vezimira

Magemaid Milkmaid

You ever catch yourself thinking so hard about man tiddy that you need to write it out of your system? Yeah, same. Here's some NSFW about that.

Tags: F/M, milking, mpreg, male lactation, femboys, wizards, nipple play, barely comprehensible sentence structure, a semblance of story.....

1600 words

Though a man is not made by his husband or wife, strange talk always follows sorcerers half-wedded to devil lords; there is a stain on them by association, or elsewhere in the world a blessing, and it is difficult to imagine one as sovereign without the other, man without demonic consort. The moth enchanters of Nakhtish north are in everyone’s mind whores and property of lord Orianakht before anything else; in Khuras, the priesthood brands mages and their devassar children to clearly mark them family of the great and awful Devassago; king Manahri, who himself commands a great harem and greater power, is first and forever a bride of lady Ishtaroth. Where I was born, sorcerers are made deeply sacred by their marriage to the First Devil, and common folk - like me, or you, or any roving bastard of our kind - are so in awe of Bael that we consider it altogether taboo to speak to magicians without good reason.  On more than one occasion, the bull-headed Baelmen that lead our tribes tried to make it steppe law that one could only look at magicians this or that way, but you know how it goes in the Baelands - laws live for only as long as chieftains do, and that is not very long at all. But I digress; back to sorcerers and their being in my homeland.

As you may know, I was not much of a warrior in my youth, nor did I aspire to become one. I was a cowherd’s daughter, and as a cowherd’s daughter - one content in her simple life, I should say - I had no good reason to speak to or even meet a magician. My tribe, the Sha-Ul, produced two or three sorcerers over the course of its existence, and they had all left before I was born, seeking out masters deeper in the Baelands. I knew sorcerers from stories, not experience; and when one came to speak to me, suddenly and unexpectedly, I mistook him for a prairie shamaness. He was small, and pretty, and lovely, and his red robes looked awfully garish in between my beige-brown cows.

“Baelbatu,” he greeted me, “are you the cowgirl of Sha-Ul?”

“Baelbatu,” I said, barely lifting from my warm spot in the tall grass, “yes, I suppose.”

“Do you milk your cows?” he asked. I looked at him more closely then, and saw that he was indeed a he - dainty and painted, but very much a he still.

“What else would I do with them?” I quipped back, not so sure whether the red boy was even real - or an idle daydream.

“I see,” he said and rubbed his lithe chest, “if you’re skilled, then I would like you to milk me.”

I said nothing. I stared him down, eyebrows raised, mind wandering.

“Come to the Ul grove this evening—no, this afternoon, and hurry,” he said, spun about, sang a song, and disappeared in a flurry of feathers. My cows grazed on, and I was left with no explanation or proof that I had been indeed visited by a sorcerer.

Knowing no better, I jumped to my feet and ran to my old ma. I told her everything, and she scolded me, then she smacked me for lying or daydreaming or not showing proper respect to a wizard, and then she sent me off to the Ul grove. Whether the red magician had been real or not, his being - dreamed or otherwise - was a sign, and signs were to be followed.

In the Ul grove, which sat five miles from where our tribe made camp at the height of summer, I found that I had not made up the mage. He was there, now without his red garments - or any garments at all - and he was waiting for me. My words cannot do his body justice, but I must try regardless to describe him to you as he was then, if only to honor the gods above and below who had made him.

His hair was a deep chestnut, and as it is with all sorcerers, it was the brightest part of him. It flowed in waves around his bare frame, thick like a well-tended mare’s mane, magical, beautiful. His eyes were a similar shade, only greener, inviting, welled with tears of strain. The reasons of his unease were immediately obvious: firstly, above his strong legs, his cock leapt hard and ready; secondly, higher up, above the line of his tense stomach, two little pink nipples swelled on his flat chest, so sharply erect it seemed as if he were freezing. Immediately, I wanted to bite them, to suck on them, to be a milkmaid to that little girlish man - and only him.

“You’re here,” he exhaled, relieved, and squeezed his little tits together, “thank you. Thank you. Help me.”

I needed no further encouragement. I crawled through the glade shrubs and sat with the sorcerer by a deceptively deep pool. We were surrounded by sounds; cricketing, the rustling of leaves, the whispering of high grass; but it was all quiet background noise next to the sorcerer’s deep heaving. I took him gently by the waist, forcing a louder sigh out of him - and an explanation.

