Sir’s Naughty Girl

1.

Shine Rossman sat on the cold examination table, her heart beating.

The damp, warm sensation spreading across her bra made her nervous. The sterile smell of the hospital made it worse.

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying her blouse was thick enough to hide the evidence.

She had come to notice that every time her mind wandered to a stray thought of Sir Gilbert’s muscular arm wrapping her whole or when his deep voice graced her ears, her body responded in an unusual manner.

Her breasts would feel heavy, tight, and painfully full, as if they were weeping for a touch that never came.

She picked up her phone and dialed the office.

"Betty, it is me," Shine said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Shine? Where are you? Sir Gilbert has been looking for the quarterlies," Betty replied in a hushed tone.

"I am at the hospital. I am not feeling well at all. Please tell him I had a sudden emergency. I will try to be in tomorrow."

"You sound awful, honey. Don't worry, I will handle your shift. Just get some rest," Betty said before hanging up.

Shine let out a shaky breath.

She felt guilty for lying, but she could not exactly tell her work friend that she was leaking milk like a nursing mother despite never being pregnant.

She was terrified.

Was it a tumor?

A hormonal failure?

Or was she just losing her mind?

A chime from her phone broke her spiral.

She looked down to see a notification from her secret OnlyFans account.

New Subscriber: User9982 has joined your fan club.

User9982 has sent you a tip: $2,000.00.

Shine gasped, her jaw dropping.

Two thousand dollars?

Just for a follow back?

She tapped the profile, her fingers hovering over the screen, but before she could see any further details, the door opened.

Dr. Melford walked in, clutching a thin folder. He looked over his glasses at her with a calm, professional disposition.

"Miss Rossman, I have your results," he said, pulling up a stool.

"Is it bad? Am I dying?" Shine asked, clutching the edge of the table.

"Not at all. Your blood work is clear of any malignancies. You have a condition called Hyperprolactinemic Galactorrhea," he explained.

"Essentially, your body is producing an excess of prolactin. In your specific case, it seems to be triggered by your autonomic nervous system, specifically during periods of high arousal."

"So, I am secreting milk because I am... horny?" Shine asked, her face turning bright red.

"In simple terms, yes. It is not life-threatening, but I understand it is distressing," the doctor said.

"Distressing is an understatement, Doctor. It is painful. My breasts feel like they are going to explode every morning. And I have a spontaneous sexual appetite that I cannot seem to control. What am I supposed to do? I work in a professional office. I cannot just leak through my suit during a board meetings."

Dr. Melford sighed sympathetically. "There are medications to help balance your hormones, but they have side effects. My first recommendation would be more practical. You need to relieve the pressure."

"How?"

"You should use a breast pump or manual extraction to drain the milk regularly. It will ease the pain and prevent leaking. Alternatively," he cleared his throat, "finding a partner to assist with the physical stimulation and drainage could help manage the condition more naturally."

"You want me to find a guy to suck the milk out?" Shine asked, stunned.

"It is a medical reality, Miss Rossman. The fluid needs to go somewhere. If you can manage the physical output, the pain will subside. I am going to prescribe a light suppressant for the interim, but you need to start the manual drainage tonight."

He handed her a pamphlet on lactation management and dismissed her.

Shine walked out of the hospital feeling like she was in a dream.

Although she was relieved she wasn't dying, but the solution was almost as crazy as the problem.

By the time she got home, it was night fall.

She had spent the entire afternoon trying to find a good suction pump. And was glad she found and purchased one.

She threw her keys on the counter and stripped off her damp blouse.

The relief of the cool air on her skin was instant.

She stared at her big boobs in front of the full length mirror for a few minutes, caressing and squeezing them softly before she grabbed her phone and saw a Direct Message waiting for her on OnlyFans from the big spender, User9982.

User9982: You have the most beautiful breasts I have ever seen. I cannot stop thinking about them.

Shine bit her lip.

The $2,000 tip was still sitting in her balance.

She felt a surge of confidence.

Shine: Thank you. They are a lot of work, trust me.

User9982: I would love to help you with that work. Tell me, how much would it cost for me to see you in person? I want to taste you. I want to suck those gorgeous breasts until you are empty.

Shine’s heart skipped a beat.

The doctor’s words replayed in her head.

She decided to play along, thinking he was just a bored rich guy talking big.

Shine: That is a very expensive request. It would cost you $10,000.

The reply came back almost instantly.

User9982: Only ten? I will give you $50,000 if I get to fuck you too.

Shine stared at the screen.

Fifty thousand dollars.

That was more than her annual salary at the firm.

It would solve all her problems.

But her anxiety quickly returned.

Shine: Are you a catfish? Or are you just some kid playing with his dad’s credit card? Be real with me.

User9982: A catfish would not tip you two grand just to get your attention, Shine. I am very real, and I have the money to prove it.

Shine: How do I know you are not a serial killer? I read the news. Girls are getting killed on islands and lured into traps by men like you. I am not trying to end up on the headline.

She cringed as soon as she sent it.

Dark humor was her defense mechanism, but it usually turned people off.

She wished she had not sent that message.

User9982: I promise I have no plans of hurting a beautiful woman like you. I want to worship you, not hurt you. I am willing to do whatever it takes to make you comfortable. We can meet in public, I can show you my ID, whatever you need. I just want you.

Shine leaned back against her sofa, her chest heaving.

The tightness in her breasts was returning, a dull ache that made her want to scream.

She looked at the chat window, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Shine: This is a lot to take in. I need to think about it.

User9982: Take your time. But don't keep me waiting too long. I can already imagine how sweet you taste.

Shine: I will give you a response by morning. Do have a pleasant evening head, User9982.

She put the phone face down on the coffee table.

Her mind was racing.

She thought about her boss, Sir Gilbert.

He was the most intimidating, handsome man she had ever met.

He was the reason she was aroused half the time at work, which meant he was the reason she was leaking.

If she took this stranger’s money, she could quit.

She could get her hormones under control.

But there was something about the way the stranger typed that turned her on.

He was confident, she liked that.

She went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.

She saw the dark circles under her eyes and the heavy boobs on her chest.

She reached for the manual pump she had bought on the way home.

As she started the process, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine a face for User9982.

For some reason, all she could see was Gilbert Vicente’s cold, blue eyes.

"Get it together, Shine," she whispered to herself as she tried to catch her breath.

“Umgh! Sir Gilbert milk these boobs” she moaned. Her fingers trailing down between her legs and finding her pussy lips.

She began to tease her walls, heat pulling deep in the depth of her pussy.

“Oh God! Fuck!!” She cried softly.

She wanted to be milked so bad.

She finished her business, feeling a temporary sense of relief, and crawled into bed.

Tomorrow was going to be a very long day at the office, and she still had to decide if she was going to sell her body to a stranger for fifty thousand dollars.

Or worse, if she was going to tell her boss why she really missed work today.

She fell asleep with her phone clutched in her hand, waiting for the morning to come.