If you haven't read Pt 1, you can find it here: The Coven Pt 1

Trevor whined pitifully, the heat between his own legs growing unbearable with the Crimson Woman’s movements. He squeezed his thighs together, desperate for relief. The machine hummed. The women chanted.

“He’s ready for the last one,” the Priestess said, her eyes never leaving his. Behind her, Winter continued to sluice pink potion over her chest. 

From the corner of his eye, Trevor saw Heather lift a third hose and step behind him. She placed a hand on his flank, like a rancher moving behind a nervous heifer. “Breathe through it. Do not resist what you’ve been given,” she instructed quietly. 

The Priestess’s fingers picked up speed, and so did his need. Just when he thought he couldn’t bear it, she plunged two fingers inside herself.

At that same moment, Trevor felt something penetrate him and a suction around his genitals. 

“Fuck!” he cried as another orgasm overtook him. His body spasmed; his breasts swung forward with the motion. The pillory was the only thing keeping him upright. He felt like his tits were gushing torrents of milk as he came—but no matter how much poured from them, they seemed to refill just as quickly.

As he screamed, he thought he saw a flash of pink light from between the Priestess’s legs—but when he blinked, she was simply rubbing herself in furious circles, lost in pleasure. 

Rite III: Rebirth

The Breeding

Slick with sweat and panting for breath, Trevor watched as the Priestess pleasured herself. Her lips appeared to swell as pink milk cascaded over them. Blinking away the sting of sweat, he realized she was no longer rubbing engorged folds but stroking a shaft—one that was growing rapidly. What began as a small pink nub swelled until it filled her hand—a cock, that Trevor realized bitterly, could already rival or surpass his own size. But it didn’t stop. Soon she was sliding both hands up its thickening shaft to caress a swollen crown. When it finally stopped growing, Trevor was convinced it had reached at least twelve inches. As she made one final stroke, he glimpsed her lips still visible beneath the base of the massive member.

“Help me up, daughters,” the Priestess said breathlessly, glowing with a  sheen of sweat. Heather and Angela were quick to obey, each taking an arm and helping her to her feet. Winter joined them, and all three turned to regard Trevor with hungry eyes. He saw the others had also removed their ceremonial attire. He let out a small whimper as the machine continued to draw milk from his heavy breasts. He could feel suction now between his legs as well, and a probe within him vibrated steadily.

The other women grew silent, waiting for the Priestess to speak. The hum of the milking machine and Trevor’s near-constant moans and whines were the only sounds in the clearing, which had gone deathly still with anticipation.

The Crimson Woman stepped forward, her monstrous cock swinging before her as she moved to the center of the platform. The three acolytes formed a triangle behind her. From Trevor’s position, he could only see their bare backsides, but beyond them, across the pit, stood six more women. They still wore the diaphanous garments that did nothing to conceal the nubile treasures beneath, waiting for a signal.

“Daughters,” the Priestess began, her voice low but clear in the charged stillness. “We are gathered tonight to perform an ancient rite in our Mother’s hour of greatest need. The sacrifice is prepared. The milk flows.”

Cheers of “Praise Gaia” echoed briefly before she raised her hand and all fell silent.

“Now, come and bear witness as the ritual is completed.”

At her words, the remaining women slipped from their gowns and began to descend the steps. Trevor gasped as he noticed the moat surrounding the knoll had filled with milk—his milk. It was still being drawn from him, even now. He watched, transfixed, as the first woman stepped into the white liquid. It rose to her knees, her hips, her chest—until only her neck and head remained above the surface. When she emerged, milk cascading down her body, an erect cock now jutted from between her thighs. It wasn’t as large as the Priestess’s, but it still put Trevor’s to shame.

One by one, all six women crossed the moat, emerging similarly transformed. As they ascended, they spread out in a circle around Trevor. He swallowed a thick lump of fear—or was it lust?—rising in his throat. He was growing not harder, but wetter.

Winter and the two attendants left the Priestess’s side and approached. Winter placed a wide, shallow silver bowl beneath Trevor’s swollen breasts. Heather and Angela detached the suction heads from his nipples. The cool night air against his sensitive skin made him buck against his restraints, nearly climaxing from the stimulation.

Winter placed a hand gently on his back—as if to soothe a skittish farm animal—and leaned close. “You’re doing so well, sweetie,” she whispered as she cupped one heavy breast and tugged.

“Trevor moaned. Milk sprayed from him into the bowl.

“That’s a good girl,” Winter purred, coaxing more cream from his other teat.

When the bowl was full, Heather handed it to Angela, who steadied it with both hands and sipped. She swallowed, then Heather poured milk onto Angela’s front—the creamy white fluid cascading down over her chest made a stark contrast to the dark curves of her breasts. She rubbed herself with urgent heat as the milk trickled lower.

Winter took the bowl and offered it to Heather, who drank eagerly. The milk had the same effect on her. Soon she was writhing on the grass next to Angela, overcome with pleasure.

Returning to stand before Trevor, Winter took a long drink, then poured the rest over her breasts. She tangled her fingers in Trevor’s hair, tugging his face into her dripping sex.

“Be a good girl and lick up your milk,” she commanded, grinding against him.

