by Jolene Avonn
“Open!” he demanded, and then he shoved two long fingers into my mouth and pried my nearly paralyzed jaw open as wide as could be. I gasped and gagged against his grip, trying to thrash away from him, but all I could manage was a harsh groan and slight writhing motion on the bed.
His cock plunged into my mouth. I choked and fought to breathe, horrified by the girth and length of the man’s organ. He was slowly growing hard, and his cockhead wedged into my throat like a fist. He held me by my hair, twisting his fingers enough to make my eyes water, and began pulling me on to his shaft until my lips nearly met his abdomen. I tried valiantly to breathe through my nose when my throat was closed off, but within three strokes my vision was red and fading away.
The man throatfucked me until he was rock hard. He pistoned in and out so fast that I felt my own saliva dripping down my chin and neck. I learned to manage my breathing, sucking in around his girth when he withdrew and relaxing when he penetrated, and in a strange way the paralyzing tincture helped. I let my neck go loose and allowed him to rock my head up and down as he thrust forward, pleasing him and alleviating the spasms of pain that came with resistance. Soon, when he bottomed out and his warm, heavy balls compressed against my chin, I began to feel the now-familiar insistent warmth between my legs. Whether it was the tinctures or my own lust, I’ll never know for sure. Either way, the sloppy, forceful blowjob warmed me at my very center.
When his tip was hard and leaking pre-cum like salty syrup in my throat, the man withdrew and shoved me flat on the bed. I sucked in great breaths of air and followed him with my eyes as he moved toward the foot of the bed, where he considered the straps and chains before leaving them dangling. The room was hot – much hotter than my quarters, and my chest was covered with tiny droplets of sweat. As the blonde man disrobed in front of me, I saw patches of sweat on him, as well.
He removed his shirt first, pulling the tight black cotton over his head fluidly. His tan skin pulled taut over etched abs, and his chest swelled with power. He removed his pants next – as he stepped out of them I watched his stiff cock bob in the glow of the room’s lights and the red-orange made his entire body look vaguely demonic.
I tilted my head to the left and saw Maggie on her knees on her bed, her head buried in the mattress and her full, voluptuous hips raised to the man who was fucking her ruthlessly from behind. Her tits knocked back and forth like crazed pendulums as the man slammed forward and back, forward and back, with hard, wet-sounding smacks of flesh. He grunted, and very faintly, from very far away, she sighed and groaned. He reached forward and clutched her breasts. His finger sank into her flesh until they all but disappeared, and she cried out anew. Milk covered the sheet below.
The man bent back and grasped for some kind of implement – a whip, a clamping device, I’m not sure – and I had to avert my gaze.
Further down, four other beds were now filled with women I’d previously seen in the halls, as well as four men in various stages of fucking them. All methods were harsh and loud, some involving chains, some not, and just as I was watching a woman’s ankles flailing high over her head as she bore the brunt of a large man’s enormous cock, the blonde man grabbed me by the hair again.
“Eyes straight ahead!” he hissed. He stood over me, straddling the bed so his cock was dangling just above my breasts. He crouched slightly, dropping his heavy member between my tits, and then mashed them together with a hand on each side. He nearly covered his entire cock with my supple flesh. He squeezed until my nipples protruded crazily, forcing milk from the tips in small spurts that coated my trembling globes and slicked his cock with liquid warmth.
The man began thrusting again. His cock slid easily between my breasts. His balls brushed against my stomach and his cockhead thumped against the bottom of my neck when he extended.
“Ohhhh, that’s it,” he moaned. “Squirt for me, barn slut. Give me more milk.”
Each squeeze sent another squirt of milk from my nipple, and though I still couldn’t move – couldn’t even raise my hands from my side – I could feel the orgasmic shockwaves as he wrung my tits and fucked against my chest. He sat down hard, grinding into me, and his body heat was all-consuming. I felt hot wetness flooding from my pussy as my body responded to his, despite my brain screaming in suffocating fear.
