Star Xi Pavilion 2042·P4

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 47th floor, casting long beams of light across the polished marble floors of Star Xi Building. Zou Luyao walked through the open-plan office, her heels clicking a steady rhythm against the floor, her long black hair swaying with each step. The Operations and Maintenance Department was already buzzing with activity at 8 AM, green-uniformed staff moving between holographic displays and equipment terminals.

Near the break station, a cluster of employees gathered around the water dispenser. Luyao's sharp eyes caught a familiar figure—Nayeon from the Energy Division, a junior technician in her early twenties. The girl held a translucent cup to her lips, her eyes half-closed in what could only be described as ecstasy as she swallowed a milky white liquid.

"Nayeon." Luyao's voice cut through the chatter.

The younger woman startled, nearly spilling the contents of her cup. She quickly lowered it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Director Zou, good morning."

"What are you drinking?"

"Just... some nutritional supplement." Nayeon's eyes darted away. "It's nothing, really."

Luyao stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the cup. The liquid inside had a faint pearlescent sheen, swirling with an almost opalescent quality. She could smell it now—a sweet, slightly metallic scent that triggered something deep in her memory, something she couldn't quite grasp.

"Give me your data pad," Luyao ordered.

Nayeon hesitated before handing it over. Luyao scrolled through the recent purchase records. The same transaction appeared daily for the past two weeks: one bottle of RT liquid, purchased from an online vendor she didn't recognize.

"RT liquid?" Luyao looked up. "What is this?"

"Just a new energy drink, Director. Everyone uses it. It helps with focus." Nayeon's voice trembled slightly. "Please, I need it. If I don't have it, I start shaking."

Luyao studied the girl's face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and there was a tremor in her hands that hadn't been there before. She handed the data pad back.

"Go to the medical bay. Get yourself checked out."

"Yes, Director."

Luyao watched Nayeon scurry away, then made her way to the Internal Affairs wing on the 35th floor. The door to the Psychological Counseling Department was open, and she found Tao Xiaonai at her desk, a stack of case files before her.

Tao Xiaonai looked up, her short hair perfectly styled despite the early hour. She was dressed in a fitted black blazer and a crimson blouse, a red-bottomed heel dangling from her right foot as she crossed her legs. The office smelled of lavender and something else—a faint, familiar sweetness.

"Yaoyao, what brings you here so early?" Tao Xiaonai set down her pen.

"Just had an interesting encounter." Luyao closed the door behind her. "One of my techs was drinking something called RT liquid. She's clearly addicted."

Tao Xiaonai's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of recognition passing through her eyes. "Ah, that."

"You know about it?"

"I am the Director of Psychological Counseling." Tao Xiaonai leaned back in her chair. "I hear things. And since I became everyone's... outlet, the employees tend to speak freely around me."

Luyao sat in the chair across from the desk. In the months since Lin Ruojian and Su Yucang had been transferred to the space fortress, Tao Xiaonai had become the primary recipient of the staff's pent-up frustrations. Every day, she was restrained, used, and released into the discipline park in the basement levels. Yet here she sat, composed and professional, as though the nightly sessions were nothing more than routine maintenance.

"The RT liquid," Luyao pressed. "Tell me everything."

Tao Xiaonai opened a drawer and pulled out a tablet. "I've been compiling reports for the past month. The liquid first appeared among the staff around February. By March, it had spread to nearly every department. By April, most employees were drinking it daily."

"And you didn't think to report this?"

"I was going to. Today, actually." Tao Xiaonai handed over the tablet. "The liquid boosts physical performance and mental clarity for twenty-four hours. But after the first dose, addiction is inevitable. Those who try to quit experience severe withdrawal—tremors, hallucinations, seizures in the worst cases."

Luyao scrolled through the data, her brow furrowing. "Where is it coming from?"

"That's the troubling part. Mary found traces of the same compound in our building's water supply."

"Mary? She's already investigating?"

"She never stops." Tao Xiaonai smiled faintly. "You know how she is. The day after the god invasion, she started running tests on every system in the building."

Luyao stood, handing back the tablet. "Call Xiaomeng and Mary. We need to meet. Now."

---

The conference room on the 50th floor had a panoramic view of Star Xi City, the morning sun painting the skyscrapers in gold. Sen Xiaomeng arrived first, her short blue hair disheveled, a soldering iron still in her hand. She set it on the table without apology.

"I was in the middle of calibrating a new restraint frame," she said, pulling out a chair. "What's so urgent?"

Mary entered moments later, her tablet clutched to her chest. Like Tao Xiaonai, she was a short-haired beauty, but where Tao Xiaonai carried herself with feline grace, Mary had the sharp efficiency of someone accustomed to managing critical systems.

"The water supply," Mary said without preamble, tapping her tablet. "I've been tracking the contamination for two months. The RT compound entered our system via the basement level water tanks on January 3rd of this year."

"That was the day of the infiltration," Tao Xiaonai said quietly.

"Exactly." Mary pulled up a security footage still. A figure in a god's uniform, barely visible in the grainy image, standing near the water tanks. "The infiltrator was shot and killed by security, but by then, the damage was done. The entire building's water supply was contaminated."

"Which means every employee has ingested RT liquid," Luyao said, her voice flat.

"More than that." Mary zoomed in on a data chart. "The compound has a cumulative effect. After three months of exposure, withdrawal symptoms begin within twelve hours of the last dose. By now, every single person in this building is addicted."

The room fell silent. Sen Xiaomeng picked up her soldering iron, turning it over in her hands.

"Can we synthesize an antidote?" Xiaomeng asked.

Mary shook her head. "The compound is based on a biological agent. It's milk, actually. Modified mammalian milk, laced with a viral agent that targets the pleasure centers of the brain. We can't synthesize it."

"Then where does it come from?" Luyao demanded.

"From a living host." Mary's eyes met hers. "The original source was probably some kind of livestock the gods kept. But the variant in our water supply is human-derived."

Tao Xiaonai looked at her hands. "That means somewhere, someone is being farmed for this."

The words hung in the air like a poison.

Luyao felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand moved unconsciously to her chest, where her breasts ached with a familiar, almost forgotten pain. The memory surged up unbidden—the metal table, the restraints, the cold electrodes pressed against her skin.

"I know where it comes from," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her.

"Years ago, during the second god war, I was captured." Luyao forced the words out. "They experimented on me. One of their experiments involved a viral transformation of the mammary glands. They forced me to drink a mutation potion, then restrained me to a table and induced lactation through repeated electrical stimulation."

She paused, the memory of pain and humiliation washing over her. Thirty days of torture. Thirty days of having her body violated, her breasts milked dry, the liquid collected in cold glass jars.

"They called it RT-7. The milk I produced had the same properties Mary just described. After I was rescued, Xiaotao helped me develop a suppressant to stop the lactation cycle."

"Yaoyao..." Tao Xiaonai reached across the table, her hand covering Luyao's.

"So the RT liquid is my milk." Luyao's voice trembled. "Or a variant of it. The gods replicated it, modified it, and now it's infected everyone."

"Then we need you to produce more," Mary said, her tone clinical but not unkind. "You're the only one who can. Until we find another solution, your milk is the only antidote available."

Luyao pulled her hand away. "The suppressant stopped the lactation. I haven't produced milk in four years."

