Late that night when Ben came back exhausted and tired and curled up in the bed beside her, Jennifer found a measure of strength in the fact that she had done something to alleviate the dire straits of their little family.
So what if she had allowed a strange big man to squeeze the milk out of her boobs? By now, Jen knew her milk, meant to be used only as her little daughter’s nourishment, was probably already well on its way to some stranger’s doorstep. She blushed in the cold darkness of their bedroom as she remembered the soothing sensation of M. Costas’ sperm as she had rubbed it into the boobs he had so mercilessly molested.
Jennifer surprised herself when her hand slowly found its way to her pussy that she discovered was sopping wet. Ben started gently snoring just as a soft moan escaped her lips.
~~~
Call to be Serviced
"Are you going out again?" Jennifer asked in complete disbelief. These last couple of days, it was as if they were no longer married but merely roommates. She had hardly seen any of Ben since that last argument they had yesterday. He would simply breeze in, grab a bite to eat, and scamper off again.
"Just going to see if there are any jobs at the docks this morning,” her husband said, his voice hollow and bereft of any emotions.
"Any luck?" She sighed already suspecting the answer.
"No, none," he simply replied and she gasped at the sound of the door to their apartment closing yet again.
Melody started crying in the little baby room they had set up for her. A loud wail echoed through the mostly empty apartment. They had sold practically all of their furniture hoping that they could use the money to make do until things picked up again.
But things had never picked up.
They had practically used up all their savings since Ben had been laid off from his floundering business in the downtown financial district of London. Everybody was struggling and his small firm was no different. The financial crisis had come swift and merciless laying waste to what had been the booming financial industry less than four months ago. It made no difference that both Ben and Jennifer had Harvard degrees or knew their stuff. It was like as if overnight their line of work had simply evaporated and been deleted from any available career options.
"Here, here, sweetie," Jennifer said as she picked up the little bundle of joy that was their sweet three-month-old Melody. Try as she might the young mother could not stop herself from sobbing in unison with her daughter's whimpers. She knew exactly why the baby was crying, she wanted milk, real genuine mommy's milk not some make-believe thing made out of artificial formula.
But Jennifer simply couldn't permit herself to succumb to the almost overpowering mother instinct of unbuttoning her PJ shirt and offer the hungry baby her tit. Mr. Costas had asked her to try and save all her milk for him today. Jennifer didn't have to look down to see the veins throbbing along her delicate breasts. They felt engorged and heavy in expectation for when Mr. Costas would call.
Jennifer opened the fridge and fished out the little bit of formula left in a bottle there offering it immediately to the whimpering baby. She wondered if three months was too young to be weaned off, but it wasn't as if any of them had a choice. Jennifer quietly started humming an old lullaby she knew from her mother.
It was going to be a long day indeed. Soon Melody was off to never-never land and just as Jennifer was about to take her back to the crib, the cellphone rang.
Jennifer hurriedly answered before it could wake up the precariously sleeping child.
"Jenny?" Came the deep husky voice from the other end.
"Yes, Mr. Costas," Jennifer whispered.
"How was the night?"
"Restless, but fine," Jennifer replied grateful that Mr. Costas could not see her blush at the memories from when she had brought herself to orgasm before falling asleep. "My breasts are feeling less painful today, thankfully."
"Great, I'm happy to hear my little family remedy did the trick," the man said. "Are you about ready for me to squeeze out the second batch? I have to tell you that the milk we produced last night did indeed sell fast. We might have even set some sort of record," he chuckled.
"I can come over right away, if that is okay with you," Jennifer said wondering why she sounded so submissive all of a sudden. "It is just that Melody finally fell asleep a couple of minutes ago. I'm afraid she might wake up if I tried to carry her over."
"Hmmm, maybe I have a solution for that," the man said thoughtfully. "My wife happens to be home today. She is a licensed babysitter and nanny. If you want, I can have her come over to watch over your baby while I milk you?"
It was strange how quickly it was all becoming just another sequence of events, a process — getting milked by this strange man, her neighbor next door, thought Jennifer. She dwelled on his offer for a brief moment before acquiescing. After all, what difference did it make how well she knew his wife or not.
She had met Mrs. Costas once or twice in the hall before and the elderly lady seemed nice enough from what she could tell. Not that she could see much of her as apparently the old woman was also highly traditional and had veiled herself head to toe leaving only a slit from where two lively brown eyes peeked out. Jennifer didn't bother changing from her PJs as she was quite certain she would be naked shortly.
"You do look somewhat disheveled, I have to say," Mr. Costas said upon opening the door a couple of moments later. The big black man was dressed in yet another immaculate Armani. He looked down on the beautiful blond twenty-three-year-old American mother at his doorstep. She was barefoot and looked like as if she had come straight out of bed.
“I—, I figured I wouldn't be wearing clothes that much longer anyway," Jennifer mumbled blushing violently and looking demurely down at his chest.
"You're probably right about that," the big man chuckled stepping aside so she could enter. "Come on in. Don't worry about sweet Melody," the man added, "my wife is a natural with children having had eight of them herself."