Milk flowed freely, and before the man had thrust a dozen times my chest was covered with warm white liquid. His thighs were coated, too, and his balls were damp with sweat and milk. We were slippery. His hips thrust faster and faster, the noises sloppier as milk rained down. His strokes became jerky. His balls tensed and his abs went rigid and his hands pushed my breasts together so hard that a loud cry finally escaped my throat.
“Ohhhhhh-noooooo!” I cried. “Ohhhhh God!”
The man loosened his grip and stood. His cock trembled above me, dripping. He circled his hands over my chest, working milk into my skin like massage oil, and I moaned in a low voice.
“Please no more,” I said haltingly. “Why am I here?”
The man leaned down, his lips right next to my ear. He slid a hand down my belly and cruelly plunged two fingers directly into my pussy, making my hips rise up in surprise.
“Doesn’t it feel good?” he whispered.
I was too overcome to respond. The man kept his fingers inside me and fucked me ten, twenty times with that hand, adding a third finger and laughing right into my face as I squirmed and cried out in forced pleasure.
“You. Have. To. Be. Quiet!” The blonde man choked out the words as he flexed his arm against me, sending his hand deep into my cunt. With his free hand he scooped something off the floor. As I gulped air and let one more ecstatic “Oh!” escape from my lips, I learned what it was: a thick, hard rubber dildo.
“Now take this, little one, and take it good. I didn’t want to gag you, but you won’t keep quiet, will you?” Two more hard thrusts of one hand while the other dropped the cock into my mouth and shoved it hard. The unyielding member forced my jaw wide and wedged in deep. I saw stars as I tried to breathe through my nose. I could only concentrate on so many things – breath, life, pussy, breasts, extreme pleasure, and extreme panic. My hips jerked up in response to a primordial need. A beastly desire. The blonde man sensed it and laughed.
“Come, bitch!” he rasped, slamming his palm to my clit with each hard thrust. “Come now! Come now!”
I’m ashamed to say that I did. He was hitting a spot near my clit, but deep inside, that set off bursts of hot pleasure. My thighs splayed open and my hips bucked up and before I could even try to stop, I came in rapid spasms against the man’s hand and wrist. I covered him with a creamy white cum thicker than my milk, a slick liquid that flowed from me like a river. He started nipping at my nipples, sucking hard and biting alternately, and the rush of ecstasy combined with a lack of oxygen blacked me out in a rapid-fire sequence of internal explosions.
When I came to, the blonde was fucking me.
My arms were tied down, a pillow was wedged under my ass, and my legs were pulled wide and chained to the bed. The dildo was still lodged in my mouth. The man was on top of me, his thick cock buried in my cunt and pistoning in and out like a machine. He panted hard into my neck and bit down every other thrust, like he wanted to consume me. His weight compressed my tits until they were wide and flat. His hips were so wide and powerful that my legs felt like they’d split.
I was slowly regaining feeling. I moaned against the dildo with each descending blow, squeaking as the man’s wide head wedged deep into my pussy and filled me totally. I struggled to breathe under his weight. I couldn’t move my legs or arms. All I could do was try to absorb the man’s heft with my body as he slammed down again and again. To my humiliation, I cried streams of tears when I began to tremble again – my belly shaking with unstoppable tremors and my thighs straining against the straps as the man’s steady fucking pounded one orgasm after another out of my quaking, drug-addled sex. I couldn’t stop it, or stop from sucking wildly on the dildo lik
e an infant on a pacifier.
I had been turned into a fucking machine. My body yearned for the horrific pounding it was taking, even if it would mean physical harm.
The man planted his hands on my shoulders and leaned up and back, buried to the hilt, his face straining. He was close. His cock swelled in my pussy until I thought he’d actually explode. He tilted his head down and stared, mesmerized by my heaving chest, and began to grind his hips against me in one final, slow dance.
He came with a power that surprised even himself. His cock spurted thick streams, filling my cunt with heat and a new slickness. Unlike Alex during my initiation, he kept himself buried in me – no condom blocking the flood – and he yelled as he shot six, seven, eight times. Maybe more. I bit down on the dildo and tried not to cry out anymore. I took his load and only managed to spit the cock out once he’d rolled off and staggered away.