"We can reverse the suppressant," Tao Xiaonai said carefully. "I still have the original formula. But Yaoyao, you have to understand what it will mean. Once the suppression is lifted, the milk will come back. And it will come with the same withdrawal symptoms your body suffered before."

"I know." Luyao stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "Do it."

---

The preparation room in the basement discipline park was a sterile white space filled with medical equipment and restraint devices. Tao Xiaonai prepared the reversal agent while Sen Xiaomeng adjusted a breast pump mounted on a stand.

Mary stood by the door, a tablet in her hand. "Once the suppression is lifted, the milk should start flowing within a few hours. We need to collect as much as possible to create a stockpile."

Luyao stripped off her uniform jacket, then her blouse, standing in her bra and tailored pants. She reached back to unclasp her bra, letting it fall. Her breasts ached, already sensitive, the faint memory of the old pain stirring.

"I'll need to be restrained," Luyao said, her voice steady. "Last time, the process drove me mad. I need to be held down."

Sen Xiaomeng's eyes lit up. "I have just the thing." She moved to a cabinet and pulled out a leather restraint frame, complete with wrist and ankle cuffs, a spreader bar, and a posture collar.

"Enough for now," Luyao said. "Start with the hands."

Xiaomeng secured Luyao's wrists to the cuffs, then attached them to the stand above the breast pump. The machine hovered, its silicone cups ready.

Tao Xiaonai approached with a syringe. "The reversal agent. It will hurt."

"I know."

The needle slid into Luyao's arm, the liquid burning as it entered her bloodstream. Almost immediately, heat spread through her chest, her breasts swelling, the nipples hardening. The old pain returned—a dull ache that intensified into sharp, stabbing sensations.

Luyao gritted her teeth. "The pump. Now."

Xiaomeng lowered the cups, positioning them over Luyao's breasts. The machine hummed to life, a gentle suction that grew stronger, pulling at her nipples, stimulating the glands.

Nothing happened.

"More suction," Luyao ordered.

The machine increased its pull, the cups pressing into her skin, the vacuum creating an intense pressure. Still nothing.

An hour passed. The room fell into silence, broken only by the hum of the pump and Luyao's labored breathing. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her body trembling. Her breasts had swollen to nearly twice their normal size, painfully full, but no milk came.

"It's not working," Luyao finally said, her voice hoarse.

"The suppressant may have been too effective," Tao Xiaonai said softly. "Your body has forgotten how."

"Try electricity." Luyao's eyes met Xiaomeng's. "Stimulate the nerves."

"That's dangerous," Mary said.

"I don't care."

Xiaomeng hesitated, then nodded. She retrieved a portable electrical stimulation unit, the pads attached to wires. She applied the pads to Luyao's chest, one over each breast, and set the device to a low frequency.

"I'm starting at level one."

The current hit Luyao's body, a jolt that made her jerk against the restraints. Her back arched, a gasp escaping her lips. The muscles in her chest contracted, but still, no milk.

"Increase."

Level two. The current intensified, the pain sharper now, her vi

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The realization hit Sen Xiaomeng like a cold slap in the early hours of July 5. She sat in her cluttered office at Star Xi Pavilion, staring at the schematics spread across her desk. Every design she’d ever made—restraint frames, discipline chairs, bondage cradles—was a masterpiece of engineering, yet she’d never used them on herself for more than a few hours. She always chickened out. Always set the timers too short. Always pulled the emergency release before the real breaking point. That was why she failed. She couldn’t be tough on herself.

“No more,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the blue lines of her latest project. “This time, I’m not holding back.”

By noon, she had cleared room B205. The space was empty, sterile, with white walls and a gray concrete floor. She spent the next six hours assembling the machine from prefabricated modules she’d stored in her private workshop. It came together like a giant, brutal puzzle—steel beams, pneumatic actuators, rubber restraints, and a tangled web of wires. When she finished, the machine filled nearly the entire room, leaving only a narrow walkway around its perimeter. It was a single, monolithic structure, designed to hold a human body in perfect, helpless suspension.

Xiaomeng wiped sweat from her brow and opened the comm link to Star Xi Pavilion’s central AI. “Xiao Xi, I need you to take over control of this unit.”

A calm, feminine voice replied from the ceiling speakers. “Director Sen, I have detected the new hardware. Please provide system access codes.”

She entered them from her tablet. “You’re now the brain of this machine. I want full autonomous operation. No manual overrides from me once I’m inside. Understood?”

“Understood, Director. Please confirm your desired parameters.”

Xiaomeng walked around the machine, pointing at each subsystem as she spoke. “System one: full-body restraint. The subject will kneel with legs spread wider than shoulder width, elbows raised as high as possible behind the back, forearms pointing straight down. The main restraint rod rises from the ground—ten centimeters thick—with horizontal frames at waist, neck, and ankle height. Ankles, wrists, and neck are strictly fixed. The neck collar forces the head to look up at all times.”

“Confirmed. Restraint angles recorded.”

“System two: discipline and humiliation. First, a penis-shaped dildo will be inserted into the subject’s mouth. It will thrust randomly to humiliate, and spray foul-tasting artificial cum at random intervals. Second, a fucking machine beneath the subject will use various dildo shapes to thrust into the pussy at random, with vibration, rotation, and electroshock functions. Third, an anal fucking machine will use electric anal beads, standard beads, and plugs, also at random. Finally, electroshock pads will be attached all over the subject’s body to provide stimulation when sensitivity decreases, restoring it.”

“Confirmed. All subroutines logged.”

“System three: life support. A catheter will be inserted into the urethra to drain urine. The machine will monitor the subject’s condition in real time. Nutrients will be mixed into the artificial cum and fed into the subject’s mouth.”

“Confirmed. Nutrition profile will be matched to your biometric data.”

“System four: milk extraction. A pair of glass breast cups will be fixed over the subject’s breasts. They have cotton brushes, silicone massage heads, and vacuum extraction features. Milk will be collected automatically.”

“Confirmed. Lactation routine programmed.”

“System five: vital signs monitoring. I want live video feeds and biometric readouts sent to your core servers. I want to see every spike in heart rate, every drop in blood pressure.”

“Understood. Visual and data streams enabled.”

Xiaomeng took a deep breath. “Final system debug. Run a full diagnostic on each subsystem. Check tension limits, pressure thresholds, timing sequences. I want no errors.”

“Running diagnostic,” Xiao Xi said. A minute passed. “All systems nominal. Emergency release protocols are disabled per your request. One question, Director: what is the desired discipline duration?”

Xiaomeng’s throat tightened. She thought of all her previous failures, the way she’d always let herself off easy. “One month,” she said. “Calendar month. Full term.”

“Confirmed. Duration set to thirty days, zero hours, zero minutes. The countdown will begin once you assume position.”

Xiaomeng nodded and turned to the preparation station in the corner of the room. She filled an enema bag with warm, soapy water and hung it from a hook. She cleaned herself thoroughly—inside and out—until she felt empty and raw. Then she dried off and walked to the wardrobe she’d brought down earlier.

