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“Can’t have her hanging upside down for too long,” she commented.
As she unraveled the threads, my nipples began to spurt under her touch. She laughingly directed the milk into the bowl.
After being released from the trapeze she gave me a standard hand milking. It drained me of the remaining fluid and felt very good. I again spent the night with my head between her thighs.
Each morning after a night of special duty, Nurse Inga walked me back to the stall.
After the third encounter with Josef, I came to expect the ‘chance’ meeting
.
Nurse Inga definitely had an odd level of enjoyment in watching a girl fellate a virile young male. Or perhaps she liked providing Josef with a source of pleasure, as long as it was not her lips wrapped around the imposing shaft.
So when Nurse Inga led me down the hallway of Josef’s cabin, and I saw his door ajar, I knew another aperture would be put to use. Yes, the pretense of ‘meeting’ Josef on his way to breakfast had been put aside. I learned to merely step into his room, kneel and wait until he chose to open his zipper.
Happily for me there was the relief offered by the chamber pot as compensation. And feeling Nurse Inga’s hands toy with my labia as Josef pulled and pushed the handle on the back of my head added a degree of pleasure, however perverse, to an otherwise demeaning task.
Over many morning stops, Josef patiently taught me the art of fellatio, and he did indeed like to have it ‘taken deep’. This entailed opening up my gullet and overcoming the ‘gag reflex’ which naturally occurs when an object, particularly as large and firm as Josef’s penis, is thrust past the back of the throat.
On the first visit, I gagged and heard the sound of Nurse Inga laughing. And there was also the sound of my annoying bell, mandated to be worn by lactating girls when outside the stall. Josef’s pushes and pulls on my handle caused quite the cacophony and I often wondered if the occupants of nearby cabins could hear me fellating the most handsome sailor.
Well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do, and many times as Josef rammed his stiff member to the very depths of my throat, I deliberately let my thoughts meander. The fat, the bald and the perverted at the men’s club came to mind once... how he had opened his zipper in a subtle offer of a high paying promotion to that of dancer in exchange for oral sex... how my pride caused me to ignore the hint thus relegating me to the waitressing job... and ironically, how I was servicing this young male for nothing more than a piece of candy, when he chose to offer it.
Yes, the chronic pangs of hunger were still present and Josef knew it. After each explosion of hot semen seemed to have been injected directly into my stomach, he took great delight in mockingly inquiring...
“Do you still feel hungry now?”
And most disturbing, my silent answer was ‘no’.
The rush of thick sperm, voluminously produced by the virile sailor in his sexual prime, served to temporarily quell the hunger. So after every climax I learned to carefully scoop the last drops from his urethra and gently tongue the head and shaft searching for any overlooked hunger-staving remnants. When finished, my tongue and lips thoroughly cleansed his softening penis and every drop of his sperm was fully sucked into my craving stomach.
The notion of so willingly taking everything the young sailor had to offer frightened me. Receiving sustenance, if it could be so termed, in such a sordid manner would have been deemed most offensive at one time in my life. But the pangs indeed subsided and my oral attentiveness and the dexterity of my tongue enthralled Nurse Inga.
“Well, Alexi. Perhaps we should put you on a special feeding program. You seem to have quite the appetite for the male essence.”
She laughed uproariously with the suggestion and I flushed with shame. But I had come to welcome the temporary relief from the hunger.
The encounters with Josef always ended with Nurse Inga parting my labia with her fingers as I humbly knelt over his pot. Then I would patiently look up to await the sailor’s nod, for it was only with his permission that I was finally permitted to open my bladder and use his basin.
Chapter Sixteen
In a few weeks the girls from 2 stall also stopped visiting the lounge. In their place a new set of girls from 5 stall joined us in the deviant antics. All young, voluptuous, and all lactating like dairy cows.
One evening while being aggressively milked, a particularly clumsy but fervent woman talked to me as my fluid squirted into the waiting bowl.
“Well, Alexi you’ll soon be having more fun. Its June you know. March is nine months off for the girls of 3 stall and I’m going to enjoy watching Dr. Helga part those juicy lips of yours and do her thing. I just may purchase a video of that!”
She made her comment with such zeal that I pondered over the remark as she laughed. Being isolated in the stall, none of us girls had any sense of time, much less of the day, week or month. But if it was in fact June, my fateful afternoon romp in stepfather’s barn was a year before. That made me briefly think of the Iowa farm country, which I didn’t miss much except for Mom. I did miss New York and the excitement, and I reminisced somewhat over the swanky club. Watching the men get excited over the naked girls was quite a sight for a farm girl from the Midwest, and I longed for them to be excited over me. I was certain that given another opportunity to ‘interview’, the fat, the bad and the perverted was sure to hire me as a dancer. Especially since Josef had imbued me with the requisite ‘skill’ needed to pass his ‘interview’.
Yes, soon it would be autumn and ‘The Scarlet Letter’ would return to the northeast U.S. and begin its journey down the coast. I wish I had read the papers I had signed. Surely it would be most logical to release me when the ship reached New York. Nurse Inga had stated that all my things would be returned to me.
But then, as I recalled her words, she never said when!
With my sudden panicked thoughts, I found I was not paying attention. Ms. Fervor’s fingers had found the bottom of my abundant reservoir yet she kept squeezing and tugging my nipples. My feelings of detached arousal turned to irritation and brought me back to the libidinous escapades of the ship’s lounge. I winced in pain, hoping the woman would understand I had no more to give. I looked over to see Maria’s breasts still producing even as the first bowl filled to the brim. So like most of the guests my milker was eager to win the evening’s contest and kept pinching. I knew Maria’s fine breasts consistently produced more than any other ‘cowgirl’. But there was nothing more I could do than to stoically remain silent and accept the irritation with a grimace. Hopefully Nurse Inga would later notice my reddened nipples and apply her cow ointment, I thought.
The next morning, as we waited to one by one fill the beaker for Nurse Inga, I thought more about the information Ms. Fervor had casually shared as her talentless fingers endeavored to maximize the flow of my breast milk. A few weeks earlier I had menstruated for the first time since dropping the child. And Nurse Inga had taken great care to record the date in small numbers on my left buttock. The ink used was again indelible, but nowhere near as permanent as the larger numeral ‘3' on my right buttock, for the writing had already begun to fade with daily visits to the communal tub.
After exercise, Dr. Helga visited the washroom while we frolicked and rubbed against each other like pubescent puppies. She watched with a smile then turned to Nurse Inga.
