Milked in London, Volumes One Through Four

by Alex Carlsbad

  "Could I get you a glass of water perhaps?" The man offered and Jennifer immediately accepted. She was feeling extra thirsty and parched with the stress of the unusual situation.

  "Would you like to put Melody to rest in the nursery?" Mr. Costas asked.

  "You have a nursery?" Jennifer was surprised.

  "Yes. My daughters are too grown-up to use it, of course," the man chuckled, "but many of the young mothers come here with their babies. So my wife and I have kept the crib and everything set up so that we can extend them at least that courtesy while we do our business."

  Jennifer was grateful that Mr. Costas happened to be with his back to her as she followed in his steps to the nursery or he would have seen the violent blush that covered her rosy cheeks.

  "I know it is difficult," Mr. Costas said, "but trust me it gets easier with time. Here, let's leave the door to Melody's little crib ajar while I show you the special room I have for what we're about to do." He motioned her to an adjacent room. Jennifer couldn’t help but gasp when she saw it. The room could most accurately be described as a typical OB/GYN examination center. It included an exam table replete with stirrups and lights and instruments while off to the side was a sink and what appeared to be sterile surgical instruments covered with paper.

  "I can see that you are feeling uncomfortable, Ms. Jennifer, and I completely understand, believe me. Given my experience, if you permit, I would like to suggest that we proceed to milk you right away. That way we will get the unpleasant newness of the situation done with. You shall feel immediately better, I promise."

  "Um, okay," Jennifer simply said in utter and absolute loss as what to do next.

  "If you permit me, I will guide you as we both go through this for the first time," the man said. "If at any point you feel discomfort or wish to stop, just let me know, okay?" He looked at her with a genuine expression of polite concern and she nodded.

  "If that helps, think of it is a simple business transaction in which you are the provider and I'm simply the middleman. I will help you get the product out, as it were," he said and she blushed again this time wondering if he could see the sheen of sweat blossom across her skin.

  "Here why don't you take off your shoes and get comfortable," he suggested. "I will go wash my hands and in the meantime you can take a few moments to try and relax and take off your shirt and bra for me."

  "You want me to undress?" Jennifer exclaimed and wandered at the edginess of her own voice.

  "Just your shirt and bra, if you will. You see, Ms. Jennifer, the customers I sell to have gotten used to knowing exactly what each milking looks like. They want to know what each woman experienced as she underwent the process that led to their beverage,” the man patiently explained. "In fact with every delivery, I include a thumb drive on which I attach a file with the movie of the milking process itself. That way they can be sure as to the provenance and freshness of what they receive. Also, being that I mostly sell to third world countries, everybody seems to insist on seeing the naked skin off the young mothers as they are milked." Mr. Costas shrugged, "I assume it is because in agrarian cultures the health of a person can be instinctively gauged by the way she looks and the tone of her skin. Maybe I'm wrong, but what I do know is that I'm never able to sell milk that is not accompanied by a movie of the milking. I hope that is okay with you?" He asked finally asked.

  Jennifer gave it a thought and decided that there was little to lose in the process. Mr. Costas smiled and turned around to wash his hands as he went on talking about the way he had sterilized the room and the chair.

  Jennifer became oblivious to his voice as she wondered what the hell she was doing in this strange man's apartment getting herself naked to be milked while her sweet young baby lay fast asleep next door. She slipped off first one shoe and then the next before unbuttoning her skirt that she slid off together with her panties which were soon joined by her shirt and bra neatly folded on the floor. She was done exactly in time as Mr. Costas turned around.

  Suddenly she saw the big black man freeze clearly shocked at something unexpected, "I am –, I'm sorry, but I don't think I wanted you completely naked, but that's okay, pardon me, a man is a man especially when in the presence of an exquisite woman as yourself," Jennifer blushed violently meekly nodding in recognition and acceptance of his generous complement, "think you, sir," she whispered in a husky voice.

