Chapter Thirty-one
The routine continues for the next few days. My breasts not only ache but leak constantly. Angela takes great delight in feathering my c******s, which causes the flow to begin in earnest. But I am not milked, only feathered. At one point she exclaims that my c******l bell will wear itself out and thereafter I find myself in ankle cuffs, lying spread open with feet secured to the bed posters.
As a result, I can no longer move enough to arouse myself. It is only by way of Angela’s hand, which seems to present itself every two or three hours, that my vaginal passage is turned into a river and my breasts turned to leaky faucets.
Finally, after several days, an eternity in which I was fed like a baby and had many embarrassing episodes of having a bedpan slid under my butto
