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[I]“And that's it. Where you'll find your partner in crime!"

[/I]The echoing thought came through the room, in the carpenter's store. Yet, as the two forms stirred inside, an intense gaze was shared. A fuzzy brown brow was lifted, a hand passed on the fuzzy forehead, and the headband Furgor wore. He scratched the skin near the horns, broken in half, while he felt the echo of a sensation, of an emotion from his partner.

[I]Danger?

“No, nothing important," [/I]growled Furgor in his mind, his thought transmitted back to the Treant, who got the gist: peace.

Then, the Satyr turned his head toward the door and saw Rust slip inside the room like he owned the ship. Technically, he didn't. But he was the only dependable crew member on all occasions. His head on a swivel, the tiny Goblin indulged in some moments, but he was also the one who corralled the crew… And admitted everyone, including Furgor and his partner.

“You're here, good. We got a new crew member. Come and say hello," said the Goblin, still massaging his jaw. Another night with an orc.

But what Furgor glanced at wasn't the Goblin's jaw, but what followed. Despite his long experience among the Spheres, going from one end to the other to the flow… Furgor could still be impressed and amazed by whatever the Gods could create. Or Bature. But it only happened on a few worlds… Nature rarely had her say in how mortals were made, the Satyr learned early.

Still, he nodded at what looked like a creature of red, black, and white scales. Completed with a pink mane.

A Dragon?

Not exactly. Furgor had seen his fair share of Dragons, and this wasn't one. Maybe… A Dragonkin? It would fit the scales all over the body, with the sharp muzzle, the jagged teeth, the horns sprouting atop the head. But the presence of tiny wings attached to the creature's face and the apparent lack on the back was a surprise.

It seemed… No, it wasn't a creation of Nature. Of gods? Usually, Gods followed the same standards. Mortals? Probably.

The Satyr tilted his head a moment, noting the black scleras and the golden irises. Same as the few golden lines along the face, or the ring attached to one horn on the left side. And then… Furgor noted the pink fluff coming from under the creature's arm, hair…

Yes, a mortal creation. Only mortals could do so.

Finally, with a nod, Furgor eased his gaze and reclined, listening to the creature's words.

“Hello! I will join the crew for the run to the next crystalsphere. I am sure I can help! You can call me Adryen."

[I]“Adryen?"

[/I]Furgor's surprise could be felt before he controlled his thoughts. But on his left, the Treant stirred before the Satyr could send the tree-like entity calming thoughts. As for the newly arrived crew member, he seemed not to have noticed the change.

“Indeed! What? Is it surprising?" said Adryen, puffing out his chest with pride. His speech was rough, with tones that were snappy. Different language..

Listening and understanding someone's speech was a boon from the larva and the Captain working to simplify communication…

Still, Furgor nodded and watched Rust continue his little run, dragging Adryen along.

The door closed, and both Furgor and his companion relaxed, welcoming the silence back. There was a reason why they kept to themselves in the Cargo hold, spending their days in the Carpenter's store. Still, the old and slightly pudgy Satyr jumped on his hooves, went for the porthole carved through the wood, and let fresh air run inside the tiny room. They were in a good port, and most of the crew must have taken their days off. Not Furgor as he scratched his neck. They were too close, way too close to his home for him to go under the sun.[I]

“Take some light on the main desk, we'll need you healthy and rested for the next transit,"[/I] thought Furgor, turning to his Treat companion.

Not all creatures of Nature or Gods had names. However, the crew had taken the opportunity to name his friend “Greenwood", corresponding to the green colored bark that covered the Treant unless he was sick. And in that regard, if it happened, not even B could help with that, only Furgor. And Furgor wasn't forcing a name on his companion.

[I]Sun? Together?

[/I]The thought came with a vision of Furgor and the Treant, together on the deck and relaxing. It was completed by the sensation of warmth on the leaves, of heat on the bark, of energy rushing inside his veins. For a moment, Furgor took in the sensation, enjoying what his friend offered him. But then, he shook his head.

