TNC Chapter 1

This story is influenced by a wide variety of stories, too many to list here, but I acknowledge all my influences and those authors have my deep gratitude. If you like what you read here feel free to get in touch, we can talk about kinky writing!

Disclaimer: Everybody in this story is over the age of 18, and all of these works are a work of fiction. IRL consent is not only cool it's vital, and I do not condone or support any non consensual acts.

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Robert was unwilling to accept what he had been taught. To buck against a system which seemed at all times to leer over your shoulder, often literally, took every ounce of his strength. It seemed so hopeless.

Waking up in a muted pastel coloured room, he donned the only clothing a male was allowed to wear, pouch panties which were tailored perfectly to his exact proportions, and left him feeling more exposed than if he were naked – which he was sure was part of their intended design.

The floor was soft and his feet sank into it ever so slightly, indeed almost every surface in the Nurturing centres was the same. No hard surfaces, nothing substantial, the whole place was a cushioned and protected environment. Soft shades of blue, his panties included, marked him as part of a specific group within the heirarchy and bureaucracy of his section of the centre. None of the specifics had ever been explained to him or any of the other boys, indeed they were kept blissfully unaware of even basic ideas, schedules, even the time of day. He woke when he was woken by a soft tinkling music which frustrated him to no end.

Indeed, every aspect of the Nurturing centre seemed specifically designed to frustrate and provoke his very male being. Again, functioning precisely as intended, he assumed. He made no choices for himself, was told what to do and when to do it, and was indoctrinated at all times from all angles in every possible way.

He would not give in, though.

He made what few protests he could, when he could, however pathetic they may seem, and how they were mocked and ridiculed by his female overseers. He would refuse food until they coerced him into eating it, but any time he managed to force them to force him, Robert saw that as a win. He was undermining their authority, however slightly, and would continue to do so, even if only to prove to himself that he had not gone quietly.

“Breakfast time!” came the sing-song voice of a pre-recorded nursery voice, and his stomach churned despite himself. Soon, a woman he knew well now, in a tight, form-fitting blue blouse appeared at the doorway to his bedroom – no doors, of course, as their “mommies” so often needed to “check on them” while they slept. Not that it would matter, with security cameras everywhere, his every moment was being tracked and recorded, even as he slept.

These women were his tormentors. His “caretakers”, in that they took care to make sure that every slightest sign of resistance was crushed under their toothy grinned oppression, smug self-assuredness disguised as compassion. They were, uniformly, tall, much taller than the boys, broad, thickly built, with soft, svelte bodies which oozed sexuality. Their sausage-thick lips were always curled into a smile, and above all, their titanic breasts always towered over the boys who were forced to live beneath them, often literally. Every aspect of them was designed to arouse, and to reinforce the simple message that resistance to them was futile.

He would not give in, though.

Today his tormentor was Caretaker Brenda, whos long blonde hair always smelled so sweet. She smiled broadly at him, and held a hand out which he was expected to take.

“Good morning Robby!” she tittered delightedly, and not for the last time that day his gaze was drawn inexorably to her massive chest, which shuddered at her delight.

“M-my name,” he began, before finally tearing his eyes off her chest, and fixing them squarely on the floor, “my name is Robert” he managed, unconvincingly.

“Oh my, someone’s in a grumpy mood, huh ROBBY?” she asked rhetorically, hands on her hips and her lips pouted in mock sympathy, “I bet it’s because this BIG BOY is so hungry for his breakfast, huh?”

“N-no! That’s not-” he began, but quickly became flustered as she began to take slow, deliberate steps towards him. Her massive breasts, barely contained in her low-cut, two-sizes-too-tight blouse, threatened constantly to jiggle free of their loose woolen confines.

“I think someone is just shy…” she said, her voice a little more husky, and her gaze lowered as she closed on the helpless boy, soon to be within her clutches once again for as long as she so wished.

Unable to respond, Robert simply stared up as those massive breasts of hers grew closer, quickly swelling to fill his view as he hesitantly stepped back.

“Don’t worry Robby, you have nothing to be ashamed of… Mommy Brenda has seen everything, you know that…”

All at once, dozens of mind-melting images of she and him flitted through his mind, unbidden, and he felt the first inevitable stirring in his panties.

“Such a sweet boy, I have something just as sweet for you…” she whispered, and began to heft her massive breasts.

Of course, the one obsession the Caretakers had, above everything else, above even their desire to transform their male charges into whimpering, pleading, needy, helpless infantile messes was the desire to nurse. Nothing brought them greater joy, very evidently, than having a boy suckle on their massive breasts, drinking down the impossible quantities of milk their overly-developed bodies produced at prodigious rates.

