Atlantea Ch. 14

"What a beautiful vagina! I love how visible her cervix is. My sister Georgia would be enthralled."

"She likes vaginas?" I asked.

"She's a painter... mostly works in oils. Her favorite subject is genitalia. Male too! Here, let me show you!" Vasilika's large boobs hung down alluringly as she fished around a brown leather satchel on the floor. "Where is that phone!" she mumbled to herself. "Ah, here!" Vasilika made a few swiping gestures, and an image of an oil painting suddenly materialized, in mid-air, at the front of the classroom. We were looking at a hyper-realistic painting of a nude woman's midsection, her clitoris poking out of a generous hood of skin. A cobra was coiled around one of her thighs, the open mouth of the snake aimed towards the viewer. The next image, in a less realistic style, was similar to a Picasso, showing a man on all fours, penis and scrotum hanging down. We looked at a few more of Georgia's works, of varying styles and of both genders.

"Amazing," I said. "How can she paint in so many different styles?"

"I don't have the faintest idea," Vasilika said. "I've known her most of my life, and she's always had an artistic ability. You know, she might like to paint you, if you'd be willing? Some of your CL's naughty messages indicates she thinks your penis is especially noteworthy. Was she serious, or just flirting with you?"

"Well," I said, "I don't mean to sound cocky--"

"No pun intended!" Vasilika interjected, laughing at her own joke.

"Nice!" I said, smiling at the teacher's crude sense of humor. "So, I don't want to brag or anything, but women do seem to appreciate it."

"Would you feel comfortable showing me?" Vasilika asked.

"If you don't mind, I don't mind," I said.

'She's showing her tits, why not show her my junk?' I reasoned. Vasilika looked down at my midsection, waiting for me to disrobe. I squeezed out of my pants and g-string.

"Your CL was not exaggerating," Vasilika said calmly. "May I touch it?"

"Sure," I said, gesturing towards my dick. She ran her hands around the base of my cock.

"Do you always keep it shaved like this? It's pretty that way," she said.

"I got in the habit a while ago; I actually don't have any body hair below the neck." Vasilika just made a humming sound, and began to run her fingers along my erect cock.

"A truly breathtaking penis," she concluded. "What does it look like when it's flaccid? Is it the same size? My sister prefers painting them in that state" she asked.

"It's a little smaller, but not by much."

"Could you ejaculate so that I could see?"

"We probably don't have time..." I said, factoring in how long we had before my next class. I was about to explain that it took forever for me to cum if I was just masturbating myself. Then it dawned on me how weird this conversation was, at least to my sensibilities. "Sorry, is this conversation making you uncomfortable? Back where I'm from this would be, like, totally not an okay thing to talk about, except with a girlfriend or something."

Vasilika waved her hand behind the back of her head, a gesture I didn't recognize.

"What does that mean?" I said, aping her motion.

"Oh, sorry!" she said, "I forget it's only your second day. That gesture indicates... 'lack of concern.' It's like, hmm," she thought for a moment, "shrugging one's shoulders, where you're from? I promise, I enjoy the topic, and if we stray into an area that makes me uncomfortable, I'll let you know. That said, are you uncomfortable?"

"No, actually, but I started to worry maybe I was getting too comfortable... I don't know what's normal here," I said, exhaling. "Anyway, it takes me a while to cum if I'm just getting myself off."

"Interesting," she said, stroking her chin. Apparently that gesture was common across our two countries. "Well, I'll have to take your word for it. Why is your penis erect, for that matter?"

I started to blush. "Well, you're topless, for one thing."

"Just my being topless makes your penis erect?" she asked. I wasn't sure if she was teasing me or not; her tone of voice gave nothing away. I decided to answer honestly.

"Yes. Seeing your breasts makes me get hard. They're beautiful and unique looking."

"Why thank you."

"Also, I almost always get excited when I breastfeed, or, like now, am about to."

"Perhaps we should get started? My tall frame makes my breasts look smaller, in volume, than they actually are; it will take some time to finish drinking from them."

"They look enormous to me!" I blurted out.

"You really know how to compliment a woman," Vasilika said. "Why don't you sit on that chair?" she continued, gesturing towards a weathered-looking, lacquered wooden chair near a window. I took a few steps in the indicated direction. Right as I was passing by Vasilika, I noticed two small pieces of cloth on the floor near her feet. It seemed only polite to pick them up, which I did.