Trevor opened eagerly. Her warm folds filled his mouth, the sweet taste of his thick cream mingling with her arousal. He plunged his tongue deeper, spurred on by her moans and the writhing bodies beside them.

“Just like that, baby,” she purred.

Milk continued to trickle from her cleft. She gripped his horns, pulling his mouth tighter against her. The horns felt sturdier than any cheap costume accessory should. He expected the headband to slid—but it didn’t budge. Had they always felt that firm? 

He sucked her swollen clit, rolling his tongue over it until she screamed.

The suction head between his legs was removed. He tried to pull away to see, but Winter held him fast, grinding harder. Her need ignited his own.

The Priestess’s hands slid over his curves and down to grip his hips. Her massive shaft pressed against his opening—a heavy promise.

She pierced him slowly. The engorged head stretched him, until he burned. Still, Trevor pushed back, forcing her deeper. He moaned, filled beyond belief. The Priestess groaned as his tight walls clamped around her—desperate.

Two strong hands gripped his hips. There was pressure, and then he was completely filled. Eyes wide, he gasped against Winter’s flesh, the sound escaping as a deep, involuntary moo.

The Priestess had mounted him.

His small penis was gone—he knew that now. What remained was a cunt designed to please. He should’ve been horrified. Instead, he was trembling with arousal.

She began to move, thrusting deep. Her pace was brutal, primal. The bell on his collar clanged wildly. He whimpered and pushed back to meet her thrusts, clenching around her cock.

She gripped his hips like handles, slamming into him with all her might. It drove all other thought from his head. In that moment, he had become no better than an animal in heat, to be bred. Trevor squealed into Winter’s mound, as the Priestess’s massive shaft filled him. The girth of her, threatening to split him.  

“Focus, sweetie. You’re doing so good,” Winter whispered above him, tugging at his horns—not his headband, but his horns. They throbbed in rhythm with his pleasure, each tug and thrust sending a subtle pulse through them. They weren’t props anymore.

They were his.

He obeyed, sucking her clit with renewed vigor—pulling it deeper into his mouth, worshiping it with lips and tongue. Each thrust from the Priestess brought another moan. Winter’s clit swelled and lengthened in his mouth. Winter’s own moans had joined the chorus of his and the Priestess.

He gagged as it grew. He tried to pull back, but Winter and the pillory held him firm. Just past her, Heather was furiously stroking a thick new cock. Trevor had no choice but to suck harder.

Her shaft expanded against his tongue, feeling invader in his mouth—the distinct cap of her engorged head, the pronounced veins running along the shaft. He licked and sucked with wanton abandon. 

Ten inches now, gagging him. She pulled out briefly; he gasped, sucking in air. His eyes locked on the purplish tip as it wept precum—glistening with his salvia. 

Winter rocked her hips forward and smiled as her once boyfriend obediently accepted her back in his mouth. Her taste was salacious, salty, and enslaving. Instinctively he swallowed, as another girlish moan escaped him. 

She gripped his hair and began to thrust, slowly at first, then faster, syncing with the Priestess’s rhythm.

The scent of sex thickened. The slap of flesh, the groan of the Priestess, Winter’s moans, and the ring of his bell filled the night—his breasts acting as metronomes, keeping perfect rhythm as they swung heavily beneath him, spraying thick cream everywhere. 

With each punishing stroke, Trevor could feel the his sensitivity amplify, urging him towards the precipice. Experiencing something so overwhelmingly forbidden brought an unmatched surge of pleasure.

The Priestess’s moans and grunts were ragged with passion. She gripped his hips like handles. Sinking her nails into his supple skin, leaving behind little half-moon marks that were sure to bruise, she slammed into him with all her might. Trevor’s pussy clenched down with its own wicked need, refusing to let go of the cock that impaled him. 

“Gaia!” the Priestess screamed, slamming into him. His cunt clenched, refusing to release her.

Winter convulsed, grinding herself against him as she came, spilling hot seed into his mouth.

Trevor bucked violently as an orgasm overtook him. The Priestess filled him from behind. Winter flooded his throat. He swallowed frantically, his belly swelling.

The Quickening Feast

He didn’t know how long it lasted. Time vanished.

When two acolytes finally released him from the pillory and eased him to the cool grass, he was panting and dazed. He saw Heather and Angela worshipfully licking the Priestess’s still-hard cock. How had he taken it all?

He stared in disbelief at its size. Its length. Its girth. Even as he gaped, he felt an emptiness inside him and a longing to be once more filled. The Priestess met his gaze and smiled. She snagged a nearby acolyte and pulled her down, guiding her mouth to the folds beneath her shaft. The girl eagerly obeyed. Forgotten, Trevor watched as her eyes rolled back and another orgasm took her. 

“You did so well, babe,” Winter said, lying beside him. He meant to ask what was happening, but she was already swirling her tongue around one of his nipples. 

Milk sprayed. She pawed at his other breast, sending a stream of milk running down along his body. He shuddered against her. His lust rekindled. 

She nibbled at his neck. “I chose you for this,” she confided, her voice a low growl in his ear. Her hand trailed through the tendrils of milk and found his new slit. 