“There is an egg in my womb,” he said, lightly touching his abdomen, “in four or five months, I—I will birth a Baelman - but that needs not concern you.”

I pretended to understand. My lips met his stomach, his ribs.

“My body readies itself for nursing,” he continued, squirming, whining, “but it is not easy—it is never easy. Help me, would you? Tease milk out of me, girl.”

I kissed his navel deeper than I’d ever kissed anyone or anything. It tasted of his syrupy sweat.

“Please,” he added. He sounded so desperate, the poor thing, that I had to obey - that I had to relieve him.

His chest, not feminine or curved in the way of an expectant woman, held a strange, irresistible appeal; it was boyish, soft, smooth, and a beautiful peculiarity. Where’d it fit the sweetness I was called to tease out, I wondered? With my hands, I felt about it, cupped what little of breasts the manling had, and found no heavy sacs to squeeze and unease and unload. Curious, my thumbs moved to his nipples, over them; I felt their hardness and I was wet from the touch, wet between my legs, as I’d never felt anything so lewd - so erotic as that man’s straining nipples. My touch made them red and tender; he moaned when I rubbed over his nubs, and then again, louder, when I pinched them.

For whatever cruel reason, I imagined them pierced. I pictured those buttons giving under the weight of bone links, or gold rings; I imagined tugging a chain binding the two of them together, twins enslaved.

“Harder,” the sorcerer mewled, and I concluded that my hands were not a fine enough tool for the job, and I moved to work the boy’s teats with my mouth. My saliva was like balm on his skin; it soothed the boy, pleaded with his little tits to yield.

“I don’t know,” he whimpered, almost cried, and arched his back so that I held him like an exposed doll, still sucked tightly onto him. The pull of my lips brought him pleasure, but not comfort.

I understood that he needed my teeth.

With care, I ground the boy’s nipples between my incisors, and then clamped onto him with the zeal of a starved kitten. He winced, and so I held him tighter, and I abused him; I bit his teats so sharply I threatened to pierce them for the rings I’d dreamt; I pulled on them as if they were a dog’s chew toy; I braced them oppressively and demanded they let my tongue inside. And under that assault, the magician’s udderlets gave, trickling milky white onto my tongue.

There’s no sweeter drink in the world than the fatty sap from a sorcerer’s tit, I promise, I swear. I was so taken by the taste that I forgot a little about my pledge to help the boy and grew aggressive in my pursuit of his sugary produce; he begged me to stop sucking on his tits even, and I didn’t hear him, not until he came from the milking.

He was an awful mess after. His groin was sticky with a gush of pent-up come; his chest was glazed over with spit and thin cream. Sweat glued long strands of his hair together and made him seem a filthy thing, a juiced whore, rather than a devil lord’s mighty consort.

“Thank you,” he stammered in tinny voice, spent and panting, and fell entirely limp in my arms. Kind soul that I was, I rinsed him in the chilly pool nearby, and I swore him my service, and I told him my name. He did not return the last courtesy, and once he could stand by his own on his wobbly legs, he spun about - sang a spell - and disappeared as he did before.

We met again after, far later, far east in the devassar city of Nhandu, and he did not beg my aid again. We spoke over dinner, and we shared a cot, and we parted ways in the morning. He went back to the Baelands, whereas I wandered on, forever in pursuit of the Taste. No longer a simple milkmaid, but the Mercenary Midwife, I now walk the world to ease the laying pains of sorcerers, and to steal sips meant for their strange young. That is the story you wished to hear, friend; now that you know the origin of my calling, let me warn you just briefly against letting man milk on your tongue. You might grow to crave it more than anything in the world.

edit: have a little extra of my boyfriend going into reading this out loud entirely unprepared

March 2023 lewd suggestions

tell me your SAUCY IDEAS

ahriman on ahriwoman

the saucerers have decided

i write poems for boy

here's one of them that i wanted to share with a lil doodle

dragons

some dragon lore for solosofia

really like this cute style

show

was playing with some shading

2023 February NSFW Poll

hhhhh what lewds do you want me to draw

2023 February suggestion post

Hey hey! Give me your suggestions for lewd drawings, the best will make it to the poll in a few days!

Travel Notice

Dear saucerers and smutlings,

I am going on a trip today, so don't expect a lot of updates in the upcoming week. Best behavior!

January 2023 Lewds result

boy with a very longue tongue won

happy bunny year, degenerates 🐰

dragon shenanigans

because i wanted some dragons

and kobolds

drow doodles

more drow doodles!

