The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Miracle Milk

Days 1 – 2

The night of December 20, 2042, the small town of Oak Fields was stricken by a snowstorm. People huddled together in their deteriorating homes. Some had even taken refuge in the supermarket. The mansion on the hill, however, was under the protection of sturdy, well-kept walls and mechanical sentries. An injustice that none found too bitter. The mistress of the mansion had all the town in her debt.

Her maid, Juliette, had no care about that. Her delicately feminine and adorable features displayed the kind of smile that couldn’t have a lot of thought behind it. Indeed, the servant hummed to herself, swaying her head from side to side while idly fondling her generous bosom. They say a woman’s pride and joy is her hair, but Juliet’s were definitely her breasts. They were an all-natural E-cup, and were greatly complimented by her highly revealing maid uniform.

She looked at the snow flying past the window, enjoying the safe warmth of the library. The snow left her fairly indifferent. The days were all the same to her, and she never really thought about what lay beyond Mistress’ house. Every night, she went to sleep on the chair, and the machines reconditioned her. Juliette liked it. The reconditioning was a lot like dreaming, only it made her happy about waking up so she could see Mistress. She was so beautiful and nice! Juliette had cried before, and tried to flee home, but now she had reconditioning every night, and there were no longer any bad, sad thoughts. Juliette liked having a tidy, happy mind. It made her milk much sweeter.

The maid looked away from the snow and to the corner of her eye. Her milk gauge was almost full! The changes Mistress had made to her vision were very handy, and didn’t even require cyber implants! How did she do it? Mistress was so smart. Juliette started getting ready. Which wasn’t much, as her black and white maid uniform was a wonder in itself. She just sat back on the couch and grabbed the first book she saw. It didn’t really matter what it was, as Juliette knew she wouldn’t be paying much attention once the breast pumps concealed inside her bustier went to work. She just liked pretending she was half as smart as Mistress was while she was being milked and off her rocker.

* * *

Juliet’s Diary

Lady Sophia told me to start keeping a diary. I don’t see the point, but she’ll pay me more to do it, so why the hell not?

So, starting with the beginning, then. I’m Juliet Ferry, only daughter of a poor family in the small town of Oak Fields. I was nobody special, and the girl you think about when someone says “plain”. Now, even the prettiest or smartest girl in town could no longer dream of making it big. Ever since the only use for wealth became purchasing the mysterious “last resort cure”, the American Dream took a huge nosedive. So I grew up certain my only career would be at the town’s supermarket...Until I drew a win on the dying Earth raffle. See, the reason why treatments worth a fortune were such a priority is because people all over the world fell to strange illnesses out of nowhere and at an ever-increasing rate. Most were painful, horrifically drawn-out deaths. Mine was just a fucked-up puberty. I was a normal, unremarkable girl until my thirteenth year, when my breasts started growing, and growing, and didn’t stop until they were E-cups.

Now I won’t pretend I wasn’t overjoyed at first. I had finally started turning heads, and I even got myself a boyfriend I loved. Chris is a humble, nice and funny guy. Nothing to write home about physically, so really my perfect match. Plain and shy as I am, his love was a saving grace...Until the actual syndrome showed up when I was 17. Me and Chris never went past second base. Well, we did visit that base a whole lot...But I am still a virgin. Nonetheless, I started lactating.

It was a few trickles at first, but it developed to young mother levels in two weeks. It was already impractical because, well, I didn’t have a baby to nurse. I, huh...kinda had to milk myself or they would fill up and ache. The first time I did it, I ended up having an orgasm. With my breasts! I never thought it’d be possible...I thought I’d die of shame. Unfortunately, it was just the start. My body made more and more milk with every passing week, and I soon had to use a pump every three hours. Even starving myself didn’t stem the flow and...Yes, using a manual pump was tantamount to masturbation. It was more effective than using my hands, but also a near guarantee I would cum. I had to bite on a towel so the neighborhood wouldn’t hear me. I had an impossible disease. A Syndrome. Chris’ paranoid parents forbade him to see me again, and I was left only with tears and giant, permanently lactating tits.

