"I already undressed, in your apartment, mind you," Jennifer couldn't help herself as words started tumbling out her mouth, "I allowed myself to be strapped into that god-awful contraption of yours –"
"– It's an examination table," Mr. Costas offered but she interrupted him.
"– Whatever. Then I got milked, squeezed, my boobs were abused making them an unrecognizable pulp that I'm now too embarrassed to even show my husband… All for what?" Mr. Costas merely shrugged his expression of pure curiosity only served to add to Jen’s profound misery.
"What for was all this? Just so you could drink it all!" She screamed now and enjoyed the meager sliver of satisfaction when she saw Mr. Costas flinch at last. She was going to say more, so much more but she was just so very very tired and exhausted that she just crumbled down putting her head in her hands letting the tears flow down her face.
She didn't know what to do.
What could she do?
Should she stay with this awful man so he could carry out what he apparently wanted in the back of his mind just so she could get a few precious banknotes more? Or should she simply leave and try to survive on whatever they had left at home?
"You came," the man said softly. She looked up at him her eyes unfocused and wet.
"Excuse me?" She asked, "What do you mean?"
"I saw you cum while I was milking your left tit. And then again you almost came when I moved to your right. It's all on camera," the man motioned toward the red blinking eyes spread around the room. "We can go back and I'll show you as it happened. It's all on film. I think you came in the exact moment when I applied the most pressure on your boob. It must have hurt quite a bit."
Jennifer realized that had she not already been sitting on the floor, she might have fainted on the spot.
Oh no! He had noticed.
Of course he had! Oh, the shame!
What now? Was he going to show the tape to Ben? Was that what he was driving at? Blackmail? Was there anything left he could take from her that he didn't already have?
"Oh no!" she whimpered out loud. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Was he going to rape her now! Was that it? Rape her or have Ben learn how she had spent the last couple of afternoons getting aroused to an orgasm while some stranger manhandled her boobs and squeezed her precious milk out? She simply stood there shivering in utter dejection. What had happened, how had she fallen so low, so fast? She caught herself wondering.
She looked at this man in his beautiful immaculate suit and polished black shoes, his white shirt and tie looking down on her in that inscrutable expression of his.
That is it, Jen thought seeing Mr. Costas start to move toward her. She froze in place like her father once said bunny rabbits did when trapped in the clutch of a hunting dog. Mr. Costas bent forward and slowly put a big warm hand on her cheek and held it there. She trembled at his touch as he took her in the palm of his massive hand. Slowly he made her look up at him. She peered into his sad big brown eyes that still somehow exuded a deep concern and caring.
"I will not to any of the horrible things you’re imagining right now. I suspect real despicable things crossed your mind Ms. Jenny," he said quietly. "I told you earlier, it is all about trust. You need to believe me."
"But you mentioned you wanted me perform –," she stammered.
"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do yourself," the man said in his deep voice. "I merely pointed out that you appeared to have more fun up there on the table than even you probably realize. I said that I know men and even some women who buy what I have to offer and like to see girls like you provide their milk for them to enjoy." "
"You mean they like to see me cum while I get manhandled by big man while I'm strapped to a chair," she asked incredulous.
"They like to see a beautiful woman act feminine and as nature intended and actually genuinely enjoy doing so,” he corrected. "If they all simply wanted to see a woman get fucked and abused, there is the entire Internet for that." He stroked her head gently like a father would a child in distress.
"No, what I know my customers like and come back again and again for, is to see someone like you genuinely enjoy themselves doing one of the most womanly things imaginable – getting her milk drawn."
Somehow, Jennifer felt a deep sense of relief wash over her at the man's words.
"But what can I do to "perform" for them as you said? Even if I wanted, I don't have any milk left, at least not yet, to go through this again," Jen asked.
"There are other ways to submit to nature's course, Jenny. And just so you know, I am certain you will want to be milked again once your milk drops. You may doubt it now, but I know it."
Silence befell the room as she dwelt on what he said.
"But if not sex and not milking, what else?" She finally asked.
He gave her some more time and then quietly suggested, "I may be wrong, but it is my opinion that you get excited when you are being humiliated," he said tentatively.
She started to protest but then caught herself. Could it be the man had a point? All these times she and Ben had sex, it was always her husband that initiated it. Inevitably he would do something like make her gag or perhaps worm a finger up her virgin butt or perhaps slap her gently, and it would send her over the edge. She had attributed it to her husband being original and adventurous and them being deeply in love but now she was starting to wonder whether there wasn't something more to it?
Could it be that Mr. Costas had a point and she actually liked being used and humiliated and Ben had instinctively honed in on it?
She looked up at Mr. Costas and saw in his eyes recognition of her tentative acceptance.
