike effeciency, while Merry lowed softly in her throat, her muscles tensing with the urge to writhe, but unable to do anything.
‘What did you want to talk about, dear? Or did you just want to observe?’ she asked, and Lucius took this as the sign it was.
‘I wanted your experience, darling. I’ve been reading that book you lent me, but it has little to say on Hermaphroditos’ children, and while I want to enlarge Mantis’ clit, I lack your experience with the anatomy he has…’
‘Ah, I see,’ Narcissa said, finishing with Merry’s clit and giving it a hearty pat that was more of a friendly slap. Merry whimpered, but knew, in her drained and blissfully thoughtless mind, that after Mistress rubbed the horrible, tingly, cold-hot stuff on her, and gave her clit a slap, she would be milked. ‘I’d have to see him, not that I mind. He’s rather delicious, for a boy. Does he have large nipples?’
‘He has none, currently,’ Lucius said.
‘How awful. You’ve written my cousin, I assume?’
‘Evan? Yes, I was going to write him after speaking with you.’ He observed Narcissa’s hands, as she grasped both elongated nipples and pulled. It would require, he realised as he watched, far too much finger strength than he had. But the swell of the teats, the fact that they gave milk, was lodged in his mind, particularly given the scattered images he’d found in Mantis’ thoughts…. ‘Must it be done by hand?’ he asked, idly. ‘The milking, I mean.’
‘No, there are spells for it. Why—oooh,’ she said, with a mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. ‘Are you going to make him give milk?’
‘Possibly, possibly,’ Lucius said, with a matching sparkle. ‘Severus was of the opinion I should see what noises he makes, after he has nipples to tease.’
Narcissa gave a very well-bred snort. ‘Nonsense. The boy’s Hermaphroditic, he needs proper tits, full of good, rich, milk. Then again,’ she said, looking down at her lined-up calves, at their milk-swollen teats, ‘I am rather biased in favour.’
Lucius chuckled, leaning over to kiss her cheek. ‘But you’re right. Such strange ideas in his head, Narcissa; there are machines that milk.’
‘That sounds terribly exotic,’ Narcissa said. ‘You mean he already has ideas about these things?’
‘Yes, the gods made him just for us,’ Lucius said, with confidence. ‘Chock full of strange, lovely, delicious ideas about being full, and milked, and all manner of our especial tastes. I should like,’ he added, ‘to share him with you, perhaps. He is both sexes, after all.’
Narcissa hummed. ‘I shall give that some thought, I’ve never had a calf that conversed, before. How big do you want his tits?’
‘Well, his previous ones weren’t even as big as Minty’s.’
‘They’re lovely for weighing a slave down, you know, tits,’ Narcissa said, as she finished with emptying Merry, and took the pail of milk over to the large brass cauldron nearby, carefully pouring it in, before moving on to the next cow in the row—Buttercup, who was the tallest, even if her tits were only second-biggest, after Duchess.
‘Yes Buttercup, it is your turn,’ Narcissa said, to answer the frantic lowing, Buttercup’s neck craning around as she tried to follow Mistress, who was walking around to behind her. She lowed like a calf calling her mother.
‘Mm, no,’ Narcissa said. ‘You know how this works, girl.’
She did not even wait for Narcissa to finish before lowing, tossing her head, her tits bouncing painfully.
‘Poor darling,’ Lucius cooed, and pet her head with his hands, pulling it down. ‘Come now, be a good girl…’
‘Thank you, Lucius,’ Narcissa said, getting her hands full of the salve again—Buttercup’s clit was quite large. ‘Poor dear’s been producing much more lately, I might stuff her womb full just to give her poor tits some relief.’ She started rubbing in the salve, and the tingling sensation from the mint and cinnamon oils made Buttercup struggle against Lucius’ hold on her headstall—but it wasn’t out of obstinance, Lucius could tell. There wasn’t an obstinate bone in any of the calves.
