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Today was a quiet and peaceful day in the Kamisato Estate. There was no work to be done, no meetings to attend, and certainly no visits from the traveler and Paimon. Ayato sat at his desk in the room of his private study. The afternoon light filtered through the windows, the warm glow illuminating Ayato's face as he read quite the interesting book in front of him. As he read, Thoma, who was resting his head in Ayato's lap, stirred from his nap.
The wooden desk felt cool beneath Ayato's fingers as he traced the rim of his teacup. "Thoma," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "Have you ever considered the nutritional properties of oni milk?" Thoma blinked awake fully, shifting in Ayato's lap to look up at him. "My lord?" he murmured, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Is this about that old book you found in the archives?"
Ayato lifted the weathered book, its pages yellowed at the edges. "According to this text, oni milk possesses remarkable restorative qualities." His thumb brushed over an illustration showing horned figures being milked like prized cattle. "The text suggests it flows abundantly when the oni experiences... heightened states of arousal." Thoma's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "You can't mean..." Thoma's voice trailed off as he realized the implications of Ayato's words.
"Precisely." Ayato closed the book with a soft thump. "We require verification. And I know just the specimen." He rose, guiding Thoma to his feet.
Outside, cicadas screamed in the humid air as they crossed the courtyard. Beneath a maple tree dripping crimson leaves, Arataki Itto sprawled across a bench, snoring loud enough to scare birds from nearby branches. His massive chest rose and fell rhythmically, one arm dangling toward the mossy stones.
Thoma cleared his throat. "Itto-san?" The oni snorted awake, rubbing his horns. "Huh? Whozzat—" Recognition dawned. "Ayato, my bro! And Thoma!" He scrambled up, beaming. "Come to challenge me to onikabuto battle?" Ayato’s smile was a blade sheathed in silk. "Something far more intriguing. We’ve uncovered fascinating lore about your physiology." He produced the book, opening it to the milking diagram. Itto leaned in, squinting.
The oni’s grin faltered. "You wanna… milk me?" His laugh boomed nervously. "That’s wild! Oni don’t—" Ayato’s fingertip brushed the illustration. "Ancient texts suggest otherwise. We merely seek… collaboration." Ayato, with a silent command of his eyes, Thoma stepped closer, palm settling on Itto’s bare chest. The oni tensed, skin pebbling beneath the touch. "Whoa, easy there—" Thoma’s thumb circled a nipple, feather-light. Itto’s breath hitched.
The Commissioner watched with fascination. Beads of sweat formed along Itto’s collarbone. Beneath Thoma’s palm, the nipple stiffened into a tight nub. Itto’s breathing turned ragged. "Feels… weird," he choked out, fists clenching at his sides. Thoma glanced at Ayato. A silent command passed between them.
Soon, Thoma and Ayato moved onto the bench with Itto. Ayato was behind Itto, Itto's head laid against his chest as Thoma straddled him. Ayato's hands slid upward, thumbs pressing firmly against the base of Itto's horns. The oni gasped, a full-body tremor shaking him as his eyes snapped wide. "Steady now," Ayato murmured, fingers tracing the ridges where the horn met the scalp. Itto whimpered, hips bucking involuntarily against Thoma's weight. Thoma's warm fingers moved upwards, grazing the trail of the red markings leading up to Itto's chest.
"Relax," Ayato whispered against his ear. "Breathe." Itto shuddered, his muscles trembling beneath Thoma's touch. The oni's skin flushed crimson, heat radiating off him like a furnace. Thoma's hands moved with practiced ease, calloused palms sliding over the swell of Itto's chest. One of his hands found a nipple, hardened and sensitive, and rolled it gently between the thumb and forefinger. Itto cried out, a ragged sound torn from his throat, his back arching off the bench.
Ayato watched, fascinated, as Thoma leaned down, his mouth closing over Itto's other nipple. He sucked firmly, rhythmically, experienced, his tongue flicking against the taut peak. A low, guttural groan escaped Itto, his fingers digging into the wood of the bench. Thoma pulled back slightly, a thin, pearlescent bead glistening on his lower lip. "There it is," Thoma murmured, his voice rough. He swiped it with a finger, holding it up for Ayato to see. The droplet caught the light, shimmering faintly. Ayato leaned closer, his own breath catching. "Remarkable," he breathed, his curiosity sharpening. He shifted his grip on Itto's horns, applying a firmer, more insistent pressure. Itto gasped, his body tensing further. "More," Ayato instructed Thoma softly. "Keep going."