At a tentative but insistent poking of her cock’s head, Trevor lifted his hips, letting her enter him from behind. Winter hadn’t sprouted a member so large as the Priestess, but it was still prodigious, and this portion of him was as of yet unaccustomed to receiving guests. His rim burned slightly as he slowly slid down her shaft, but the fullness soothed him.

Winter resumed her assault on his erect nipples, rolling her tongue around the mound of flesh in her mouth. Trevor’s head fell back against her chest, as he felt the waves of pleasure begin to build again. He didn’t see Angela crawl over to join them, but his eyes shot open when he felt her thrust herself inside him, sliding past his glistening lips and into his waiting pussy. filling him front to back. Her chocolate skin, and full breasts, pressed against his lips.

He sucked eagerly.

Angela moaned and pulled his head closer to her breast. Easing herself deeper into him. Together they stretched and filled him. 

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Heather riding you. She’d make you weep with how slow she goes.” Angela teased. 

Trevor sucked at the breast in his mouth, fighting to keep from screaming, as a soft whimper escaped him.

“You like taking both of us, don’t you?” Winter whispered. “Our slutty little cow. So desperate to be bred.”

Their shafts moved inside him, pressing together through the thin wall that separated them.  Stoking the building pressure, the exquisite ache that threatened to swallow him whole. He cried out.

One of the watching women seized his open mouth, driving her cock between his lips. He gagged, then swallowed the thick cream that followed. Trevor rapturously bobbed his head up and down the shaft, desperate to milk every last drop from it. 

The still night air was filled again with the sounds of love. The heavy wet slapping of skin, the low animalistic groans of need and release, the higher whimpers of pleasure and clang of his bell. The group became a wet slick mass of supple bodies sliding into and past one another.

At the center of it all: Trevor. The prized cow. Everyone wanted a turn. To milk him. To breed him. 

The moon vanished behind a cloud, its brilliance temporarily dimmed. Trevor lay on the grass, his arm draped over his swollen breasts.

All around him, women dozed in post-orgasmic bliss. Their frenzied lust finally sated. A few still moved, seeking another flicker of pleasure.

“What a crazy dream,” he murmured, sure that at any minute he would awake in his apartment to Winter’s knocking on his door. 

Winter rolled onto her elbow beside him. “It’s no dream,” she said, her eyes shining. “And it’s only just begun.”

She took his hand and placed it on his belly.

He felt it—movement. 

“You’ve been bred, my sweet little cow. Soon you’ll give birth to Mother Gaia.” The blush nectar of a goddess swirled within him now, alive and restless.

She pressed a finger to his lips. “There’s nothing to do now. Besides… it’s a great honor.”

0o0

“The mother stirs. The world will drink.”

This is a story I posted a while back on Kindle, but sadly Amazon isn't always kink friendly and they banned it... Anyways, I figured I would share it with you lovely folks, since Amazon won't let me sell it. I will have to post it in two parts, as it exceeds Reddit word counts.

Rite I: The Bargain

The voices were distant as Trevor clawed his way out of the darkness. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but everything was so dimly lit and unfocused. 

When the milk is freely given
And the seed is freely taken

When the milk is freely given
And the seed is freely taken

The voices were chanting softly, but it made no sense to him. A hand swam out from the haze—gentle, yet insistent—and slid under his arm, lifting him to his feet.

“Your transformation has left you weak,” said a voice, closer and clearer than the rest. 

Trevor squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again, his vision had returned.

Standing beside him was the High Priestess. Her robe hung loosely from her shoulders, threatening to slip with the slightest breeze. Trevor stared fixated, as if willing it to fall completely open.

It wasn’t until he was on his feet that he felt the massive weight hanging from his own chest. 

The chanting became clearer. 

When the milk freely given
And the seed freely taken

Then the roles shall be reversed
Those who were last shall be first

Looking down, Trevor let out a shriek. The absurd cow-print bikini Winter had picked out for him was now stretched tight over two enormous breasts. 

They were so large that the triangles of fabric just barely covered the nipples, and the ties looked like they would snap under the weight. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” said the High Priestess. Her voice was warm, almost tender. “You will come to love your new body in no time. But for now, let’s keep you steady while your strength returns.” She guided him gently toward a nearby stockade, already open and waiting. 

o0o 

“So I get to pick our costumes for Friday’s party and you get to pick them for Saturday night? And we can’t object or say anything about what the other picks?” Trevor asked, his voice eager, already daydreaming about the skimpy outfit he'd choose for her.

“You got it, baby,” Winter said with an innocent smile. 

“It’s a deal,” Trevor said quickly, not wanting her to rethink her decision. She  generally had zero interest in hanging out with his friends, but he couldn’t complain—he felt the same way about hers.

The only drawback was his friends often teased him that he had made her up or was exaggerating the level of their relationship. This was going to be his chance to show off Winter and make them all jealous.

Some of Trevor’s friends had girlfriends as well but none of them measured up. She was taller than him and curvy, with long raven black hair which complemented her creamy skin. What he liked to brag about most was her F-cup breasts. He was constantly trying to sneak pictures of her so that he could show them off. 

He even liked that Winter was a self-proclaimed witch, telling all of his friends how he had “bagged a big tiddy goth girlfriend.”