‘Shh, it’s alright,’ he said. ‘There there, sweet girl, you’re doing such a good job, Mistress loves you very much, but you have to be good and still for her while she takes care of you, come now…’
He knew she couldn’t understand anything but his soothing tones, but she calmed from thrashing to quivering.
‘Goooood girl, that’s it…’ Lucius knew that, no matter the distress, Narcissa would not leave off the…
Smack.
Buttercup’s tits leaked in anticipation, even as she lowed, and she shivered, and would have climaxed, at the first pull of Narcissa’s hands on her teats, had the silver ring through her clit not been enchanted to prevent that.
None of the calves had actually climaxed in years. Narcissa trained them to get close, but they were never allowed to actually tip over the edge. She enjoyed watching them try to rub against each other, enjoyed the trembling, the way their quims dripped constantly when she was present, for they’d been conditioned to grow aroused at the mere sight of her, the smell of her, the sound of her voice.
‘They’re muggle machines, I expect?’ Narcissa said, still fascinated. Machines were very strange. ‘All metal and “plastic”?’
‘Yes, but quite strong, and relentless.’
‘They run on caged lightning, don’t they?’ Narcissa much preferred the term Mantis had used, to the crispy, unpleasant tangle that was “electricity”, which didn’t indicate what it was at all, and sounded more like an incantation than a noun.
‘It would be simple to run them on magic or clockwork, I imagine.’
‘Milking is a daily chore, Lucius, you can’t simply stop doing it. And the more you do it, the more he’ll produce. I know how your boys tease one another, you’ll have to prevent that somehow.’
Lucius knew she disapproved of what she saw as Lucius having too soft a touch; and, well, their latest shenanigans were sticking unpleasantly in his mind. Perhaps she—and Severus, and most everyone else, if he was honest—was right.
There was a reason the gods set the age at thirty. He’d had Comet and Eclipse and Moon far too young, but his father and mother had been very over-indulgent of him…
‘I’m not sure what to do about them, after this latest Incident.’
‘Oh dear,’ Narcissa sighed, as Buttercup nuzzled her happily, making happy cow noises now that the agony from her tits was easing. Narcissa giggled. ‘Buttercup, darling,’ she said, not really scolding at all, ‘you’re rather damaging the serious tone of this conversation.’
‘Muu!’ Buttercup said, not understanding anything but that Mistress was milking her, and that was Good.
‘What incident?’ Narcissa asked.
Lucius told her. Narcissa went very quiet—but it was, Lucius could tell, a silence filled with rage.
‘Lucius.’
‘I know.’
‘Lucius,’ she said again. ‘You have to cull them, this is getting out of hand.’
He sighed, but softly; telling her had pointed out—sharply—that she was right.
‘Particularly given the prophecy Mantis delivered this morning, about the seasons being out of rhythm. Moon has black hair, you can give him to Persephone. And Eclipse should be mine to give to the Grove,’ she said firmly.
‘Yes, my love,’ Lucius said. Eclipse had been the one to disparage her, after all.
‘Oh, Lucius, I know you love them,’ she said, hearing the grief. ‘Think of it this way—you gave them everything, and the gods will be very pleased with the quality of the sacrifice. I know my hands are full right now, darling, but come, hold me from behind—there, that’s better.’
Lucius did feel better, leaning against Narcissa’s back as she milked her slave, his hands resting lightly on her soft, wide hips. She’d filled out, over the years, and every pound she gained just made her more attractive, Lucius thought. If she ever got pregnant again, she’d look like a nymph, perhaps a naiad, she was so good at the water magics, just like Severus….
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If I’d trained them better, they would never have insulted you like this—’
‘What’s said is said, what’s done is done, it is what it is and then some,’ Narcissa lilted gently, a rhyme all purebloods learned as children.
‘We cannot take back, we cannot turn time, we can only know better for next time,’ Lucius finished, resting his cheek on her head. She finished with Buttercup’s milking.