Itto then blinked rapidly. "Hold on, you two! You got what you wanted, isn't this enough?!" His voice cracked, strained between pleasure and sudden panic. "I mean, this is kinda... intense!" He tried to squirm, but Ayato's grip on his horns tightened, a subtle warning that pinned him in place. Thoma chuckled, the sound warm against Itto's heated skin. "Relax, Itto-san," he murmured, his breath ghosting over the damp nipple. "We're just getting started. Ayato wants to see the real flow." His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the defined lines of Itto's abdomen, heading towards the waistband of his pants.
Ayato then gripped Itto's horns tighter, causing the oni to yelp. "Patience," he murmured. "You're doing wonderfully." Itto's protest died in a choked gasp as Thoma's fingers finally slipped past the waistband, finding the thick, hot length beneath. The oni's hips jerked, a desperate thrust into that calloused palm. Thoma stroked him slowly, firmly, his thumb rubbing circles over the slick head. "See?" Thoma's voice was low, almost soothing, though his eyes held a focused intensity. "He's responding perfectly."
Itto then shook his head frantically. "No... guys... c'mon quit it..." His voice hitched as Thoma's fingers tightened, stroking in long, deliberate pulls that sent sparks through his veins. The oni's chest heaved, muscles straining against Ayato's unyielding grip on his horns. Thoma leaned in again, his mouth hot and demanding on Itto's nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a sharp cry. A thin stream of milk pearled over the edge, tracing a glistening path down the taut curve of his pectoral muscle. Ayato watched, mesmerized, as the droplets gathered and fell onto the bench beneath them. "Fascinating," he murmured, his breath warm against Itto's ear. "The flow increases with stimulation." His thumb pressed harder into the sensitive base of Itto's horn, eliciting a shuddering gasp. "Don't fight it."
Ayato then snapped his fingers, causing Thoma to perk up. "Use your weight a bit more." Thoma nodded, shifting his hips to press down firmly on Itto's thighs, pinning him against the bench. The oni grunted, muscles straining as he tried to buck Thoma off. "I said quit it!" Itto yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. Thoma ignored him, focusing instead on the rhythmic suction at Itto's nipple, drawing out another thin stream of milk that dripped steadily onto the wood below. Ayato watched the droplets fall, his expression detached, analytical. "Faster," he commanded softly.
Thoma followed the command, despite Itto's protests. Itto's hands came up to grip Thoma's hair, trying to pull him off. But, Ayato squeezed the base of his horns painfully, causing the oni to scream and his hands to fall from Thoma's hair. Ayato leaned forward. whispering into Itto's ear with a threat. "Stay still, or I'll snap them off." Itto whimpered. Thoma continued his work, sucking harder and faster. The milk flowed steadily now, dripping down Itto's chest and onto the bench. Itto's breathing became ragged, his eyes wide with fear and discomfort. He tried to squirm again, but Ayato's grip was unyielding. "Please... stop..." Itto gasped, his voice trembling. "I don't want this anymore..."
Suddenly, Ayato's free gloved hand came up to Itto's mouth, muffling him. Ayato paid no mind to Itto's muffled protests and cries. He simply looked down at Thoma, who was struggling to contain the milk as it was beginning to flow more quickly. "Thoma," Ayato said sharply. "You're spilling it." Thoma immediately pulled away from Itto's chest, his chin wet with the pearlescent liquid. He looked up at Ayato, his expression eager. "Yes, Waka?" he asked, his voice breathless. Ayato gestured towards the milk dripping down Itto's heaving chest. "Collect it. Properly." Thoma nodded, pulling a small vial from his pocket. He leaned in again, pressing his lips firmly against Itto's nipple, sucking hard to draw the milk directly into the container. Itto's muffled scream vibrated against Ayato's palm.
Once the vial was filled, Thoma tucked it into his pocket, sitting up on Itto's thighs, awaiting for Ayato's next command. The oni's chest glistened with sweat and stray droplets of milk, his breathing ragged and shallow against Ayato's silencing palm. Ayato finally removed his glove, revealing a faint sheen of saliva. "Good," he murmured, his gaze fixed on Itto's flushed, tear-streaked face. "Now, the other side." Itto's eyes widened in panic, a muffled "No!" escaping as Thoma shifted position, his mouth descending towards the untouched nipple. The oni thrashed violently, muscles straining against their combined weight, but Ayato's hand clamped back onto his horns, twisting just enough to make him freeze with a choked gasp.
Itto struggled and squirmed, his powerful muscles straining against Thoma's weight pinning his thighs and Ayato's iron grip on his horns. A desperate, muffled whine escaped his throat as Thoma's mouth closed over his other nipple, sucking with relentless pressure. The sensation was sharp, overwhelming, a mix of raw stimulation and deep violation. Milk flowed immediately, thick and white, dripping down his ribs onto the bench beneath him. Thoma worked efficiently, his lips sealed tight to capture every drop, while Itto's chest heaved with panicked breaths.