"What are these?" I said, as I handed them to her; I presumed they'd fallen off her person when she'd removed the upper portion of her sari.

"Those are nursing pads; surely you have them on the mainland, too?"

I slapped my forehead; I, of all people, should recognize a nursing pad, given I had been living with four new moms until just recently! "Sorry! Nobody else seems to use them here, so I thought they weren't a thing in Atlantea."

"Interesting!" Vasilika said. "I think I know what is going on, but tell me what you have observed so far."

"On the plane, I breastfed from one of the military women, a 'Valykrie.' She has a very... heavy-duty looking bra, and I didn't see any pads in there. Then my CL does not seem to use them, even though she has milk. And then there was Daphne, who had on a tight t-shirt, but was not even wearing a bra."

"Amazing story about the Valkyrie!" Vasilika exclaimed. "I don't think I've heard that one before. Not with a mainlander! How was her milk?"

"To be honest, it's the least palatable of all the women I've drank from. However, I love it anyway. Without her I'd be starving right now."

Vasilika did a double-take, and her mouth opened briefly into an O shape. "You're still feeding with her?"

"Oh yes," I said blithely, "Every morning and night. She's been crashing at my place."

"Incredible! As our military's most elite force, they can be intimidating even to most Atlanteans. I am simply shocked you've had more than one interaction with her." Then she looked down at my midsection and grinned. "On second thought, maybe I shouldn't be that surprised. Well, be that as it may, I can explain your confusion about nursing pads. You may have noticed that your clothes fit you perfectly?"

"Yeah, someone said it's based on a 3-D scan of my body!"

"Exactly! That is how almost all clothing is made here. Today I am wearing a 'surat', which has been around since, as far as anyone knows, the founding of Atlantea. It is made by hand, rather than a 3-D printer, and is not tailored to my body."

"What does that have to do with nursing pads though?" I asked.

"Modern-day maternity clothing has nursing pads built-in, covering our areaolae. In fact, it's rare for any woman here to wear a brassiere, because of the support built in to the material of the shirts we print. Here, let me show you." She rummaged around in her bag again, and once again her breasts hung down alluringly, making my cock twitch upwards. Vasilika held up a brown, v-neck t-shirt. Like the surat, it seemed to be an especially unflattering color against her skin. She pulled it on, and, sure enough, the material was cut to fit the curvature of her torso, including her breasts, precisely.

"Here, feel," she said, taking my hand and placing it on the underside of her left boob. An electric thrill ran through me as I felt the soft, pliant flesh beneath the thin, yet supportive, cloth. "Feel how the fabric here is much stronger than elsewhere? It is as if a brassiere is built-in to the shirt. Very comfortable, of course, as it is contoured to fit my dimensions exactly. It also stretches and shrinks just enough to account for the varying sizes my breasts take on, depending on whether I'm menstruating, how much milk is inside of them, and so forth." She pulled her shirt off again, and once again my cock twitched as her boobs squeezed out of the tight material and flopped back onto her torso. She turned her shirt inside-out and had me touch the area that would cover her nipples. "See how the fabric is quite thick here?" she said. I touched the region, and sure enough, there was a built-up area of soft material on the inside of the shirt there. "This is why nursing pads are uncommon here; they are usually built in! Ah! Look at the time, though, let's get started."

I looked back at my pants, which were lying on the floor, but she shooed me forward, more worried about the clock than my state of nudity, and had me sit on the chair she had indicated earlier. I sat down, my naked butt hitting the cool surface of the chair and causing a brief shiver to run up my spine. At first, I was not sure what her plan was, but when it dawned on me that the chair had no armrests, I gained an inkling of what was to come. Sure enough, she climbed on top of me, straddling my waist. She scooted as close to me as possible, which required sliding her hips all the way forward. Since she was sitting on my thighs, and was taller than me, her upward-slanting nipples could now be brought to my mouth easily and comfortably. My penis was pressed up against my stomach, separated from her skin only by the thin folds of her surat. If this close proximity to my naked member made her uncomfortable in any way, she gave no sign of it. Just before I was about to latch on, I remembered the stock phrase. While I was not sure it was needed in such an explicit situation, it seemed safer to use it.

«It's dry like the desert sands, is it not?» I recited.

«My waters run full,» she replied, reflexively, as Xyra had. We were both smiling, I because she had responded instinctively, and she because of my incongruous rural accent.