But he never said it where Winter could hear.

Despite enjoying the elevated status, she gave him in his friend group, he couldn’t resist mocking her beliefs. He often made little remarks about her “rock collection” as he referred to her crystals and sacred stones or jest that a neighborhood cat had gone missing and asked if she knew anything about it. 

Winter had been the one to approach him at a local coffee shop, saying he was cute and he should give her a call. Trevor had called that same day, and they had their first date that weekend. 

From an outsider’s perspective, they didn’t make a lot of sense as a couple. Trevor was very much a gamer and could happily spend days on end in front of a screen. Winter needed to be in nature to feel grounded. 

At home, she was either buried in a book or tending to her extensive exotic plant collection.

Their social spheres didn’t overlap in the slightest and they shared few interests. 

Trevor wasn’t complaining, though. At twenty-two years old, Winter was his first real girlfriend and he was just excited to have her in his life. Whether or not she was happy was never a question he thought to ask himself. 

Ultimately—and unsurprisingly to Winter—Trevor chose an extremely skimpy Chun Li costume for her and a Ryu costume for himself. 

There was no question who looked better in their costumes when they arrived at the party Friday night. 

All of his friends remarked to Winter how incredible she looked and made off-color remarks to Trevor about what sort of “finishing moves” he could expect later—when she was out of earshot.

The night had gone exactly as Trevor had hoped. His peer group saw him as an idol for scoring such a hot girlfriend.  Even the ones with girlfriends of their own couldn’t help but stare as Winter walked in on his arm. 

Her enormous breasts were barely contained by the blue fabric and made more prominent by the white corset belt cinched around her waist. The fabric came together in long flowing front and back loin cloths that just barely managed to cover her privates, and the knee-high white leather boots ensured she towered over everyone in the room.

There were only about a dozen people at the party. Winter did her best to ignore the uncomfortably long stares she was getting and to be a good sport through it all. 

She just kept reminding herself that Trevor couldn’t back out when he saw the outfit she had picked for him tomorrow. 

With that in mind, she smiled at the awkward sexual jokes Trevor’s friends made and pretended not to hear the filth they said when they thought she wasn’t listening. 

She got a reprieve when most of the attendees gathered around several screens that had been set up and started challenging each other to various games. 

0o0

When 5:30 p.m. came the following afternoon, Winter arrived at Trevor's apartment to get him ready for her party. She had driven him home the night before—he’d gotten quite drunk—and knew it had been nearly noon before he had finally woken up. Still, she was taken aback when he opened the door wearing pajamas and smelling as if he hadn’t bathed. 

“Come on babe, you need to get ready,” she said, stepping into his apartment. “Hop in the shower and get cleaned up.”
“Can’t we just stay in? You could put your costume back on and we could play Street Fighter. The loser has to do what the winner says,” Trevor said, making an awkward pawing gesture at her breasts. 

Winter brushed aside his grab with a tsk. “Nope, a deal is a deal. And it isn’t my fault you got too drunk to enjoy my costume properly last night.” She spun him around by the shoulders and gave him a light push. “Into the shower with you. You smell like Redbull and greasy pizza.” 

Trevor shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “What even is this party for?” He called over the steaming water, stepping behind the shower curtain. 

“It’s not a party—it's a celebration called Samhain. It marks the end of the harvest,” Winter called from Trevor’s room as she laid his outfit out on his bed, and began changing into her own.

Rite II: The Sacrifice

“You cannot be serious,” Trevor shouted when he saw the outfit lying on his bed, “This is for you right?”

Winter rose from the couch and joined him in the bedroom feigning innocence. “What’s wrong, baby? Don’t you think it’s cute?” she asked. 

Laid out on the bed was a cow-print micro bikini, a headband with cow ears and horns, and a leather collar with a large cowbell. 

“Cute for you. But I am sure as hell not wearing that,” Trevor said scornfully. 

“What about our agreement? I wore the outfit you picked out for your party.” 

“Yes, but at least that outfit was made for a girl. This isn’t even a guy’s costume,” Trevor protested, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It said unisex in the item description. Besides, you need to be a cow—you’re going to be the symbolic offering for the sacrifice ritual,” Winter said, with a slightly pouty expression and a hint of a lisp. She knew it was one of Trevor’s turn-ons, and she needed him to be a willing participant. 

“Sacrifice ritual?” Trevor asked, liking the sound of that about as much as he liked the cow costume—if it could even be called that.

“Yes, I told you last week. We’re performing a ritual as part of our Samhain harvest celebration, to thank the goddess for a bountiful summer and ensure rebirth come spring. Don’t worry—the sacrifice is one of life.”

Winter stepped closer and grabbed his crotch through the towel. “We just need to spill some of your milk, my pretty cow,” she growled into his ear.

Trevor could feel himself going hard at her touch. Now that she’d explained more, it was starting to sound rather kinky. 

“You know,” Winter added, giving him a suggestive wink, “you won’t be the only one in costume there.”

She stepped back and shrugged off the robe she was wearing.

Trevor’s mouth went dry as the heavy bathrobe slipped from her shoulders. Winter stood before him draped in white, diaphanous fabric that hung over her breasts and gathered between her legs, held in place by a belt of delicate golden discs.

