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d to prance, hobbling chain mandating many short and seemingly dainty steps, 128 feels her pores open. Sweat exudes. Meanwhile she envies the stylish cool and flowing sarong, the beautiful woman enjoying a casual stroll. With an occasional wind the hem flips to reveal Miss Florence wears nothing beneath, the garment practical in terms of quickly and easily engaging in her so termed peccadillo... the need for Shannon and his Cannon... big black cock.
Tiptoeing past a third sodomy stanchion, 128’s concern begins to dissipate. Miss Florence seems focused... a direct journey to the milking parlor. Within minutes, another unassuming structure is reached, nothing at Nusquam pretentious. In entering 128’s eyes widen, the scene decadently perverse.
The interior of the simple cinder block building appears to be a laboratory, walls of white, floor tiled, wet and smelling of strong detergent. A Mastiff momentarily distracts in greeting, flaring nostrils immediately examining 128’s cunny for evidence of unauthorized masturbation. His hot breath excites, 128’s labia long neglected.
Satisfied there has been no mischief, the hound withdraws allowing 128 to focus. Four female subjugants hang in suspension, naked, tatooed, bands of steels declaring their servitude, bald heads with the branded red letter ‘N’ prominently proclaiming ownership on the right buttock of the girl nearest the entryway.
Each hangs face down from cables, most of their weight supported by a broad nylon strap at the hips and lower abdomen. Arms and legs folded behind, the wrist and ankle bands are secured high to slim cables to hold in a hog tie. Another cable attached to the back of the neck collar positions the face and head at waist level. A spreader bar, thigh band to thigh band, holds open the feminine portals, the ease of access daunting. A sizable tag dangles from each right ear. There is machinery. There is tubing, including feeding tubes cruelly thrust into the nostrils. 128 quickly understands the purpose of the bondage and equipment, for dangling obscenely, on one girl nearly to the floor, are massive mammary glands and bizarrely elongated nipples. Milking parlor indeed.
“Good afternoon, Judy,” Miss Florence greets in a stentorian stage voice, leading to the third dangling form. “Or I suppose I should say 98,” her tone turning to mock in referencing the large black numerals on the tattooed forehead.
The leash hand draws 128 to the woman’s front, allowing close observation. 98 at one time was pretty, 128 concludes. And though there are unsightly rolls of fat about the stomach, thighs and upturned calves, probably shapely as well.
“Fuck you!” comes a terse response, the words barely discernible in being encumbered by the feeding tube.
“My, my 98. Such an attitude. You detest my presence but you’re already letting down for me. You’re now trained to react to the sound of my voice... how sweet... how gratifying. You may curse my visit but your glands crave my attention. They’re always seeking a hand milking. From the woman you so much despise.”
Indeed, 128 looks to see a rivulet of lactate streaming down a right nipple of many inches.
“The girls are machine milked regularly,” Miss Florence explains. “The process is thorough, consistent and with the constant deluge of prolactin, lactose and other special nutrients, their daily yield grows and grows. But the suctioning can be harsh, teat cups tight on nipples quite sensitive. Thus the yearning for a slow soothing hand milking. It’s much preferred... and much denied. For her, it is only I who offers... much to 98’s chagrin.”
A hand reaches forth. Thumb and forefinger squeeze the right nipple at the base then slowly draw downward to the tip, bringing forth a burst of beige liquid which splashes to the tile below. With the finger work comes another utterance, the word ‘bitch’. Miss Florence laughs wickedly.
“Before rendered to Nusquam, Miss Judy Dupont was a talented and aspiring actress... and a very pretty girl with a disarming smile. We found ourselves constantly crossing paths in auditioning for roles. There was one I knew was perfect for me... and to my dismay she landed it. Seems she sucked the producer’s cock, no doubt smiling with charm, and well enough to be deemed a potential starlet. Unfortunately she disappeared from Hollywood before the first shooting. The director assumed she got cold feet and I got a call back. No cock sucking for me. I merely have talent. The role jump started what has become a very lucrative career.
“The Nusquam fee was well worth the price. A life time of servitude for one of Hollywood’s most promising talents. Monetarily, it was a stretch at the time. Used the entire paycheck from my first film.”
The left hand pinches the cheek of a well tethered 98, helplessly hanging in obvious fury and frustration.
“You’ll not be snatching any more roles from me, Judy... unless there’s a part for a fat, tattooed branded girl who can lactate on demand, ha, ha, ha. You going to smile for me? Ha, ha, ha.”“
One of Nusquam’s many tending white uniformed nurses appears from a small office.
“Good afternoon Miss Gale. She’s not been milked today, as you requested. Would you like a basin?”
“Oh yes. 98 so much enjoys providing for me... don’t you? Such a fertile cow.”
The nurse moves to an opposing wall, gathering from a hook a stainless vessel of surprising size.
“Shannon, why not offer Miss Judy a taste of the Cannon,” gesturing for her bronzed bull stud to step forth. “She so much enjoys sucking... and she’s been defanged,” Miss Florence points out to 128. “Standard procedure. She remains a little too feisty and biting is always a concern,” an index finger pressing past defenseless lips to thrust into the mouth of the human cow.
“And now your smile disarms even more, Judy,” Miss Florence peeling back the lips to exhibit the edentulous pink of 98’s mouth.
Miss Florence mockingly taps the girl’s nose, highlighting her helplessness.
“Before we return to California I’ll leave behind a sample of Shannon’s seed. You’re probably due to be inseminated again in a few weeks. Have to keep these tits ready to let down for me,” Miss Florence withdrawing her hand as Shannon steps forth to offer his mammoth uncircumsized organ.
“I have her impregnated regularly. Keeps her humble,” a gloating Miss Florence announces. “How many has it been now, 98? Three... four? It will be many more by the time you’re relegated to the pump house. Only then will you begin to shed all these rolls of fat,” the left hand reaching to cruelly grasp and tug at a thick layer of flesh.
Ah the look of Schadenfreude, 128 notes. Miss Florence indeed enjoys her vengeance.
“Sucking cock and being milked. It’s the perfect role for you. And you don’t have to act. Such a sense of gratification it must offer you...”
The steel basin is placed on the floor. The nurse steps to a set of wall switches. With a press of her finger the cables clipped to 98’s ankle bands slowly rise. With another press the cable securing her neck collar lowers, placing the prostrate plumped form almost upside down, the huge breasts and elongated nipples dangling more prominently.
128 becomes intrigued as Miss Florence hands the nurse her leash and moves to stand behind, the mammary glands now leaking profusely in anticipation of a hand milking. She positions a nearby stool and sits. Shannon grasps the bald head at the ears. The Cannon stiffens and thrusts forth past perfectly positioned lips. Miss Florence begins to deftly milk the cow-like udders, lactate spewing notably and pinging the basin below.
She has before milked... and despite the many occasions her glee diminishes not.