‘There now, isn’t that better!’ she cooed at Buttercup, ruffling her sandy curls, which fell over her dark eyes. ‘There’s my good girl!’
‘Muu!’ Buttercup said, adoringly.
‘Now,’ Narcissa said, as Lucius stepped back to let her move on to Minty, next in the row, the smallest and naughtiest, for a much smaller definition of naughty. She was prone to trying to drink her own milk, as her teats were especially pendulous and long, and her nipples could reach her mouth if she pushed her tits up. As such, Narcissa had confiscated her hands, Transfiguring them into hooves. She Transfigured all the calves’ lower limbs into faunish shape, but only Minty had been turned into a quadruped. Narcissa had, briefly, considered simply removing her upper limbs; but then Minty wouldn’t have been able to balance, and might have hurt herself. She still got into quite enough mischief even now, and Narcissa was working on increasing her tit size, to weigh her down a bit more.
‘Are we going to be good today, Minty? Hm?’
‘Mu,’ Minty said, in her scratchy little voice. Narcissa laughed, as she dipped her hand in quite a different salve than the other calves got, watching Minty demonstrate why—the calf made her clit twitch, as she tensed as hard as she could, her pelvic muscles tight as a clockspring.
‘Tsk tsk,’ she clicked her tongue, ‘Minty, we can’t have you putting yourself in knots like this, you’ll do yourself a mischief…’ She slid a finger coated in the salve around Minty’s tense little anus, the potion loosening the muscle, forcing it to relax, until Narcissa could slide her finger in, and coat the insides. She cleaned her fingers off after this, before getting more salve and doing the same to the calf’s vagina, making sure to get plenty around her cervix and urethra, Minty complaining and crying the whole time, unheeded.
‘Why is she like this?’ Lucius asked.
‘She liked boys only,’ Narcissa said. ‘She doesn’t remember of course, but I did so enjoy her distress, you know, after what the muggle girls were like, up at school. You remember.’
Lucius did remember, and watched Narcissa be a little rougher with Minty, pushing her clit through a metal ring that Narcissa then shrank around the base of her clit. The ring was attached to three large, flexible plugs—all of them Narcissa’s favourite colour, a very distinctive pale blue.
‘These will keep you nice and stretched,’ Narcissa said, as she carefully threaded the smallest one into the calf’s urethra, ‘and loose,’ she went on, sliding the largest one into Minty’s vagina, ‘and relaxed,’ she said, sliding the last one into the calf’s anus, taking out her wand and tapping the golden snake chains connecting the plugs at their bases, making them lock into place.
‘Muuuuuuu!’ Minty cried, the salve doing its work and making her completely limp, unable to tense around the plugs forcing her passages wider, her clit swinging, it was so slack and relaxed.
‘Shh, silly girl, it’s good for you,’ Narcissa admonished, patting her clit, before cleaning off her hands and coming around to milk her. ‘You’re so silly, Minty…’
‘Mu!’ Minty interjected. Narcissa laughed as she started milking.
‘Oh yes, I’m so awful, keeping you from hurting your little cunny…’
‘Muu!’ Buttercup said, wanting to partake in the conversation, as she was a talktative little creature.
‘Yes, that’s right, Buttercup,’ Narcissa cooed. ‘Minty is a silly girl.’
‘I wonder,’ Lucius said, as Narcissa settled into the rhythm of milking again, ‘what it would be like, having only the two slaves. I’m keeping Dream.’
‘He’s the best behaved,’ Narcissa agreed. ‘You might empty his mind a little more.’
Lucius, for the first time, seriously considered it. ‘I may have to house him apart from Mantis.’
‘I should think housing Mantis alone would be obvious,’ Narcissa said, already finished with Minty, who wasn’t quite at her peak production just yet—she was too new.
Lucius noticed something, and tilted his head toward the end of the line, where Merry was, ‘Is she sleeping?’
