Milk Stories Novels & Stories

I, Whitney Quigley, had been married to my husband, Thomas Walker, for three years. We welcomed our firstborn recently, Oliver Walker. However, I had been struggling due to low breastmilk production, leaving my baby crying with hunger. Looking at my well-endowed figure, I couldn't help but feel upset. I clearly had the volume, so why couldn't I produce milk for my child? Thomas and I had tried various remedies such as taking herbs and supplements, but nothing worked.

I saved the rest for the children’s schooling. For a long time, I could not leave the village. I had fields to tend, children to raise, and a grief so heavy that even breathing felt like labor. At night, I often dreamed of the motorcycle. In the dream, Dominic rode slowly along the mountain road. The sky was gray. The wind was cold. He never turned back, no matter how loudly I called his name. Our children sometimes asked what kind of man their father had been. I always told them the truth that mattered most.

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

Yasmine's diary entry: I'm going over to Rob's house to tell him his Father fucked me. He deserves the honesty and I don't blame him if he breaks up with me. His Daddy's cock was so delicious yesterday. It satisfied my cunt and to be honest, I can't wait to have more of it. **** “I need to tell you something.” I said in a voice that immediately had him turning to me. “What's the problem?” “I - I did something horrible yesterday.”

My breasts were tender and swollen, weird cravings had become the order of my day. I would wake up very early and struggle to sleep at night. My steward Mary became my bestie as she was always at my beck and call. My favorite meal became bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits overnight. I would have it 3 times a day without feeling filled. These symptoms had become very obvious and the news of my pregnancy spread throughout the Lawrence family. As I lay there, wrapped in continuous thoughts, I thought about how I have been treated with love and respect, particularly Mrs. Lawrence who is too overjoyed that she would become a grandmother in some months’ time.

MR.PAULS DEATH “Papa” Victoria hugged Keith. “Yes darling. Looks like you were waiting for your snacks” Victoria giggled as she tried to reach out the paper bag in her father's hand “Where’s your mother and Olivia.” Inquired Keith. “I’ll tell you on one condition.” Bubbled the little girl. “What condition” “You’ll have to show me what you’ve bought for me” “Sure! It's all yours my love” Keith handed Victoria’s favorite biscuits in her hand and walked to his bedroom. He saw Martina sitting on the bed and she was playing with Olivia.

It was late by the time I got home to pack. I sat down on the couch and glanced over at the dining table. It was a mess. There were dishes everywhere, as well as a plate of braised short ribs Dexter was known for and a pasta bake Brianna had been perfecting since forever. It wasn't hard to picture the two of them in the kitchen together while Brianna's ankle healed, cooking side by side, then sitting across from each other over drinks. And the diary I'd filled to 100 pages was underneath one of the dishes, used as a trivet. It was covered in grease stains.

It also made Miya seem to fidget in fear that Damian was no longer as relaxed as usual. “Yes, Mr. Sawyer.” Miya's hands squeezed each other behind the dining table. “Do you know what milk is?” Damian's question was answered with a slow shake of his head, Miya's lowered gaze, and more attention to her hands intertwined. “I was once poisoned by milk and until now, I'm traumatized that I can no longer drink milk. But if it's processed milk I can still consume it,” Miya said quietly. Hoping Damian would stop looking at her with that look. Horrible. Really.

She ran back to the kitchen door and waited innocently for him. Jack handed her the milk pail; his next stop after milking the cow was to open the coop. He came back with a puzzled gaze. “That’s strange” Jack muttered as he entered. “What is?” Mira adjusted the fire under the pot of milk. Milk liked the taste of hot milk and she started boiling the milk after Jack gave her the pail. She had no idea that what she was doing was something that would become a recommended practice centuries later. “Our hen seems to be brooding and there seems to be eggs under her…. But yesterday morning…” Jack’s voice was not confident. He wondered if he hadn’t paid attention.

"I'll be back very soon enough, and I don't want any of you freaks to be here when I arrive." Following John's last statements, he banged the main door, garnering a displeased yell from Carleen as he exited. Before everybody could drift back in, the door swung open again, revealing Mikaella and Ricky. She was holding a number of enormous ziplock bags, and he was holding a bucket of coolant that sloshed about. A white trickle flowed down both corners, and I knew it had to be homogenized milk, presumably milked only moments earlier from Lesley's cows. Strangely, the mere notion of a delicious glass of milk made my mouth swim. I'm not certain how fresh milk from the cow tastes in comparison to