[I]“I will stay here. You, go up. The crew will be watching for you."

[/I]A long moment, then the Treant took in the information. The vines forming the Treant's guts, like tendrils coiled and coiling, moved. A long and tedious thinking process completed by another thought.

[I]Together.

[/I]It was forceful and stronger. Much stronger for the Satyr who felt his mind almost taken by the sensation… Furgor noted he was stomping toward the wooden door, and he froze.

[I]“I will stay. Go up. Don't do that."

[/I]The Treant's expressionless face turned to the door, then he nodded. A sign he picked up from the other crew members, maybe from the Devils in the nearby hold. But the Treant stood up from the water basin he was sitting in, ripping away the roots linking him to the water reservoir beneath the cargo hold, and then stepped. He formed feet faster than in his first days, but Furgor watched how slowly the Treant ambled.

If he were to flee poachers, it was impossible. But the crew would be watching… And only a few Crystalspheres knew about the Treants' abilities.

They could filter water, making it easier to ensure long hold, participate to maintaining the ship's air quality. Moreover, if a Treant was well-fed, they could produce planks and wood to be used for critical repairs. Furgor always maintained their stock full with each journey, but having someone who could create specific wood cuts was a boon people would kill for it.

That's why the Captain was keen on letting them do whatever they wanted and not requesting their presence constantly… Nor prodding them too much.

A boon… A peace Furgor enjoyed as he sighed, reclining on his chair, and lowering his bandana on his face. He wanted to sleep, to-

Someone knocked at the door.

[I]“Enter!"

[/I]The door knob wiggled and someone entered. Light steps, careful.

“Sorry, were you asleep?"

[I]“No," [/I]answered the gruff Satyr, crossing his arms while his headband covered his eyelids. It was better to keep his eyes closed on most occasions, less pain, too. [I]“What do you want, Adryen?"

[/I]“Rust sent me here," said the Dragonkin-like, closing the door behind him. “He said B was busy with two dwarfs and couldn't take me. I don't know what that means or who's that B-"

[I]“Cut to the chase. What do you want from me?"

[/I]“Rust told me you have experience with lactation."

Furgor raised an eyebrow and lifted the headband enough to look at the Dragonkin twiddling his thumb and tiptoeing.

[I]“Really? Where's the Treant?"

[/I]“The… Oh, the Treant. He's standing on the upper deck, he doesn't move."

[I]“Good," [/I]commented Furgor, dropping his headband and crossing his arms. [I]“So yes, I have experience with lactation. But I'm not offering milk without a bottle of alcohol. You got one?"

[/I]“No. It-"

[I]“Then get lost."

[/I]“I'm here so you can milk me!"

Furgor chuckled. That was almost innocent and soft. Enough for him to uncross his arms and yank the headband away. He threw it aside and straightened his back, glancing at the Creature wearing only the barest of clothes: purple fabric tight to the body, in the form of a shirt and pants, but nothing more. Even those clawed feet are exposed while Furgor eyed Adryen up and down.

And taped his armrest with his index finger.[I]

“It's the first time someone has asked me to milk them. Are you sure you are not asking the wrong person?"

[/I]Still, the Dragonkin-like reached for his shirt, his clawed digits working remarkably well, despite their poor design, and undid the buttons. Then, with the chest exposed, Furgor saw the Dragonkin's chest… The flesh was generous, almost round, bouncy, with black nipples peaking on either side. It was… Adequate, though there was a heat emanating from the Dragonkin. A heat Furgor noted as he reached for his own attire.

Contrary to most Satyrs who went around bare-chested and drinking, Furgor was… More discreet.

Maybe this was linked to his curse that gave him the sensation of being both drunk and yet hungover whenever he wasn't drinking. Or maybe to his body that got twisted by a joking fey-lord… Same as his name, that was something he bought from a name-trader.

