Ship of Remorse

My wonderment over the latex suit was distracted as I felt the cables tighten. I turned my head as best I could to see the husband cranking a winch.

“Hold steady. You’ll find you’ll be quite comfortable.”

He proved to be right. My yoke, attached to cables, remained at normal level while my feet began to first move back, then rise off the carpet. Within a minute I was suspended in air, completely wrapped but for my face and head. My bell clanged.

“Yes, very nice.”

The husband moved about, unhooking the trapeze bar, drawing it under my hips then reattaching it. He adjusted various cables, spreading my feet well apart then lowering the yoke so that my waist and legs were suspended above my head and breasts.

The woman, having finally slid her hands into the arms of the suit approached.

“Lovely. She presents her glands very well.”

Both hands palmed my covered breasts and began to knead. It felt good. My experience to date told me she was of the age to know how to properly milk a girl. First massaging the body of the mammary gland to enhance the circulation, I knew that next would come some vaginal stimulation, then a brief caress of the clitoris and I’d be begging to lactate for her.

I could hear the husband removing his clothing and again the corner of my eye caught his hands and arms laying a sheet on the floor beneath me. It was more latex. Just plain black, and shiny.

I moaned as the woman worked just the main part of my breasts. They ached. I needed to be relieved of two days of build up. I wanted to produce for her... to display myself and show what my feminine glands could do. I deliberately shook my head and neck, making the bell clang and sending a signal as best I could that I wanted more.

Finally I felt the fingers of the husband working my labia. The sensation of being stroked through the thin plastic was decadently different. My juices flowed but were captured within my wrapping.

He inserted a finger, pushing the plastic into my vagina. Then another finger and another. The woman slowly moved her own fingers down toward my nipples. They were leaking. I detected more cloudiness under the wrapping.

Then the milking began in earnest. Husband located my clitoris. The woman began the firm squeezes and the draws of pinched fingers down the nipple to the end, where an eruption of milk met the plastic and stayed trapped within. She alternated breasts, emulating the milking of a cow, left hand then right... left hand then right.

My flow began to fill the well-sealed wrapping. It bulged, the woman laughed. The husband fingered. He was good. He found all the buttons and timed the push of such with the woman’s strokes. My bell fell into the same rhythm. I felt the warmth of my own milk covering my torso. It was a most sordid feeling, bathing in my own essence.

After a time, it appeared that the plastic wrapping was going to give way. The weight of the milk caused it to bulge and in places it hung well away from my body. The look on the face of the woman was that of pure pleasure, her fingers were controlling me, bringing me strange satisfaction, slowly harvesting my body of its most prized substance. She became flushed.

“Now! I have to have it!”

She stopped milking me and laid on the black latex sheet under me. Husband interrupted my slow masturbation and I felt his hands near my torso. With a small metallic object he poked holes into my wrapping. The accumulated breast milk at first dripped out to a low point on my body, then gathered to steadily begin to pour down onto the woman. She became ecstatic. First extending her tongue and letting it splash into her mouth then rolling about and letting it cover her latex suit.

The fingers of her right hand moved to her crouch area and slipped into a concealed slit in the latex suit. There was no doubt as to their objective. Her left hand collected more essence and rubbed it about. She closed her eyes. Her right hand, fingers gone from sight, became quite busy. She moaned.

The sight of the black latex being coated with the white of my glands provided a most perverse contrast. The husband moved back between my suspended legs. I expected to feel his wonderful fingers resume their exploration and manipulation, but instead the metal object worked between my buttocks.

“You’ll do well to squeeze those luscious cheeks for me, my little cow. Daddy’s going to give you some of his juices in return.”

‘Daddy’s’ turgid penis began knocking on my rear portal. I had no choice but to let it enter. I was grateful for the remnants of lubricant from the afternoon rectal feeding.

A thin stream of my breast milk continuously dripped onto the masturbating woman as husband entered me. Since I was suspended he merely stood in place and pushed and pulled on the trapeze about my hips to friction his huge erection. My bell rang. My sphincter, stretched by the daily insertion of the inflatable feeding nozzle, took the circumference, but it was tight.

Meanwhile as I swung forward and back, my milk flew to different areas. The woman climaxed but then extended her tongue, trying to catch the rivulets as they flew about and landed all over her and the latex sheet.

My mind raced trying to fully comprehend the most decadent scene unfolding. I closed my eyes. I was an object. A machine that they turned on and from which extracted pleasure. My half masturbated vulva was despera

te for attention. My breasts needed more stroking, even with the abundance of liquid covering the woman and the sheet. I had more to give. My over stuffed backside felt the hot, stiff phallus sliding in and out.

The pair of male hands reached under me and stroked than squeezed my breasts and nipples. They were harsh and although I felt more flow it was not pleasant.

“Squeeze, cow!”

With all that was happening, I had neglected to properly service the husband’s penis. I began to time his strokes with Kegel-like squeezes of my sphincter. More milk flowed then I finally heard his shout of ecstasy and squeezed strongly. I felt his hot sperm explode where I had so often felt the slow flow of the cooler brown nourishing liquid. I also felt great wetness within the area of my wrapped vulva.

When the husband, still impaling my rear portal, poked open the wrapping there, clear juices streamed down to the latex mat below. It was obvious I had once again ejaculated, but into the confines of the wrapping.

Chapter Fifteen