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It was most humiliating. Kneeling with hands on head, watching his hand squeeze and draw and my white essence squirt into the tub then down the drain. But I needed it, craving his touch and the strange desire to kneel naked while he extracted my various bodily juices. His laughter and unabashed enjoyment were both irritating and arousing.
The milk collected in the center of the tub and steadily streamed to the drain. When he detected a diminishing of the flow he deftly found my ‘G’ spot, hooked his fingers then firmly rubbed my vaginal wall. He was expert. He had me climax like I had never done before.
‘Maurice’ laughed mockingly.
“Call anytime, Alexi,” he suggested with a wicked smirk.
He left me on the bathroom floor, demonstrably sniffing his fingers on the way out. The small area rug was soaked. The old man’s experienced hand had made me ejaculate. I pondered whether it was the events of the day that had spurred such a need and reaction.
When I arrived the next morning at 10th Avenue, Ernie had the bowl sitting atop his desk.
“I won’t let you fall,” he suggested as his hand patted the newspaper-covered surface.
“Up.”
I put the parsimony of the prior day’s pay out of my mind and stepped first onto his chair and then onto the desk. I squatted over the bowl, remaining on my toes with my thighs widely parted, hands on head. Ernie nicely helped. Standing directly to my front he placed his hands on my knees and pushed them further apart. I felt my outer lips separate allowing the room air to cool my inner labia.
“Be a good girl for me, Alexi.”
I was good. The bowl slowly filled.
It was an interesting way to begin a day of degradation, filling Ernie’s bowl while the other girls, arriving to prepare for work, stopped and watched with smiles.
That second day I earned $31.25.
I arrive back in my room and remove apron and feeding harness. I rinse both then exit for Ms. Powers’ room. Now I have no covering at all, and with my feet sinking into the lush carpeting and the ringing of my little bell no longer muffled by the rubber apron, I feel even more self conscious walking about naked among fully clothed servants.
Thankfully Ms. Powers’ room is two floors below mine, thus in utilizing the back stairs I only encounter one worker, an off duty gardener walking up who stares as my breasts bounce with each step downwards.
The door to Ms. Powers’ room is ajar. I enter. I know where she wants me and how, kneeling on the low coffee table in the lounge area of her apartment.
As I position myself she enters. Punctual as always, she smiles with the display of my eagerness.
“Randy’s been bad again and getting harder to control. He’s counting the days until his twenty-fifth birthday when he thinks he will gain the advantage. But meanwhile, his disobedience costs him dearly. I just added some scrotal weights.”
Laughing, she steps into her small kitchen and returns with a pot.
“Wait until he meets his little baby brother.
“The left again?”
I nod. She knows Master Fatipton always starts with my right nipple and prefers to drain it rather than alternating. I place my hands on the back of my head fully displaying both my huge glands and eagerness. She places the pot on the table beneath me. She reaches out and gives both my nipples a brief pinch. The milk hits the pot with a hollow metallic sound. The spray from the left is particularly strong.
“I need to get comfortable.”
She teasingly moves to her bedroom, looking back with an enticing smile. She knows that to start the flow then walk away leaves me throbbing for more.
“The doctor says Mr. Fatipton has little time left,” she calls from her bedroom. “Less and less of your nourishment is being digested. I’m going to miss the old gent. But I think we’ve got enough sperm to impregnate you at least twice. And with your history of fertility that should be enough.”
She steps from the bedroom wearing her halter and short skirt. I know that under the flimsy pleats she is naked. I will soon be begging for permission to explore beneath.
She pours herself a glass of wine and returns.
“Where else could I work where I get to play with my own little white girl. Nice and plump and full of milk.”
She playfully squeezes with her free hand then draws down much more firmly. A spray erupts, coating the sides of the pot then running to the bottom.
“I think you’re flowing better than ever, cowgirl.”