Nevertheless, as the Dragonkin stood bare-chested, Furgor removed his vest, and undid the wraps covering his chest until the bands dropped and so sagged his breasts.

Not pecs, not moobs, breasts. Something changed, and a design that wasn't natural. But one that stuck out as his slightly tanned chest was exposed, with an ample brown tuft covering the top. His nipples free, they pointed forward while he advanced, his hooves stomping while the Dragonkin seemed to want to leave, to shrink, to disappear.

“I am certain… You must have… Experience in it?"[I]

“Right. How long since you started lactating?"[/I] asked Furgor, extending one hand to touch the Dragonkin's right breast.

Contrary to the Satyr's expectation, the scales were soft and those nipples were almost… Fleshy. Covered with dark skin, melding with the scales. A recent modification?

“Three months. I got them from a potion. The merchant told me it was a healing potion."[I]

“He sold it to you for a lower price than normal, hmm?" [/I]asked Furgor, brushing the nub with his thumb. There was a strum but no… Milk. Not so backed-up.

And Adryen nodded.

[I]“He didn't lie. He wanted to try new ingredients but got the dosage wrong."

[/I]“How do you know?"

[I]“Our local medic had the same issue."

[/I]It was true that Furgor once enjoyed the sight of B's newly found breasts as much as the despair from the Bugbear who had been denied satisfaction unless he was milked. A little trouble compared to what the Bugbear had dabbled in. But he was lucky he could remove that change through potions… Furgor, though.

“Will you help me?"

[I]“I will. If you help me with mine."[/I]

“Your problem?"

The Satyr rolled his eyes, then pointed his own chest with his index finger.

[I]“Follow my instructions."

[/I]Curt. But enough to get the Dragonkin working and using his clawed fingers to hold Furgor's right nipple. In return, the Satyr reached for the Dragonkin's second nipple, his movement echoed by the new crew member.

[I]“Do not tug on them like this. You'll only hurt me or yourself," [/I]ordered the Satyr as he pinched one nipple carefully, pulling delicately on it, only for the Dragonkin to go with too much strength.

“Sorry," said Adryen, easing off on the tug and going for soft and slower movement, more adequate.

Better, too, as Furgor started to pinch the nipples between two fingers, keeping them outstretched and erect, while using his thumbs to trace on the tip, circle on the nubs.

[I]“Who milked you before?"

[/I]“No… No one else."

Furgor shook his head, releasing the nipples instead to pass his fingers underneath the Dragonkin's chest, feeling and hefting it. Oh, he was definitely filled up. But he must have been milked. By someone?

“I did it myself."

[I]“How?"

[/I]“By tugging."

Furgor scoffed and chuckled. He turned his head away, yet his body slightly jumped with each laugh he stifled until he managed to get it back under control. Then, he sighed. He relaxed and closed his eyes for a second.

[I]“It must have hurt a lot."

[/I]“Yes."

[I]“I'll teach you how to do it yourself. Come, sit."

[/I]Pulling free, the Satyr guided Adryen to his seat. The chair was cushioned, perfect for the Satyr's fluffy posterior, for his little tail wagging above. Once Adryen sat, Furgor's hands returned to the Dragonkin.

Dragonkin, who was about to grab Furgor again, if not for the Satyr slapping those hands.

[I]“Let me show you. And I'll ask someone to help you, tomorrow."

[/I]“Tomorrow."

[I]“Or every other day, it depends on your production. Unless you ask B to undo it. We'll see how you feel."

[/I]Adryen didn't answer. But he moaned when Furgor's fingers were back on the nipples. He held them, caressed them, stroked them.

With his experience in milking himself alone, or guiding the Treant in doing it for him, Furgor knew how to please himself and get himself from climaxing only with his nipples… Which was necessary for him to get the milk flowing.

However, for the Dragonkin, it was different.

With only a few circles, Furgor felt a wetness forming at the tip. Then, as he had his thumbs circling faster and faster, the Dragonkin's face contorted. That jaw clenched, those eyelids closed tight, those claws dug into the armrests.