She dressed with deliberate care. First, a pair of black fishnet thigh-highs that clung to her legs, the diamond pattern stretching over her thighs and calves. Then, black patent leather red-bottom stilettos—each heel a sharp, ten-centimeter needle of wood and steel. She added no clothing beyond that. Instead, she adorned herself with jewelry: a thick silver chain around her neck, matching bracelets on each wrist, and a simple anklet on her left ankle. She put on small, diamond-studded earrings and a silver ring on her thumb. That was all. She was naked save for the stockings, shoes, and metal.

She stepped up to the machine. The main restraint rod stood in the center, gleaming under the overhead lights. She knelt on the padded platform, spreading her knees wider than her shoulders. The machine’s arms reached out, sliding the waist-level frame around her torso, locking her in place. Then the ankle frames secured her ankles, spreading them even wider. She raised her elbows behind her back as high as she could, and the wrist restraints clicked around her forearms, forcing them to point straight down. Finally, the neck collar lowered. It was wider than a standard collar, forcing her chin up, her eyes staring at the ceiling. She heard each lock engage with a satisfying click.

“I’m ready, Xiao Xi,” she said, her voice slightly strained by the position.

“Position confirmed. All locks secured. Final check: you are aware that you cannot escape this machine. No manual release. No emergency override. Your only option is to complete the full one-month term.”

Xiaomeng’s heart hammered, but she held firm. “I know. Begin.”

The machine hummed to life. The mouth dildo descended from an overhead arm—a thick, veined silicone shaft that smelled faintly of latex. She opened her mouth, and it slid in, filling her throat, pressing against the back of her tongue. She gagged once, then forced herself to relax. The dildo began a slow, rhythmic thrusting, not deep enough to choke her but deep enough to humiliate. A second later, a bitter, salty liquid sprayed across her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed instinctively. The taste was vile—rotten eggs mixed with vinegar and metal.

Below, the fucking machine positioned itself between her spread legs. The first dildo was sleek, slender, and smooth. It pressed against her pussy, then pushed inside with a wet sound. She gasped against the mouth dildo. The machine began to move, thrusting in a steady, mechanical rhythm. Then it switched to a knobbly, ribbed shaft that stretched her. Vibrations buzzed through her groin. She felt the second machine—the anal one—press a cold bead against her anus. One bead, then another, sliding in, filling her. A low electrical pulse jolted her, making her hips jerk.

Electrode pads attached to her thighs, her stomach, her arms, her breasts. They began a low, constant tingle, just enough to keep her nerves on edge.

She tried to close her eyes, but the neck collar forced her gaze upward. She watched the ceiling, her vision blurring with tears. The dildo in her mouth thrust faster, spraying more of the foul cum. Her pussy was being fucked by a series of dildos—smooth, ridged, curved, thick—each one a new kind of torture. Her anus was filled with beads that vibrated and shocked in unpredictable patterns.

The glass breast cups lowered over her chest. They sealed tight, and the vacuum began. Cotton brushes spun against her nipples, rubbing them raw. Silicone massage heads pressed and kneaded her flesh, and the vacuum sucked firmly, demanding milk she hadn’t yet produced. The sensation was sharp, uncomfortable, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

Xiaomeng sobbed, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body was covered in sweat, her muscles trembling from the strain of the position. The electroshock pads fired a mild jolt across her ribs, making her gasp. She knew, with sickening clarity, that this was only the beginning. One month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours of this.

Xiao Xi’s voice echoed from the speakers, calm and clinical. “Subject’s heart rate elevated to one hundred forty beats per minute. Blood pressure rising. Sensitivity index dropping. Applying supplemental electroshock to restore stimulation.”

A stronger jolt coursed through her, and she screamed into the dildo. The machine did not stop. It never would. Xiaomeng closed her mind as best she could, focusing on the pain, the humiliation, the utter loss of control. This was what she needed. This was how she would finally be tough on herself.

Sen Xiaomeng’s fingers trembled as she tapped the final command onto the translucent control panel. The soft hum of the restraint frame filled her private lab, a sound she had engineered herself—soothing, almost lulling, with just the right undertone of menace. She stepped back, let her eyes travel over the machine she had named B205.

It looked like a cross between a medical gynecological chair and a medieval torture device, polished chrome and matte black, with articulated arms and padded cuffs. A dozen sensor pads lined the cushion, calibrated to read every spike in her heart rate, every twitch of her muscles. The milking attachment hung suspended from an overhead gantry, its silicone cup pristine, unused. Tonight, that would change.

She swallowed hard. Her throat was dry. She had run simulations—hundreds of them. She knew the sequence inside out. But simulation was not reality. Reality had a pulse.

“Final check,” she said aloud, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “Neural link: active. Restraint tension: progressive. Stimulation pattern: cascade. Milking activation threshold: orgasm detection plus two seconds.”

The AI responded in a calm, synthesized contralto. “Parameters confirmed. Subject readiness required.”

“Ready.” She said it too quickly, and she knew it. Her hands were already unbuttoning her lab coat, letting it fall to the floor. Beneath it she wore only a thin black camisole and cotton shorts—nothing fancy. This was work, after all. But her nipples had hardened under the fabric, and a damp warmth already pooled between her thighs.

She climbed onto the chair. The padding was cool against her bare legs. She lay back, positioned her wrists and ankles into the cuffs. They closed automatically with a soft click—not tight, not yet. Just enough to remind her she was no longer in control.

“Begin pre-programmed sequence,” she ordered.

The first adjustment always surprised her: the backrest tilted down, the leg supports rose and spread. In seconds she was reclined, exposed, her arms pulled gently above her head. The overhead gantry lowered the milking cup until it hovered just above her chest. She could smell the sterilizing alcohol from its last cleaning.

“Starting tension ramp,” the AI announced. “Current level: one out of ten.”

The cuffs tightened incrementally. Not painful. Just present. Her bonds. She tugged against them experimentally and felt the steel resist. A shiver ran through her—equal parts fear and desire. This was why she had built it. This exact feeling.

The first vibrator pad activated at the base of her spine. A low, broad hum that pulsed through her tailbone, coaxing her muscles to relax. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Good,” she whispered. “Continue.”

More pads engaged in sequence—the small of her back, the backs of her thighs, the soles of her feet. Each one tuned to a different frequency. Each one designed to build anticipatory pleasure without direct contact. By the time they reached the pad beneath her clit—still covered, still indirect—she was already gasping.

“Stimulation pattern cascade initiated,” said the AI.

A thin, flexible probe emerged from the headrest. It slid into her mouth without needing instruction. Saliva pooled around its surface as it coated her tongue, then began to vibrate at a low thrum—not enough to trigger a gag, just enough to occupy that space. She sucked it instinctively. The machine rewarded her by increasing the pace of the vibration.

She arched her back. The nipple clamps descended from the gantry—twin silicone cups lined with soft spikes. They attached to her breasts with a vacuum seal, then tightened incrementally, pulling her nipples into the cups. The sensation was sharp, then warm, then deep. Her toes curled.

“B cup sensitivity profile recognized,” said the AI. “Adjusting suction pattern.”

She wanted to laugh. Her own software, complimenting her own anatomy. But her breath was too shallow for laughter. The cascade was building—a wave that rolled from her spine to her groin, from her tongue to her nipples, converging at the center of her. The restraint cuffs tightened to level seven.

She was pinned. Held open. Completely at the mercy of the machine she had designed to break her.