January 2023 NSFW poll

what lewds are we drawing this month, my dear saucerers?

recent drow doodles

toying around with colors :3 gonna post some comics later

December Saucery

Saucerers voted for some drider and drow femboy action, so here you have a drider matron making an outfit for her favorite boy~

if you want to give suggestions/vote on what lewds get drawn, consider upgrading to the saucerer tier!

January 2023 lewd suggestions post

December result will be posted later today, bit delayed cus the end of the year was hectic with festivities n all~

You know the drill tho, give me lewd ideas and the best will make it to the poll!

mushroom lore

mushroom lore 🍄

veziverse 2022 bingo

i hope there were many maid outfits worn this year

Drowcember 2022 NSFW poll

nearly all of the suggestions were drow themed....... :D the dark elf hype is real

December 2022 NSFW Suggestions

Give me your lewd ideas to draw and I'll give you a poll in a week :D

two necroboys meet up in a crypt to bone...

nsfw poll winner :D

Red Sorcerer Bride Chapter 3

New chapter :D

there's a bit of nsfw (nudity)

>> IMGUR LINK << 

Mallory's Gift

A little bit of fantasy F/M romance. Lady/Wizard, SFW, 1300 words

MALLORY’S GIFT

“It is worth more than I am.”

The sorcerer announced his observation firmly, clearly, without the shyness one came to expect of those in doubt of their own value. Strangely enough, Mallory Roux had no doubt at all in him, or he let none show; he presented the fact of his comparative worthlessness as, well, a fact. The necklace before him - a choker set with gems of exorbitant value - would’ve indeed scored a higher price in the indiscriminate markets of the far west, but Nakht wasn’t the far west, and Mallory had never been considered a commodity by the jewel’s buyer besides.

The choker was a gift. It was a beauty to be worn by another, wholly lusterless without a wearer, without Mallory.

“No stars without a firmament,” said a woman sat across the sorcerer. She was unassuming, shorter than Mallory, mud-eyed and plainly dressed; nothing in her muted visage betrayed her obscene power.

“How should I understand this?” asked the sorcerer, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. The woman smiled at that, though not maliciously, not triumphantly; the sorcerer’s vulnerability was precious, dear.

“It is a present,” said the gray lady, “and an offer.”

“Of what sort?”

There came no answer. Mallory canted his head, his impassive facade cracking under this new pressure. A long strand of alabaster hair fell over his shoulder; the motion was keenly noticed and cherished.

“I do not think I can accept this, Estelle,” the sorcerer then continued, “and I believe I owe you an apology. It appears I have somehow fooled you into thinking me extraordinary.”

Still silent, Estelle pushed herself up from her seat and paced leisurely over to the wizard. She stood by his armchair for a brief, scouting him, drinking him in, and then leaned down to collect a tribute.

Their kiss was a wonder, an impossibility. He was detached, and she was utterly dispassionate, and yet their cold temperaments mixed into something hot when they were together. Their breaths were warm, and their hearts were warm, and the looks they gave one another from beneath fluttering eyelashes were warm also, loaded with thawing sentiment.

“Take a walk with me,” said Estelle after, once she was sated. Mallory seemed hesitant, but he voiced no protest. He never protested his lady lover, well-mannered as he was.

Thus, the lady took the boy and the jewel for a stroll.

Together, they went to pace about the battlements of Estelle’s domain. The Avelotine district she presided over was as unsuspecting as she was, but - as it was with the lady also - something dark and uneasy lingered in its shadow. From the district walls, one could glimpse the birthing gorge of Avelot, a bloody ravine around which all of the capital had been built; from within it came whispers and the fluttering of moth wings, only barely heard, insidious, ominous.

“You understand that marriage is as much a business as it is a matter of romance,” began Estelle after a stretch of quaint silence, “especially for women of my station.”

“Yes,” said Mallory plainly and looked to Estelle’s gloved hands. In them, she cradled the choker case, and the sorcerer’s gaze was inevitably drawn back to it every few seconds. He desired it, and all that came with it.

“Then you must also understand that I do not make this offer lightly,” said Estelle, “my love for you does not come from whimsy, from fleeting fancy. It is not that I favor you now, only now, like a season’s colors. I love you, Mallory, because you are perfect.”

The sorcerer bloomed at the confession, though he’d heard it before, though he’d been given so much sweet affection that the taste of it should’ve soured to him long ago. But he was still grateful, and he was still charmed, and he was blushing and sheening and glad.

