Harshwhinny's Milk Tastes Like Victory
- >coming back to the hotel after spending a day in the sun
- >tired in the way only a day spent loafing on the beach can make you
- >Harshwhinny walks right over to the bed, laying down on her back
- >her voice is harsh, like usual, but not angry
- >"I have NEVER felt so tired, and unprofessional."
- >"I enjoy the time off of work, but this foal is so heavy, and now that I am making milk, I can't even stand for long."
- >It's true.
- >Her breasts... is breasts the right word?
- >Whatever, her breasts look really full, nearly ready to pop under that modesty maternity suit
- >well, it's your foal... satyr? Don't know yet.
- >But anyway, it's yours
- >she's yours, and you're hers
- >she opens her mouth to complain about her back, but stops abruptly when she feels your hands on her breasts
- >she smiles slightly, laying back
- >it's easy enough to push the suit aside, exposing both of her beautiful teats, with a strip of fabric running down between them
- >you lean in, and lick along each sensitive nipple
- >she makes a little, half-suppressed moan of appreciation
- >she may be a bit of a bitch sometimes, but you love her, and you're here to ease her burden
- >you press your lips around her nipple, and suckle
- >the room stays quiet, just the sound of her breathing and your drinking
- >her hind hooves rest on your shoulders as you drain her
- >it takes several long minutes, but finally you pull your lips free of her second nipple
- >she lets out a calm, relaxed breath. No longer sore.
- >you adjust her suit again, and then climb up into the bed with her
- >you snuggle together, and she's out like a light
- >it's a vacation, and midday naps are par for the course
- >you run your hand over her belly, and think of the foal growing inside
- >and you are happy.
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