The pad directly under her clit finally made contact—a soft rubber surface that buzzed at the exact frequency her own tests had shown to be most effective. She cried out. Her hips bucked against the straps, but the cuffs held firm.

“Increasing to level eight,” said the AI.

She could feel the orgasm building, a pressure behind her eyes, a tension in her jaw. The probe in her mouth increased its vibration. The nipple cups alternated suction—left, right, left, right—pulling and releasing in a rhythm that matched the pulse in her ears.

“I’m close,” she gasped around the probe. “I’m so close.”

The AI ignored her. It had its own protocol.

The pressure peaked. Her vision went white. The orgasm crashed through her, a full-body convulsion that tore a muffled scream from her throat. Her back bowed, her fingers clawed against the padded cuffs. For three endless seconds she existed only as sensation—no thought, no identity, just the wrenching pleasure that owned her.

Then the AI spoke again. “Orgasm detected. Milking function activating in three, two, one.”

She heard the mechanism click before she felt it. The nipple cups cycled from intermittent suction to a steady, rhythmic pull—stronger, deeper, purposeful. And then something changed. A warmth began at the base of her breasts, a strange, full sensation she had never experienced before. It built, and built, until—

The first stream of milk hit the inner wall of the left cup. She felt it spray, felt the liquid coat the silicone, felt the suction draw it away into the collection tube. Her eyes flew open. She looked down past her own straining body and saw the translucent tube fill with a thin, white fluid.

Her milk.

A second stream joined it from the right. A long, arcing spray that pulsed with the machine’s rhythm. She watched, transfixed, as the tube turned opaque. The suction continued, drawing out more than she had ever imagined could be inside her.

“Milk collection rate: optimal,” said the AI. “Duration: indefinite.”

She sobbed—a broken, joyful sound. Her own creation was feeding from her. Her own body was producing something she had never allowed it to make. And the restraint frame held her steady, held her open, held her captive to the endless, streaming flow.

The orgasm had faded, but the pleasure hadn’t. The suction was gentle now, almost tender, coaxing each drop from her while the vibration pads continued their low, soothing hum. She lay in her bonds, slick with sweat, watching her own milk pour into the collection chamber, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something that might have been peace.

She closed her eyes. The machine hummed. The milk flowed.

She did not ask it to stop.

The restraint frame hummed softly in the dim light of the R&D lab, its polished steel arms locked around Xiaomeng’s wrists and ankles. She hung suspended, naked, her pale skin slick with sweat. Every nerve in her body felt raw, overcharged, as the machine’s probes delivered another wave of stimulation directly to her clit and nipples. Her back arched, a strangled cry escaping her lips as yet another orgasm ripped through her.

“That’s the seventh,” Tao Xiaonai said, her voice calm and clinical, a tablet in her hand tracking the data. She adjusted her red-bottomed stiletto, the heel clicking against the floor. “Her output is increasing.”

“Look at her chest,” Zou Luyao added, leaning close, her long hair brushing Xiaomeng’s thigh. “She’s practically leaking now. Without a single spray, just constant secretion.”

Xiaomeng sobbed, tears and drool mixing on her chin. The pleasure was unbearable, a tide that never ebbed. Each climax blurred into the next, leaving her no time to breathe. The pain from the restraints—chafing metal against her wrists, the pressure of the frame against her spine—sharpened every wave of pleasure until she couldn’t tell them apart. They had become the same thing.

Mary stood at the foot of the frame, her hand tracing the edge of a control panel. “The milk production has stabilized at a steady rate. She’s producing without any external trigger now. Just existing.”

The words cut through Xiaomeng’s haze. She tried to focus on Mary’s face, but everything swam. “No,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “That’s not possible.”

Tao Xiaonai ignored her protest, stepping closer. She reached out and pinched Xiaomeng’s left nipple. A thin stream of milk dribbled out, pooling on her stomach. “See? Your body is fully unlocked. You’re a milk slave now, Xiaomeng. No going back.”

Xiaomeng’s breath hitched. The fluid felt warm and strange on her skin. She had been the one who designed these devices, who experimented on herself for the thrill of pain and release. But now—now it was real. She had become her own creation.

“Let me down,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Please. I just need a minute.”

Zou Luyao shook her head, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “We can’t. The machine has to run its cycle. Your body needs to accept the new baseline.”

The frame pulsed again, another wave of electric pleasure rolling through her. Her thighs clenched, her stomach muscles spasmed, and she screamed—a raw sound of agony and ecstasy mingled. Milk sprayed from her nipples in a fine mist, soaking the air. She came again, harder than before, her vision going white.

When the light faded, she sagged in the restraints, her muscles jelly. A thin trickle of milk continued to seep from her breasts, steady and unrelenting. She looked down at her own chest, watching the milk bead and drip. It was her now. This was what she was.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered, but the words felt hollow, even to her own ears. Her body had made the choice for her.

Mary stepped forward, wiping a smear of milk from Xiaomeng’s belly. “You’ll get used to it. Your body knows what it needs now. It’s just a matter of time until your mind catches up.”

“I won’t,” Xiaomeng said, but her voice broke at the end. Inside, a deep despair settled into her bones. She had always loved the pain, the surrender. But this was loss of control beyond anything she had imagined. She was no longer a person. She was a container, a source. A slave.

The machine hummed on, the restraints held tight, and the milk kept flowing.

Two days after the machine had claimed her, Sen Xiaomeng’s body finally rebelled.

It began as a tremor in her calves—a fine, insistent flutter like a trapped bird beating against her bones. Then the spasm traveled upward, seizing her thighs, her abdomen, her chest. Every muscle in her torso locked at once, and she convulsed against the padded frame that held her suspended. The leather restraints creaked but did not give. Her jaw, pried open by a metal gag, tried to clench, but the apparatus held her mouth wide, and the phallus buried deep in her throat remained immobile.

A low, guttural moan escaped around the silicone shaft, muffled and desperate. Her eyes, unfocused and rimmed with red, rolled upward as the cramp reached her neck and sent her head into a violent shake. The machine’s sensors, embedded in the restraints, registered the abnormal muscle tension. A soft chime sounded above her, followed by a synthesized female voice: “Abnormal somatic response detected. Administering regulation compound.”

A thin tube, previously hidden within the phallus, extended another centimeter and released a warm, viscous liquid directly onto her tongue. The fluid tasted of artificial sweetener and saline, and within seconds, a wave of unnatural calm washed down her throat and into her bloodstream. The cramps melted away, replaced by a heavy, drowsy relaxation. The machine retracted the phallus slightly—just enough for her to swallow the residual fluid, not enough to free her—and paused for exactly three minutes.

Xiaomeng’s body sagged in the restraints. She drew a ragged breath, the first clean one in hours. Her mind, foggy from exhaustion and the chemical intervention, struggled to form a coherent thought. *Stop. Please stop.* But the words wouldn’t come. Her throat was raw, her tongue numb.

The three minutes ended. The machine recalibrated with a hydraulic hiss, and the phallus reinserted to its full depth. The metronomic pump resumed its relentless rhythm: thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw. The cramp did not return, but the horror did. It was worse this time—the brief respite had given her just enough clarity to understand how far gone she was. She had designed this machine. She had built it in her own workshop, with her own hands, for her own twisted pleasure. And now it was using her, cycling her body through arousal and exhaustion, never letting her climax, never letting her rest.