His stomach churned again, not just out of hunger, and a deeply seated need for that milk which had become his sole accursed meal, but of the memory of how full and bloated he felt when the Caretakers took their breastfeeding a little too far. So often seemingly in full control, it was almost frightening when they got “carried away”, forcing the young men to drink down more and more, feeding them as much as they fed the lustful desires of their carers.

That was, of course, before they so often conventiently “forgot” to record them as having been fed, so another carer would inevitably show up to feed them again. Then sometimes even a third. There was no rhyme or reason to it. It happened after he rebelled, but sometimes it seemed to happen for no reason at all. He knew why they did it. When there was no system, no stability, nothing for his mind to hold on to, it was that much harder to stay mentally focused.

No solid food, of course. He would have given anything to have real food again, just to feel the texture, the cathartic experience of eating, but like so much that had been so deliberately robbed from him… all in order to break him. To make him break down and accept their control. He would not, would never give in, he always told himself, right before he did. As she held her hand out again, he swallowed his pride, deciding it wasn’t worth fighting it this early in the day.

Her smile curled into a full blown grin as he took her hand, and her smug, satisfied features bloomed into his face as she muttered those words he so despised: “Good boy”.

Led down the hall, the fragrances of a dozen perfumes and aromas assaulting his senses, she led him to one of many massive, plush, overly opulent pieces of furniture. She kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him as if he were a child, the entire time. Indeed, compared to her massive stature, it was hard not to feel that way. Indeed, as with everything, he was sure that was their intention.

As she lowered him into her lap, he resigned himself to another achingly long session ahead. She simply rested his back across her massively thick thighs, which splayed out to either side as she reclined into the chair, and aligned his head with her breasts.

“Now, remember Robby, good boys always do as they’re told,” she said, repeating the same indoctrination he had been told for years in that sickly treacle-sweet voice they always used when they wanted the boys to submit to some lascivious treatment. Indeed, over the years his body had become so accustomed to it that he now associated that voice with sexual pleasure. He hated himself for it, but at night his erotic thoughts were always narrated by one of their pleasant voices. No doubt a part of their plan, to have the boys indoctrinate themselves.

Of course, he couldn’t do anything about his desires. Any attempt at relieving himself would be put a stop to long before he could achieve any kind of release, and would only lead to him being admonished for “not letting mommy take care of that for you”. It would serve only to attract their attentions further, indeed even getting an erection at night, clearly visible through the sheer silk bedsheets, would no doubt lead to him getting a night time visit from one or more of his female controllers.

Any erection, which were incredibly common, was a sign to any of the women around that the boy needed to be “taken care of”, but what that meant varied wildly, and while it could have been part of an organized program of physical breaking, it may very well have just as been at the whims of that particular woman at that time. Of course, no male was ever allowed to touch himself. Doing so was expressly forbidden by the very many rules imposed upon them. To be robbed of every young man’s favourite passtime, to be forced to surrender it into the hands, quite literally, of the women who had robbed them of even their dignity, was utterly humiliating, and worked very well to crush any inspiration to resist.

This of course in addition to the frustration of being so horny all the time – he suspected it was caused by a mix of the environment, the drugs they were given both through the milk and directly, and subliminal messaging in the music – but being unable to do anything about it, was utterly mind-breaking. He had heard boys go mad, thrashing in their beds as their bodies and minds warred with their desire to take even the slightest amount of agency in their own sexuality, which of course, they could never have again.

Mommy- His captor Brenda, took great delight in licking her lips as she slowly, teasingly tugged her blouse down, first revealing one nipple, then the other, before pulling the blouse down entirely underneath the swell of her breasts. So massive were they that once hidden beneath them, her blouse was only visible as it came back around them over her shoulders. Her nipples, thick as cocktail sausages, stood out proud and hard amid a massive areola, betraying just how aroused her control of him was making her.

“Ahhh, so much nicer to let the girls out… hmmm, if only there were a hungry boy who could kiss them hello…” Brenda teased, delighting in having the boy entirely under her control. He had submitted quickly today, and that was a good sign that they were “getting through” to him. She giggled. He wouldn’t last. None of them did. Even the toughest gave in eventually… and if they didn’t? Well there were eventualities for that. The Correction facilities always had room for troublesome boys…

Slowly, she swayed her nipple in his face, back and forth hypnotically.

“Oh Robby, don’t you want to suckle on that lovely nipple? You know just how good it will feel…” she mused, tauntingly.

As she spoke, her fingertips traced down his stomach, dancing across his waist promisingly. For a few moments his eyes followed her nipple, but despite everything, he tore his gaze away, and looked determinedly at the ceiling.

“Oh no, maybe he’s not hungry… maybe someone had enough to drink last night when the nursie came to visit…” she whispered, and her fingers spider-walked down to his panty line.