So followed the first bead of milk, the first Furgor did not produce himself. He felt the liquid, soft and warm, liquid and yet a bit creamy, spread and smear on his fingers. Still, he continued to rub and press. No, he shifted.

His thumbs slowed, much to Adryen's audible frustration. But then, followed the moans when the Satyr began to pull on the nipples gently, he pulled on them, tugging. Then he released the pressure while massaging and squeezing the nubs to have them almost return to their original shape. Then, he pulled again. Steadily, Furgor watched the Dragonkin relax and sigh, his tail wagging and hitting the floor while the first beads of milk turned into a few droplets. Then a rivulet smearing Furgor's nipples.[I]

“See. It's not strength you should use. You have to do the movements carefully. It'll be easier for you if you do it regularly… Or have a ritual."[/I]

“A ritual?" asked The Dragonkin, amidst a moan.[I]

“Yes. Something that tells your mind, it is time for the milking."[/I]

“You have one?"

The question was direct and honest. Furgor pondered refusing to answer. But then, he bit his lips. His chest was feeling heavy today, backed up. Not to the point his nipples felt like they burned or that every pressure on his chest was a pain. But enough, he felt the need to step closer. He released one of Adryen's nipples. And used that hand, to reach for his own tits, lifting one.

[I]“Open your mouth. And close it when I tell you so. Carefully."

[/I]Adryen did as ordered, but also opened his mouth. Right away, the Dragonkin seemed surprised by what Furgor was about to do. But then, he complied to a second order and closed his lips on the nipple that was offered while the Satyr had the intent on nursing Adryen.

[I]“Suck. Not as hard as possible. Just a smidge!"

[/I]Still, the Satyr grunted as the Dragonkin sucked him as hard as possible. Sure as the Hells, Furgor would get a hickey around the offered nipple. But at the same time, it was good. Extremely good to have those lips sucking and pressing, to have the tongue licking the tip. Steadily, Furgor's breath quickened. His body tensed as he felt his cock instantly stir in his pants and strain against the fabric.

His pants were not so tight, but enough for the tent to form while he had the Dragonkin licking and suckling loudly.

All the while, Furgor returned to his massage. To the Dragonkin's chest. He caressed, slowly and steadily, with a careful touch that would have put many a partner to shame. But he did not stop sighing and moaning, his chest lifting while his erection grew further and further, feeling his cocktip burn and go almost afire.

The Dragonkin was too harsh, too brutal… But the Satyr's tail wiggled all the same from the delight he felt, from having his sensitive nipples being teased with a mouth… And just from the lips' contact, the pleasure he would have felt from fingers was… tenfold. No, a hundredfold.

Furgor sighed, throwing his head back as he sensed the pressure grow inside him, coming both from his chest and groin. Both were at the limit, both were about to burst. Both were about to burst. And with a growl, with a sigh mixing pain and pleasure… Furgor threw his head back.

He didn't howl like the other crew members who didn't know shit about respect or being discreet. But he hissed, his teeth clenching and his legs locking as he came.

He came in his pants, feeling the fabric rubbing against his cocktip while a white shot hit the fabric and started to drip all inside. But then, there was the second shot hitting the already damp cloth, enough for some of the liquid to start to ooze through… To form a darker spot, followed by droplets coalescing and then… following the ship's artificial gravity.

But it was only the second shot. There was the third, then the fourth, then the fifth. By that time, the front of Furgor's pants were utterly drenched and dripping with fluids. But he was blissful, satisfied… Satyrs were profuse, regularly… And in a way, nothing got Furgor off as much as getting his nipples sucked dry.

The Dragonkin? He was sucking them so dry, it was almost a question if Adryen wouldn't snatch Furgor's nipples off from the pressure. But at the same time… There was the flow, the sweet and wondrous flow escaping his nipples, both. One dropping and dribbling all over his fuzzy torso, belly, and pants, then the ground… The other right into Adryen's mouth, who suckled and swallowed, clearly excited.

