My eyes followed her and spied the smooth brass knob as it turned and the door latched. It looked more inviting than ever. Durst I try? I spent the afternoon wondering what it would feel like to back against the closed door, bend and thrust my opened thighs against what seemed to be, in my extreme frustration, not only a lustily shaped object, but the only thing available for relief. I held out as long as I could. But, as dusk began to loom, instead of waning, my concupiscence seemed to increase. With hands immobile, I struggled to pull myself off the bed and approach the door. There I turned, bent over and stepped back. When I felt the cold metal against my outer labia I spread my legs. The knob was just a little high, forcing me to my toes. I paused letting my extreme body heat warm the cold metal. When warmed I lowered my buttocks and felt the wonderful penetration of the wide, smooth and hard surface. I frottaged feverishly, first rubbing up and down by bending and straightening my knees then thrusting back, forcing the broad knob to split my outer labia and penetrate as far as possible. My little bell serenaded my efforts. My breasts, nipples pointing, swung heavily then fell into a rhythm with the thrusts of my hips.

I felt my climax approach, then heard activity in the hallway. I quickly slid from the doorknob. The room smelled of my odor even more. I feared that the destination for whomever was present was my room, and if so, the nature of my prohibited activity would easily be detected.

I scampered toward the bathroom, hoping to forestall detection. In my state of arousal the sensation of my bell gyrating my clitoris, my ripe breasts bouncing and my naked feet cantering through the deep carpet felt amazingly sensual. As I crossed the threshold my hallway door, never locked under Ms. Powers’ rules, swung open. I turned in terror.

It was Angela, carrying a tray with a milking bowl. I was more distressed to see with her was one of the young gardeners. When Angela saw my flushed skin and excited nipples, she smiled, fully cognizant of my masturbatory attempt. The young gardener sniffed the air and also smiled with the realization of what had been occurring.

“I told you it would be fun, Julio.”

Chapter Thirty

Angela has me kneeling on a low table. She has been charged with the duty of attending to my needs, one of which is to relieve my breasts of the flow, well developed

over the years through special diet and hormones. Since Ms. Powers has mandated that I wear the waist belt with wrists secured, I cannot use the breast pump. Thus Angela will milk me.

The irritating strumpet has brought one of the gardeners, probably even younger than her, to observe. I can only imagine what licentious interaction will occur after the virile youth watches my breasts being slowly massaged and my nipples spraying milk into the waiting bowl.

I curse myself for being so lactogenic. In frottaging against the doorknob, the resulting arousal has caused my glands to be standing at the ready. Without the morning feeding which I normally provide to Mr. Fatipton, I am replete with milk. Julio, having pulled up a nearby chair is sitting very close. He is about to get the show of his life.

Angela stands to my side, allowing Julio an unimpeded view of my breasts.

“I’ll start with the left,” she succinctly suggests.

Her fingers are clumsy and untrained. But my glands are full. As she squeezes and draws downward, my nipple seems to explode. Julio pushes back in surprise, then laughs. My eyes detect a bulge in his slacks.

Yes, observing a completely naked, hairless and bound Caucasian girl being relieved of her essence must be quite the erotic thrill for the young Hispanic male. Angela pauses then squeezes and draws again. The result is the same, a notable splash in the bowl.

It appears that a long evening is planned. With her deliberation, she seems determined to maximize Julio’s viewing pleasure, but judging from the bulge, he will soon need attention.

With the humiliation of being forcibly milked before the young male, I flush. I cannot help myself. Though degrading, having my nipples tended to, even so awkwardly, is gratifying. And having brought myself so close to climaxing on the smooth brass doorknob, my already wet vagina begins to flood. I involuntarily begin gyrating my hips, causing my little bell to ring and my gold ball to jiggle against my inner labia.

Yes, I am quite the sight for the young Julio. He watches in fascination, then begins to laugh, quickly becoming comfortable.

Before emptying my left, Angela switches to my right. Her inexperience shows. My left breast contains much milk and throbs even more with the need for attention.

But the right nipple erupts with force, causing milk to splash heavily into the partially filled bowl and resulting in spillage, which drips to Julio’s shoes. He looks down. Angela squeezes twice more. Julio is too aroused to continue watching. The youth’s tumefied organ takes control of his actions, causing him to grab Angela by her free hand. She looks at him, stops milking and laughs. Wordlessly, he pulls her toward him and kisses her, pressing his swollen member against her thigh. She feels it and casually titters. But it is a poor attempt to disguise her own arousal. She breaks away, steps to my bed, picks up my pillow and removes the case. Upon returning she pulls it over my head, blinding me.

I hear the sound of zippers and the rustle of clothing.

For the next thirty minutes I remain kneeling in a state of frustration, half milked, half masturbated while I listen to the two teenagers copulate on my bed, presumably gazing at my bound and naked form to spur their ecstasy. I long for the firm fingers of Ms. Powers. My glands throb more than ever. I find myself moving in rhythm with the lustful thrusts of the lovers, sounding my bell and rotating my hips in futile attempts to bring a clitoral orgasm. My gold ball works my labia, caressing the inner lips and adding to my frustration.

Amazingly, I can feel my milk continue to slowly stream downwards to the tips of my nipples. If I remain still I can hear small droplets drip to the bowl. Otherwise, I imagine, with my desperate movements to achieve gratification, that my essence is thrown about the room by my flopping breasts, wetting both carpet and furniture.

Sounds of ultimate satisfaction come. The sighs and heavy breathing stop. Then I feel fingers on both nipples. Strong and rough, they are not Angela’s. The unknowledgeable never seem to apply slow continuous pressure and let the milk release itself as does the experienced milker. But my breasts need relief and I hear the sounds of a reasonable amount of flow. I hear the soft laughter of the young male and the voice of the vixen.

“Go ahead, Julio. Ms. Powers is away. You may do as you please.”

The fingers again leave my glands. The bottom of the pillowcase is rolled up. The hands clench my head and guide it forward.

I have been in the presence of too many males not to know what is coming. I open my mouth in anticipation. Julio’s appendage is wet and smells of the female organ.

“You suck. I milk,” the accented male voice suggests.

Julio seems to understand my acute need. I comply. As unskilled as they are, I need to feel the pressure of his fingers. His hands leave my head. The pillowcase drapes down and the folds gather where my lips have wrapped about the well-sized, moist and flaccid shaft. I once again feel the gruff but welcomed fingers on my nipples. I indeed suck. The two lovers do not realize my own skill level. My tongue swirls while I pull in the quickly growing organ until the tip knocks at the opening to my throat. For a teen, Julio is a big boy, but in controlling my gag reflex, as my training has so intensively ingrained, his erection slides to the very depths of my throat. He pauses, seemingly shocked with the ease by which I have taken the entire length of his shaft, then resumes, his pure pleasure overriding the absent feeling of machismo normally experienced in making the fellatrix gag.

In reward for my oral efforts, his clumsy fingers squeeze. I hear strong spurts of my milk splash into the bowl. Briefly, we indeed reach an unspoken quid pro quo... I suck... he milks.

Unfortunately, the young male, despite his recent climax, too quickly approaches orgasm. I am stymied by my own well-practiced fellatio. Achieving full erection, Julio’s desire is restored. He withdraws and I hear the lovers move again to my bed. I once again am left to my own to listen to the sounds of giggling and passionate lovemaking.

Tags: Chris Bellows Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net