Earth Goddess' Nectar: The Complete Novella: (Paranormal Fantasy Erotica) (2 page)

Chapter Two:
The Milking Parlor of Eshabaar

Andrew Thorne drove his range rover over the final dirt road leading to Laguna, the setting sun discoloring the Western skyline. He drove angrily, throttling the gearstick and sending sprays of brown froth flying as he hurtled around corners. His dark blue eyes were fixed on the road before him, but all he could think about was the buxom journalist and the glass exploding against the office wall.

You need to see the Sacred Sisters. To clear your head and erase the images of Nathan and Emma Lake. Especially Miss Lake and her hazel eyes. Especially that grey blouse that could barely contain the immensity roiling beneath. If only she could bathe in the essence…

He thought about the night of the phone call as he banished Emma’s tits from his mind. Andrew was away on business when he received the call from Desmond, his mother’s faithful manservant. Desmond was normally a reserved and reticent man, his face perpetually set into an almost comical scowl that earned him the moniker "Bloodhound" from the young Thorne twins. Andrew knew his mother was dead as soon as he picked up the phone and heard that typically steady voice spluttering and cracking on the other end.

When he arrived at the house Nathan was already there, wailing inconsolably as he held their mother’s corpse. Andrew just stood there, feeling the vastness of the moment dropping inside of him like an anchor sinking into the ocean floor. He did not cry or fall to his knees. He walked away and sought the solace of the Sisters and the bliss of undiluted Mother’s Milk. Nathan probably resented Andrew’s self-imposed dislocation from reality, particularly because it involved the sweet forgetting offered by Eshabaar’s womb…

Andrew knew that his mother’s death would invite a great deal of scrutiny. Media outlets were buzzing about the future of the company, and pictures of him and his brother were becoming regular fixtures on glossy magazine covers. Andrew hated these intrusions into his private life, but he knew his distress was nothing compared to Nathan’s. Nathan had been acting squirrelly for days, his tantrums growing more violent and frequent in the wake of their mother’s passing. But that was no excuse for the rage he unleashed on Miss Lake, and Andrew worried that it might be time to renegotiate Nathan’s involvement in the business.

Nathan wanted to shut down the Laguna sector and move their operations elsewhere. Andrew argued that it was a ludicrous proposition. After all, Mother’s Milk was becoming the centerpiece of their empire, and no other dairy producer could match the exquisite taste delivered by the earth mother’s thralls.

“We need to rid ourselves of that mountain slut for good. Mom is gone, and the business is
ours
. I want nothing more to do with the holy sow and her fat whores.”

He has never understood the joy of immersion and the ecstasy of feeding. And he never will. He has too much of Father’s brutish masculinity in him, and that noxious desire for control cripples his ability to submit to the wet delights of the celestial womb…

A Kevlar-vested guardsman nodded at him from a gun turret as he passed through the huge encircling wall that surrounded the Laguna compound. The parlor sat in the shade of the mountain like a child clinging onto its mother’s skirts, its large silver exterior dwarfed by the ridges that rose bleak and eternal to the purple sky. To the left of the parlor he could see the wrought iron curlicues that topped the whitewashed exterior of the orphanage glinting in the setting sun.

It was still a marvel to Andrew that it even existed. He had designed the building himself, and he had taken his inspiration from the fairytale castles his mother had described to him while he was still at her breast. It was a miniature fortress, and its fluted towers and ornate stained-glass windows emblazoned with fantasy beasts were a constant eyesore to Nathan. But Andrew would begrudge the children nothing, and he wanted them to spend their days running down corridors tinged with the mystery and magic of myth.

Some of the children of the mountain were playing in the foliage that bordered the orphanage, their faces beaming as they weaved through the verdant lawns. Andrew parked his car and marched to the milk parlor’s entrance, trailing a hand through the tall grass that grew wild around the borders of the mountain compound. Gardeners and landscapers had tried to cut the grass many times, but nothing would halt the incessant growth.