As I latched on to her nipple and drew her areola into my mouth, she wrapped her legs around the back of the chair, and put both hands on the back of my head. She let out a relaxed sigh as her milk let down. The sweetest-tasting breast milk I had ever tasted, even better than Phoebe's or Xanthia's, shot into my mouth from five or six pores on her nipple. It was not the creamiest, but the flavor more than made up for that fact. I almost made the mistake of pulling off, to compliment her, but remembered Jacintha's warning that this could be taken as a grave insult. Instead, I waited two minutes before disengaging.

«My river's yet dry, yet I wish to respect your time,» I said, breaking off.

"Nice job," she said, and pushed her boob back into my face.

Before latching back on, I said, "Cinnamon?"

Vasilika blushed and put one hand on her upper chest, "People often tell me that, yes."

"I'm not just saying this, I have tasted milk from, I think, around twelve different moms, and yours is easily the best-tasting."

"That is quite flattering," Vasilika responded, caressing the back of my head unconsciously. "I did win sectionals when I was an undergrad," she added, with an unmistakable note of pride. Eagerly, she pushed her nipple against my lips and I made a wide O shape with my mouth, drawing in as much as I could before pushing the nipple to the roof of my mouth. I was in heaven, and sucked as hard as I dared. Vasilika sighed happily as oxytocin flooded her system, and pulled herself more tightly to me.

"I notice you still have not ejaculated," she observed, as I finished off one breast and made to move to the other. "Would you mind if I helped that along?" Despite being pinned between us, and being rock hard as well, my cock had not received enough stimulation for me to climax. "I'd like to send my sister a picture, it that would be okay with you."

I could hardly refuse this woman, whose breast milk I was firmly addicted to.

«Whatever ya wanna do's fahn bah may,» I said, reflexively. Having learned from my unfortunate sperm-related incident with my pants, that morning, I removed my shirt, and threw it aside, so it would not get covered in cum.

The tall woman ignored my gesture, and instead put a hand on either side of my head, tilting my head upward so that our eyes met. "How, in the Mother's name, do you know so much Atlantean? And a Zatyrian accent, of all things! You are easily the best student I've ever had."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine." Then I added, having just remembered something, "That reminds me," I added, "is it normal for you Atlanteans to mix in other languages sometimes? I keep hearing random English words."

"No," Vasilika said, "that is not something I have ever heard of. And I, of all people, would know. Are you sure? Can you give me an example?"

"Well, I've heard a bunch; I guess most recently Xyra called me a 'beef-wit'!"

Vasilika looked thoughtful. "That is a common enough epithet in Atlantean, albeit only in the Iaconian dialect."

"Yaconya?" I said.

"Iaconia," she said, correcting my pronunciation slightly, "It is our most tradition-oriented canton, and, now that you say it, it's not surprising Xyra's from there. They produce a disproportionate number of our elite forces, relative to their population size. But it seems a ludicrous proposition that she secretly knows English, and has been hiding it from you."

"Why not?" I asked. "Isn't subterfuge something those types would learn?"

"The interactions you've described having with her are, for a Valkyrie, signs of intimacy. Even in the unlikely situation that she did, secretly, know English, she would have told you by now."

I was stunned by this information. As far as I could tell, Xyra had been hanging around me in order to use me as a fuck toy. Because of my tolerance for xhash, the Atlanean equivalent of Cialis, she could assault my cock for as long as she felt like. It did now occur to me, however, that perhaps I was being one-sided in my judgment. She had been feeding me copious amounts of her breast milk, for example. "We did do some other stuff," I said out loud, mostly to myself.

"Like what?" the curious teacher said. I could feel her body go rigid against mine.

"We had a sort of pee battle with each other -- I don't know how else to describe it -- in the shower. And then she rubbed some into my dick."

"That is a Valkyrie tradition; I'm surprised she performed it with you, especially so soon after meeting you. You do not seem to realize it, but she must feel especially close to you already. Would you mind if I relayed this to Omarasa? As an anthropologist, she would find it fascinating." I nodded in response. The novelty of this latest news had worn off, and I was back to desperately wanting more of Vasilika's cinnamon breast milk. "I had also better get you Iaconians for your one-on-one sessions; it's too late today, but I should be able to switch things around starting tomorrow afternoon." Distractedly, she pushed forward with her remaining, full, breast, and I latched on. My mind went blank as the restorative fluid shot into my throat.