Trevor didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Her outfit may have technically covered more skin than the one Trevor had picked for her, but the filmy, flowing fabric did nothing to conceal what was underneath. He could clearly see Winter's large breasts and pert nipples.

“I can’t make any promises,” she said, “but erotic energy tends to run high at these sorts of celebrations—Nature. Magic. Shared intentions.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sometimes, we offer up other things to the goddess, to ensure spring’s coming rebirth.”

Winter stepped closer again. She kissed him long and slow, pressing her chest against his, letting him feel her arousal through the thin veil.

“And I’ll be the only guy there?” Trevor asked breathlessly when she pulled away.

“Uh-huh,” Winter said, smiling. She knew she had him. She could see it in his eyes—he was already fantasizing about seeing her friends dressed similarly and being the only man surrounded by a group of hot, horny girls.

“So if I agree to wear this outfit, we can participate in whatever happens, and you won’t get upset?” Trevor asked cautiously. The last time he jumped at an offer that seemed too good to be true, he’d gotten burned. He had met some of Winter’s Wiccan friends, and while they might not all have been as well-stacked as her, they were certainly just as sexy.

“Of course I won’t be upset. Whatever happens is just a natural act—and an offering to the goddess,” Winter said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

o0o 
The Milking

Trevor adjusted the triangles of fabric over his nipples for the umpteenth time as Winter led them along a narrow forest trail. They were both barefoot but the path was soft with moss beneath their feet. Winter held a candle lantern aloft, lighting their way beneath the dense forest canopy. He was starting to have second thoughts about his bargain, which felt more Faustian with each step. The promise of seeing Winter’s friends as scantily clothed as she was had seemed worth it back in his apartment, but now, walking behind Winter with only a cow-print bikini beneath his robes, it felt ridiculous.. Even worse than the triangles of fabric, which covered a surprisingly fair amount of his flat chest, was how neatly Winter had been able to tuck away his package in the tiny bottoms when she tied them into place. 

After she had helped him to get dressed, she ran a finger up his sternum and flicked the tip of his nose. “You look delicious in spots, you know that? You were always meant for this,” she said, smiling at a private joke.

Just as Trevor was about to call the whole thing off, the woods opened up around them and the moss beneath their feet became hard cobblestone. He looked around, surprised to find they had entered a clearing of some old ruin. A broken stone floor ringed a large circular pit, about thirty feet across. In the center was a raised grassy island some fifteen feet in diameter. Cracked stone steps led down into the pit and up to the grassy island. Walls still stood on three sides with alcoves and doorways leading to other broken remnants. Each alcove held a lit candle with a mirror behind it, filling the area with a soft, warm light that danced and moved. He counted eight other women standing around the pit and holding lanterns of their own. 

A deep tolling sound filled the space; all the women removed their robes as one. Trevor felt himself growing hard in the ridiculous cow-print bikini. They were dressed in identical, translucent fabric to what Winter wore. A second toll came from a doorway opposite him. From the other side of the pit stepped forth a woman in a cowled red robe with intricate golden embroidery. “It is time,” she called. 

“It is time,” the gathered group echoed back. 

Trevor jumped, startled by Winter’s voice answering in unison beside him. He watched as the slender woman, slightly taller than himself, with a flat stomach, strong arms, and a generous bosom—though not as ample as Winter's—approached. He thought he had met her once before. Heather, was the name he seemed to remember. She stepped forward with Winter to help ease off his robe.

Heather seemed to be looking through him, as though she wasn’t really seeing him, but something else. “The body is a vessel; tonight we fill it,” she said quietly, it almost sounded like a prayer or meditation.

Despite the warm autumn air, a shiver passed through Trevor—not from cold, but from anticipation and exposure. In front of his friends, he liked to talk a big game about being a lady killer, but in truth, he was quite shy about his diminutive frame and smaller-than-average package. Standing in front of nine women with only a skimpy bikini to cover him did little to boost his confidence. He watched as the woman descended an identical set of steps on her side into the pit and then reappeared on the raised grass center. 

“Is the one to sacrifice their milk here?” The woman called to the group.

“They are,” came the echoing answer from the others.

“And who brings them?” The woman called out again.

This time only Winter answered, stepping forward as she did so, “I do, Priestess.” 

“Very well bring them forward, daughter,” she commanded. 

Winter turned to Trevor and nodded her head toward where the other woman stood, but Trevor stood rooted to the spot. “It’s okay, babe. Here, I’ll walk with you.” She gently placed a hand on the small of his exposed back and took a step forward. 

After the first step, Trevor found the second one was easier. His confidence grew with each stride. He didn’t even notice Winter had stopped. His focus tunneled to the cloaked figure ahead—regal, powerful, alluring, and even terrifying. The pit felt like an altar, and he was to be the willing offering.

His eyes were fixed on the woman in the red. He could now see she wore nothing beneath her robe and it gapped wide over her chest revealing a generous amount of cleavage. Blonde locks spilled from beneath her hood. Her face was stern, but beautiful, with piercing blue eyes. Her cowled garments which barely covered her, made Trevor think of a very naughty version of Red Riding Hood. “It’s a shame that I am wearing cow print and not a wolf’s mask,” he thought. 