“The effect of Mother’s Milk cannot be contained by steel and wire,” Eshabaar had whispered into his ear.

“Life will seep between the cracks.” Andrew swiped his identity card and walked through the door that passed into the living rock of the Laguna Mountain.

He stood on a steel staircase overlooking the sunken interior of the milking shed. It was dominated by an artificial lake filled with the undulating bodies of the Sacred Sisters. The lagoon spread from the gaping cave that led into the mountain and separated into dozens of smaller streams filled with the Sister’s rolling flesh. Esther had received the design plans from the ancient lips of Eshabaar herself. It was an exact replica of the internal structure of a breast, the differentiated brooks representing alveoli and milk ducts trickling from the mouth of the cavern.

The Milking Parlor of Eshabaar, the divine lake of the earth mother’s womb.

The Sisters were immersed in a warm milk bath that supplied them with the nourishment they needed to produce the Mother’s Milk. Huge quantities of oxytocin and other chemical agents were added to the fluid to stimulate their milk ducts. Oxytocin was biologically necessary for milk ejection, but it also contracts the female uterus during orgasms. The Sisters were in a constant state of heightened sexual excitement, and the milk bath gave them the capacity to have multiple climaxes that could last for hours.

They would coil their bodies around each other and suckle each other’s tits while the solution lapped against their engorged vulvas. Eshabaar claimed the deeper they succumbed to the nurturing milk and its sexual abandon, the sweeter the milk they would make. The proof was in the improved batches of Mother’s Milk they were currently draining from the Sisters’ constantly leaking tits.

A complex of clear glass tubes wound from the puckered flesh of their nipples and siphoned the milk to processing units in the parlor’s upper floors. Untreated Mother’s Milk could not be imbibed on its own by those unversed it its splendor. It was dangerous, and scientists needed to temper the volatile liquid with other additives. It was a constant struggle to find the perfect balance between exquisite taste and safety for the consumer. The suction ducts were gently latched over their areolae, and Andrew watched the streams of creamy milk being sapped from their willing breasts. Above the lake was the sophisticated network of mechanical tentacles that performed the impregnations that made the entire operation possible.

All of the women in the lake were brought here against their will, snatched from bars and alleyways in the city and forcefully impregnated by the tentacles. Eshabaar was adamant that living men could not fertilize the Sisters’ wombs, arguing that human cum was not powerful enough to inseminate the women and generate the precious milk. The arms were filled with a pulsing liquid that was mined in the heart of the primordial mountain. The earth mother called it the lifeblood.

“It is the oldest milk in the known world. It was here when the first mothers delivered life into the world, and it will still be flowing when all humanity is restored to the night’s embrace.” Nathan scoffed at Eshabaar and asked why they weren’t using the lifeblood to make Mother’s Milk if it was so fucking special. She simply smiled and assured him that no human would survive the lifeblood’s ingestion.

“The milk is too old, and man is too weak.”

While Andrew had moral reservations about the abductions, the women never complained for long once they had been plunged in the viscous bath. They would calm after a few hours in the company of the other Sisters, but they would still shiver in fear as they watched the tendrils approaching them.

Andrew had watched the snaking appendages separate the Sisters’ legs and slide between their thighs to penetrate their wet pussies. The women would thrash at first as the primal cum was pumped into their bodies by the impaling limbs, their protests drowned out by the churning fluid in the milk bath. But as the mysterious cum filled their uteruses they would relax again, and their yells would transform into groans of pleasure as they gyrated their cunts against the invading tentacle. When it was finished they would fall back into the arms of a senior Sister who would rock them gently until they fell into a contented sleep.

They became milk-producing machines, and the Thornes had profited tremendously from this delectable abundance. But the earth mother only honored this arrangement because of her holy offspring. She was a being unconcerned with wealth or profit margins. She allowed the Thornes to milk the women as long as they sent her beautiful children into the world.

“All I ask is that you find loving homes for my darling babies. Is that too much to ask when I give you a taste of the glorious infinite?”