‘She dozes off after being milked, it’s so sweet,’ Narcissa giggled, as she moved on to the eldest of her cows, middle-aged and the pride of Narcissa’s little herd; Duchess’ tits were the largest, each one weighing a full stone when they were full, her broad shoulders and back heavily muscled from carrying them, areolae adding a full inch of length, nipples magnificent from decades of daily milking. She’d been Narcissa’s first, and she was the very model of everything Narcissa wanted, and blue-ribbons would surely have been hers, had there been contests for cows like her.
She got a kiss to her forehead, before Narcissa went to rub her clit with protective salve, and she stood placidly, humming low and contently occasionally. Narcissa was very gentle with her.
‘I suppose the gods won’t let you drain Mantis at all? Even if you store the thoughts in a pensieve?’ Narcissa asked, as she worked—Duchess also had the largest clit, and Narcissa had to heft it around to make sure the salve got over every inch of it, it hung as fat as a normal cow’s udder between her well-fatted thighs.
‘I should think not,’ Lucius said. ‘I don’t want to, anyway. He’s so obedient on his own, you know. So eager to please. Surely you noticed that, at breakfast?’
Narcissa’s laugh was wicked enough that Bessie and Daisy, still waiting their turn, started to low piteously. ‘I know, babies, I know,’ Narcissa said, with pursed lips. ‘You’re being so patient.’
‘Muu!’ Buttercup said, but tenderly, looking over at her sisters. ‘Muuuu,’ she lowed, comfortingly.
‘Muuuu,’ Merry joined in, until Daisy and Bessie answered back, calming down.
‘As I was saying,’ Narcissa said, ‘yes, he certainly is. I thought that was something you’d done already.’
‘Not at all, he craves a Master all by himself. As I said, the gods made him—’
‘—specifically for us, yes. It’s simply so surprising,’ Narcissa said, dipping her fingers gently into Duchess’ vagina, spreading some salve there. She was of an age to need it more than the calves. She fluttered her fingers gently, while she was there, and silently unlocked the chastity spell with a tap of her wand to the ring through Duchess’ clit. The cow moaned, then, the only time she lowed at all, as her cunny twitched around Narcissa’s fluttering fingers.
‘Goood girl,’ Narcissa purred in a syrupy voice, ‘that’s it, my Duchess, there we are… that’s better, isn’t it?’ she said, patting Duchess’ clit gently, affectionately, as she pulled out her fingers. ‘That’s a good girl.’
Lucius knew what that meant, and glanced at Narcissa, tilting his head. She only nodded once, coming around to milk Duchess.
Well, Lucius thought, as he watched Narcissa milk Duchess one last time, desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed. Still, the thought that Narcissa had decided to sacrifice her favourite cow to the gods was… chillingly indicative. But this whole matter of the globe warming was serious; and, too, Lucius was touched, knowing that Narcissa wasn’t merely deciding this, right now, as coincidence—she meant to show him that she understood what asking him to sacrifice his own slaves meant, understood that Moon was his favourite, that he would be grieving—and showing him that she was willing to grieve alongside him.
‘I love you so much, Narcissa, you’re so good to me,’ Lucius said, overcome, needing to touch her. All he could do was stroke her hair, and hold her again, and bury his face in her golden curls to hide his tears.
‘Mm,’ she said, turning her face to kiss him, brief but affectionate. ‘Just start writing to your contacts, and let me make that boy’s tits as big as his head. I’ll show you how to inject his clit—you might unfurl it, make into a proper phallus. Evan could help you with that.’
‘I will,’ Lucius promised, kissing her cheek. The bell tolled the hour, and he gasped. ‘Oh, is that the time—I have to go meet Severus, he’s such a bitch about punctuality…’ he was striding out even as he spoke, robes billowing, the stripes of his banyan shimmering and catching the sunlight outside as he went.