“You have been brought to make a sacrifice of milk,” the crimson woman said as Trevor ascended the steps to join her, “Do you freely give what is required?”

A quiet rhythmic murmur came from the women surrounding the pit as they began to chant in unison something Trevor couldn’t quite make out. Having forgotten his earlier bashfulness at the prospect of the sexual encounter to come, he answered in a confident voice, “I do.”

The chanting grew louder with his answer. 

When the milk freely given,
And the seed freely taken. 

When the milk freely given,
And the seed freely taken. 

The Priestess smiled at his answer—slowly, knowingly—as if he could not have answered any other way. Winter had done well in choosing him. Her lips parted, eyes sparkling with greedy satisfaction, but her tone remained distant, almost reverent.

“Winter. Heather. Angela. Come forward,” she intoned, the cadence of her voice like distant thunder—measured, inevitable. “Bring with you the chalice. The offering must be prepared.”

Winter moved first—graceful and self-assured. She lifted a gleaming chalice with a kind of theatrical reverence from a nearby alcove, but the smile playing at her lips was unmistakably personal. This was a moment she had crafted, carefully orchestrated. She glanced at Trevor with a look halfway between affection and mischief,

Heather, tall and solemn, approached next with a glass pitcher cradled in her arms as if it were the most precious cargo. Her dark hair was bound in a braid down her back, her expression severe. She didn’t look at Trevor—not directly—but her focus was razor-sharp. She walked like a woman whose every step belonged to a ritual older than language.

Last came Angela, a dark-skinned woman who was quite proud of her full figure, hips swaying as though the ritual was her runway and every eye existed to adore her. Her tight curls bounced with each step, and her smile was wide, warm, and wicked. She held her pitcher with one hand and dragged her fingertips slowly along its rim with the other, eyes fixed hungrily on Trevor.

Winter gave him a sly smile as she climbed the steps and stopped just in front of him. 

“Hope you’re ready, sweetheart,” Angela said with a wink, her voice low and teasing, as she moved past him. “This part’s my favorite.”

The three acolytes climbed the steps, surrounding Trevor with deliberate slowness. He hadn’t heard the Priestess move—just felt her breasts brush against his back, warm and firm. His pulse quickened. Her nipples were hard through the robe. He watched as the three other women knelt—drawing the circle tight until he felt the soft breath of Winter just above the top of the small cow print bikini., and the warm presence of Angela at his flank, her shoulder grazing his thigh.

He began to stiffen within the cloth pouch. It felt unreal—like a fever dream, or a ritual imagined by someone halfway between a priestess and a pornographer. Goth girls were every bit as kinky as he had heard. 

The Crimson Woman, as he now thought of her, moved nearer until her entire body pressed into his backside. His heart thundered as he felt her slide an arm around him, her hand going to his throat, lifting his chin. Her fingers were firm around his neck, but she was careful not to choke him. Her touch was precise and impersonal, yet laced with quiet hunger.
“Still yourself,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm. She smelled like cinnamon. “The body must know its purpose before it makes its offering.”

Her other hand slid forward, cupping him through the thin material of the bikini bottoms. Trevor gasped, her grip neither harsh nor gentle—just absolute. He felt her warmth against his back, her breasts firm against his shoulder blades, her hips anchoring him in place. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe without her allowing it.

The chanting grew louder. 

When the milk freely given
And the seed freely taken

The three women kneeling around him stirred. He did his best to look down as the Priestess held his head erect and immobile. 

Heather removed the stopper of her flagon with a practiced hand. She held it aloft, muttering something under her breath—not to Trevor, not to anyone, but to the liquid itself.

“You carry his past,” she murmured, voice flat and ritualistic. “Pour it out, and make room for the shape that must replace him.” She tipped the creamy liquid into the chalice that Winter now held in both hands.

Winter’s gaze was only for Trevor. She lifted her brows and gave him a conspiratorial smile, tilting the chalice slightly to swirl the milk inside. It glowed faintly in the lantern light, catching on the silver rim like moonlight on water.

He felt the Priestess give his hard cock another indulgent squeeze. She slipped her hand into the skimpy bathing suit and drew him into the open.Trevor gasped as the cool night air hit his exposed shaft—glistening, swollen, achingly hard.

Angela placed a steadying hand on his thigh, and squeezed, slow and possessive. “You feel that?” she purred. “Your body knows what’s coming. You’re already trembling.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss just above his hipbone—slow, wet, unmistakably intimate.

Trevor’s knees nearly buckled.

He moaned as Angela slowly tipped the vase she was holding over the Priestess’s hand as it held his erect but unimpressive penis. The liquid that came out was a pale gold color and made his skin slippery in her grip. The chanting grew louder. Her hand began to move—slow, deliberate strokes that matched the rhythm of the chant. 

