Day 5
Day five dawned with a sense of quiet anticipation. The previous days had been a whirlwind of sensation, a rollercoaster of pleasure and pain, dominance and submission. Harry, his body still bearing the marks of those intense encounters, awoke with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. He knew that the Prince had something new planned for him, something that would push him even further beyond his comfort zone.
He found the Prince already awake, watching him with a possessive glint in his eyes. "Good morning, my sweet," the Prince murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He leaned down, his lips brushing against Harry's in a soft, teasing kiss. "Ready for your… public… debut?"
Harry's heart pounded in his chest. Public debut? The words conjured images of crowds, of eyes watching him, of being exposed in a way he had never imagined. He swallowed nervously, his throat suddenly dry.
"I…" he began, his voice barely a whisper, but the Prince silenced him with a finger pressed gently against his lips.
"No need for words," the Prince murmured, his eyes locking with Harry's. "Just… obedience… and… a willingness… to… share."
He then rose from the bed, his movements fluid and purposeful. He retrieved a simple tunic and trousers from a nearby wardrobe and laid them on the bed. "These," he explained, his voice smooth and persuasive, "are… your… uniform… for… today."
Harry looked at the clothes, his confusion growing. They were plain, unassuming, nothing like the elaborate costumes he had worn in the past. He wondered what the Prince had in store for him.
"Today," the Prince continued, his voice a low rumble, "you… will… be… serving… the… public."
He then led Harry from the bedchamber, through the silent corridors of Gringotts, to a part of the establishment that Harry had never seen before. They reached a bustling area, filled with the sounds of chatter, clinking cups, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was a cafe, a small, cozy space where goblins and other creatures gathered to relax and socialize.
"This," the Prince announced, his voice smooth and persuasive, "is… your… stage… for… today."
He gestured towards a small counter, behind which stood a gleaming silver and brass milking machine. Harry's eyes widened. He knew what that machine was for, and a wave of apprehension washed over him.
"You… will… be… providing… the… milk," the Prince explained, his voice a low rumble. "Fresh… from… the… source."
He then pointed to a sign that hung above the counter. It read: "The Leaky Cauldron Cafe – Fresh Milk Daily."
Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He was going to be a milk faucet, a living dairy, his breasts on display for all to see. The thought was both terrifying and incredibly arousing.
The Prince then led Harry behind the counter, his touch lingering on his skin. He helped him to put on the tunic and trousers, his gaze never leaving his.
"Remember," the Prince whispered, his voice soft and tender, "you… are… mine. And… you… are… doing… this… for… me."
He then kissed Harry softly on the lips, his touch lingering, igniting a fire within him. "Now," he murmured, "go… and… serve."
He then stepped back, his eyes scanning Harry's body, his expression a mixture of amusement and possessive pride. "You… are… perfect," he whispered. "A… masterpiece… of… nature."
He then turned and left the cafe, leaving Harry alone behind the counter, his heart pounding in his chest. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, his breasts on display for all to see. The thought both terrified and excited him, a potent cocktail of fear and anticipation swirling within him as he waited for the first… customer… to arrive. The day's activities had begun.
The bell above the cafe door jingled, announcing the arrival of the first customer. Harry, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands slightly trembling, plastered a polite smile on his face, trying to project an air of professionalism despite the turmoil within him. He glanced at the customer, a stout goblin with a bushy beard and a twinkle in his eye, who was approaching the counter with a look of eager anticipation.
"Good morning," Harry greeted, his voice a little shaky. "What can I get for you?"
"Just a mug of fresh milk," the goblin replied, his gaze lingering a little too long on Harry's chest. "I've heard… good things… about your milk."
Harry blushed, his cheeks flushing a warm pink. He knew what the goblin meant, and a wave of embarrassment mixed with a strange sense of pride washed over him. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and his reputation was… spreading.
He turned to the milking machine, its gleaming silver and brass surface catching the light. He placed a mug beneath the spigot, his movements a little clumsy, his hands still trembling slightly. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and activated the machine.
A gentle whirring sound filled the air as the machine began to work its magic. Harry felt a strange tingling sensation in his breasts, a familiar warmth spreading through his body. He watched as the milk began to flow, creamy and white, filling the mug to the brim.
He handed the mug to the goblin, his gaze averted, his cheeks still flushed. "Here you go," he murmured. "Fresh milk."
The goblin took the mug, his eyes still lingering on Harry's chest. He chuckled softly, a low rumble that sent a shiver down Harry's spine. "Thank you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "I'm sure I'll enjoy it."