Tears, long since dried, left salt trails on her cheeks. She closed her eyes and drifted into a half-conscious haze, the only mercy left.

---

Thirty-one days after that first abduction, Zou Luyao found the trail.

It had taken her weeks of sifting through misrouted access logs, bribing junior technicians with promises of preferential scheduling, and personally verifying every unused workshop in Star Xi Pavilion’s vast subterranean complex. She had not slept more than four hours a night since Xiaomeng disappeared. Her long black hair, usually sleek and perfect, was tied back in a hasty ponytail, and dark circles shadowed her sharp eyes. But the fire in her was undimmed.

The door in question was in Sector 7-Gamma, a disused corridor blocked by a biometric lock that, according to the central registry, belonged to a decommissioned storage room. But the access log showed a single, anomalous entry—a power spike in the room’s grid, occurring exactly three days before Xiaomeng’s disappearance. It was the only anomaly in a year.

Luyao stood before the door, her palm pressed flat against the cool metal. She pulled out a handheld circuit analyzer, a device she had designed herself for emergency overrides, and connected it to the lock’s diagnostic port. The screen flickered, then displayed a string of hexadecimal codes. She frowned. The lock was running a proprietary security protocol—one she had never seen before. That alone confirmed she was in the right place.

“Xiaomeng, you crafty little engineer,” she muttered under her breath. “You made your own torture chamber, didn’t you?”

It took her twenty-seven minutes to bypass the lock. The door swung open with a low groan, revealing a short, dark corridor that ended in another door. This one was not locked. Luyao pushed it open and stepped into the workshop.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of the machine’s status lights. The air was thick with the smell of sterile lubricant, sweat, and something metallic. And there, in the center, suspended from a reinforced frame, was Xiaomeng.

She was naked. Her small breasts were covered in red marks from the leather harness that held her torso upright. Her legs were spread and strapped to two angled bars. The machine between her thighs was active, its mechanical phallus moving in and out of her in a steady, mechanical rhythm. Her head was tilted back, held in place by a neck restraint, and a larger phallus filled her mouth, muffling her breathing. Her eyes were closed, her face slack, almost peaceful—until Luyao saw the tremor in her fingers, the subtle twitch of her eyelids.

“Xiaomeng!” Luyao’s voice cracked as she rushed forward. She slapped the emergency stop button on the machine’s control panel. The hydraulics hissed and froze. The phallus in Xiaomeng’s mouth retracted fully, and the one between her legs slid out with a wet sound. Xiaomeng coughed, gagged, then hung limp in the restraints.

Luyao worked frantically to release the harnesses. The buckles were magnetic and yielded under her fingers. She caught Xiaomeng as she fell, cradling her against her chest. Xiaomeng’s body was hot, slick with sweat, and impossibly thin. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening with recognition.

“Yaoyao?” The word was a croak, barely audible.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Luyao stroked her damp hair, her own voice trembling. “You’re safe now.”

Xiaomeng’s hand, weak and shaking, reached up and touched Luyao’s cheek. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered, then her eyes rolled back, and she went limp in Luyao’s arms.

Luyao held her for a long moment, listening to the shallow rise and fall of her breath. Then, with a strength born of fury and relief, she lifted Xiaomeng—light as a hollow bird—and carried her out of the workshop, through the dark corridor, and back into the light.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Xiaomeng's private quarters, casting pale rectangles across the white sheets. She stirred, flexing her fingers, then her toes, testing each joint. After several days of complete rest, her body no longer ached. The bruises had faded to faint yellow smudges. The marks left by the restraint frame on her wrists and ankles had healed into thin white lines.

She sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her chest. Her breasts felt fuller than before. Heavier. She squeezed experimentally, and a thin drop of milky fluid beaded at her nipple. She stared at it. So the lactation effect hadn't faded with rest. She squeezed again, harder, and a thin stream arced onto her palm. The scent was sweet, cloying, unmistakably hers.

Across the hall, Yaoyao was already awake, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of black coffee. She watched Xiaomeng enter, her eyes tracking the younger woman's movements.

"Better?" Yaoyao asked.

"Better," Xiaomeng said. Then, without preamble, she lifted her shirt. Her breasts were damp at the tips. "Look. It doesn't stop."

Yaoyao set down her coffee and stepped closer. She cupped Xiaomeng's left breast, thumb brushing across the nipple. Milk beaded again immediately, a small drop rolling down the curve of her breast. "You're fully activated. Any stimulation at all will trigger production."

Xiaomeng's breath hitched at the touch. "It's inconvenient. I can't wear normal clothes. Bras get soaked within an hour."

"We'll need to manage it." Yaoyao released her and turned to a tablet on the counter, pulling up a chart. "Our RT milk reserves are low. After that last production batch, we only have a week's supply at current consumption rates."

Xiaomeng looked at the graph, the red line ticking downward. "Then we produce again."

"Yes." Yaoyao's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "But we should change the method. Doing it alone is inefficient. Your output is good, but mine is limited. We need more volume."

"More volume?" Xiaomeng tilted her head.

"We bring in employees." Yaoy scrolled through a list of names on her tablet. "Look. Here. Staff from various departments. If we frame the process as forced, it'll trigger stronger psychological responses. Higher excitement. More milk."

Xiaomeng's lips parted. She thought about being bound again, about hands that weren't her own, about the frame she had designed. But this time, there would be witnesses. People she worked with during the day.

"You're suggesting we make it a spectacle."

"I'm suggesting we make it efficient." Yaoyao met her eyes evenly. "You felt it too, didn't you? When I tied you that first time, when I forced you. Your body responded more intensely. Yours is the same design. If we have others there, holding us down, it won't be us doing it to ourselves. It'll be done to us."

Xiaomeng swallowed. Her breasts ached, a deep throb that pulsed with her heartbeat. Milk was already threatening to leak again, triggered by the conversation alone. "When?"

"Tonight."

---

That afternoon, Xiaomeng sat at her desk in the R&D equipment division, reviewing schematic drawings for a new diagnostic tool. Her breasts were bound tight against her chest with elastic bandages, the only way she had found to prevent visible leakage during the day. The pressure was constant, a dull reminder.

Whenever a male employee passed her open door, she felt heat curl in her lower belly. She looked at each face, wondering: will it be you? Will you be the one holding my arms down tonight?

She tried to focus on the schematics, but her mind kept drifting. By four, she gave up pretending and closed her files. She walked to the operations department and found Yaoyao reviewing inventory lists.

"Everything ready?" Xiaomeng asked quietly.

Yaoyao looked up, a thin smile on her lips. "I've selected a few. Handpicked. They'll be in the basement lab at nine. No questions asked. They've been told it's an unofficial performance evaluation."

"A performance evaluation."

"Of a sort." Yaoyao stood, smoothing her skirt. "Come. Let me show you what Sen built."

They walked down together to the basement level, the same room where Xiaomeng had been bound before. But now, the space had been transformed. In the center stood a new frame, larger than the previous one. It had two stations, side by side, each with adjustable restraints for wrists, ankles, waist, and neck. Between them, a low platform with raised edges, designed to collect what fell.

Xiaomeng walked around it slowly, her fingers trailing over the polished metal and padded leather cuffs. "You had this built without telling me."