"Eight?" Jennifer was shocked. She remembered seeing a couple of young teens in the company of Mister and Mrs. Costas but was truly surprised they had that many kids in total.
"Oh yes, we do indeed," the big man said leading the way towards where she knew the infernal milking chair was placed in his apartment. "You have probably met my three older daughters, but we do have another five. Luckily, they are all away with aunts and uncles. That way, I have free time and space to devote to my business," Mr. Costas motioned her forward opening the door to the room where she already knew the glinting metal of the milking chair lay.
It was only her second time here and Jennifer was still trying to get used to the matter-of-fact way of the man as he he went about the matter of squeezing the milk out from the impressionable young wife. She somehow couldn't help but feel like another item on his to do list, ready to be checked off.
The moment she stepped through, Jennifer immediately slid off her PJ bottoms and started unbuttoning her shirt. She couldn't help but blush when she realized how it had to appear from Mr. Costas's point of view. He probably found the young mother all too eager to come and undress in front of him just so he could strap her into the chair and then squeeze her boobs until milk came pouring out into a bucket on the floor.
A lovely shade of red blossomed all across her body nicely complementing the naturally white tone of her skin and the strawberry blond locks framing her exquisite oval features. Soon she was naked like the day she was born and feeling deeply embarrassed to be that way in front of that virtual stranger whose wife she knew was so conservative, Jennifer quickly padded over to the metal table and climbed in.
Milked Again
She placed her long well toned legs into the stirrups and her hands by her side taking a deep breath as she tried to relax before the man could securely strap her in place. Mr. Costas merely grunted in what had to be a sound of approval and stepped forward to attach the myriad little chains and straps securing her naked form into the odd looking chair. He took a se
at by her left side and pressing some buttons on a remote control made the chair rotate to where within less than thirty seconds, Jennifer was now facing straight down. Her boobs formed cones under the gravity of the milk in them making her nipples stand out and point directly toward where Mr. Costas’s feet were. She heard a grating sound as a metal bucket was unceremoniously placed under her left boob and forced herself to take a deep breath stealing her nerves for the first squeeze that she knew would soon follow.
Jennifer still couldn't help but squeal as the man suddenly and viciously wrapped his big black hands at the base of her engorged boob and squeezed with meticulous deliberation as he moved his fingers towards the tip in a practiced milking fashion. Jennifer tried to stifle yet another sob as she wondered whether the man was being extra vicious today or perhaps it was a result of her already sensitized flesh.
The pain was terrible.
She started whimpering with fright as shivers ran up and down her suspended body while the big black man squeezed her tit.
"Shush little one, I know it is painful but it will feel better soon, I promise," he said and miraculously Jennifer soon found out he was right. It took a good ten minutes before she finally felt her tit grow numb to the squeezes and the first waves of pleasure started coursing through her body just as she heard the first squirt of milk hit the metal bucket at the floor beneath.
Jennifer closed her eyes and concentrated on the budding pleasure that had blossomed in her abdomen. She heard her own whimpers slowly morph from cries of pain to hiccups of unbridled lust as shivers cascaded up and down her spine. She heard Mr. Costas chuckle but being that she could not see more than his shoes, she ignored the big man molesting her boob and focused on the sound her milk made as it sprayed into the bucket.
She heard a clinking sound come from somewhere and soon realized it was her own the restraints rattling in protest to her squirming muscles as she ground her pelvis against the chair. She started breathing in fast little saccades gulping for oxygen against the chokehold at her neck that held her head to the chair as she faced downwards. Suddenly she heard a loud moan escape her lips and she almost fainted with the orgasm that blew across her body.
Finally her tremors subsided and she meekly surrendered in abject abandon to the awkward situation of lying suspended in the air while the big Mr. Costas milked her boob.
He kept at it with what she assumed had to be the practice of a seasoned cattle hand before moving to her right tit and resuming the painful process. It wasn't until a good hour and a half later that Mr. Costas was finally done with Jennifer's second milking.
Finally, he stood up and used the odd looking remote control to make her chair flip her back to the original position. Then he methodically started removing the straps before seating himself in his chair careful to put the metal bucket on the side by his feet.
Jennifer took a few moments to gather her wits still remaining obscenely spread on the metal chair as she took hungry gulps of air. Finally, when she thought she had gathered enough strength to force herself out of the odd contraption, she gingerly stood still leaning on its metal surface trying to will her wobbly knees back into action.
The ordeal her body had been submitted to had been formidable and it took her a good ten minutes of standing there panting and naked in front of the bemused Mr. Costas before she could finally look him in the eye.
"It looks like we did a little better than yesterday," the man commented looking down at the half full bucket of milk by his feet. "Unfortunately, however, my customers have a sharp and rather unanimous criticism for something we missed yesterday."
Jennifer looked sharply up shocked at what the man could be possibly talking about.
Criticism? What the hell!