  "Having you completely stark naked will definitely increase the thirst of our customers so to speak," Mr. Costas chuckled at his own perceived wit.

  He smiled and this time walked up to her. He took her by the hand and guided her over to the chair. Jennifer became hyperaware and self conscious of the way her boobs swayed as she tiptoed along the cold floor with her bare feet following the big black man to the austere steel contraption where she was to lie down.

  "Go ahead, please, and hop on. Put your legs in the stirrups please. And I will go ahead and secure you safely in place for your first milking."

  Jennifer did as told and winced with the sharp sting off the steel plates and cold belts of the exam table as they touched her warm skin. The man stepped around and immediately started attaching all the little belts and stirrups securely tightening them across her shins, her legs, her abdomen, her shoulders, her hands and even her head that he gently secured in place.

  In less than two minutes Jennifer found herself securely fastened and unable to move even an inch.

  "Why the stirrups?" She asked recognizing the belated nature of her query.

  "Alas I have to blame them on my clients again," the big man replied.

  "My clients insist on doing everything the old, traditional way, unfortunately, and that includes milking the girls. Maybe you have seen on the Discovery Channel cows or goats being milked by hand in the olden day or perhaps and farms in some Third World country?" He asked.

  "Yes –" Jennifer tentatively replied with a growing apprehension.

  "Well, that's more or less what we will be doing here today. The chair is merely a way to keep you restrained while I massage your boobs and squeeze out their milk into a bucket that I shall place below."

  Jennifer closed her eyes wondering if it wasn't too late to ask the man to let her go. She felt torn. She needed the money, for sure, but she was also becoming increasingly aware of another, darker pulse course through her body. A deep, wild throbbing sense of excitement roiled at her core. The feeling was not unlike the pleasant anticipation she felt when she knew they were about to watch Pretty Woman and all that entailed. But it was much darker, like a thirst for something obscene and forbidden.

  "Another reason for the stirrups is to hold you securely in place while I have the machines embedded within the chair rotate you to face downward so that your boobs point at the ground where I will place a bucket."

  "Oh my God," Jennifer whispered more to herself than to anybody else.

  "What's that my dear," asked Mr. Costas.

  "It was just that I was hoping you'd stick to using one of those electric pumps they give out at the maternity wards. I didn't know you would be — , touching me," Jennifer mumbled in misery.

  "Yes, I know. There are better ways to do it, but unfortunately that's the only way my customers want it. Otherwise they will not buy the product,” the man said.

  "Where are you selling my milk exactly?" Jennifer asked realizing that she hadn't done any proper research before sauntering over here into this man's apartment and agreeing to whatever he had so flagrantly suggested last night.

  "Oh, I see you haven't actually checked out my website," the man chuckled good heartedly. "That's okay, no worries, I shall not be offended. If you had checked out whitemilk.com, you would have seen the exact process. I also describe where the milk usually goes and talk a little about the traditions involved. You might be surprised Ms. Jennifer to learn that what we will be doing here tonight is by no means some newfangled fad. It has been going on for ages. The Internet today is merely a way to satisfy an ancient market for whi
te milk. But to answer your question – most of my customers come from the Middle East and Africa, there are also some clients in Central America and India as well."

  "If that is okay with you, I would like to address you in a more informal manner. I have found that addressing my girls on a first name basis helps solidify their trust in me. I wouldn't care one way or another but experience has taught me that if you trust me your milk will flow much more easily. So how about that? How about I call you Jenny?" The big man pulled up a chair by her trapped body and Jennifer wondered if he could see from the proximity of his position how she was shivering with fright. It felt so good and soothing when he put his big warm hand and gently caressed her forehead and pushed back some of her blond curls that had fallen across.

  He pointed across the room at a small camera she hadn't noticed before, "There's a camera up there, and another one below, in the floor. You shall see it when I rotate the chair around. That way we have you covered no matter which way you're facing.” A sheen of sweat had broken across Jennifer's skin making him stop and take notice.