Employers in town did not reject me, but work was just too impractical. I couldn’t do any sort of manual labor with those boulders on my chest, and my lactation meant I couldn’t really do any service job. Thankfully, my Syndrome guaranteed me success in one line of work. Food doesn’t come by as easily as it used to, and especially not baby formula. Living in a remote town means I’m the only Syndrome-stricken in Oak Fields, but it also means what’s left of the industrial trade no longer bothers to come by. So my ever bountiful breasts are a godsend for young mothers. I have been a wet nurse for a year already. It was easy, and I earned enough to rent my own place and buy an automatic breast pump. A must if I don’t want to wet the bed.

Despite this, I never adopted an outfit that made it easy to pop out one of my teats, and kept my trusty sweaters. They can’t outright hide my melons but they do help. I’d die of shame if I gave my chest any kind of cleavage. That, plus having the biggest tits in town somehow make enough believe I’m sleeping around as it stands. Sure, I get hit on all the time, but I’m always hoping Chris’ parents would call off the interdiction. I still love him. And so, I was torn between hoping to recover from my Syndrome or keep my livelihood when a new job offer came in.

Oak Field’s rich recluse, Sophia Garland, wanted me to nurse her son. Her letter surprised me, since the scientist was known to never interact with the locals directly, but I did not hesitate to answer. The interview -which was today- went something like this.

“Juliet Ferry, was it? Please take a seat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. G-g-garland.”

“Call me Sophia.”

I looked into her eyes. She was pretty tall, had short blonde hair and wore a designer green dress, strikingly beautiful even by pre-epidemic standards. Most striking, however, was her gaze. It was inquisitive, piercing. She definitely fit her reputation. Nooo way I could talk to her on a first name basis. I sat down, and bowed to avoid her gaze.

“Yes, Lady Sophia. Now...I nurse several infants in town but I have enough to feed your son. Will that b-be okay?”

“Naturally. I am aware you are the victim of a Syndrome. In fact, besides nursing my little Peter, I was intending to look into your condition. Would you interested in a potential cure?”

I was taken aback. In retrospect I should have seen that coming, scientist and all.

“I-I-I...I suppose the Syndrome serves me well enough now, b-b-bbbut yes, I want to be cured. I can’t even get breast reduction surgery because of the lactation.”

“I see. I cannot promise anything, but if you’re alright with blood samples and testing drugs, your wage would increase drastically.”

I am not okay with syringes. At all. Like, I’m borderline phobic of them. But, cure aside, she was speaking enough money to give both me and my parents a decent living, so I accepted. She then mentioned the diary thing, which I also agreed on. I was hired, so she gave me $200 right away, then took me to see her baby boy.

Her mansion was small as far as these things went, but rich in furbishing and adornments. The boy’s room had no tacky decoration unlike most households I worked in. The baby was cooing peacefully in his crib. A smile forced its way out. I used to think human babies were ugly, but lactating enough to open my own dairy shop gave me a major case of the mom brains. I picked up the widdle little munchkin carefully, and let him grip my finger.

“He’s so cute, ma’am!”

“Yes, isn’t he?”

“I’ll b-breastfeed him now...” I declared while removing my sweater. “By the way, I grow drowsy and even tend to f-f-fall asleep when I do. Would you mind watching me?”

“Not at all.” She answered drably, though I could tell mentioning that part of my Syndrome caught her interest.

Anyway, i gave the adorable baby his food, and the sheer pleasure I felt when my breasts started contracting under his nibbling knocked me out of it again. Lady Sophia woke me up, asked me a few questions concerning my condition, then I was dismissed. And so, here I am. I suppose I’ll see you again tomorrow, journal.

* * *

Sophia Garland’s research notes

Case: Juliet Ferry, day 1

The girl came as soon as I called her. She had light brown hair arranged in a ponytail and bangs. Her features were thoroughly unremarkable, and her assets—the reason why I summoned her—were hidden, though barely, under a very concealing outfit. No doubt correlated to this, she was quite reserved for a girl her age and had a stammer.

Her Syndrome is, as I was described earlier this week, a very developed chest and unnatural, permanent lactation. Unlikely to prove fatal even in the long run unlike most syndromes, but the poor girl was visibly distressed. Developing a cure is no priority in the face of halting the WCS, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll attempt to free her. An entire life as a wet nurse is no enviable fate.

