Message-ID: <8442eli$9802131642@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: jaypee Subject: MILKMAID Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34E42ADC.988@KIVA.NET> MILKMAID by Joy Paine One of my readers has complained that she would enjoy my stories a lot more if the female victims got sexually aroused. Well, I never said that they don't. You, the reader, are in control. If you want something to happen, just imagine that it does. If you want to re-write the story, go ahead. It won't hurt me if you do. I just ask one indulgence: if you publish any stories with re- writes, tell your readers that changes have been made from the original. This story is not pedophilia. The narrator can be any age you prefer. There are only two hints as to her "actual" age -- she rides a bicycle, and she is a virgin. Now, I have known women over forty years old who ride bicyles. Whether or not they are virgins, I won't say. So Steffi, like any wise woman, should be of indeterminate age. If you conceptualize her as a minor, then "Honi soit qui mal y pense". (Rough translation: "It's all in your own dirty mind".) Chapter 1 "Just lean your bike up against the side of the house," Cathy said. "Nobody will monkey with it -- as you'll soon learn, this is a very friendly neighborhood." Friendly indeed! Yes, and I was going to learn real soon what "friendly" meant, and how I was going to have to be "friendly" with all of the boys (and some of the girls), and with any other creep that the Boss OK'd. Yeah, I was going to get a thorough education that afternoon, and in the weeks -- and the years - - that followed. It wasn't much consolation that there were a lot of other girls from school (and from other places) in the same fix. He didn't even refer to us as his harem -- we were his "herd" -- no better than animals, forced to serve -- and to service -- anybody that met the Boss's "standards". Which usually meant meeting his price. But all that came later. Right now I was rather enjoying the feeling I got Down There from riding my bike over to Cathy's house. Yeah, I knew the words -- vulva and vagina -- and I even knew the difference between the two. After all, we had learned them in hygiene class at school, but I didn't feel comfortable with them. And I knew the gutter words, too, like snatch and twat, and the c- word, but I wouldn't even think them in those days. So I just kept on thinking of the parts of my body in the terms of my childhood. Just as Cathy still referred to her breasts as "boobies", even though they were so well filled out that you would swear she was nursing a baby. But I was going to learn the words -- and learn to use them (the words and the parts of the body) -- in no time at all. After all, my teacher was a master at the art. Chapter 2 I got the first hint that something was wrong when we walked into the house. I knew that Cathy lived with her older brother, and she said that he was away on one of his out-of-town trips. "Lining up meat", she said, which is about the strangest job description I had ever heard. So I imagined we would be alone in the house that afternoon. We were let into the house by Anne, obviously a maid, according to the outlandish costume she had on -- an outfit that displayed everything that she had, but did it in a tastefully sexy manner -- who spoke with a French accent that was obviously fake. She showed us to the bedroom, no less, where we were greeted by a very sinister-looking man, flanked by four of the older boys from school. Five men in a bedroom had to spell trouble, and I tried to back out, but Cathy blocked my way and Anne grabbed me by the ponytail, and dragged me back into the room. I noticed that they also had rigged up a number of video tape recorders, and I knew instinctively that I was cast in the starring role of whatever little drama they had planned. They wasted no time getting started. "Strip!" the man barked at me. The boys giggled, just like a bunch of girls. I wasn't having any of it. The Boss repeated the command. "Strip, or we'll tear your clothes off. "Makes no difference to me," he went on. "We'll get to see your little bod just as well either way. But it might make a difference to you. You see, if we have to tear your clothes off, the boys are likely to get excited, and -- shall we say -- take certain liberties along the way. "And perhaps more serious, you won't have anything to wear home at the end of the afternoon. "Oh, don't worry -- it'll still be broad daylight when we dump you in the middle of the supermarket parking lot, and there'll be lots of people around to see that you don't get into trouble during your walk home, but you just might find it a little embarrassing without your clothes." Chapter 3 OK, so that did it. If I didn't strip for them, they'd make me walk home naked after they had finished with me. And believe me, I was getting a pretty good idea as to what "finish" they had in mind. Even though I was a virgin (which had earned me some ridicule from my schoolmates), I knew one end of the sausage from the other, as the saying goes. I noticed, by the way, that they didn't promise to give me my clothes back even if I did everything they wanted, but I tried not to think about that. The alternative was a sure thing. I turned my back, and started to unbutton my blouse, but the man stopped me. "Full front," he barked. "And nice and slow, with lots of wiggles. Show her, Cathy." I don't know where Cathy ever learned to strip like that, but it looked like a professional job. My big brother had told me how it was at the "burlycue", as he called it -- where the girls took off their clothes while the audience cheered. I remember one time he just about broke