"Come," he said and stood up offering her his hand to pick her up from where she was still kneeling on the floor. Gingerly Jennifer stood up by the big beautiful black man and he gently placed a hand around her waist as they slowly exited the room. He walked her carefully providing support to the naked young mother by his side until they finally got to the living room where he guided her to sit on the couch. He didn't say anything and she understood the significance of silence as he arranged her to sit on the edge of the beautiful white couch spreading her legs just so that her labia could peek out from between. Then he took one of her hands and placed it palm up on her knee. Then he repeated the process with the other hand. He used his long fingers to comb back her beautiful locks as he fussed on her while she just sat at his couch. She heard him take a deep sigh stealing himself for what he was obviously going to suggest to her.
"We shall not spend much time here, Jenny. Like I said earlier, I was hesitant to suggest what I'm about to so early in our relationship, but there is something about you that makes me hope you won't mind. If you accept, it will definitely up the price of your milk, I promise" she looked into his eyes and found the strength there she needed.
"Okay" she meekly said nodding her acquiescence to whatever the strange man wanted.
"There is a very ancient tradition where my mother comes from in Nigeria. People there hold that a mother who drinks her own milk produces a second crop that is much more flavorful, rich and nutritious.”
Mr. Costas took the tin bucket with breast milk he had just squeezed out of her less than half an hour ago and carefully decanted it out in a tall glass. He took it and offered it to her.
“Drink this and lie down to sleep here on the couch. Three hours from now, I shall wake you up and take you next door to be milked again. I promise you we shall make a good sale later.”
She stood almost catatonic and petrified at the eroticism of what the man suggested. Her lips parted of their own accord and Mr. Costas lifted the glass tilting its contents into her welcoming mouth.
She luxuriated in the exquisite feel as her own thick nectar slid down her parched throat.
~~~
First Class
The flight from London to Abuja, Nigeria took more than four hours and a half. During the entire time they were in the air, Jennif
er's apprehension at what lay in her immediate future grew. At one point she even started shivering and Mr. Costas noticed it. He quietly waived over a flight attendant for a blanket that he then lovingly used to cover the beautiful twenty-three-year-old mother sitting by him.
“Are you afraid?” Mr. Costas gently placed the bulk of his gigantic arm along the naked skin of her forearm between them in their First Class seats.
"I am, I think," Jennifer replied softly. She was worried that someone else might overhear the topic of their conversation. Mr Costas nodded gravely,
"You will be made love to mercilessly, Ms. Jennifer, have no doubt,“ he whispered. "But rest assured that these man paying for our trip down to Nigeria today are nothing if not honorable. I told them ahead of time the safe word you picked. All you have to do if you feel uncomfortable and want out, is just whisper it and they will stop whatever they're doing. Okay?"
She nodded taking a long sip from the cold water and ice that had materialized on her tray table.
“I have never met them in person but these are long-standing customers of mine," explained Mr Costas. “Above all they're connoisseurs of the products I offer on my website. It looks like they have come to the same conclusion like me and see in you a natural submissive. There is nothing more delectable than tasting the product from the source especially when that happens to be a young beautiful creature like yourself, and submissive too. You will probably find that you enjoy the treatment ahead.”
Jennifer sunk back in her seat closing her eyes and attempted as best she could to steel herself for the tribulations that lay ahead.
Mr. Cavendish
“You are so precious,” the big white man said. Jennifer was still trying to come to grips with the odd circumstance of being dominated by a fat old Englishman in the center of downtown Abudja. It was Nigeria for crying out loud; where were all the locals? She wondered as she spread her legs wider for the British member of parliament as he thrust two long gnarly fingers into her precious little cunny.
“Yeah, that's right girl,” growled the man. “Come stand here by the window. Make sure people in the street can see your tits as they sway laden with milk while I finger fuck your pussy. Tell me darlin' did you have a boy or girl?”
“A girl,” replied Jennifer. Her voice caught a little at having the unbidden memory of her precious baby soar into her conscious mind in spite of the the sordid situation.
“They told me you are an American?” the old man asked as he snuck a third finger in where his two digits had previously plowed. Her pussy was getting extra tender from the constant attention and abuse it was being submitted to since the instant she had stepped into the dark interior of the sumptuous hotel suite.
“Yes I am” she moaned. “That hurts. Can you please be gentle.”
“I’m paying you so I can be rough,” the man growled. “My wife wants it gentle and she does it for free. If you want to be my wife, just say so,” the man kissed the nape of her neck licking up her beads of sweat as they trickled down. He added a fourth finger stretching her pussy into a shape it had not had to acquire since more than three months ago when she had given birth. Tears sprung into Jennifer's eyes as she wondered how was it that she had fallen so low? Nobody was forcing her to do anything she didn’t want, and that fact merely added to the awkwardness of her situation. In fact, everyone she met kept going out of their way to remind her that she was free to go at any point.
One-hundred thousand dollars, was that the equivalent of thirty pieces of silver? Jennifer wondered.
"Show me your ring finger, girl. Tell me now, what's your husband's name?” the man asked.
“Ben, his name is Ben,” Jennifer replied as she tried to reign in her accelerating heartbeat.
“Call me “Sir”!” the man barked. “Didn’t Costas tell you that you are supposed to show me respect?”
“Sir,” she repeated, her voice soft and subdued.