Shivering slightly, both from being so exposed and the electric feeling her fingers were creating, he saw in his peripheral vision as her nipple grew closer and closer, slowly filling his vision. He couldn’t help but let his eyes stray back, so hard to focus on the muted colour palettes of the walls, where there was nothing but a poster of a large breasted woman squeezing her chest together, above the words “Mommy knows best!”. He swallowed, and felt himself wriggling in her lap under her touch, but as her nipple brushed his cheek he kept his lips firmly shut.

“Maybe this little boy doesn’t want any breakfast at all, hmm?” she asked, and yet he felt her fingers begin to delicately trace across his oh-so-sensitive skin, “Or maybe he’s just grumpy… well if he’s in a bad mood, then this baby boy doesn’t want breakfast I guess…”

He knew his newfound sensitivity could not be the result of sexual desire alone. There had to be something in the milk, the drugs, that made every touch feel like this. It had another, darker effect however, as her fingers began to play around his sensitive skin.

He bit his lip, determined not to give her the satisfaction, as he felt her begin to tickle his waistline.

“Of course, maybe he’s just pretending,” she whispered conspiratorially, eyes fixed on his as her cheshire toothy grin spread, “maybe he just wants to play…”

Her nails plucked at his skin like a harp, causing him to jump with ticklish shock each time.

“I guess I’ll just have to see… is this tummy hungry?” she asked, cooing mockingly as she scribbled her fingers all over his stomach, causing his resistance to crumble as his lower lip trembled and tears welled in his eyes with the effort needed not to give in.

“Or maybe this ticklish little boy is just wanting me to tickle somewhere else…” she whispered, and let her fingers drift down, down… until they began to trace up and down over his cock and delicate balls in their panty cocoon.

Having once again crushed his resistance mercilessly, she tittered with delight as he giggled and laughed, trying to reach past her massive breasts to protect his delicate cock, but their sheer mass prevented him.

“Oh my, such a giggly boy! Maybe someone is hungry…” she cooed, and let her nipple delicately play across his giggling lips, leaving a smear of thick, creamy milk there which inevitably dripped into his mouth.

He swung his head to the side and cursed himself. Summoning all of his mental fortitude to not do it, he lasted all of three seconds before licking the rest of the milk into his mouth.

“That’s a GOOD BOY,” she said eagerly, forcing home the message at the moment he submitted to her, reinforcing the association by tracing her fingers around the underside of his cockhead, “now suckle mommy my good boy…”

He twisted his head this way and that, but she simply dropped her breast over his face. The flesh spilled out further and further, covering his nose, his face, until he was being buried under a deluge of titflesh as the other breast followed suit. At last, desperately, his lips latched on to the thick nipple, which soon forced its way into his mouth and began to squirt thick, hot, creamy jets of milk into his mouth which he had no choice but to swallow.

“Thaaat’s it, that’s it my good boy, now suckle from mommy,” she instructed, ever so slightly increasing the pressure on his oh-so-needy cock.

He hated himself for it, as he always did, but he gave in, and sucked. Milk rocketed out of her fat nipple, squirting almost directly down his throat, and he was forced to swallow it relentlessly. A diet of only milk had left him so physically frail, and any kind of exercise was highly discouraged, save that which kept their bodytypes at a stage which the women desired. Indeed, he often found himself being carried, or pushed in a degrading oversized pram, even for ridiculously short distances he could easily have walked himself. That was the point, though. He was not in control.

Time was long since lost to him, and indeed he had never seen a clock or a watch since being here. How long these sessions lasted were a mystery. For a long time he was held there, an arm around his neck holding him in place as he was forced to swallow, all while a teasing hand encouraged squirts of pre-cum to soak his pouch panties, but always relented before any kind of real release, and would teasingly shift tactics whenever he began to thrust needily into their touch. Brenda seemed to settle on letting her fingertips gently encircle his cock-head, and would with a feather grip run them up and down from the ridge to his head and back.

Underneath her breasts, this treatment was driving Robby- Robert utterly insane. He groaned and cried into her breast, but it was so muffled as to sound like nothing more than the contented groans of a suckling babe. He struggled to move her breast but found his hands, as ever sinking into the soft flesh of her body and totally lacking the strength to free himself. Indeed, she barely needed to restrain him, so weak had he become under their tender mercies.

At last, he felt the deluge settle into a trickle, and while they never seemed to run out of milk entirely, he seemed to have drained her breast for now.

“Such a good boy!” she said, rewarding him with a firm grasp of his cock.

Needily, he began to force his cock up, bucking into that grip which ever fibre of his being was screaming at him to exploit. Panting for breath, both from arousal and having been force-fed breastmilk in absurd quantities, he was alarmed when he felt her other nipple take advantage of his needy behaviour to slip into his mouth.