me up with an imitation of the antics they went through while they were undressing. But this time it wasn't for laughs. Cathy went through the actions off stage, as it were, while I had to imitate her in front of the camera. First the shoes and stockings, then unbutton the school blazer, tug it off slowly, and toss it aside. Now my hair ribbon, letting my hair flow about my face, down to my shoulders. But it wasn't long enough to cover my breasts when I took my blouse off. Which was next. Slowly, one button at a time, then gently tug the bottom out from under my skirt, and then off the shoulders. I don't know whether they'd known I wasn't wearing a bra, but they knew pretty soon, because there were no straps over my shoulders. And that made them sit up and really pay attention. And start whistling, and cheering, and shouting "Take it off!", just like a pack of wolves. And that was just about the hardest thing I ever did in my life. Jeepers! These were boys that I was going to see tomorrow, and every day, in school, and I had to give them a free show! Chapter 4 Well, after I got the blouse off, the boys (and the man who was running the event) got impatient, and they made me take off my skirt and panties together, in one movement. And then I had to stand while they looked. And took pictures. They made me stand in all kinds of positions, some gross, some inviting, some in imitation of famous paintings, like "September Morn". And of course, each one of them had to feel me, and pinch my nipples (hard enough to hurt like fire, some of them) and poke and tickle me Down There. All on camera, of course. And the man they called the Boss told me that all of the boys would get prints of the pictures "for their scrapbooks", so they could gloat over them and (worse yet) show them around school, as proof that they had "done" me. And now, the Boss pointed out, it wouldn't do me any good to try to squeal to my parents or to the police, because the pictures were proof that I was doing everything willingly. After all, he said, maybe you could fake photographs, but motion pictures on video tape were something else. And what was more (he didn't have to point it out, but he did) I would be so embarrassed just to have the pictures get around to my parents and to the teachers that I would be willing to "behave" just so he would keep them out of circulation. And then he used that oily tone of voice that I was going to get to know so well. "Now, Sweetie, now that you've shown us what you've got, we're going to let you show us what you can do with it. But only after you beg us to fuck you," he added. My God! To tell the truth, I had known in my heart that it was going to lead up to this, but hearing him say it was like a fist in the pit of my stomach. That's where I drew the line. And I told him so. Chapter 5 He didn't like to have someone tell him "no", I soon found out. And found out again, over the next few years. And again and again. You'd think that I'd learn after a while that it didn't do any good to defy him, but he had everything all planned out so that he always had something worse to demand of me, just when I thought that I had reached the very bottom of pain and shame. I'm sure that he lay awake nights thinking of new things he could ask me to do, just to give him an excuse to punish me. And I found out later that he used all of the members of his "herd" from time to time as consultants, to suggest new outrages to inflict on the girls. I know this for a fact, because he often called on me as an "idea girl". He used to brag that he never gave an order on an "or else" basis. Every order was to be obeyed, sooner or later. The only option a girl had was to obey immediately and eagerly, or to be "persuaded" until she was more than eager to obey. And of course he was never completely satisfied, even when she obeyed immediately. He always found something to complain about, and to give him an excuse for punishment. And most of his "clients" were the same kind of people, but not so bad as he was, so we came to look on the hours we spent serving them as a kind of relief. While we were what he called "visiting girls", and still lived at home, we had to limit our "duty" time to what he thought we could steal from our families without them getting wise. After we became residents, of course, we had 24 "duty" hours a day. (And every day of the month, as he liked to remind us.) Every "duty" hour when we were not actually serving (read that "servicing") his clients was spent in keeping our bodies in shape or in training to service them better. But that all came later. Right now, he was determined to have me beg him and the boys to rape me. Only he wanted me to use the f- word. Chapter 6 And so my training began. The first installment of a never-ending series of torments. At least, it has not ended yet, after several years (I forget how many), and if there is any end in sight, I certainly can't see it. He started out by letting the boys "get to know me". I didn't know it at the time, but everything those boys (young men, actually) did to me was pretty tame stuff. He knew it, of course -- he knew that I would be hurt, disgusted, scared to death by their childish torments, but he also knew that their amateurish attempts left lots of room for "improvement" -- for a gradual build-up of techniques, each worse than the last one. They strapped me down, still stark naked, of course, on a framework of metal rods, lying on my back with my arms and legs spread. I've gotten to know that framework well, during my years of membership in his "herd" -- to know its capabilities and its flexibility -- how it could hold a girl's body in every position you can imagine, leaving