"Apparently we were in a bit too much hurry to get done with your first milking yesterday," Mr. Costas patiently explained. "Unfortunately it appears we forgot a very important step in the process that my rather traditional clientele has somewhat grown accustomed to." Jennifer was too weak to ask and so merely looked on at the man in the expensive business suit with a bucket of her milk at his feet waiting for him to elaborate.
"We forgot the tasting. Like I said, people expect me to write a brief but detailed description of each batch after it has been freshly squeezed out of a woman's tits. We forgot to do that last night, at least not on camera. I did take a generous gulp after you left," he explained. "But we forgot to get it on camera." Mr. Costas motioned at the walls where Jennifer remembered with a shudder lay multiple cameras constantly filming with their unblinking eyes her total and complete humiliation. He had said it was necessary to sell the milk because it provided his customers with an assurance of its provenance and freshness. She now remembered Mr. Costas had also mentioned something about tasting her nectar but she had somehow forgotten the details.
"Every batch has to be tasted so that I can accurately describe its qualities on the website. That way people know what to expect. Human milk is complex and my clientele has actually grown rather accustomed to the quality I provide. Their pallets are quite educated I must say. So now, we have to do the tasting immediately, lest we forget again."
Jennifer shuddered when she realized that obviously her ordeal was not quite over yet.
"What do you want me to do?" She quietly asked.
"Nothing too complicated," Mr. Costas explained. "Just walk over to where I am seated, take the bucket and offer it to me. I beg your pardon for what I know is a ludicrous pantomime," Mr. Costas said with a genuinely flustered expression. "Suffice it to say that this is the way it has been done for ages and ages in these people's cultures. They are all kind of accustomed to that small ritual. I know it is awkward and alien to you, having grown up in the West, but maybe you can take at least some solace in the fact that a great many women in the Third World follow that exact same sequence of steps when offering their milk to be tasted by their husbands and elders in their villages."
Jennifer couldn't help the groan of virtual disgust that escaped her lips at the demeaning tradition that made countless young girls and women submit themselves in such an awful way.
In spite of that, she meekly fell to her knees and slowly crawled over as best she could to where the man was seated. She took the bucket, still warm with her freshly squeezed milk and following his instructions offered it with two hands to him while demurely bowing her head low, keeping her eyes locked on his shiny shoes.
Mr. Costas smiled to himself as he took the bucket from her and started drinking in big thirsty gulps.
This young American woman kept surprising him every single minute since he had first met her yesterday. She always went the extra mile when following his demands.
Like now, for example: He had merely asked her to walk over and offer him the bucket from the floor. But she had done so much more than that. She had made a whole little scene of submission out of what was essentially a simple gesture. It was as if the young blonde was following an ancient instinct embedded in the very fiber of her being through generations of females submitting themselves to the will of her grandfathers through the ages before. Mr. Costas kept drinking as he reminisced of how last night when he had asked her to merely take off her shirt and bra for her first milking, Jennifer had actually elected to undress completely.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the woman kneeling at his feet whimper. He opened his eyes to see her anxiously staring it up at him. She was worried and he caught himself when he realized why – he had almost drank all of her milk!
"I — , I'm sorry," he apologized handing her back the meager remains that were left in the bucket. "I couldn't stop myself, it just tastes too good." He smacked his lips in obvious delight.
"Don't worry, sweet Jenny," he said bending forward to lightly wipe off a tear that had materialized on her beautiful eyelashes. "You will have so much more milk to offer soon. I just know it." She nodded meekly not finding the strength to argue with the big man who had so carelessly drank almost all
of her milk. She wondered how much money the small amount left in the bucket would fetch now. Would it be enough for groceries for Melody?
As if reading her mind, Mr. Costas said, "I think we're looking here at an even one-hundred pounds’ worth of product. That would mean thirty pounds for you. That probably isn't what you expected, is it?" He asked.
Jennifer shook her head wiping away the tears that were now freely flowing down her face.
"There might be one way we take we can increase your earnings," Mr. Costas said wiping a stray drop of milk from his chin.
First Tastings
"How?" Jennifer asked. She was now well past any doubts or hesitations she might have had earlier. She had come here prepared to give this man her milk so that he could sell it, so that she could have enough money to feed her family. Now that he had almost drank all of it, Jennifer was one small inch short of a full on panic attack. She would do anything this man wanted just so she could feed her family tonight.
"I wasn't really going to suggest it, at least not yet," the man said. "But you're so desperate and I have to say, there is something about you I really like."
"How?" Jennifer asked again. She was still kneeling back resting her butt on the heels of her feet. She was naked, her boobs blue and red where the man had squeezed her for almost two hours straight. She was desperate to learn what could improve the price of her milk. She had an awful sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
"Many of my customers would pay dearly for the fresh milk of a white girl made to somehow perform for them," Mr. Costas simply said.
"You mean to say the would want to see me shame myself somehow even more than I already have?" Jennifer heard her own voice raise a notch but couldn't help it. She was getting angry now. It was as if this man and fate itself were sneering down on her predicament. Mr. Costas merely looked down at her a bemused expression fluttering across his lips.
Milked in London, Volumes One Through Four Page 3
