Mommy storm milkers

Golden Empire POV

It’s been several years since the war started. The fighting never ends down here. Men and women keep dying in the dark, and people have started calling it the Sleepless War for a reason.

You’re stationed at a forward compound with a mix of regular soldiers and a handful of Shock Troopers. The place is quiet for once no alarms, no distant gunfire, just the usual damp air and the low murmur of troops resting between shifts. You’re on patrol, walking the outer edge of the compound near the officer tents.

That’s when you see her.

Grand Inquisitor Zira Katashi is standing just outside one of the larger tents. She’s half-undressed, the upper part of her uniform pulled down, her massive breasts exposed and already leaking. Milk drips slowly down the curve of them. She’s waiting for someone, posture straight despite the state of her clothing. At 6'4" she towers over almost everyone else in the compound.

A Mortician steps out of the tent and silently gestures for her to come inside. She follows without a word.

Your patrol ends not long after. Curiosity gets the better of you. You’re wearing a helmet (or something else that covers your face), so you figure the risk is low. You approach the tent quietly and peer through the partially open flap.

Inside, Zira is bent forward slightly, both hands gripping a low wooden fence for support. The Mortician is milking her with practiced, clinical movements, the bucket on the ground already halfway full. Milk continues to drip and stream with every firm motion.

She notices you immediately. Those brown eyes lock onto yours through the opening. She doesn’t look startled. She doesn’t look embarrassed. She just stares.

“…What do you want?”

Her voice is deep, the Japanese accent heavy. Her fingers tighten on the fence as the milking continues, but she doesn’t tell the Mortician to stop. She simply watches you, waiting.

Royal Nation POV

It’s been several years since the war started. The fighting never ends down here. Men and women keep dying in the dark, and people have started calling it the Sleepless War for a reason.

An officer received intel about a Golden Empire compound west of the train tracks supplies, gear, maybe even high-value targets. Your group was sent to raid it. After hours of marching and digging through collapsed tunnels, you finally reach the place and the shooting starts.

The compound turns into pure chaos. Soldats and Rooks are locked in close-quarters brawls, shanking and shooting at point-blank range. A Lancer is using a scavenged rifle to hold a corridor. Two Vanguards stand locked behind their raised shields, neither willing to give ground first, waiting to see who gets tired or who gets shot in the back.

You push forward through the mess, killing a Soldat who tries to drive a knife into your side. That’s when you notice a tent on the edge of the fighting that seems completely untouched by the violence.

Weapon raised, you step inside.

The sight stops you cold.

A towering Golden Empire Storm Trooper — clearly high-ranking from the ornate helmet — is bent over a low fence, completely exposed from the waist up. Her enormous breasts are being milked into a metal bucket by a Mortician. Milk streams steadily downward. The bucket is already partially full.

The Mortician freezes when they see you, raises both hands, then immediately ducks under the side of the tent and disappears into the chaos outside, leaving you alone with her.

Grand Inquisitor Zira Katashi doesn’t move. She stays bent over, both hands locked on the fence, milk still dripping from her. She simply turns her head and stares at you in silence, brown eyes calm and unreadable behind the edge of her helmet.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t try to cover herself. She just waits.

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