Chapter Twenty-three
“Go get your n****e clamps. I am walking you to the infirmary. That’s final”
He pouts like a child. He’d stamp his feet like a petulant little girl but for the fact that in his complete nakedness the sound would be ineffectual in proclaiming his protestations.
Sammy’s p***s, really his c******s at this point, has been leaking annoyingly. The production of sperm has long been curtailed, but that useless prostate gland continues to meekly ooze secretions of clear viscous fluid. It is now superfluous... and messy.
He drools like a dog... and he will be leashed like a dog.
“You’re to be milked. That’s final.”
He’s cute in expressing his misgivings, bringing forth my rebuke, but rarely enough to earn a trip to my chamber for more stringent counseling.
The demanded im