He didn’t even unstrap me. Maggie did, ten minutes later, after she’d found the strength to climb off her bed and crawl over.
Neither of us could stand after our night session. We crawled, thoroughly humiliated and aching, all the way back to our quarters. We trailed cum and sweat. We stopped frequently for breaks. When we finally climbed into our cots, we slept without dreams.
~~~
The night sessions continued every other day. Each visitor was different, and sometimes the room was a different one, although every room had the same basic setup: six to ten beds filled with women of “the family,” and corresponding men who fucked until they were exhausted and satisfied. Most of the time I could walk back, but many times I ended up crawling slowly to my quarters, my legs too shaky and my hips too sore for me to stand.
Every now and then a man kept me in my room. Usually, he’d toss me on my cot and fuck me very plainly – missionary, maybe some light hair-pulling, and always filling my pussy with another creamy load. It was during one of those more physical room visits when I realized I was getting carried away into this incredibly strange and erotic world.
How did I know this?
One particular visitor made me crawl around on the floor while he watched me. He asked me to sway my hips, and bend down low so my tits glanced along the cool floor. He sat quietly, sizing me up, and eventually he had his cock out and started jerking it slowly. Then, when my back was turned, he ran up behind me and mounted me like a dog. He just shoved his cock inside me and started pounding away.
“Tell me how you want it!” he rasped. “Tell me what you want.”
Right there, with a far-off voice in my head yelling at me to escape, I started moaning.
“Take me like a dog. Take me like your perfect little bitch.”
The huskiness in my own voice surprised me. I threw my ass back at him like I was a pro, writhing my hips in hard circles that pressed his balls back against his legs and made him yelp.
He loved it. I did, too. He sunk his fingernails into my back and really drove it into me then, always yelling at me: “Tell me, little bitch. Tell me what you want from big papa.”
“I want it like a dog! Fuck me!”
And part of me really meant it. When he fell onto my back and spasmed cum into my climaxing cunt I felt like somehow, for a split second, I had won.
As I wrote earlier, due to continued consumption of teas and applications of salves, my body grew more and more accustomed to my sexual servitude. A fair part of me even looked forward to my mysterious visitors. This shocked me, both because I knew something was wrong, and because I knew deep inside that I yearned to serve, and please.
Some of the visitors were rough – too rough – and some were tentative and quick. All focused inordinate attention on my breasts, and all came with shocking volume and power deep in my pussy. I worried about protection. I had no form of birth control, and the men, to my knowledge, didn’t either. But I also had no real say in the matter. After the first night session, I was never close enough to Maggie to ask her about impregnation. I’d seen pairs of gorgeous, glowing pregnant women walking the grounds, all as naked as I was, just with larger breasts and beautifully round stomachs.
The seeds of my suspicion had been planted.
One day, after nearly a month of night sessions, I was too sore and tired for The Milkman’s morning visit. I couldn’t imagine anyone touching my breasts after the long night of squeezing, milking, and titfucking I’d endured. My visitor had whipped me across my tits with a leather strap until red welts rose across my chest and my nipples stung with raw, real pain.
So I remained in bed, covers to my neck, when he entered. He snapped his fingers and pointed to our usual spot. I didn’t respond. He snapped again, frowning at me. I closed my eyes.
Finally, I heard his voice for the first time.
“Rielle,” he said, his voice deeper than I expected, “you must give milk today.”
I opened my eyes and studied his face. Still expressionless, but maybe a hint of compassion in those dark brown eyes.
“I can’t,” I said simply. “I’m sore. I’ve done enough for this place. I’m going back to sleep.” Then I closed my eyes again and rolled on to my side, wincing as my aching breasts pressed together.
I heard him approach.
“But you must,” he said. “Bad things could happen, my sweet. You don’t even know.”
“Bad things are happening!” I snapped. “Do you know what they do to me at night?”
The Milkman sat on the edge of my cot.