Unfortunately, this is merely a side objective. I must check if the reports have any merit. I’ll give the infant a blood test tomorrow morning.

* * *

Juliette was dim at best, and it fact she hardly made the connection between her name and Juliet’s, but even she could figure there weren’t many women blessed with her breasts and milk. Months before, reading about her past self might have made her sad and rebellious, but now she was perfect. She looked up to the ceiling and flashed a genuine, happy smile.

“I was such a d-d-dummy back then! I love my boobies and Mistress, I do!”

Duty and programming drew her attention to the bottles attached to her black stockings. They were nice and full with her sweet milk now. She had to report to Mistress! Juliette happily sang to herself as she skipped her way to the study, enjoying the sway of her milk jugs. Even when they weren’t active, the pumps attached to her nipples brushed against them with any hard movement, and were enough to arouse the docile maid.

“Mistress! Juliette here for the milk rep-p-poooort!”

“Ah, thank you. Come here my dear.”

Juliette sat onto Mistress’ lap, and tried to suppress her arousal and lightheadedness coming that close to divinity, to little effect. She started fondling her voluptuous breasts while Mistress took the bottles and tested its contents with a reagent test strip.

“Oh, your milk is especially powerful today. Does the snow entertain you?”

“Oui, it’s p-p-p-pretty but it won’t come inside! I wanted to clean the snow off the tables...Is it shy? Like I was before you owned me?”

“Oh? You remember?”

“Yes, I found my old diary! B-b-but don’t worry, Mistress, I know being your slave’s the best.”

“Is it know? What do you prefer, the obedience, your new body, or the pleasure?”

“I prefer Mistress!” Chirped Juliette, throwing her arm into the air.

“Thank you, but that’s not the question, you silly maid.” Answered Mistress while stroking her maid’s blonde hair. “You know I must make you as happy as possible.”

“He he he...Sorry! They, huh, they’re all nice, but deep d-d-down it’s the ob-bedience. I don’t know wh-why, though...”

“Hard to put it into words is it? Very well, how about you go read that diary some more and find out why being docile is so rewarding?”

“Oh, that sounds dang fun, Mistress! I will!”

* * *

Juliet’s Diary

I went back to Lady Sophia’s mansion at the end of my rounds around town. Good thing my milk is nutritious enough that a single baby bottle is enough for a day. Syndromes tend to do this kind of reality breaking. No wonder considering the ludicrous way they came to be. Anyway, the renowned researcher asked me a new round of questions, and even went into uncomfortable territory...

“How does it taste, Juliet?”

“W-w-what?!”

I instinctively covered my udders when she said that.

“Is it embarrassing? I apologize, but I know your family barely gets by and you already told me you lactate regardless of starvation. Surely you wouldn’t just dump the milk.”

“Yes...You’re right, I just...Let my p-parents drink it. I can’t help but feel like drinking any more of it will make my lactation worse...”

“Since nobody developed any adverse effects drinking it, it is probably baseless. Besides, the unstable particles have no further effects on already mutated bodies. Still, it remains a possibility as Syndromes defy any logic, so your caution was well-advised.”

“I see. Anyway, my milk is perfectly fluid, yet it tastes like fresh c-c-cream. It’s really filling, too...”

“Yes, Peter stayed put all the time you were gone. It’s clearly an extraordinary milk...”

“Might as well be, really...”

I just kind of sat there, awkwardly looking away. I had my suspicions being studied would be uncomfortable, but it didn’t really make it easier. Especially not when she decided to double down.

“So, I noticed the act of breastfeeding is pleasurable to you? I know this is embarrassing but please do tell the details. The cure might hinge on it.”

“Yes, Lad-d-dy Sophia. I even, huh...O-o...” I take a breath. “Org-g-gasm when I use my pumps. Instant sleep p-p-pill.”

“So there is a correlation between the intensity of the pleasure and drowsiness. Do you feel anything special when you grow sleepy while still conscious?”

“Yes, actually. It’s like time flies b-b-by and I just sit there smiling. Could it be a ho-ho-hhhhormone thing?”

“Syndromes break the normal rules of physiology, but it does probably stem from a corruption of oxytocin and prolactin. Both hormones make a young mother bond with her child. They are in fact known to induce relaxation and euphoria in some breastfeeding women. Yours are just an extreme form. Would you allow me to test the extent of this state’s effects, Juliet?”

