Divine Milking System

Chapter 422: 422 | My Expertise on Everything

I looked up at her without releasing. Her violet contacts were crooked from crying, and one of them had shifted enough that the brown iris underneath showed through in a crescent along the bottom edge. Like a partial eclipse of the fake over the real.

"Your eyes are brown." I said between swallows.

"The contacts are a fashion choice."

"They’re a mask."

"Everything I wear is a mask, Monroe. Keeps people from looking too close." She tugged a strand of my hair lightly. "Black would bring out the gold in your eyes. The brown makes you look generic. Forgettable. With black hair and those amber irises you’d look like a fucking anime protagonist."

"I basically am a fucking anime protagonist."

"Yeah but you look like the forgettable side character. The one who shows up in episode three and gets killed by episode seven so the actual main character has motivation."

"You know what, I was enjoying this tender moment and you ruined it."

Her fingers found a particularly good spot just above my right ear and focused there, nails dragging gentle circles through my hair. I closed my eyes against the quiet pleasure of it. The milk kept flowing, warm and rich against my tongue, and I tracked each notification as it appeared.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

My internal lifespan counter continued its steady climb. Three days had already passed. Now I was pushing into territory I hadn’t seen since the day after Naomi first saved me. The extraction showed no signs of stopping either. Addison’s production remained consistent, maybe even improving. Her body had stopped fighting the moment somewhere between the second orgasm and the crying confession. The tension that normally lived in her shoulders had melted away completely.

I pulled again, slower this time, savoring the complexity of flavor. The arousal-driven extractions had their purpose. Fast, intense, mechanically efficient. This was different. Her relaxation changed the quality in ways I couldn’t quite articulate but could definitely taste. The milk tasted warmer somehow. Richer. Like the difference between coffee brewed in a rush and coffee you actually gave time to bloom properly.

Two faucets, I thought while her nails continued their methodical work through my hair. Arousal opens one valve. Safety opens another. Both produce milk. Both extend my life. The System didn’t discriminate between methods as long as the essence flowed.

I appreciated the flexibility.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

"I’ll do it," I said against her skin.

"Do what."

"The hair. Black. You’re right, it would look better." I paused, considering. "Aurora bought me a wardrobe. Belle steals my shirts. You get the hair."

Addison’s fingers stopped moving for exactly one second. Then they resumed with slightly more pressure

"Fine." Her voice cracked on the word. Just the tiniest fracture, like a hairline split in ceramic that you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. "I’ll buy the dye. Good stuff. Not that garbage from CVS that turns green after two washes."

"I defer to your expertise."

"You should defer to my expertise on everything. I’m smarter than you, stronger than you, and I have better taste in music."

"Two out of three, maybe."

"Which two."

"I’ll never tell."

She smacked the back of my head and I laughed against her breast, which produced a vibration that made her gasp and then immediately deny gasping.

I switched to her left side. The first pull confirmed what I’d noticed during the farmhouse encounter. Her left breast produced slightly differently than her right. The flavor leaned sweeter here, the chocolate notes richer, the cayenne reduced to a whisper instead of a statement. I filed this information in the part of my brain that catalogued extraction profiles, the same part that knew Naomi tasted like vanilla cream and Belle tasted like butterscotch and Aurora tasted like strawberries in champagne.

I was becoming a sommelier of supernatural breast milk. A connoisseur. A fucking professional milk critic with tasting notes and regional preferences.

God, my life was stupid.

\[You drink a mouthful of milk from a Silver-tier target. As a result, you get 25 points!\]

The lifespan counter passed four days. I kept going.

Addison’s humming had transitioned from death metal to something softer. I couldn’t identify the melody but it had the structural pattern of a lullaby, which was probably the most shocking thing that had happened tonight and I had literally used a forbidden divine ability to destroy an interdimensional guardian twelve hours ago.

"You’re humming a lullaby."

"I’m humming Cannibal Corpse."

"That’s definitely not Cannibal Corpse."

"It’s the acoustic version."

"Cannibal Corpse doesn’t have acoustic versions."

"They do in my head. Shut up and drink."

I shut up and drank.

The minutes slid past like warm water. My body continued processing the Silver essence, converting each mouthful into points and lifespan and the raw materials my cells needed to rebuild from the catastrophic damage of the past three days. I could feel it working. Feel the mana corruption in my chest tissue retreating by millimeters as fresh essence flooded the area with clean Silver energy. Feel the fractured ribs knitting faster. Feel the deep muscle tears in my shoulders stitching themselves back together with threads of biological repair that the System supercharged through its proprietary brand of supernatural bullshit.

Four days became five. Five became five and a half.

Addison’s production began to slow around the forty-minute mark. Natural. Expected. She’d been producing at a high rate for an extended period, and even Silver-tier bodies had limits on sustained output. Her breathing had evened out into something approaching sleep, though her fingers continued their path through my hair with the automatic persistence of a habit too comfortable to break.

"I think." She yawned. Actually yawned. This woman who manifested dual scythes from death mana and once cut a training dummy in half from across a room yawned like a sleepy kitten while I nursed at her breast in a fake classroom she’d been fucked across ten minutes ago. "I think I’m running out."

I released her nipple with a soft pop and looked up. Her head had tilted back against the chalkboard, smearing equations across her purple highlights, and her eyes were half-closed in the particular way that indicated consciousness maintained through stubbornness alone.

"You gave me five and a half days." I said it like it meant nothing because saying it like it meant everything would require an emotional vocabulary I hadn’t developed yet.

"Is that enough."

"It’s enough to not die tomorrow."

"Good." Her eyes closed fully. "Then stop sucking on me and let me sleep. You wore me the fuck out."

"We’re in a Private Sanctum."

"So?"

"So it has a timer. We’ve got about." I checked the countdown. "Four minutes before this classroom stops existing and we pop back into reality."

One violet eye opened. "Fuck. Forgot about that"

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