This time, she began to gyrate her hips, which caused her pubic bone to rub against my cock. Unlike Xyra, Vasilika was not able to isolate her hip movements, and her breast tugged this way and that as her torso moved around. Already in a haze of pleasure, it was not long before semen began spurting up into the space between us. "Oh, good!" Vasilika crowed, evidently nonplussed by the fact that both of our torsos were covered in sticky white fluid, "Now I can get some pictures!"

She withdrew her tit and stood up, backing away from me. I had my legs spread slightly, and my limp, sticky cock was hanging, between my legs, over the edge of the chair.

"It sure doesn't shrink much, does it?" Vasilika observed. She was holding her phone up to my midsection, gesturing with one hand above the screen. "Oh, she's responded already!"

"Who?"

"Georgia! As I thought, she is most intrigued. Would you mind getting onto all fours?" Eager to get back to breast feeding, I complied with the request, holding the embarrassing position for half a minute. "What an enormous scrotum! I love your lack of hair, and how clean your anus is!" she marveled. Then, apparently at Georgia's request, she held up her forearm against my limp dick, and sent a picture of that as well. "Would you mind if I send along your contact information? She won't be able to do anything with it for another 29 days. But I'm sure she'd love for you to model."

I nodded mechanically. All I could think of was cinnamon-flavored, liquid nutrition. We resumed our earlier position, and I commenced nursing once more. I barely noticed as Vasilika began to muse, out loud, about my ability with the Atlantean language. "The only explanation I can think of, hmm, is that you have some stored knowledge of our language in your brain. Where in the Mother's name that came from, I can't imagine. Would you mind if I tried an experiment?" After a few beats, I still had not responded, being lost in a haze of pleasure. She took my silence as affirmation.

«--- you ---------- ----?» she asked. I gave no response.

«Did you ---------- this?» she repeated. I understood more, now.

'Is she mixing in English words? But she just said that's not a thing!' I thought.

I finally got it on the last repetition.

«Did you understand this?» she said. I nodded.

"Now did it sound to you, at any point, like I was using English words?" she asked. I nodded again, pulling her boob up and down with my mouth. "Well, I assure you, I was not. Somehow, your subconscious is making it seem that way. Let's try again!"

Vasilika began to repeat a series of phrases in Atlantean. With anywhere from two to five repetitions, I could understand a simple sentence like the one she had started with. Also, once I learned a word, like «did», I did not need to learn it again, and would recognize immediately if it cropped up again.

* * *

Writing class proved to be, for me, the diametric opposite of oral communication. I went from being the star of the class to, easily, the slowest student. Our instructor, Orion, was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties. His presence was confusing; supposedly no adult males under fifty were allowed to live here, other than us visitors. I resolved to ask Jacintha about this seeming contradiction, later. Perhaps the rules were different on Kumaiya Island. The class moved swiftly, and within the first hour we were practicing writing out the alphabet, and simple words, in Common Script. I was the only student not to finish an in-class exercise on time, where we had to write several phrases, from memory, on our tablets.

I did even worse when Orion introduced the numeral system. Unlike the rest of the world, Atlantea has a base twelve system. They do not use Arabic numerals, either, and have two extra characters to represent the values ten and eleven. The combination of having to think in a different base, and use entirely unfamiliar symbols for the digits, taxed my brain, clearly, more than it did the rest of the students. Orion was nice about it, thankfully, offering to provide extra assistance, and giving me some additional homework for practice.

The last class of the day was a one-on-one conversation. Each student was paired up with an Atlantean for two hours, to practice real-world conversation. My pairing was with another man, Adrian. He looked to be in his early forties, if I had to guess, well-built with a touch of gray along the sides of his head. I assumed he was over fifty and just looked young. He did not speak English, but did not need to. The exercise for the day was for the Atlanteans to show us around Kumaiya Island, serving the dual purpose of orienting us to the area, as well as providing many things to point at. We took the subway to different locales: a small shopping district, the hospital, an area with restaurants, some government buildings, and a small park. Critically, he pointed out a hair salon that also did hair removal; it was only open on the weekend, when the male visitors did not have classes. Adrian also pointed out different objects, structures and landmarks, giving me the Atlantean word for each. I was a fast study, and in some cases found I already knew the word, before he told me.