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She released my left thumb, gave my arm a brisk massage then forcefully drew it up behind my back. The left side of the yoke was swung over my shoulder and my thumb was reattached. She did the same with my right, and I found myself restrained with my arms pulled backwards, elbows bent, and my hands secured upwards almost at the level of my shoulders.
The nurse was correct. It was most uncomfortable and it felt as if my swollen breasts protruded outwards serving to attract attention like the headlights of a car.
She released the yoke from the posts, sliding it up until I was standing. There she re-secured it and moved to a swarthy Maria, her Hispanic genes causing her flesh to change to a very attractive deep tan due to the daily outdoor exercise.
“Well, a very nice brown cowgirl. Did you every watch movies as a little girl? All the cowboys riding horses and herding cattle. Well I call you cowgirl because you’re herded and milked like a cow.”
Nurse Katrina laughed with her comparison as she deftly reached down and fingered Maria’s vulva, producing an instant sigh and quiver from the long neglected genitalia.
“So warm and wet. We like girls that way.”
Nurse Katrina licked Maria’s juices from her fingers, repositioned
her arms in the yoke then moved onward.
Within a few minutes all the ‘cowgirls’ of 3 stall stood and ten pink nipples thrust into the aisle separating the dozen pairs of posts. None of us had been milked since the prior evening and I’m sure every breast ached and throbbed as much as mine. I thought about Nurse Inga’s words and indeed, were she present, I would beg to have her soft firm fingers methodically draw down the body of my meaty glands then gently pinch my nipples. The sight of the spurting milk being forcibly extracted at first horrifies the psyche. The level of control afforded the young nurse in insouciantly stroking and squeezing combined with the sound of the bizarre rhythm of droplets hitting the steel pail was intense. Yet strangely over time, I found the slow deliberate repeated manipulation served to soothe and placate the feminine need to be suckled.
I pondered whether the emotions felt could be compared to that of being ravished, with ostensible feelings of anger and rage not completely overcoming the deep sexual pleasure of having a hot, stiff penis frictioning the most sensitive of feminine organs.
“Well cowgirls,” the nurse commented with a smug look of satisfaction, “we certainly do like to show off don’t we?”
She laughed at her observation while moving from girl to girl. With obvious delight she caressed each mammary gland, ever so slightly titillating the overly ripe melons. When she reached Maria, she palmed her right breast with one hand, then carefully stretched it straight out with the other. It was incredibly long and large and, though her touch was light, gave up milk, the evidence of such lactation dribbling to her navel.
The nurse dabbed at the excretion and again licked her fingers. With a smile, she retrieved the tethering chains hanging on the nearby wall. Also hooked there were large bells, evidently awaiting our journey to the lounge.
Nurse Katrina retrieved both. As she tethered one yoke to another she also attached a bell to the front of each girl’s yoke. Mine clanged with the slightest of movements.
“I think you’re all ready for the lounge. Do not ‘moo’,” she mockingly suggested with her final taunting words.
Chapter Eleven
For the first time, we girls of 3 stall were led up flights of stairs to the various decks perched atop the vast hull of the ship. The tropical sun was just beginning to set and being able to look out windows for the first time in months was comforting. As written, the exercise deck was set low, like a bullring surrounded by walls and curious observers. Therefore the sun radiated from above but left us with no view of the ocean.
Now we were on levels of the ship well above the exercise deck and the size of the vessel seemed dwarfed by the incredible expanse of blue ocean reflecting the setting sun.
Being stripped naked and led about on a leash in a public area was still disconcerting, even after the months of subjugation. The constant clanging of the bells served to remind me of my status. I felt myself becoming wet between my thighs and my nipples, somewhat chafed and elongated by twice daily milkings, crinkled. The yoke pulling back my arms forced my chest outwards and the well-used pink protuberances resembled pointers, parading before me and indicating for all to see the intended direction of my perambulation.
Nurse Katrina led us into a room that appeared to be the ship’s main dining hall. It occupied the entire width of the vessel, with windows on each side, and its length was impressive. The scene within was shockingly decadent with similarly naked and yoked girls bearing the numerals ‘1' and ‘2' on their right buttocks. They were engaged in sordid activities with fully dressed passengers, though some were attired to facilitate intimate contact.
“Welcome to the main lounge, girls.”
Nurse Katrina began removing the tethering chains and I stood motionless and in awe while surveying the room.
In each corner was a trainer, standing with well-muscled arms akimbo. Their powerful hands wielded long, thin canes, causing to cringe anyone who had ever been on the receiving end of such a painful implement of behavior modification.
Many of the 1 stall and 2 stall girls knelt on tables. The somewhat soiled tablecloths indicated that earlier in the evening, meals had been served. But now, naked and spread, a collection of girls knelt, their breasts hanging like large grape fruit, while numerous guests inspected, fondled, pinched and poked.
Then a matronly woman came through a swinging door from the galley carrying a pile of stainless steel bowls. I had no doubt as to their purpose, having so often seen my own breasts spurt white essence, first coating the shining bottom, then slowly filling the basin as soft but firm fingers worked.
Ms. Adams stepped to the middle of the room.
“You have fifteen minutes to choose, ladies and gentlemen. As you can see, the girls from 3 stall are also ready for your selection and enjoyment.”
As the last tether was removed a loud murmur arose as the group collectively noticed our arrival. As scared as I was, I was mentally conflicted by the aching of my breasts. The twice daily milkings had become a strange source of comfort with either Dr. Helga or Nurse Inga coaxing me to perform at my best. Physically, with the intra-rectal feedings compelling my prolactin to the ultimate level, I was the equivalent of an Olympic athlete, trained, fed and exercised for one purpose... to perform... to respond on demand to the caress, draw and pinch of a nipple with a formidable stream of breast milk.
But more importantly, mentally I wanted to perform!
Yes, I had indeed come to lust for the wonderful touch of the skilled milker and feel the dull ache slowly subside and turn to a most satisfying pleasure. I came to find that within seconds of the first firm squeeze and draw, my vagina moistened and a curious endorphin was released. I questioned whether somehow the natural desire to nurture the child I never saw had been replaced by the desire to provide Dr. Helga with the breast milk she seemed to so much enjoy extracting.