“I do,” he whispered. “I know. And that’s why I know what will happen if you disobey. Never mind the pain you will endure if you try to wait until this evening.”
“I’ll wait,” I said, determined to resist. In truth, I could tell my breasts were already quite full already. But I didn’t want him to know that.
“So be it, Rielle,” The Milkman said with a sigh. “But at least allow me to apply a salve that will ease the pain. I promise you, it will help.”
I rolled over, tears filling my eyes. The kindness in the man’s voice sent a slow rolling wave of warmth over me. I could hear in his soft tones: he really cared.
I nodded, unable to speak.
The Milkman tugged the covers down to my waist. The tender skin around my nipples was light pink and felt raw. The areolas slowly twisted until the nipples peaked toward the ceiling; I closed my eyes in embarrassment.
I heard him open a jar, and then smooth his hands together with something wet. He massaged my breasts, one at a time, with a gel that began to heat up upon contact with my skin. He worked quickly, like a doctor administering an exam, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the wonderfully hot sensation. The irritation from the night before receded into a kind of numb throbbing.
Then The Milkman surprised me. He cleared his throat once and re-coated his hands with the salve. While he lightly brushed one hand over my tits and tummy, he slid the other under the covers and under my clean cotton panties, diving down until he could massage his wide, warm hand all over my pussy. He worked slowly now. He applied a light coating of the salve and then lingered, massaging my blossoming lips with that warm heat until I was breathed in short gasps and my face and chest burned red. Slowly, my sex was overwhelmed by the same numb heat as my chest, and my whole body relaxed like I once did, before the school, in a hotel sauna.
Pleasant heat. A soft hand against my sex. My eyelids too heavy to keep open. A finger working inside, gradually, until it was sliding in and out freely. My breath catching in my throat. My head tipping back. Approaching a huge waterfall, and then tumbling over. Tears of relief.
The Milkman pulled his hand free and patted me once on my head.
“You will feel better now,” he whispered, “but by two this afternoon you will be in great pain. Press the button on this transmitter to summon me. I’ll try to help if I can.” He wedged a small black box, like a car key fob, under my pillow.
Then he was gone.
~~~
The Milkman was one hundred percent accurate. By two o’clock that aft
ernoon, I was sprawled on the floor of my room clutching my breasts and squeezing at them frantically. I’d never gone so long without a milking, and I couldn’t mimic Maggie’s or The Milkman’s skilled motions. I bawled in frustration and pain. An ache rested directly behind each nipple and couldn’t be relieved. I knelt on the floor and squeezed my right tit, trying to force milk, and nothing came. It was as if I was entirely dry. I tried my left tit, massaging around the nipple with my fingertip, trying to tease milk out.
Nothing but dull pain.
“Fuuuuccckkk!” I yelled. I hammered down on the transmitter and prayed for help.
After ten more minutes of my wailing, The Milkman burst in with his pail.
“On the ground, all fours,” he commanded, and I obeyed. I crawled over to him.
“Please!” I begged. “Help me!”
“Shut up!” he snapped. “I warned you about this, Rielle. It all could have been avoided.”
He quickly enveloped my right tit with two hands and tugged down toward the bucket.
Nothing.
He relaxed, and then squeezed harder on the next tug. My nipple swelled, pulsed out...
...and then, sheer bliss.
A strong stream of warm milk splashed into the pail.
“Ohhhhhhhh,” I groaned. I almost fell to the floor. “More, please, please please!”
Another firm tug, and another splash. Then The Milkman assumed his normal pace, wringing and milking my breast until liquid flowed in a steady stream and the instant orgasm sensation rocked me into a muddling mess of words.
“Oh unh uhhhh ahhhh ohhhh,” I moaned, deeper and deeper until the sound was barely audible.
When he moved to my left tit, I noticed a trail of wetness along my inner thighs. I didn’t care. I was no longer embarrassed. I shoved a hand between my legs and stroked myself until my fingers were soaked and my clit was engorged and sending flares of sheer bliss throughout my body. My head nodded, my body shook, and I fingered myself to a loud orgasm as The Milkman quietly milked.
