Author POV

Avantika stepped back, letting the echo of Ishita’s final, shattered cry fade into the padded walls of the basement playroom. The milking machine continued its steady, mechanical rhythm—suck, release, suck, release—drawing thin white streams that dripped into the collection bottles with soft, obscene plinks. Ishita’s body hung limp in the custom restraint frame, wrists and ankles secured in soft leather cuffs, spine arched just enough to keep her breasts presented forward like offerings. Sweat glistened on her skin; her thighs trembled with aftershocks.