He then turned and walked away, taking a seat at a nearby table. He took a sip of the milk, his eyes closing in apparent pleasure. Harry watched him from behind the counter, his heart still pounding in his chest. He felt exposed, vulnerable, his body on display for all to see.
But then, he noticed the goblin's expression, the look of pure enjoyment on his face. He saw other customers glancing at him, their eyes filled with curiosity and… appreciation. He heard whispers, murmurs of admiration, and a strange sense of pride began to swell within him.
He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was providing a service, a pleasure, to the customers of the Leaky Cauldron Cafe. He was being used, claimed, shared, but in a way that was… different… from the previous days. He was still at the mercy of others, but in a way that felt… less… degrading.
As the day progressed, more customers arrived, each one ordering a mug of fresh milk. Harry served them all, his movements becoming more confident, his smile more genuine. He even began to engage in small talk, chatting with the customers, learning their names, their stories.
He discovered that the cafe was a hub of activity, a place where goblins and other creatures from all walks of life gathered to relax, socialize, and enjoy a good cup of milk. He was a part of that community, a vital component of their daily routine.
He was still being used, claimed, shared, but in a way that felt… almost… normal. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was proud of it. He was providing a service, a pleasure, and he was doing it with a smile.
As the day drew to a close, Harry felt a sense of accomplishment, a feeling that he had contributed something meaningful to the community. He was no longer just a vessel for pleasure, a canvas for desire. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was proud of his role.
He looked forward to the next day, to serving more customers, to sharing his… gift… with the world. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was ready to… serve.
As the cafe began to empty, the aroma of spilled milk and lingering coffee hanging in the air, Harry leaned against the counter, a tired but satisfied smile on his face. He had served dozens of customers that day, each one enjoying a mug of his fresh milk. The initial nervousness had subsided, replaced by a sense of accomplishment and a strange, almost maternal pride in his… production. He was no longer just Harry, the boy who lived, the chosen one. He was Harry, the milk provider, a vital part of the Leaky Cauldron Cafe, and by extension, the Gringotts community.
He glanced at the milking machine, its gleaming surface now slightly smeared with milk residue. He reached out and gently cleaned it, his touch almost reverent. He had a newfound respect for the machine, for its ability to transform him into a source of nourishment, a vessel of sustenance.
The bell above the door jingled, announcing the arrival of one last customer. Harry straightened up, plastering a polite smile on his face, ready to serve. He looked up and his breath hitched. It was the Prince.
He approached the counter, his gaze lingering on Harry, a mixture of amusement and possessive pride in his eyes. "Just a mug of fresh milk," he purred, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He felt a rush of warmth, a mixture of nervousness and excitement. He was no longer just serving a customer. He was serving the Prince, the man who owned him, the man who had orchestrated this entire experience.
He reached for a clean mug, his movements a little clumsy, his hands trembling slightly. He placed it beneath the spigot of the milking machine, his gaze averted, his cheeks flushing a warm pink. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and activated the machine.
The familiar whirring sound filled the air as the milk began to flow, creamy and white, filling the mug to the brim. Harry watched it with a strange sense of fascination, his mind drifting back to the previous days, to the intense encounters, the overwhelming sensations. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was being used, claimed, shared. But today, it felt different. It felt… almost… consensual.
He handed the mug to the Prince, his gaze finally meeting his. "Here you go," he murmured, his voice a little shaky. "Fresh milk."
The Prince took the mug, his eyes locking with Harry's. He took a sip, his eyes closing in apparent pleasure. "Delicious," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "Truly… remarkable."
He then placed the mug on the counter and reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of Harry's cheek. "You… were… magnificent… today," he whispered, his voice a husky promise. "Truly… remarkable."
Harry blushed, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and affection. He was being praised, admired, appreciated, and it felt… good.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
The Prince then leaned closer, his lips brushing against Harry's ear. "Come," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "It's… time… to… go… home."
He then took Harry's hand and led him from the cafe, leaving the Leaky Cauldron Cafe behind. As they walked through the silent corridors of Gringotts, Harry felt a sense of peace, a feeling that he had accomplished something meaningful. He was a milk faucet, a living dairy, and he was proud of his role. He was also Harry, the boy who lived, the chosen one, and he was loved by the Prince. He was both, and he was content. The day's activities were finally over, but the memories, the sensations, the emotions, would linger long into the night, a testament to the complex, unconventional bond that existed between them.