every possibly square inch of her body accessible to whatever torments her torturer fancied. And then, to make sure that they had full access to the most interesting areas, they fastened clips (they hurt!) onto the lips Down There, and stretched them out to straps that fitted around my thighs, so that my vagina was spread wide open. Well, the boys were mostly interested in pinching and fingering all of the no-no places, with a little tickling mixed in. But they also added a bit of tongue action that was actually pleasant -- kissing, and licking, and sucking my nipples and -- especially -- Down There. And then Anne took over. She was an expert in what I came to know was called "erotic" stimulation -- in no time at all, she had me wiggling and moaning, and begging her to continue. But I heard the Boss remind her that her job was just to warm me up, and especially to get me lubricated -- and Heaven help her if she let me slip "over the edge". So I was a machine now -- not even an animal any more -- to be got lubricated and ready for use. As a matter of fact, he often used to refer to us as his "sex machines". "The orgasms come later," he warned Anne, "when they'll serve our purpose, not hers." Chapter 7 "So are you ready for us now, Sweetie?" he crooned in that oily voice of his. And I almost said yes, I was so eager to continue the pleasant stimulation that Anne was applying, even though I had no idea in those days what they would lead to. But I knew that what he wanted to do was dirty, and might lead to disease or pregnancy, and I knew that it was wrong, and I shook my head. He seemed to be happy that I refused. "OK, we go the next step," he grinned at the boys, and picked up the cane. It was made of some sort of very flexible wood, and made a horrible WHOOSH! when he swept it through the air. I knew what he had in mind, with my legs stretched apart like that, and I started to beg him not to do it. Well, he said, that's not quite what he wanted me to beg for, and he brought that damned cane down on my clitoris. I've never known anything else that hurt quite that much, and believe me, I've know lots of things that hurt an awful lot. So it didn't take more than that one stroke to make me beg him to rape me, but he hit me a few more times until I got the exact words just right (including the f-word, of course), and the tone of my voice sounding "like I really wanted it". And then a couple more strokes "just for good measure". And then he untied me, and warned me that he was going to make video tapes of what went on, and he wanted me to smile all the while, and make it look as if I loved every minute of it. And he made practice that silly smile until I got it right. I almost puked when he told me what I was to do, but he just prodded me gently with that horrible cane -- Down There, of course -- and I agreed that yes, it would be a nice thing to do for him, and yes, I would probably be having as much fun as he would. Chapter 8 Well, he told me what to do, and I did it, revolting though it was. I didn't want any more of that cane on my clit, thank you. First I begged him, although my voice broke as I used the F-word for the first time in my life, and then I took his clothes off, one by one. It wasn't much problem taking off his shirt and undershirt, but when I got to his fly I broke down for a minute. His pinch was excruciating - the more so because of the recent caning - and it reminded me clearly of the fact that I would be caned again if I didn't do what he wanted. Swallowing the puke that was trying to come up my throat, I unzipped it, and peeled off his pants and his undershorts in one humiliating motion. And then he made me put my hand on his Thing, and stroke it while it got hard, which didn't take any time at all. Now I had to cuddle up against him, with that revolting tool poking into my belly, and let him kiss me, poking his tongue deep into my mouth, and swabbing it around against mine. And then he made me do the same thing to him. This time he bit it, not enough to really hurt, but enough to impress on me how much it would hurt if he really put some force into it. He told me then that he liked to have a girl caress his nipples all the time he was doing her; with her lips and tongue if they were available, and otherwise with her fingertips. I thought that was pretty queer, but you can guess that I didn't tell him that. I just got to work, tongue on one side, and fingers on the other, and shifting sides when he told me. His Thing was a roaring monster by the time he told me to suck it up. Yeah, that's what he said -- SUCK it! Eew! It took another reminding pinch to get me to put my lips around it, and he warned me that if he even felt so much as a hint of his teeth, I'd get it, but good. And then the moment of truth. He made me lie down on my back and spread my legs painfully wide, while he just looked at me for a couple of minutes, and then just kneeled between my legs. He warned me to get my fingertips going on his nipples again, and reminded me that there would be a painful punishment if I stopped even for an instant, no matter what the reason. And then he pressed the end of his Thing against the slit of my vagina (and now I was glad about that lubrication that Anne had arranged for me) and shoved it in. Chapter 9 I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, and said a little prayer to myself. I had known ever since I understood about such things that this was the worst thing that could happen to a girl - they used to call it a Fate Worse Than Death - unless she was married, which somehow made it all right. I could understand part of that - if a girl got pregnant (I understood that much about IT in those