FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Anxiously, you stepped into the doorway to Dr. Faustus's office, squirming and pacing in place. She looked up at you curiously, raising an eyebrow in a silent question of of your need.

Need was the right word for it. Two weeks ago, she'd started an experiment with you. She used some kind of drug therapy to induce lactation in herself, and to give her new milk some special properties. The original goal was to create milk capable of altering your mind in a way similar to hypnosis: induced calm and suggestibility, as key features.

You had your first bottle of the stuff under careful observation, and it was one of the first time you'd heard Faustus's elusive excited cackle - when your first swallow made your eyes blink out of sync, and made you so docile and mindless you had to be guided to your next sip.

You weren't sure if she made you drink the entire bottle. She probably did - you doubt it was a random amount of milk she'd given you, and she intended to measure the effect from specifically that amount. And measure she did. It's all a blur to you, of course, but you'd read and organized the reports as her assistant after the experiment was over. She had thoroughly tested your suggestibility and found the results extremely pleasing.

But that's when the unintended side effect manifested itself. Craving. A neediness that couldn't be sated with anything other than some more of that hypnotic, creamy, delicious milk.

Thankfully, for the week of experimentation, you'd always have another bottle waiting for you the next day, another few hours of blissfull suggestibility and a belly full of warm bliss. It became something you felt like you couldn't live without.

Now the experiment was over. You'd tried to move on, and go back to work as usual, and found that the craving for more milk didn't quite go away with patience. Two days without it had left you unable to focus on your work, unable to focus on anything.

"Doctor Faustus." You began, anxiously. "Uhm- c-could I- are you...?" You began.

"Am I what, Mr. Layne?" She asked, patiently. You weren't sure if she was being coy and making you say it, or genuinely unsure what you wanted. Her face was stern and unreadable.

"Are you still... uhm, lactating, Doctor?" You asked, kneading your hands anxiously. "I'm, uhm. I'm craving it. Very much."

"I see." She said, leaning forward over her desk. "Please, describe the craving, Mr. Layne. For the record."

"I- Y-Yes, Doctor Faustus. I, uhm. I'm having difficulty focusing. I'm feeling, uhm, a sort of thirst, or hunger, maybe, that I can't satisfy with other food or drink. Uhm. I've tried drinking cow's milk, uhm, as a substitute, but uhh, it didn't... work." You stumbled, as she listened patiently. "I worry it's affecting my work. I'm unable to get my work done, Miss. I, uhm. I'm... repeating myself." You trailed off.

"Very interesting." She said, tapping her clawed fingers on her desk and smiling. "I'd speculate you have a psychological addiction." She began explaining, though it seemed more to herself than to you. "Your mind has become accustomed to the trance-like state induced by the milk, and, without it, you've become disoriented, confused, and distressed." She leaned back in her chair and pulled her lab coat open, and you felt your whole body twitch at the sight of a single bead of white milk sliding down her tit.

For the first time, you were immensely thankful she barely wore any clothing.

"Well, Valentine, it's only fair I accomodate your need." She said, smiling calmly. "You'll stop by my office every day during your lunch break for your dosage - does that sound agreeable?" She asked.

"C-Could I drink some now?" You pleaded.

"Of course, Valentine. Come here."

You clip-clopped your way forward, stumbling over yourself, your eyes fixed on that delicious liquid, on her rounded, full, heavy rack. You licked your lips, swallowed, your stomach growled... All things Dr. Faustus informed you would be included in the report.

You weren't really listening to her. You dropped to your knees and let her guide you with her hands, gently lifting your chin and pulling your muzzle to her nipple.

You practically thrusted your muzzle forward, compressing the soft tit and rewarding you with a thick jet of warm, creamy milk. Your eyes rolled up, and you were immensely thankful that Doctor Faustus was there to affectionately stroke your ear and hold you in place so you didn't have to stop drinking. She gently wrapped an arm around you and squeezed you into her chest with her bicep, reaching over you and typing on her keyboard.

You idly wandered if she was taking notes on your reaction. Knowing Doctor Faustus, of course she was. Science never sleeps, and all that.

"Good boy, Lenti." She whispered to you, and your heart melted.