  "You're breathing too fast, Jenny. You're going to hyperventilate. Try and breathe slower, okay? Easy does it. I know it is difficult the first time, but there's nothing to worry about." He kept gently caressing her in slow languid soothing motions along her forehead and across her temples.gently luxuriating in her silky blond hair that he neatly fanned out on the pillow beneath her head. He kept doing that for a good ten minutes until he saw her start to relax.

  "Easy does it," Mr. Costas repeated and she found herself relax as she listened to the undulating tone of his voice. "I'll be slow and you'll do just fine, Jenny. Think of your baby as I squeeze your milk out of your tits. Okay, now, here we go," he said and picked up something that looked like a TV remote. Jenny took a sharp breath as a gentle whirring sound emanated from somewhere within the chair. It lifted her up in the air and then slowly rotated her so that soon she was hanging down facing the ground. The only thing she could see now were Mr. Costas's highly polished black shoes as he moved his chair to take a comfortable position by her left breast. "There, you doing okay down there?" He asked.

  "Yes," Jenny replied, her voice husky with consternation at her awkward position.

  "You shall discover that I like to talk as I milk my girls. It will help us build a rapport. It will make your milk flow easier." Jennifer would have jumped had it not been for the restraints biting at her shoulders and extremities as Mr. Costas suddenly passed his fingers along her engorged tit. He gently caressed her boob up and down from its base by her ribs to the very tip which was now jetting obscenely as it pointed down at the floor in anticipation of what was to follow.

  "You're a truly exquisite creature, Jenny, I have to say. I'm proud that you came to me to have your milk drawn. I cannot wait to taste it myself," Mr. Costas chuckled in amusement when he felt her consternation at what he had just said. "Yes, a handler tastes every batch. After all I am supposed to be able to describe your milk so that people know what to expect on the website." He gently drew circles around her pointed nipples as they grew in excitement. Jennifer saw and heard a metal bucket being dragged in position under her left boob. Suddenly she squealed when she felt him grasp her boob with both his hands and viciously squeeze it at the base and then gently glide his fingers downwards towards the tip.

  "Shush, little one, I know you feel awkward, but try and relax. Try and think about how even though your milk will not feed your little baby tonight, it will provide money for your family so that they may stay warm and safe. There, I see the first droplets form at the tip of your tiny nipple. It is so tight, all swollen and anxious, as a result of the unnatural things I'm doing to it," the man murmured in a soft deep voice that gradually made the young mother relax in his grasp. She was being milked for the very first time in her life, her nectar extracted by a man she hardly knew so that he could sell it to strangers who would drink it as they watched her get milked like an animal attached to a table.

  She whimpered in quiet misery and saw a tear fall straight down onto his black shoe sliding off down to the sole of the expensive loafer. And just like that the first full squirt rang out against the metal of the bucket below. The man kept rubbing and squeezing his pressure methodical and studied as she heard and felt more liquid make its way into the bucket.

  Mr. Costas kept milking her left boob for a good forty minutes until finally its squirts abated and the last droplet of white liquid dribbled into the metal bucket below.

  "Good girl," the man commented pinching her nipple for one last time as he stood and moved his seat to the other side. He repeated the entire process for another forty minutes before finally draining her completely.

  "Excellent, I can tell by the volume that you're going to be a good little producer for me," he said. Jennifer mentally noted that she had not yet acquiesced to doing anything on a regular basis but found herself nodding nonetheless. He moved the bucket to the side and pressed some buttons that made her seat rotate back to where it was now facing right side up. She looked down at her chest and was horrified to see how red and bruised her bosom looked. It felt worse still.

  Mr. Costas went around and carefully undid all the straps helping the naked girl out of the awkward contraption. She had to lean into him feeling weak and exhausted from the entire ordeal. He held her possessively one enormous palm of his hand wrapped around her midsection his long fingers absently trailing through the curly blond hairs above her pussy.