“Now just one more to go for my hungry boy!” she giggled evilly, and began to massage her breast, forcing absurd quantities of milk to flow forth into his waiting mouth.

He squirmed, trying to pull away, but she simply let the weight of her breasts pin his head in place between her and her arm.

“Such a hungry boy, he loves drinking all of his mommies’ milk every day, doesn’t he…” she cooed, speaking for him in that way they always did, trying to imprint their words through his ears and directly onto his mind.

“Mmm-mmh!” he groaned, trying to deny it, but it simply sounded like a childish annoyance.

Her cock-teasing had gone into overdrive now, and he felt his cock bathing in pre-cum within the confines of the silky panties. She was using her fingertips to slide his cock around against the material in circles, now slickened by his own juices, and he was shuddering at the truly mindblowing sensation.

Freeing his head, her other arm was now sneaking down beneath him, and he felt it take its place between her thighs, under her blouse, and as her forearm pumped and tensed against him he was under no illusions what she was doing, even though his vision was entirely occupied by her breasts.

Groaning with sheer unadulterated satisfaction at having subdued him so utterly, he basked in her own power, thrumming her own pussy with reckless abandon, even as she so deftly toyed and teased with his cock, driving herself to a rapidly oncoming orgasm. Her moans cascaded through her breasts, vibrating the flesh which surrounded his head.

“Such a good boy…” she moaned huskily, “such a good, good boy, doing what his mommy tells him… mmm, such a dear sweet boy, you know your mommy always knows what’s best for you…”

Her poisonous words trickled into his ears, his mind vulnerable from both his immediate torment and years of conditioning. He tried to force himself not to listen, but could barely bring himself to think. Mommy Brenda’s moans were driving him closer and closer to the edge as she rolled his cockhead around in the slick silky material, and now all he cared about was cumming. He just wanted the orgasm he had been conditioned to desire above all else… well, all else except obedience. The smell of her sex now warred with the milk which was soaking the skin between her breast and his face, trickling and leaking down his neck as he struggled to swallow the arousal-induced milk production.

At last her voice croaked, and she shuddered in her seat, the poor boy vibrating atop her massive thighs as a titanic orgasm wracked through her, and she moaned with pure abandon. He groaned as her hand came free of his cock just short of the orgasm he so desperately needed. He fidgeted and writhed under her breasts, trying to break free, to reach his own cock despite knowing it would be useless.

As she relaxed in the afterglow of her orgasm, she lazily stroked a single fingertip up and down his cock.

“You know, you’re such a good boy, Robby… but you don’t seem very happy.”

His senses on a knife edge, he tried to focus on her words, jumpy at every sound.

“I know how to cheer up a good boy like you, though…” she whispered, and at last he felt her peel his panties off, his cock exposed to the air at last after basting in pre-cum.

Her fingers encircled his cock, and finally began to properly stroke and pump his cock. The teasing was over, and now she would drive the message home. He would submit to her. There was no resisting. He could not resist. And she said as much.

“It’s pointless to fight it, little Robby. You’re going to cum. And when you do, you’ll know its because your Mommy made you cum. Only your Mommies know what’s best for you. You only get to feel this good when you obey… when you submit. You can’t resist me. I will make you cum.” At that, her forefinger and thumb made a ring around his cock, and began to milk it rapidly, flecks of precum splashing across her arm as she did so.

He groaned as his orgasm rose within him, and he could feel it like a rising tide moving up his chest and into his neck as his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t hold back. Try as he might, he couldn’t deny her after she had denied him for so long.

“Cum for me Robby, cum for me my good little boy…” she whispered into his ears, and in his delirium he heard it echo within his own mind, her mantra repeating itself ad nauseum.

“Cum for me – cum for me – cum for me” eventually became simply “cum – cum – cum”, and she repeated it as a command.

“Cum”, she demanded, “cum.”

And he did. A jet of cum erupted as his body spasmed, arching his back up off of the bed of her thighs. Her fingers kept up their rapid, relentless, merciless pace as they milked the orgasm from him.

After seven, eight, finally a ninth rope of cum was forced from him, he collapsed into her grasp as the last of his load oozed from his cock.

“There we go,” she soothed, cooing soft nothings to him as she finally released him from her breast, his gasping mouth aching from the prolonged feeding.

“I told you I knew how to make boys like you happy…” she whispered, and her evil grin spread once more, as her fingers began to play across his body.

In his post-orgasmic state, his body now hyper sensitive, he laughed maniacally as her fingertips tickled across his nipples, and teased along his thighs.

“Such a happy boy, listen to how much he loves playing with his mommy!” she giggled, and pursed her lips in a cruel smile, teasing the poor boy to insanity for what would be a very long internment in the Nurturing Center.