Ayato then clicked his tongue. "Thoma. Contain it." He released Itto's mouth just long enough for the oni to draw a ragged, shuddering breath. "I can't—" Itto gasped, but Thoma was already pressing the other vial's rim against the swollen nipple, his other hand squeezing the firm muscle to force out another thick stream. The oni cried out, a raw sound of protest that echoed in the quiet garden. Ayato traced a gloved finger along Itto's trembling jawline. "Hush. You're being too loud. This is a place of sanctuary, no?" His voice was velvet over steel. Itto flinched, tears spilling over as Thoma captured the last drops, sealing the vial with a soft pop.
Itto hiccuped. He thought the worst of it was over. That Ayato and Thoma would leave him alone... however, Ayato's fingers slid from his horns down to his jaw. He tilted Itto's face towards him. "You have more to give," Ayato murmured. "Don't you?" Itto shook his head frantically, but Thoma was already shifting. The retainer's hands slid down Itto's trembling abdomen, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants. Itto's eyes widened. "No—" The word choked off as Thoma yanked the fabric down, exposing him fully to the cool air.
Itto began to sob. His body shook as Thoma peeled the fabric down his hips, exposing his thighs and the thick, flushed shaft straining against his abdomen. The cool air hit his skin, making him flinch violently. "Please," he choked out, tears streaming down his temples. "I told you... I don't want this!" Ayato's fingers tightened on his jaw, forcing his head back. "Silence," the commissioner murmured, his gaze cold as it swept over Itto's trembling form. "Your body disagrees."
Ayato smiled coldly as Itto continued to sob. He turned his attention towards Thoma. "He needs encouragement," he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. Thoma nodded, his expression obedient and focused. Without hesitation, he wrapped his hand around Itto's cock, stroking firmly from base to tip. The oni gasped, a strangled sound caught between pain and unwanted pleasure, his hips jerking reflexively. "No... stop..." Itto choked out, but Thoma only increased the pace, his calloused palm creating a slick, rhythmic friction. Ayato watched the oni's face contort, his tears mingling with sweat on his flushed skin.
Ayato simply chuckled, a low, chilling sound that made Itto's skin crawl. "Such resistance is futile." His gloved fingers trailed down Itto's heaving chest, tracing the path of spilled milk before pressing hard into the abused nipple again. Itto arched with a ragged sob, more pearlescent fluid beading under the cruel pressure. Thoma didn't miss a beat, his mouth sealing over the spot instantly, sucking with greedy efficiency while his other hand continued its relentless stroking rhythm on Itto's cock. The dual assault was overwhelming, leaving the oni trembling violently, caught between agonizing sensitivity and the humiliating betrayal of his own body's response.
Hours passed by and Thoma finally pulled away, his lips slick and glistening. He held up a third vial, filled to the brim with thick, pearly liquid. Itto lay limp beneath him, chest heaving, eyes vacant and red-rimmed. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, and his skin felt feverish to the touch. Ayato was beginning to move off the bench, snapping his fingers to signal Thoma to get up as well, much to Itto's relief.
As Thoma stood, he pocketed the vial with practiced ease. Itto tried to push himself up on trembling arms, only to collapse back onto the bench with a pained groan. His muscles felt like water, and every inch of his skin throbbed with over-sensitivity. He watched through blurred vision as Ayato adjusted his gloves, his expression serene, almost bored. "Clean him up," Ayato ordered without looking back. Thoma nodded, pulling a cloth from his belt. Itto flinched as the rough fabric scraped over his chest, wiping away the sticky trails of milk and sweat. The cloth was cold, impersonal, and Itto squeezed his eyes shut, humiliation burning hotter than the lingering ache in his horns.
Once Thoma was done, he took a step back as if to admire his work. Itto lay half-dressed and shivering, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. He tried to curl in on himself, but his limbs felt heavy and uncooperative. Ayato paused at the edge of the bench, looking down at the oni with detached curiosity. "Fascinating resilience," he remarked, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. "We may need to revisit this experiment."
With that, Ayato began to walk off, most likely heading back to the Kamisato Estate as he had much work to do. Thoma followed along obediently, not sparing a glance back at the broken oni. Itto watched them go through blurred vision, his breath hitching in ragged sobs that echoed alone in the garden's stillness. The bench beneath him felt cold and unforgiving, the wood stained with his milk and tears. He tried to move, but his limbs refused, trembling with exhaustion and the lingering phantom pressure on his horns.
Itto felt violated, humiliated, and disgusted with not only Thoma and Ayato, but with himself as well.