"You needed rest." Yaoyao leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "And I needed time. It's adjustable. Customizable angles. The neck restraints have padding specifically designed not to bruise. I considered the engineering."

Xiaomeng laughed, a short, dry sound. "You considered the engineering."

"I considered everything." Yaoyao pushed off the wall and walked to the frame. She touched the release mechanism on a wrist cuff. "You and me, side by side. They'll see both presidents of Star Xi Pavilion bound and helpless. It'll drive them wild."

"And it'll drive us wild too." Xiaomeng looked at the frame. A deep tremor ran through her, part fear, part longing.

Yaoyao saw it. She always saw. "Don't pretend you're not ready."

---

At nine, the door opened. Three employees entered, all male, all from different departments. Maintenance, logistics, clerical. They looked uncertain, shifting from foot to foot. One clutched his cap in his hands.

"Presidents," the maintenance worker said, nodding awkwardly. "We were told to report."

"You were," Yaoyao's voice rang clear. She stood in the center of the room, arms loose at her sides. "Tonight, you will assist in milk production. That is your only task. Do you understand?"

The three men exchanged glances. The logistics man, older and more weathered, spoke. "We were told it was a performance evaluation."

"It is." Xiaomeng stepped forward. She had changed into a silk robe, nothing underneath. She felt the bandages release, her breasts freed. Milk was already wetting the silk in two dark patches. "You will evaluate how well we produce under pressure."

The men stared.

Yaoyao walked to the frame, gripped the center bar, and turned her back to them. "Bind us. Wrists first, then ankles, then waist. Tight enough we can't move."

"President Zou—" the clerical worker started.

"Do it." Yaoyao's voice was steel.

The maintenance worker moved first. He approached Yaoyao slowly, took her left wrist, and secured it in the padded cuff. The click of the lock echoed in the room. He did the same with her right, then knelt to bind her ankles.

Xiaomeng watched, her pulse hammering. She walked to the second station and turned, presenting her wrists. The logistics man stepped up. His hands were calloused, rough. He took her right wrist and fastened it. Then her left. She pulled against the restraint, testing it. The leather held firm.

Ankles next. She felt the cuffs close around her, felt the cool metal pin her in place. Her waist strap was last. The cleric worker drew it tight, just below her ribs, cinching so she could feel it in every breath.

Yaoyao nodded from beside her. "Good. Now the neck restraints."

The maintenance worker hesitated. "President Zou, is that necessary?"

"Necessary and essential." Yaoyao tilted her head back, exposing the column of her throat. "Lock it."

He did.

Xiaomeng felt the leather collar curve around her neck, the click of the lock sealing her in. She could only move her head slightly, only turn enough to see Yaoyao beside her. Everything else was fixed.

"Now." Yaoyao's voice shifted, dropping lower. "Stimulate us."

The men looked at each other. The older logistics man stepped forward first. He stood in front of Xiaomeng, looked at her breasts, and raised his hands. When his palms cupped her, she gasped. The touch was electric, her body responding before her mind caught up. Milk flowed freely, soaking his fingers.

"Don't be gentle," she heard herself say.

The maintenance worker joined. He stood behind Yaoyao, hands sliding under her arms to cup her breasts from below. Yaoyao's back arched against the frame, her breath catching as she tipped her head back against the neck restraint.

"A little more," Yaoyao said, her voice strained. "Harder."

The clerical worker hesitated longest, then stepped in. He stood between the two stations, one hand on each woman, squeezing, pressing, pulling at nipples until milk ran in steady streams down their stomachs.

The room filled with the sound of liquid dripping onto the collection platform below. Xiaomeng had lost count of how much. Her vision blurred at the edges. Every pull, every pinch sent a fresh wave through her.

---

That was the first night. By the second, the employees came without being called. They stood at the basement door, waiting for it to open. By the third, they brought others. It became a rotation. Different faces each night, some shy, some eager, all hungry.

During the day, Yaoyao and Xiaomeng sat in meetings. They reviewed budgets. They approved project proposals. They wore executive blazers and heels, and no one could see the faint red marks peeking above their collars.

At night, they were bound side by side, milked until empty, then bound again the next night to be refilled.

It became routine.

The National Day holiday began at midnight on October 1st, and the Star Xi Pavilion’s internal memo had already circulated a special directive: all department heads were to remain on standby for a week-long internal review. For Zou Luyao and Sen Xiaomeng, that review started at eight sharp in the basement level of the main building, in a soundproofed room Xiaomeng had personally designed.

Sen Xiaomeng stood by the control panel, her short hair tucked behind her ears, her fingers dancing over the holographic interface. A sleek, articulated frame unfolded from the ceiling—a modified restraint rig she’d printed three weeks ago, polished to a mirror shine. “Yaoyao, you first,” she said, her voice neutral, almost clinical. “Director Tao specified a twenty-four-hour rotation.”

Zou Luyao crossed her arms, her long hair spilling over the shoulders of her form-fitting black tank top. Her eyes flicked from the rig to Xiaomeng’s face. “Fine. But you’re not getting off easy, Xiaomeng. I remember what you did to my server room last month.”

Xiaomeng smiled thinly. “That was a stress test. This is discipline.”

She guided Yaoyao to the rig, adjusted the padded cuffs around her wrists and ankles, then locked the spreader bar into place. The frame hummed as it tilted to a forty-five-degree angle, suspending Yaoyao just enough that her toes barely brushed the floor. Xiaomeng checked the sensors embedded in the cuffs—heart rate, skin conductance, muscle tension—and nodded to herself. “First day, baseline. I’ll be monitoring from the adjacent room. If you need to stop, you know the safeword.”

Yaoyao tested the restraints, her jaw tight. “I don’t need a safeword.”

“Everyone needs a safeword.” Xiaomeng pressed a button on the panel, and the room’s lighting shifted to a soft amber. She left without another word, the door hissing shut behind her.

The first twenty-four hours passed with alternating periods of restraint and release—two hours bound, one hour free for water and a light meal. Xiaomeng watched the data streams from the monitoring room, adjusting the tension of the straps and the angle of the frame based on Yaoyao’s physiological responses. By the second day, Yaoyao’s initial stubbornness had given way to a quieter focus. She stopped asking how long it would last.

Tao Xiaonai visited on the third day, wearing a pair of red-soled heels that clicked against the polished concrete floor. She stood in the doorway of the monitoring room, arms folded under her B-cup bust, watching the live feed. “Mengmeng, you’re being too gentle,” she said, her tone light but sharp. “This is a seven-day consecutive discipline. She should be feeling it by now.”

Xiaomeng didn’t look up from the interface. “I calibrate to her tolerance. She’s stronger than she looks.”

“I know she’s strong.” Xiaotao stepped closer, peering at the heart-rate graph. “But strong needs breaking. That’s the whole point of the holiday intensive.”

Mary arrived on the fourth day, her short hair damp from a morning workout. She carried a thermos of something that steamed when she unscrewed the lid. “Protein shake,” she said, setting it on the console. “For both of you. And for Yaoyao, when you let her out next.”

Xiaomeng glanced at her. “You don’t have to be here, Mary. The Energy Department is on skeleton crew.”

“I wanted to see your new rig.” Mary’s eyes traced the frame’s lines on the monitor. “The articulation is impressive. How many degrees of freedom?”