  "Very good for a first milking," the man commented and then let go of her slapping her loudly on the ass. She was aghast at his cavalier behavior but found no strength to object. "Very good Jenny, I am sure that a young American girl's first milk will sell extremely well. I'm not even going to bother taking it down to the freezers tonight. I will merely bottle it up right away and prep it for shipping as I'm sure it will be sold in less than an hour."

  Jennifer staggered over to where her small pile of clothes lay and gingerly started dressing. Shameful as it was, she felt obligated to raise the question of money since the man hadn't broached the subject himself.

  "So how much should I expect to be paid for that first time," she asked.

  "Usually, I offer my producers 30% of the proceeds after taxes," he saw her start to object but silenced her with a motion of his hand, "You do have to realize I have a lot of capital invested and a reputation to uphold. After all you haven't established a track record and a solid customer base yet. Once that happens, we can discuss increasing your percentage. You do realize I have a family of my own to support as well as to pay for the upkeep of my equipment and website. But to answer your question more precisely, I think you could expect probably something around 60 pounds come tomorrow evening. You can swing by and pick it up during your next milking, or if you'd rather, I can mail you a check."

  Jennifer started crying with desperation. She was beyond shame and manners. It was all too much. Sixty pounds would hardly cover the barest of necessities these coming days.

  "I know. It isn't all that much, but I can assure you that the milk of a twenty-three-year-old beautiful young American white mother like yourself will practically start flying off the shelf. In no time at all you shall have a good nice little source of income flowing your way, so to speak."

  The big man put the bucket down by his feet and walked up to her. He silently took the young distraught woman in his giant arms and gently hugged her. He gave her time to cry into his chest until she regained some off her strength and looked up, "My boobs hurt so much," she whimpered as she passed a small hand tenderly across the abused flesh. It felt so odd and empty in the palm of her hand.

  "There is actually something I can offer you to help with the pain. When a young mother is getting milked for the first time, her skin is quite tender, indeed," Mr. Costas said. "Would you like to try an old family remedy I keep offering my girls?"

  "Sure," Jennifer said anxious to be done so she could check in on Melody who about now had to be
waking up hungry for her feeding. Thankfully she still had a few bottles of frozen breast milk left in the fridge. If she hurried, she would have just enough time to warm them up and give a bottle to her hungry daughter.

  The man rummaged through some cupboards before producing a small glass vile that contained a yellowish paste.

  The Salve

  “I make it myself and all the ladies rave about how much it helps them. Perhaps I should start selling it too,” he chuckled. “Maybe I will, who knows.”

  Her tits hurt so much that Jennifer couldn’t wait but unscrewed the cap and immediately dabbed a couple of fingers in the green goop that she then rubbed energetically into her bruised boobs.

  "What does it contain, if you don't mind me asking?” she said already feeling a cool soothing sensation emanate across her tortured skin.

  “The main ingredient is no secret, but unfortunately I cannot tell you the exact recipe. It has been passed down to me from my dad who got it from his, and so back through time. If I told you, I’d feel I am betraying their trust, you see,” Mr. Costas said and she nodded. “I’ll tell you the main ingredient though because I hope we are going to have a productive future ahead. It is sperm,” he said and smiled.

  She almost dropped the jar when he said the word.

  “Sperm?,” she stammered in disbelief.

  “Yup, my wife helps me make it,” his voice was matter of fact. “She uses my sperm only, of course.”

  He motioned towards the now mostly empty little jar that Jen was holding dumbfounded, “I’ll let you keep that little sample for free but the next ones will cost you I'm afraid.”

  “How much?” stammered Jennifer.

  “I sell each for an even hundred pounds, Ms. Jennifer. I hope that is okay with you,” he said apologetically. “My wife simply wouldn't allow me to sell it for less. Mrs. Costas values my sperm quite a bit, you see.” He chuckled and Jennifer couldn't help but smile too.