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It just ended. And a very obeisant serving girl appeared with a wet towel to sponge away the milk, which I had given up with such anguish. I remained secured to the table. With my head up and face forced forward I had no choice but to watch as two of Madam Chang’s clients were fellated to climax just a few feet before me. The girls were charmingly obedient and took the time to right the recipients clothing and dutifully close all zippers.
My buttocks felt intensely heated. My nipples continued to drip. Madam Chang noticed and moved to stand in front of me. She pinched my nipples and began to milk me.
“Think about what you feel between your thighs. Your breasts give away your true feelings.”
She did not completely drain me and instead left me strapped down for further display. Others approached and tried their hand at extracting milk. As I laid helplessly subjected to such humiliation, I realized Madam was correct. I was aroused.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As written, I have never become acclimated to moving about naked among the fully clothed serving staff. Now with collar and leash and hands bound, Ms. Powers seems to take great care to select the various hallways where our little parade is certain to be seen. Some of the male servants are returning from an evening at the local restaurant in town. Alcohol has emboldened their normally reserved glances. Two off duty guards stop and stare while Ms. Powers takes particular time to slow our walk and wish them a good evening.
Though somewhat embarrassed, overall I am happy at the Fatipton Estate. I recall our first meeting and her initial offer of employment.
It was during my third week of employment at the peep show that I spotted the advertisement. The mounting quarters from my daily pay were not mounting fast enough and I was searching the want ads for other work or perhaps a second job.
Wet-nurse needed. High pay. Plus room and board. Idyllic country setting. Must be single. Leave a message with Ms. Powers at...
Well, the words certainly got my attention. But my past experience with unusual advertisements gave me reason for caution.
Though wary, I called the number and left a message. Perhaps it was a good thing that I openly described my desperate circumstances on the answering tape, for I was called for an interview within two days.
It took place in the office of a mid town doctor where I changed into a hospital gown and was professionally examined, both me and my breasts. A sample of milk was drawn. I was then directed into an office and introduced to the amazing Ms. Powers. She sat behind a desk in a well-cut business suit. When she stood to shake my hand I looked up into the handsome face of a black woman of six feet. Her firm grip evidenced her strength.
“Please remove your gown and sit, Alexi.”
If she was testing my shyness, I passed, tossing aside the gown and sitting before her without a stitch. On the written application, I had given vague answers concerning the exact nature of my current employment. When she spotted my well-used nipples, her questions became very specific and direct. Within minutes she understood I had been working at the peep show.
“There is not much point in lying or being evasive, Alexi. I worked as an interrogator for the FBI.”
So I told my story, avoiding details about ‘The Scarlet Letter’ unless she ask
ed. But she seemed more interested in my aptitude and was enthralled by my hairless body.
After some thirty minutes a nurse entered and handed Ms. Powers a sheet of paper. Ms. Powers nodded and smiled.
“Well, Alexi. Someone’s been taking good care of you. The consistency of your milk is just what we’re seeking.”
She made me a very lucrative offer.
It was then, while I considered, that Ms. Powers described herself, Mr. Fatipton and her responsibilities with the Fatipton Estate.
The whole setup was more than I could ever imagine. My vast paycheck could essentially be banked. Room and board came with the job.
“And,” Ms. Powers added, “what little clothing a girl in your position will need will be provided.”
Interesting to think back concerning that facet. The one thing I had difficulty with was clothing. I had very little that was presentable and that fit. The peep show’s daily bag of coins just didn’t allow for exotic tastes in attire.
I agreed to the terms. I had one week of free room remaining from Dr. Helga. And I did not want to take the chance of taking time to consider then subsequently learning that the next girl examined could provide better sustenance than me.
“Fine. I will pick you up tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Check out of the hotel. Be ready with everything you wish to bring. The limousine is large and I think you’ll find that Mr. Fatipton’s mansion can accommodate your possessions. Be ready to lactate.”
The next morning a stretched Mercedes pulled up with the uniformed driver asking for me. The wizened clerk looked aghast, envious of the wealth evidenced by the size and deep shine on the car but also concerned about my departure.
Yes, I had over the weeks stooped to request the services of Maurice on several occasions. As written, the brief periods of lactating in the booth were both dissatisfying and harmful for the long term care of my glands. And utilizing the breast pump was depressing. Thus many times I sought refuge by way of Maurice’s aged but experienced fingers, despite the extreme subjugation of kneeling for him... naked and spread.
It did not take him long to realize his toy would not be returning.
‘Better book another cruise,’ I felt like saying. But I remained silent and assured myself that all the hotel charges were in fact covered through Dr. Helga’s floating clinic.