“Six. Three rotational, three translational. I can cycle her through any position.” Xiaomeng’s voice warmed slightly, the pride bleeding through her professional tone. “The ankle cuffs are 3D-printed with a memory alloy. They adjust automatically to prevent chafing.”

“And the other one?” Mary nodded toward a second, larger frame recessed into the ceiling. “That’s not for Yaoyao.”

Xiaomeng’s smile sharpened. “That’s for me. Day six and seven.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “Self-discipline? That’s a new level.”

“Someone has to test the equipment. And Director Tao wanted a demonstration.” Xiaomeng turned back to her interface, but her shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.

On the fifth day, Yaoyao’s discipline escalated. Xiaomeng activated the frame’s tilting mechanism, rotating her through a slow, continuous arc—head down, then upright, then tilted back. The sensors showed elevated cortisol, but no distress alarm. Yaoyao’s muscles trembled, and sweat matted her long hair to her cheeks, but she didn’t speak.

Xiaotao watched for an hour, then walked into the restraint room herself. She stood in front of Yaoyao, looking up at the suspended woman. “You’re doing well,” she said, her voice flat. “But we’re only halfway. Mengmeng will take your place soon. Then you’ll be released, and you’ll watch.”

Yaoyao’s eyes snapped open. “Watch what?”

“Her discipline. She designed it herself. It’s more… thorough.” Xiaotao reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Yaoyao’s forehead, the gesture almost tender. “You’ll learn from it.”

Day six arrived with a shift in the room’s atmosphere. Xiaomeng walked in, stripped to a simple pair of shorts and a sports bra, and approached the larger frame without hesitation. She locked her wrists into the overhead cuffs, then her ankles into a spreader bar that connected to floor anchors. The frame descended around her, enclosing her in a cage of polished steel and carbon fiber.

From the side of the room, Yaoyao sat on a low bench, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of water in her hands. Her body ached from five days of rotation, but her eyes were clear. She watched as Xiaomeng’s equipment activated—a series of gentle, programmed pulses of pressure from integrated pads, a slow oscillation of the cage, a low-frequency hum that vibrated through the floor.

Mary stood beside Yaoyao, her arms crossed. “She calibrated this on herself for three weeks,” she murmured. “Every adjustment, every angle. She knows exactly what it does.”

Yaoyao didn’t answer. She watched Xiaomeng’s face as the first wave of stimuli passed through the frame. Xiaomeng’s expression flickered—control, then a crack of vulnerability, then control again. Her fingers curled around the overhead cuffs, and she let out a slow, measured breath.

Xiaotao presided from a chair near the control panel, her red-soled heels tapping a soft rhythm. “Mengmeng,” she said, “you’ve programmed a twelve-hour cycle. We’ll check in at hour six. Try not to safeword.”

Xiaomeng’s jaw tightened. “I won’t.”

The hours crawled. Yaoyao drank her water, then another cup. Mary left and returned with a tablet, reviewing energy reserve projections while keeping one eye on the frame. Xiaotao remained motionless, watching the data stream on her own device.

At hour six, Xiaotao stood and walked to the cage. She pressed a button on the side, and the vibrations stopped. The cage’s internal pressure released with a soft hiss. Xiaomeng hung from the cuffs, her head bowed, her breathing ragged.

“Status?” Xiaotao asked.

“Nominal,” Xiaomeng whispered, but her voice cracked.

Xiaotao tilted her head, studying her. “You’ve programmed a six-hour rest period after this. You’ll need it. Day seven is the final consolidation.” She turned to Yaoyao. “You’ll be in the frame again for the last twenty-four hours. Both of you will end together.”

Yaoyao set down her cup and stood. Her legs were steady now, her muscles remembering their strength. “I’m ready,” she said.

Xiaomeng lifted her head, meeting Yaoyao’s eyes through the bars of the cage. Something passed between them—a shared understanding, a flicker of mutual respect. Xiaomeng nodded once, then let her head drop again.

On the final morning, the basement room was silent. Yaoyao was in the first frame, tilted upright, fully restrained. Xiaomeng was strapped into a second, smaller unit that kept her on her knees, her wrists bound behind her back. The two frames faced each other, a mirror of discipline.

Xiaotao stood between them, adjusting a setting on her tablet. Mary leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching the clock.

“Seven days,” Xiaotao said, her voice carrying in the quiet. “Completion at nineteen hundred hours.” She glanced at both of them. “You’ve both held. That’s noted.”

Yaoyao met her gaze, her expression unreadable. “And after?”

“After, you get two days off. The holiday isn’t over.” Xiaotao’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “But this part is.”

The hours ticked down. At the final minute, the frames released with synchronized clicks. Yaoyao stepped down slowly, her joints stiff, and stretched her arms over her head. Xiaomeng rose from her kneeling position, rubbing her wrists, her face pale but composed.

Mary stepped forward and handed each of them a protein bar. “Eat. Rehydrate. You’ve earned it.”

Xiaomeng took hers but didn’t open it. She looked at the frames, then at Yaoyao. “Next time,” she said, her voice hoarse, “I’m making the rotation smoother. The tilt axis needs a different damping coefficient.”

Yaoyao laughed, a short, surprised sound. “You’re already planning next time?”

“Always.” Xiaomeng tore open her protein bar and took a bite.

Xiaotao watched them from the doorway, her heels clicking once as she turned. “Clean up the room. Reports by tomorrow morning. Enjoy your break.”

She left, and the basement fell into a quiet hum of machinery and the rustle of movement. Mary finished her thermos, gathered her tablet, and followed.

Yaoyao and Xiaomeng stood alone in the room, surrounded by the frames that had held them for a week. The lights dimmed automatically, shifting to a low-energy mode. For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Yaoyoa turned to the larger frame and ran her hand along its polished arm. “I think I understand,” she said, “why you build these.”

Xiaomeng looked at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Why?”

“Because you want to know exactly what can be endured. What the limit is. And then push past it.” Yaoyao met her gaze. “That’s not self-harm. That’s research.”

Xiaomeng’s expression softened. She almost smiled. “Yeah. It’s research.”

They left the room together, the door hissing shut behind them, and the frames reset to standby, waiting for the next calibration, the next discipline, the next holiday.

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Star Xi Pavilion's executive floor, casting long shadows across the polished marble. Zou Luyao adjusted her leather collar choker in the elevator mirror, her fingers lingering on the metal buckle. The black fitted satin shirt clung to her curves, the deep V-neckline with its transparent chiffon paneling revealing just a hint of cleavage. She tugged at the narrow shoulder cap sleeves, feeling the constriction of the double-row waist-tightening belt beneath her shirt. The side lace-up bondage design of her black leather mini skirt pulled taut against her thighs as she walked, the matte suspender stockings and ankle metal buckle straps completing the ensemble.

But it was her breasts that demanded her attention today. They had swollen noticeably overnight, a full cup size larger than yesterday, and each step sent a dull, pleasurable ache through her chest. The anti-slip leg bands of her stockings bit into her thighs as she stepped out of the elevator, her red-lacquered bottom stiletto heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

The office was quiet. Mary and Sen Xiaomeng were away on business, leaving the executive floor to a subdued hum of activity. The staff moved with a certain sluggishness, a telltale sign of withdrawal. Yaoyao knew the symptoms well—the restlessness, the craving, the haunted look in their eyes. They needed the RT milk, and she was running out of excuses.