“Hm? Huh...As long as you wake me up a-afterwards, sure.”

“Good. Let’s see this then.”

I don’t really get why she wanted to test this. What could be scientifically interesting in me dozing off? In any case, little Peter was growing restless, and I could feel my body responding to him, so I undressed and let him suckle. I suppose I might as well describe how it felt.

As soon as my nipple and alveola is in his mouth, he latches on and starts suckling, whereupon milk starts flowing from the swollen glands and into the ducts. I already feel a buzz at this point, and get cozy in my breastfeeding position. My thoughts slow down, my focus shifts on the baby’s comfort. I can’t see or feel anything else.I even forget how to move, just standing there, so relaxed and patient I can stay in this position for an hour and not grow uncomfortable in the least.

This is to prepare for the moment where my areola starts squeezing and the milk flows. I moan, and a tender shiver spreads throughout my body. This completely locks me in, and my consciousness fades into a deep daydream. I forget where I am, letting sounds flow past me. Even my vision dissolves into irrelevance. I am only aware of my feeding breast and the delicious milk it gives to my child. Yes, I even forget he’s not my own. I don’t care. i overflow with love, and the more of my love I give, the more waves of soft pleasure keep me moaning, subued and entranced.

If Lady Sophia tested anything, I did not notice it. She just woke me up when Peter stopped nursing, and I got dressed as usual.

“Thank you, Juliet, that was informative. One last embarrassing question. Do you have any libido outside of this? Do you have relationships?”

“Ah? No, I had a boyfriend, but I’m a v-v-virgin...”

“I see. It’s natural if we consider this is an extreme form of hormone influence. Prolactin and oxytocin promote motherly behavior and suppress you, well, vying for another baby.”

“Ah, I-I-I see...”

“This is a promising lead. Even if the source is extraplanar, it modifies natural physiology, not outright replace it like in the most dire cases.”

“Does that mean you could give me a normal b-body?”

“As a matter of fact it does. Your kind of syndrome has a chance to be cured, or at least suppressed long enough to have breast reduction surgery. I imagine their size does you no favor.”

“N-not really...”

“Have hope, then, Juliet.”

“Th-thanks...”

She asked me to bring one of my milk bottles. Easy enough, and in fact I’m surprised she didn’t ask this from the get go.

And thus ended my second day as a guinea pig.

* * *

Sophia Garland’s research notes

Case: Juliet Ferry, day 2

The infant’s blood test did seem to indicate Juliet’s milk has immunity-boosting properties well in excess of normal breast milk. Introducing unstable extraplanar particles -the source of Syndromes- to a sample of the blood led to a much milder reaction than normal. It is subpar compared to the best current treatments, but appears with only one exposure and appears free of any side effects, as Juliet has been safely nursing infants for more than a year now. This case just got very promising. Maybe instead of curing her syndrome, it would be better to make it manageable. I’ll have to make sure my research doesn’t grow too uncomfortable for Juliet.

Concerning her syndrome, I am getting a clearer picture of its full effects. The lactation, in addition of being permanent and continuous, is highly pleasurable and throws Juliet into a state of drowsiness or outright sleep. Even this might be incomplete, as she behaves oddly when drowsy. Her stammer disappears, which might only be caused by relaxation, and she seems to focus on the breastfeeding so much her personality fades away. A form of trance? To test this hypothesis, I told her to wear something a bit less concealing tomorrow. I feel safe is positing she would never take such an initiative on her own. In any case, I am impressed she managed to remain so chaste when her job gives her sexual pleasure.

* * *

Juliette was in her room, reading her former self’s journal. There were many things the doting slave couldn’t grasp. How could this girl not ever think about Mistress? How could she hate having the best boobies? Why did she never write about cleaning? Cleaning was the best. Why was she so unfun in general?

But in all her confusion, Juliette didn’t experience a sliver of regret. The daily reconditioning regimen had started months ago, and now her new personality, artificial as it may have been, was the true one. Though unable to put it into words, the little maid understood this, and reveled in it. Mistress had told her to reflect on it, but, slowly, the task became a personal curiosity.

* * *