Clearly enjoying it, too, as his nipples were releasing quite a steady flow. A wondrous flow the Satyr felt on his fingers, dirtying them… And yet, making the contact all the more exciting when Furgor opened his hands and pressed the palm on the Dragon's swollen chest, his index and middle finger pinching the nub.

At the same time, he used his palms and other fingers to squeeze, massage, press against the Dragonkin's chest, digging into those wondrous breasts until Adryen stifled moans filled the room.

Maybe he was cumming, too?

Nevertheless, Furgor continued to massage and press while Adryen suckled…. Until the Dragonkin changed of nipple and decided to work on the second, leaving the first almost red and burning from the applied suction.

Did the Satyr suffer from it? Yes. But he didn't say a thing or even utter the thought as he was delighted to have his milk drunk and taken, all the while feeling another man trembling and quivering from the pleasure of being… Milked.

Of lactating and finding someone's touch capable of helping them reach release. Not everyone could do this. Only a handful. Only some men were delicate enough for this, only a handful Furgor allowed to approach for their drinks. Oddly enough, barely any felines were allowed as their coarse tongue made it hell for the Satyr.

But the Dragonkin? He could be one of the select few.

A thought… An idea Furgor enjoyed as he felt the flow on the back of his hands stop. He felt himself going almost dry and empty despite being backed up only a moment ago. Finally, the pleasure, the moment, the instant, receded to leave them sighing, grumbling, and grunting.

Grunting, mainly from Furgor, as he felt his headache rush back to him. He passed a hand on his forehead, feeling the sharp throbbing pain piercing his skull… He even ignored the milk sticking to his skin, hair, and brows, as he took a step back and leaned on the nearest desk, on which lay a few oiled planks, ready for usage.

He clenched his eyelids, cursed in silence… And… Felt one warm hand press against his forehead. For a moment, Furgor felt like he was under the Sun despite not being there. He felt like he was by the campfire of old, telling of stories of mortals he had managed to dupe. He felt like he was… Home. Then he sighed, reaching for the hand, he pushed away.

[I]“Thank you, Adryen. I needed that," [/I]mumbled the Satyr, opening his eyes. They were still in the carpenter's store, the tiny room barely lit by the porthole and the tiny fireless lamp attached to the ceiling. The place was a mess of wood with the Treant's basin in the furthest corner from the door and Furgor's chair right by the entrance.

Then, there was the Dragonkin, standing around… Nervous, anxious, too, with still a bead of milk at his lips.

“Are you ill? Should I ask for the others?"

[I]“Only a bottle of wine, if you manage to get one on you," [/I]said Furgor, though from the Dragonkin's puzzled expression, he seemed not to have one. [I]“It's just a headache. I'm hungover."

[/I]“Oh, okay. Should I do… Something?"

“[I]No. It's fine, I'll sleep it off."

[/I]Furgor pushed Adryen aside with a dismissive hand and ambled to his chair. He still bent over to collect the headband he had thrown away and put it back on, already covering his eyes from the ambient light. With a little of Adryen's help, he sat and reclined, feeling at rest. At peace, as he sighed and smiled, showing his glimmering teeth.

“Next time. Should I bring wine?"

[I]“Anything with alcohol. As long as it's meant to make me drunk, it'll help," [/I]said Furgor, rolling his shoulders.[I] “Next time? You plan to keep those tits?"[/I]

“Hmm… Yes," said Adryen, though he seemed to open the door. “I'll leave you rest, and thanks for… This."

[I]“Sure…"

[/I]The door closed… But still, as Furgor ruminated, he grumbled. And then sent a last message.

[I]“Tell B to make them bigger and produce more! I want to suck you dry!"[/I] thought Furgor, licking his fingers and finding the sweet milk sweet… With quite an appealing taste. Maybe he ought to be less difficult on accepting requests…

As long as they have alcohol to offer.