He met Winter’s gaze—her eyes sparkled with an excitement he hadn’t seen before. Was she really getting off on this? Watching as another woman worked his hard cock? She watched with hungry eyes, as Angela ran a hand up his inner thigh. 
“He’s just about perfect,” she whispered to Winter. Then Angela looked up at Trevor. “Don’t worry—we’ll take real good care of you,” she said. Her honeyed voice made it sound like both a threat and a promise. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of the Crimson Woman’s hand as it moved up and down his shaft. Her other still gripped his neck firmly. She was chanting quietly in his ear along with the others, “When the milk freely given, and the seed freely taken….” Her hand kept time with the chant. 

He bucked and shuddered in her grasp as her hand moved over his increasingly sensitive head. Her touch was warm and soft as she ran her hand up his member, slippery with the liquid that had been poured over it. The entire bottle had been poured out, and much of it had run down his legs, where the two women at his sides had begun to run their hands over him after discarding their empty pitchers. Their slick, intimate touch raised goosebumps across his flesh. They kissed and nibbled at his bare hips, where his butt cheek peeked out from beneath the bikini. One of them slid a curious hand up beneath the fabric of his bottoms and between his cleft. Trevor had no way of telling who it was but strongly suspected Angela. Each such pass brought him closer to the edge. 

The hand on his manhood swirled over his engorged crown and back down the length of him before cupping his small sack. Lightheaded now, he struggled to catch his breath as the Crimson Woman held him firmly. “Do not resist,” she said, “Your body is no longer yours.”He could feel himself straining in her grasp. His body spasmed. Her grip tightened on both his throat and his package. He watched as she pointed him down at the chalice. 

The Priestess’s hand moved with terrifying precision. The pleasure was exquisite. Overwhelming.

And then, just for a breath—Trevor felt like he was watching it all from outside his own body.

What the fuck is happening to me?

It wasn't shame, or even panic. It was something colder. More primal. The feeling of realizing he can’t go back. That fate was sealing off all doors to him, except one. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to protest, to plead for them to put a stop to this.

Nothing came out but a moan.

“Come for me,” the Priestess whispered hotly in his ear, as the other women’s voices rose to a crescendo. 

And his body obeyed. 

When the milk freely given
And the seed freely taken

Then the roles shall be reversed—
Those who were last shall be first.

The sensation flooded back, drowning the thought like milk over a flame. The women’s hands were everywhere. The heat. The chant. He moaned again, louder. This time not from fear—but from need.

Arching his back, Trevor convulsed in her grasp. Straining to look down he watched as his twitching member erupted in her hand, shooting his load into the chalice. In amazed wonder, he watched as the contents of it began to swirl and change in color from milky white to a faint pink. He wondered if he was on the verge of passing out. Perhaps the Red Priestess’s grasp on his throat was tighter than he thought. Winter seemed to see the change too. The contents swirled and darkened until they were a definite pink. He moaned—pleasure tipping into pain, into pressure, into something uncontainable. He bucked again, helpless as she continued to milk him and her hand coaxed another spasm from his overstimulated flesh. He shot a second, smaller load into the cup his girlfriend held. This time, he was sure he was on the verge of passing out.

The chalice was forgotten. His limbs went slack, his head swimming. Expecting to feel the ground rushing up to meet him, he was surprised when, instead, he felt himself being supported by the strong arms of the Crimson Woman. Her body radiated warmth against the night’s chill. It stood in stark contrast to the clamminess he was now feeling. His head rested against her chest; he felt the words as much as he heard them when she spoke. 

“It’s time to anoint the sacrifice, daughter,” came her voice from behind him, tinged with a new excitement.

Trevor's eyes fluttered as he fought to remain conscious. He saw Winter stand with the chalice and approach him. 

The mixture shimmered like blush-colored nectar—half divine, half obscene.

His eyes closed again. 

Cold, wet droplets struck him in the face, and his eyes struggled to open. Through slits, he saw his girlfriend dipping a hand in the silver cup she was holding and then flick the drops of pink liquid at his body. His body began to tingle all over as his eyes slid shut again. He was only vaguely aware that he was being lowered to the ground as darkness overtook him. In the background, he continued to hear the other women and their chant. 

When the milk freely given
And the seed freely taken

Then the roles shall be reversed—
Those who were last shall be first.

Mother Gaia we give you rebirth;
Bring with you a new Earth

“Had they been chanting that last part the whole time?” he wondered distantly before he lost consciousness. 

o0o 

The Cream

The voices were distant as Trevor fought to claw his way out of the darkness. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but everything was dimly lit. 

When the milk freely given
And the seed freely taken

Then the roles shall be reversed—
Those who were last shall be first.

Mother Gaia, we give you rebirth;
Bring with you a new Earth

“Milk, sweet as memory. Flesh, ripe as fruit. He is undone—and thus prepared.” The High Priestess, intoned. Then softer she said, “Your transformation has left you weak,” helping him to his feet. 

Trevor stood on wobbly legs; his knees felt like they might buckle at any moment. He tried to speak, to thank her—but his throat was tight, and no sound came out. What was that about a transformation? he wondered, but the thought vanished when he noticed the Priestess’s robe had come undone. It looked as though it might slip from her considerable chest at any moment. 

“You look amazing, babe,” said Winter, still kneeling in the grass and staring up at him in awe. 

“What do—” Trevor began, then cut himself off at the sound of his own shrill, squeaky voice. Nothing about his body felt right. Most noticeable was the tremendous weight hanging from his chest. 