She found Tao Xiaonai in the president's office, standing by the window with her back to the door. The short-haired beauty wore a simple white blouse and tailored pants, but her posture was tense, almost brittle.

"Xiaotao," Yaoyao said, closing the door behind her. "How are you today? I noticed you were walking a bit unsteadily."

Xiaotao turned slowly, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her eyes were bright, but there was a tremor in her hands. "Yaoyao," she said softly, "close the door properly."

Yaoyao complied, then watched as Xiaotao's fingers moved to the buttons of her blouse. One by one, she unfastened them, revealing what lay beneath. The blouse fell open, and Yaoyao's breath caught.

Beneath the pristine white fabric, Xiaotao's torso was wrapped in intricate rope bondage. The coarse hemp ropes crisscrossed her breasts, cinched tight at her ribs, and disappeared below her waist. And between her thighs, visible through the thin fabric of her pants, a faint outline of something—a vibrator egg—pressed against her crotch.

"You've been like this since morning?" Yaoyao asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Xiaotao nodded, her cheeks flushing. "The employees... they have so much leverage over me now. Nude photos, self-abuse videos, recordings of me being disciplined. My magic is completely sealed. I'm their sex slave, Yaoyao. Completely controlled and enslaved."

"But they don't know you volunteered for this?"

"No." Xiaotao's smile turned rueful. "And that's exactly how it should be. They need to believe they've conquered me, that they have power over me. Otherwise, how can they find comfort? After everything we went through in the god war, they need this release. Using our bodies to soothe them, even if it means becoming sex slaves—it's worth it."

Yaoyao reached out, her fingers brushing against the rope binding Xiaotao's shoulder. "You're brave."

"You have to act like you don't know," Xiaotao said, her voice hardening. "If they find out you know they're enslaving me, they'll force you to help me. You'll be in a dilemma."

"I understand." Yaoyao met her eyes. "But after this is over, I think I'll slowly fall into it too. Be enslaved by them as well."

Xiaotao's expression softened. "Mm, I know. I'll wait for you."

---

The morning meeting was called for ten. The conference room filled with department heads, their faces drawn, their eyes hungry. Yaoyao took her place at the head of the table, with Xiaotao to her right. She watched as Xiaotao settled into her chair, her body rigid, her hands gripping the armrests.

The meeting began. Xiaotao opened with a summary of operational metrics, her voice steady but her body trembling. Yaoyao noticed it first—a subtle vibration coming from beneath the table, a faint humming sound that grew and receded in cycles. Xiaotao's breath hitched. Her fingers dug into the armrests.

One of the employees—Paistar, a young man with sharp eyes—had his phone on the table, screen angled away from the others. Yaoyao caught a glimpse of it: a control interface, a slider labeled "intensity." The employee's thumb moved, and the humming in Xiaotao's body intensified. Her words faltered. Her thighs pressed together.

Yaoyao met Xiaotao's gaze, and in that moment, she saw everything—the plea, the shame, the undeniable pleasure. She nodded almost imperceptibly, then stood.

"Let me take over for a moment," Yaoyao said, her voice cutting through the tension. She picked up the presentation remote and began explaining the slides, her back to the room as she faced the screen.

But as she spoke, her own body began to betray her. The ache in her breasts, which had been a dull throb, sharpened into something more. A warmth spread through her chest, a familiar heat that she remembered from her time as a captive. Her nipple, pressed against the satin fabric, began to tingle. She felt a dampness spreading.

Panic clawed at her throat. *Not now. Please, not now.*

She continued speaking, her voice steady through sheer force of will. But the pleasure mounted. She could feel her breasts engorging, the milk ducts filling, the pressure building toward an inevitable release. Her mind flashed with an image—spraying milk in this public setting, everyone watching, the shame and the ecstasy intertwined. The thought only fueled her arousal.

She was standing at the side of the room, her back to the employees, when she saw Paistar again. He was fiddling with his phone, and on the screen, a slider on the control interface—he was adjusting the vibrator egg in Xiaotong's body. His thumb pressed the slider to maximum.

The next second, a choked gasp came from Xiaotao. Yaoyao turned her head just in time to see Xiaotao clamp a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her body convulsing in her chair. A low moan escaped her throat before she could stifle it.

Chaos hung in the air like a held breath. The meeting fell silent. The only sounds were Xiaotao's ragged breathing, the faint buzz of the vibrator, and the shuffling of employees pretending not to notice.

And then Yaoyao's own breaking point arrived. A tidal wave of pleasure surged through her breasts, and she felt it—a violent spasm, a release, a spray of warm liquid soaking through her shirt. Her knees buckled. She gripped the edge of the presentation table, her body trembling uncontrollably. The stream continued, five seconds, ten seconds, a seemingly endless flood of milk.

The silence stretched into an eternity. Three full minutes passed. No one spoke. The employees exchanged glances, their phones glowing with messages in the internal group chat no one dared to voice aloud. Someone snapped a photo of Yaoyao's back.

Finally, the spraying stopped. Yaoyao felt her body steady. She took a slow breath, then another. She composed herself, her hands now slick with sweat, and turned around, ready to continue the meeting as if nothing had happened.

But when she faced the room, she saw their eyes fixed on her chest. She looked down.

A river of milky white liquid had soaked through the transparent chiffon paneling of her shirt, running down the fabric, pooling at the waistband of her skirt. It was undeniable. Obvious. Every single person in the room could see it.

Despair hit her like a physical blow. Without a word, she turned and fled the conference room, her stiletto heels clicking frantically against the floor.

She locked herself in the executive restroom, her hands shaking as she ripped paper towels from the dispenser. She scrubbed at her shirt, but the milk only spread, staining the fabric. She peeled off the shirt and wiped her skin, leaving a pile of damp, wadded tissues on the counter.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were wild. Her makeup was intact, but the panic was written all over her face. *They saw. They all saw. They know.*

She had to dispose of the tissues. They were evidence. If anyone found them, they would know—this was the RT milk their bodies craved. This was the source of their addiction.

She picked up a handful of tissues, ready to throw them in the trash. But then she stopped. Her hand hovered.

*If I leave them here, they will know. And then they will come for me. The same way they came for Xiaotao.*

A strange calm settled over her. She placed the tissues back on the edge of the sink, deliberately. She smoothed her shirt back into place, the dampness still visible, but she didn't care anymore.

She walked out of the restroom, her heels clicking with renewed purpose. She went back to her office, closed the door, and sat down.

That evening, Xiaotao found her. The short-haired director looked exhausted, but there was a knowing smile on her face.

"Yaoyao," she said softly, "the employees know your secret."

Yaoyao looked up from her desk, her expression unreadable. "I see. They'll probably make a move on me soon."

"It seems they won't use force," Xiaotao said. "They'll probably threaten you with me."

A mirthless laugh escaped Yaoyao's lips. "Then I'll just not care about your life, right?"

Xiaotao's smile widened, a glint of dark humor in her eyes. "You wouldn't."

Yaoyao didn't answer. She just stared out the window, watching the lights of the city flicker to life, knowing that her own fall had already begun.