“You give me too much credit,” he said and gathered his long hair behind his ears. The dim light of the overcast sun reflected of his silver earrings; also a gift from Estelle, also perversely expensive, also radiant on him and only on him.

“You are calling my judgement in question,” noted Estelle, “I do not like that.”

“My apologies, lady Estelle.”

“Accepted.” She gave a faint smile. “Do you worry that you would not be able to keep up with the intrigue of the clergy as my husband?”

“No.” Mallory’s gaze steeled, then softened again. “I worry that marriage to me might reflect poorly on your reputation, my lady. My mother owns no land or army, nor is she a chevalier or any other kind of vagrant hero.”

“I have taken that into account.” Estelle paused and stared off, towards the grand cathedral looming over the birthing gorge. It was an indomitable giant, the Nome-Diable of Avelot; half-bastion, half-basilica, it was both the religious and the militant heart of the city.

“Have you?”

“The benefits of our consortship far outweigh the detriments, cher. Yes, some prelates of the Inner Council may not send us engagement gifts, but I doubt any woman would be foolish enough to speak out against our union.” Estelle’s faint smile widened into a devious smirk. “After all, the daughter of the Grand Midwife married an orphan peasant, did she not? Any insult to us would be an indirect slight on the Midwife’s family and the dames of the Council know how short-fused Annette can be.”

Mallory tapped his cheek. He was amused, but yet unconvinced. “Fair enough.”

“I would keep you safe from hate,” continued Estelle, “one way or another, though I feel you would not need my protection at all, Mallory. That is one facet of your perfection; one of many. You’ve a serpent’s mind, clever and quick and sly, and you are beautiful, and you inspire jealousy.”

The sorcerer gave Estelle an empty look. He was evaluating her words, passing judgement.

“You are dear to my heart,” she added, “but to my mind, also. Not every good lover makes for a good husband, and not every good husband makes for a good consort to a lady of the Council. You, Mallory, are a rare breed. I want you. Please, consider this proposal again.”

He slowed in his stride, and he breathed deeply, and he neatened his cinched robe. Afterwards, he looked at the gift in Estelle’s hands, and he touched over his throat where the choker would sit.

“May I feel it on my skin?” he asked, and Estelle obliged. Obediently, he pulled his lovely mane aside so that she could clasp the jewel about his neck, collar him. It was a simple, yet deeply intimate gesture, and Estelle felt something new at its passing; happiness, perhaps, tinged with some odd sort of wholesome lust. To desire a secret lover was thrilling; to desire one’s own fiancé was fulfilling.

“Let us be like birds in the sky,” she whispered to him after the choker’s clasp clicked in place, “I shall be the plain, deadly female, and you my radiant male, drawing the gaze of the world.”

He laughed at that. Slowly, he turned, displaying every cut diamond on the black band of his necklace, and Estelle was satisfied with her choice of gems and man. They were bright, and he was bright; a perfect match.

“Let us be like birds in the sky,” Mallory Roux said, and that was his yes, and Estelle needed no more than that. She leaned on his arm, and they walked on to the sound of the bells of the Nome-Diable, and they imagined the ringing to be for them.

Soon, it would be.

Soon, Mallory Roux would be remade as Mallory an Varre, and he would be given the softest of nests, the highest of perches, the gentlest of all loving preenings.

Vez MERCH Questions

Hey there! I am working on opening my Redbubble and would like to know what you guys would like to see there. Is there any specific art or theme you'd be interested in getting in sticker/pin/shirt form? Let me know in the comments!

Drow comic races!

I've been making a lil drow comic on the Patreon Discord :D Will upload it here when I have more pages done!

2022 November Lewd Art Poll

you know the drillllllll

vote on what lewds you wanna see

What type of content would like to see more of here?

Hello peeps! I figured I haven't made a post of this sort before, and I wanted to do it now. What stuff would you like to see more of on my Patreon? Memes, writing, Warhammer-related content, lewds, worldbuilding, anything else? Tell me in the comments :D

vampire shenanigans

i needed to get that idea out of my system

November 2022 lewd suggestions post

it's time for saucy ideas again folks, say what lewdness you wanna see drawn this month

October 2022 Lewdness + altversions

The winning suggestion this month was Femboy Space Wizard + Femgirl Space Wizard :D Wanna make suggestions and vote on what gets made? Consider upgrading to the Saucerer tier!