“Eeek!” he squeaked, staring down at two massive tits spilling from the bikini he wore. They looked ready to burst free at any moment. He leaned forward, trying to see past his new, considerable rack, and nearly toppled from the sudden shift in weight.

“Don’t worry, dear—you’ll come to love your new body in no time,” said the Crimson Woman in a soothing voice. She nodded to Winter, who sprang to her feet and took Trevor’s other arm. Together, they led him toward a padded pillory, beside which sat a metal cylinder glinting with tubes in the moonlight. “We don’t want you collapsing while you’re still regaining your strength.”

Trevor let himself be led without protest, too dazed to focus on where they were going. His body thrummed with strange sensations. Every inch of him felt alive as never before. The fabric over his nipples, the heavy sway of his breasts, the pleasant slickness between his legs—every detail seemed to trigger the pleasure centers of his brain, leaving him in a euphoric fog.

“Rest against this, sweetie,” Winter said, bending him over the pillory. “It’ll hold you up while you recover.”

He didn’t object. The cool padding against his wrists was comforting. As the Priestess lowered the top bar and secured him in place, he was overwhelmed with a feeling that this was right. That this was good. The restraints made him feel safe. Protected. 

“They must feel so heavy and full,” Winter cooed, bending close and running her hands over the taut fabric stretched across his chest.

Trevor shuddered in response, goosebumps rising over his skin.

Winter licked her lips and slipped her hands beneath the fabric, freeing his enormous breasts. She massaged the base of each nipple, then gave a gentle squeeze. Trevor moaned helplessly as streams of milk burst forth. Her fingers moved over the slick mounds. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” she purred, giving him a longer pull this time, thick streams shooting forth once more. “So full. I bet it’ll feel even better once we drain some of that milk for you.” 

“Ahhh!” Trevor gasped at the new sensation. His head spun, and the slippery wetness between his legs deepened. His tits felt impossibly large as they hung heavy beneath him, the pressure building. Winter was right. They did feel full. They didn’t hurt, but they ached—as if each squeeze brought him closer to the edge. Each jet of milk pushed him toward orgasm. “Oh god,” he cried, shuddering in the stocks.

“I think he’s ready, High Priestess,” Winter said, her voice bright with excitement. 

“Good. Angela, Heather—get him hooked up. Winter, you’ll assist me.”

Head down and panting in his restraints, still trying to recover from the orgasm that had racked him as Winter milked his heavy teats, Trevor didn’t notice as the two girls approached him from either side. 

“Goddess, you’re leaking like you love it. Is this your first time being milked, baby? You’re a natural.” Angela teased, gently flicking one nipple, making him whimper.

They each took up a hose from the metal cylinder, fitting the clear plastic cups over his sensitive breasts, enclosing his expanding flesh. Heather turned the machine on. Rhythmic suction began immediately from the cups that had been sealed over his swollen areolas. 

He cried out in renewed ecstasy.

While Trevor was being hooked up, Winter stepped behind the Priestess and slipped the deep crimson robe from her shoulders. Both women watched in delight as he let out a series of girlish whimpers. He met their eyes, unable to stop the squeals of pleasure—or to look away. 

The Priestess’s golden hair spilled over her bare shoulders. Her breasts were full, her sun-kissed skin unmarked by tan lines. Her nipples were dark and erect.

Winter unfastened a belt of golden discs and let the sheer fabric fall from her own shoulders. Naked now, she knelt in the soft grass behind the Priestess and dipped a sponge into the same silver chalice she had sprinkled Trevor from. She squeezed it out over the Priestess’s breasts. Pink milk ran in rivulets down her chest, tracing a line to her stomach, then between her legs. 

Trevor stared, transfixed.

The Priestess trailed her fingers through the runnel of milk, then parted her thighs, letting it slide across her smooth mound and disappear between her lips.

She caught Trevor’s gaze and held it. Her fingers followed the milky trail into her slit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

Hi ladies,

I publish erotica as a hobby, and sissy is a niche I enjoy writing in. Most of my stories have been shorter 18K-ish words, erotic pulp fiction. I just completed a far longer work (100K words) with a bit more 'pomp' but still firmly in the sissy erotica niche. My issue is this: If you want success in publishing erotic niches, you generally have to adhere pretty closely to formulaic titles and covers.

In the case of sissy, that generally means things like: bubblegum pink, heels, lingerie, strict looking female, etc... Normally, I'd adhere to this pretty closely, but given the story has a bit more substance, I wanted to do a cover that looked a bit more elegant. If you encountered both of these works on your Ereader, and you had specifically searched for 'sissy' which cover are you clicking on?

Ok.... so I thought I could post a couple of mock-ups, but totally missed that images aren't allowed in this sub (which I get).

So I guess I'll do just a very brief description of each.

Cover A, is really simple, just a golden name-plate necklace that says "Julia" on crumbled pink satin sheets

Cover B, is a bit more thematic. It features a young woman in a very frilly dress, dropping a curtsey to a woman standing atop of a set of steps leading to a grand chateau in the background.

So which would you be drawn to, or am I just over thinking this whole thing?