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The top of my right breast has been blackened, the affect of which is to highlight the pink of my nipple below.
My weight is upsetting. The diet of milkshakes, cheese and ice cream is evident. Except for pregnancy, I am more rotund than I have ever been. My tummy, thighs and upper arms all hav
e a curvature I have never seen on myself.
“Move forward and rise to your knees. The red appears marvelous.”
I do and in struggling to tilt my head up to see the mirror, find that Ms. Powers is correct. My pudendum has been tattooed a clownish shade of crimson, framing my clitoral bell and drawing attention to the larger spiked bell dangling beneath. I am permanently tattooed to very much resemble a cow. Tears form and again drip down my cheeks.
“Tsk. Tsk. Remember how much you enjoyed performing on the video tape, Alexi. From now on you’re going to perform for me.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
I awake grateful to have slept in my room on a soft bed. There may not be many more evenings of such comfort.
Angela enters for morning feeding and ablutions. Afterwards she gives me a pill, attaches my bell, threads the rope through my nose ring and leads me to the salon and Miss Greenwich Village.
I have not been milked in days. I crave the touch of firm fingers. However, as I am walked the dull ache begins to subside. I hear my bells but the pleasure of the moving balls and the titillation of my clitoris dissipates. The carpet begins to float. I stumble.
“Just a few more feet, Alexi. The pill will calm you for the last of your art work.”
I have been drugged.
The artist laughs at my efforts to walk. When I reach her table I am grateful to have a place to lie down. I can only present myself supine. To finish my face that is all that is required. I hear the buzz of the tattoo needle. I believe I sleep.
I awake in my new home. I do not know how I was moved but the insides of thighs are sore. The bell has abraded the skin thus I assume I have been carried with the bell loose to both ring and cause irritation.
I am lying prostrate on the rubber-coated floor. There is definitely some type of foam layering beneath, for it is surprisingly comfortable. My wrists are cuffed behind my back. I feel the slight pressure of the vertical poles against both sides of my neck.
Within a few minutes my head clears. I carefully pull my legs under me, slide my neck upwards, then kneel. The mirror remains propped up against the front row seat some ten feet to my front. I lift my head. I am greeted by the strange reflection of a hairless black and white beast. Miss Avant-garde finished her work. Not only is the left side of my forehead and face blackened but she has indeed colored my nose. At the nostrils it is the same bright red as my labia and causes my huge nose ring to appear even larger. The color cleverly fades to a pink at the bridge between my eyes.
I cry.
When the effects of the drug fully wear off, I rock my hips. My bells ring and the waves of pleasure from my balls and my clitoral piercing bring some consolation. With my arousal comes the need to be milked and the ache returns along with the slight involuntary flow. My essence drips to the floor and mixes with my tears.
Then I realize my tongue is sore. I open my mouth and look up into the mirror. Another jolt. A tongue of hideous purple reflects back. It has also been tattooed.
The outrageous coloring makes my tongue appear very long and I cannot help but stick it out and move it about. The red and pink nose and the many large black spots serve to frame the wet, trained and versatile appendage. Looking at it is shocking.
“It was my idea, but I never expected she could find the right shade.”
Ms. Powers!
She has been standing near the door.
“I hope you like the work. I paid the woman handsomely.”
She approaches. I turn my head as best I can. She carries a milking stool and a small bag. She is wearing her halter and short pleated skirt. My shock turns to a strange but pleasant anticipation.
“One more procedure, Alexi. It will be temporary.
“Rise up please.”
I remain on my knees but straighten at the waist. The reflection of my red pudendum flashes in the mirror. It confounds me to realize how much it calls attention to my intimate female anatomy.
Ms. Powers places the stool in front of me and sits down, gratefully blocking my reflected image. My breasts are at the level of her hands.
“I had these specially made. Very strong elastic rubber tubes. From what I have read, I can stretch those nice nipples about one millimeter per week. It will take time, but time we have.”