“So tell me, is good old Ben taking care of your precious little daughter while you’re all the way down in Africa having unknown men suck your milk?”
“Hmm, now that I think of it, I don’t know — here you are fucking up a storm in some sub-Saharan ghetto while your husband is living off of the proceeds. Perhaps I’m in fact in the wrong line of work. Maybe I should go to America, find myself a little wife he I can work like that too. Does he suckle on your tits as well when you're home? Answer me girl,” the man twisted his fingers in a corkscrew fashion.
Once her scream subsided and she forced herself to stop hyperventilating, Jennifer carefully enunciated every word in reply: "My husband Ben is a wonderful man and nothing like you monsters here. I love him with every fiber of my being. This very minute, he is doing his best to find a job so I don't have to do what I am doing here with you today, asshole.” Jennifer hissed her reply knowing full well that it would only gain her more pain but hell if she was going to put up with the abuse this redneck was dishing out without so much as complaining.
“There we go, sweetie. I like how your personality is coming through at last. Enough with that docile crap: Yes sir, no sir. I love you, sir. I'll suck your dick sir. Please sir.” The man mimicked a grotesque pantomime as he spoke. “I have had enough of all the acting that all these other working girls keep putting on. I want you to act natural with me okay? Say okay girl!” The man prodded her shoving his hand so far up her pussy that he almost lifted Jennifer’s quivering naked form off the ground. Her entire weight now rested on his wrist as she clawed at the window of the hotel suite overlooking the downtown of the capital of Nigeria.
“Okay,” she panted. “I’ll will be honest and natural sir.”
“Very well, girl. But given how much I'm paying, I do think we need to do something about those other holes of yours I'm not tending to. Here, while I concentrate on your cunny, why don’t you reach back and stick your middle finger up your butt and push it all the way in until it bottoms out.
“No sir! Please,” she started wailing. “Nobody has taken me in the ass it hurts. I know it will.”
She knew there was no point arguing with the man and so she meekly leaned her left hand in the window as she reached back and slowly started thrusting the middle finger of her right hand against the tight grip of her virgin anal bud. Tears poured down her face in endless rivulets gathering in small pools along the hardwood floors of the hotel suite.
“Excellent,” the man grunted. “So docile and obedient - how old are you again?”
He had to repeat his question and slapped her butt shaking her out of the trance she had fallen into as she concentrated on her own finger violating past her anal ring.
“Jennifer. My name is Jennifer,” she breathed.
“That's not what I asked you, girl! I know your fucking name is Jennifer. How old are you?” he repeated and slapped her hard leaving a five finger imprint along her quivering butt cheek.
“Twenty-three, I’m twenty-three,” she cried.
“Twenty-three, huh? So you're young enough to have at least a dozen more kids at least?” the man said thrusting his wrist up in her making her flop about like a rag doll wrapped around his hand while she was forcing her own middle finger up her ass in obedient resignation all the time crying and sobbing.
“Hey! I have an idea! Are you on the pill?”
“Yes I am, sir.” she lied. She hadn't been on the pill for some time now. They simply didn’t have money to spare for a prescription. She hoped to God that the redneck bastard would believe her and not get any ideas. Jennifer was very conscious of the innate readiness with which her womb accepted Ben's seed once they had decided to start a family. They had hardly made love more than a couple of times before the result from the pregnancy test had come back positive.
She could not believe she hadn't thought ahead to take contraceptives with her on the trip from London. But there had been so much else to worry about. A young twenty-three-year-old mother shouldn’t have to submit herself to such degradation merely to survive an
d make ends meet, Jennifer thought as her finger finally plunged all the way in.
Amazingly, she felt herself grow warm and her insides tingle both as a result of the sensations at the constant fisting the man was giving her pussy as well as her long middle finger ensconced up her butt.
She had never before been able to climax in the absence of sweet Ben, her husband. Now in spite of the grotesque nature of the circumstances, she found herself reminiscing of the sweet man she so loved. She wondered what he was doing back home in London. Was he worrying about her?
Suddenly the waves of pleasure washed over her and she screamed — full throated and guttural as she rode her orgasm while the brutish man lifted her up in the air on his one hand enjoying the way her tits bounced in the reflection of the floor to ceiling windows.
This beast of a man showed her the unexpected mercy of gently carrying her like a rag-doll and tossing her onto the Emperor-size bed where she flopped and curled up in a fetal position moaning with the aftershocks of the orgasm that had so suddenly hit her out of the blue.
"I'll be damned! You are one hot little cunt aren't you?” he said stroking himself. She could see he was rock hard again in spite of the violent fucking she had endured less than twenty minutes ago. She shuddered thinking what he would do to her now that he was clearly aroused again.
"Come and stroke me bitch,” the man said. “I’m not paying you to have orgasms on my dime.” He said and plunged into her soft mouth timing his thrust with her breaths as she quickly came down from the high of her orgasm.
She found her mind drifted off again and images of her recent past floated up into her quickly narrowing vision as she fought for air beneath his smelly crotch.
Milked in London, Volumes One Through Four Page 4