Once the mountain’s seed was sown, the Sisters would show signs of pregnancy within a week and their excessive floods of lactation began in earnest. Their pregnancies were greatly accelerated, and in a given year any Sister could birth as many as six children. They were always healthy and radiant, and the orphanage was a necessary ruse to house Eshabaar's children.

When Esther first began this venture, the output of milk and children was small, but the passage of time had increased the volume of both. Now it was no longer possible to quietly release pockets of squalling babes into various waiting homes without raising suspicion. They needed a large home, and
Children of the Mountain
became a sanctuary for the earth mother’s flesh.

The Sisters’ may have been the ones who watched the crowns of the babes’ heads squeeze between their slick thighs, but they were only surrogates. The true mother lived in the center of the mountain, and her infrequent visits were periods of joy in both the milk parlor and the nearby orphanage. She would visit her children and hold them to her breast as she told them stories in forgotten tongues.

She was scheduled to visit the Sisters tomorrow, and Andrew could sense from the relative quiet of the women that they were anxiously awaiting their goddess’s return.

There were about thirty women in the solution at the moment, and many of them were resting with their eyelids fluttering on their milk-slicked faces. Most were swollen with pregnancy, their bellies distended and droplets of Mother’s Milk dribbling from beneath their suction cups. Andrew cast his eyes over the scrolling text rushing across the computer screens on the roof of the parlor and saw that no one was set to deliver today.

Good. I can enter the Sisters’ milky sanctum.
As he stripped, he wondered how Emma would react if she knew this was where Mother’s Milk came from. With her tits, she would be idolized in this place. So much potential was locked within her breasts, and Andrew began to salivate as he waded out among the women.

A few moaned in ecstasy as they licked each other’s puffy breasts. Near the left of the lagoon, Andrew could see Trisha and Olivia stroking each other’s sensitive clits as the auburn-haired Trisha feasted on Olivia’s pendulous brown tits.

Olivia’s head was thrown back in wordless pleasure as Trisha’s lips engulfed her dark, distended nipples. The Sisters developed strong erotic attachments to each other, and their shared cycles of gestation and birth fostered a unique codependence and mutual love stronger than any human bonds. None of them paid Andrew any mind as he felt the soothing liquid passing his thighs and drenching his cock. The milk was thick and warm, and he briefly thought of his mother as he sunk in up to his lightly scarred chest.

Andrew ducked beneath the overhanging coils of the robotic tentacles as he zeroed in on Ramona. Aside from impregnating the Sisters and assisting with the deliveries, they were also programmed to intuit every last need of the pregnant women. Their movements were disconcertingly organic as they twined above Andrew’s head and adjusted the pumps on the Sister’s breasts.

Ramona was a red-headed Sister with gigantic breasts that constantly dripped. Andrew groin tightened as he ran his fingers over her light skin, and she looked at him with dark green eyes that reminded him of Emma Lake.

“Hello baby boy. Are you thirsty?” Her voice was guttural but tender, and she raised her wet fingers to an unoccupied breast and squeezed the fat nipple between her fingers.

“Yes, sweet Sister. I am thirstier than I have ever known.” His breathing became shallow as Ramona traced a finger slick with Mother’s Milk across his lips.

“You have much of Esther in you Andrew. That is why we love you. Now come to me.”

She pulled his head to her nipple and Andrew greedily latched on. Mother’s Milk spilled down his chin as he desperately tried to squeeze more of her pallid breast into his mouth. As bliss began to seep through his bones, he thought of Emma Lake.

I must bring her here and let her see for herself. I must show her the beauty of Mother’s Milk and drink from those perfect orbs…

He grabbed his throbbing cock and stroked it a couple of times. It was never harder than it was when he was about to fuck a Sacred Sister. Ramona knew just what he wanted, taking it first into her mouth and sucking powerfully. She took it deep and fast into her throat, and when he was about to come, he pushed her big milk-covered tits together, and fucked them furiously.