Within a month of the new regimen, the girls of 1 stall no longer appeared in the lounge. Instead some nine girls from 4 stall joined us. Unbeknownst to me, months before they had joined the ship in Norfolk and Charleston where a large presence of sailors seemed to indeed keep Dr. Helga well supplied with prospective ‘cowgirls’.
Meanwhile I had became accustomed to the visits to the lounge and of being publicly milked. But what I could not become accustomed to were the special duties and fulfilling the most unusual requests of the guests.
No girl could ever be prepared for such.
One very eccentric woman, gray haired and in her fifties, took great delight in having me bend over a waist high bar while she stuffed my backside with shiny metal eggs. She took her time doing so, firmly pushing with her right hand while her left worked one nipple then the other.
I was amazed at the number of the strange objects she was able to insert, for she was most deliberate, noting for me that the more she milked me the more relaxed my sphincter became and the more eggs I took.
When finished with my anal opening, I felt absolutely stuffed. The last egg could not be fully inserted and I felt it peeking out my anus.
But then she slipped two more eggs into my vulva.
“Hold them for me,” she politely commanded. “We’ll visit some friends.”
The woman then proceeded to walk me about the ship. Fortunately, with the weeks of vaginal exercise, I was able to hold the slippery eggs, though with my movement, they served to arouse me terribly.
As we proceeded through the halls, she looked back to observe my reaction. Walking while holding the oblong spheres made me move like a duck, and I had to stop on occasion when very pleasant twinges interrupted my pace.
The night’s lounge entertainment had ended by then and many guests were back in their cabins, happy to have a quick diversion before retiring.
Their smiles and mocking laughter have forever been etched in my memory as the woman suggested with each visit that I ‘lay an egg’. And I did. But holding the vaginal eggs while expelling the ones in my backside took incredible concentration. Throughout the evening, time after time I squatted over a dish or bowl and pushed out an egg at each stop, hoping that the woman had counted the number. For the last two were most difficult and I pondered whether there were any left. They were finally expelled after many amusing minutes of pushing. For the last one, I found the Lamaze training to be particularly useful. The sound of the metal hitting the bowl was satisfying after displaying for the deviant guests the use of muscles I didn’t think any one would ever see.
That evening ended back in the woman’s cabin. Finally permitted to push out the vaginal eggs as she held her hand patiently under the egress to my love nest, I nearly climaxed as the smooth, slippery objects opened my inner lips to escape.
She slept that night with my head between her thighs. It was nice to be released from the yoke, but her oral demands were endless, waking every hour or so to demand my attention.
On another evening of special duty, the same woman, evidently finding some attraction with my breasts among the dozens of others, or perhaps enjoying the prior night of endless cunnilingus, again selected me for special duty.
This time she led me to her cabin where I was greeted by a trapeze device similar to that used by the couple. It did not take much effort to have this naked girl, thumbs restrained behind her back, hung from the trapeze bar upside down. Yes, the comfortably padded bar was lowered to the floor and placed under my bent knees. With my ankles secured up to the back of the yoke, the woman turned the winch and raised the trapeze bar until I was completely suspended with my head just off the carpet. My huge swollen breasts hung before my chin and nose. She laughed.
“So much time spent milking the breasts. Did you know they can milk themselves?”
I was not expected to answer and did not. She pulled up a chair, sat and reached down to my left breast, pulling upwards. I could not see everything she did, but felt her circling the elongated nipple from the very base with a very thin cord. She wound her way toward the end leaving the very tip exposed. It slowly engorged and turned bright red. She did the same with the right.
“Dr. Helga will be happier if we collect the milk, won’t she now.”
The standard stainless steel bowl was pushed on the floor under me.
“Now, let’s get you started, shall we?”
Her knowing hands reached up. Just at the height of her shoulders as she sat in the chair was my love nest, well exposed, hairless and with labia well spread by the trapeze bar which separated my knees.
I knew what was coming. She inserted two fingers and began. What I didn’t expect was to see, within a minute; my breasts begin to give up their essence. Her diddling fingers sent the message to get ready to lactate. The pressure of the thin thread, tightly encircling all but the tip of the nipple, apparently provided the needed pressure to cause the flow. I began dripping into the bowl.
“Yes, very nice Alexi. There are girls who can produce more, but few so eager to show off as you are.”
She diddled a little longer, brushed my clitoris with the tip of a finger then stood and removed the chair.
It was bizarre. I continued to drip into the bowl while she stepped back and poured herself a glass of wine.
The woman then opened the door to the cabin. Knowing that anyone passing by in the hall was free to view me, hanging upside down and lactating without manipulation into the collecting bowl, caused great embarrassment and concern. And the very thought seemed to increase the rate of my flow!
The milk slowly oozed to the tips of my nipples then steadily dripped to the bowl. The milking was slower than the machine and certainly slower than Dr. Helga or Nurse Inga but there was an incomparable level of diabolism in having a pair of thin threads and Earth’s gravity rob me of my precious fluid. So simple. So cunning. So evil.
In time, guests exiting the lounge stopped in to view the woman’s handiwork. The reactions varied from curiosity to outright laughter. One woman giggled endlessly and could not resist standing before me, caressing my moist labia and ever so lightly toying with my clitoris. After which she marveled at my increased flow of milk. I also felt myself begin to flow from my vulva. Essentially, my vagina was also being milked! The rivulets formed a stream, which slowly ebbed down my flesh to my stomach.
Mercifully, the woman finally curtailed the entertainment.