Clara was hired to nourish the King's bastard son Angus. She was glad to be free of the confines of peasant society even if that meant she was a glorified cow. One night the King comes to visit her to sample her delicacy which alters her entire purpose at the castle.
Warning: This story contains 5,300 words of consensual sex and lactation between adults depicted as 18 years or older.

Clara hissed a breath in as she rubbed salve on a particularly sensitive area. It stung initially but then provided relief. The delicacy of her fingertips around the soft warm flesh was providing more than relief. It was stimulating. Milk dribbled out of her teat and down her engorged breasts, beading as it tumbled down her thin stomach. There she was, sitting on a grand bed, in a chamber she could have never dreamed of, rubbing her bruised nipples. Silk and cotton surrounded her and adorned her body as compared to the old and limited linen that she was used to. The soft fabric of her comforter filled with down, on a mattress filled with goose down and imported cotton from a country in the far east called India, was heaven. She knew she was lucky to be in the service of the King.
A change in the air that breezed through her chamber caused Clara to look up from her breast. Where her door had been closed it was now wide open, the shadow of a man standing before her in the candlelight. She instinctively pulled her shirt up over her breasts in surprise, and peered at the man. Men stood around her day and night while she was exposed, letting the little bastard drink from her udders. Guards, royal couriers and even once the King had come to check on how little Angus was getting along. It should not have bothered her now but, in her chamber, it was private.
“Please,” the hearty deep voice called as the shadow walked towards her, “continue.”

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