Chapter Thirty-three
It has been so long since I have been adequately drained. My heart leaps with her command to kneel as I have so often done when her fingers work to relieve me of my milk.
When Ms. Powers disappears into her kitchen and returns with the milking bowl, I know the dull ache will at last subside. I lean forward in eager anticipation, allowing my enormous glands to hang. They appear to be large water filled balloons with my pink n*****s resembling the extended filling neck. It feels as if they will explode and on some lonely evenings I have fantasized about having them pricked by a pin and watching milk gush like oil from a well.
“That farm girl had interesting technique,” Ms. Powers observes. “And I never realized how aroused you become in merely showing yourself.”
Ms.