days), nobody would ever forgive her if she did it before she had a father for the baby. But our teacher had told us that there were ways to keep from getting pregnant, but it was still wrong to go all the way before you were married. And I believed it. I found out that they were wrong about one thing, though - there were other things that were worse - a lot worse - than getting pregnant, and I experienced most of them. Well, maybe not most. Every time I thought that I had seen the worst possible, that bastard would come up with something worse. Anyway, worst or not, it was pretty grim - what teacher would have called traumatic, sure, but just purely painful, as well. He twisted my nipples brutally "just to remind you what your fingers are supposed to be doing", and then his big hands glommed onto my little breasts and squeezed the daylights out of them. He stopped just before I blacked out, and let me recover just a moment, and then started pushing in. It started hurting immediately, as the tissue stretched almost to the breaking point. Almost. He had had enough experience so he could judge down to the ounce how much force my cherry could stand, and he knew to the width of an eyelash how far he could push without breaking it. And after pushing to that magical point of almost, he would pull back, and let the pain disperse itself through my body, amusing himself by squeezing my breasts while he regrouped for the next push. And now and then he would use this moment of relaxation to make another probing examination of my mouth with his tongue. Chapter 10 Well, I knew that he couldn't keep up that teasing forever. I could tell from the quickening of his breathing and the urgency of his thrusts, as well as the increased agony as he squeezed my breasts even harder, that it wouldn't be long now. And it wasn't. With one last savage thrust, he literally tore his way into me. The blazing pain of the tearing tissue obscured for a moment the mental anguish of the the destruction of all my childhood dreams of chastity, and his cruel laugh left no doubt as to how much he enjoyed the moment. The pain subsided a little after that, but my abused clit still hurt like fire as he rubbed back and forth against it, and he kept up the assault on my aching breasts. (No danger of my spoiling his sport by orgasming prematurely.) Until that final moment, when one last spasm told me in no uncertain terms that he had spilled his venom into me. But that wasn't the worst, as I was soon to learn. He muttered something about the boys not liking "sloppy seconds", and they strapped me onto that damned framework again. I supposed that he was going to douche me out, but was I ever wrong! He used a thing that looked like (and was, I learned later) one of those toy darts that kids shoot - - with a rubber suction cup at the end, that sticks onto the target. Putting in something (I didn't see it exactly) that kept my vagina stretched open -- all the way in -- he started actually sweeping the walls with the edge of the suction cup. Like a windshield-wiper, he joked. That's where I learned first hand about the G-spot that the girls used to talk about. But with the rough way he was brushing it (I'm sure he did it on purpose), it was more irritating than pleasant. And that was a bit of knowledge that was going to be brought back to me time and time again during the years that I was a member of his "herd". And suddenly I realized what his game was -- he was sweeping the filthy mess *inward*, toward my cervix, and using the cup to force it actually through the cervix, into my womb! He laughed at the dirty name I called him, and gave me the whole sadistic scoop. "We've had Cathy and other friends making careful observations of your behavior over the past weeks," he pointed out, "and we calculated that this was the time of the month when you were most likely to take seriously what we were poking at you in fun." He actually was trying to make me pregnant! Chapter 11 He was deliberately trying to make me pregnant, and there wasn't a thing in the world I could do about it. Except pray. I tried that, but I'm afraid that it was too late for prayer, in a situation like that. "It's actually for your own peace of mind," he went on, with that cruel twisted logic of his. (I don't think he really believed it -- he was just twisting the knife.) "Just like breaking your cherry, so you won't have to worry about losing it every time you take a lover. If you're already pregnant, you won't worry about getting knocked up every time you get screwed. "But it's not as bad as you think," he went on. "If you behave -- mind you, *IF* you behave -- we'll fix you up with a relatively painless abortion before it gets to the point where everyone will know. On the other hand, if you don't obey the rules completely, we'll just let Nature take its course until you're thoroughly disgraced among your family and the neighbors, and then when we kidnap you to become a resident member of our whore corps, everybody will think that you ran away because of the shame. "But in either case, we won't stop your pregnancy until your body has started the process of lactation, which we can keep up after the abortion with doses of prolactin. "It's important getting you into milk production" he went on. "First, it'll give you a sexier figure -- look at Cathy's, for example -- and second it'll make you much more desirable as a sex partner in other ways, as there are lots of things a man can do to a lactating tit that will hurt much more than anything he can do to an empty one. And of course he can always get a refreshing sip of milk while he's making love to you." Boy, was that ever gross! But the Boss wasn't finished yet. "And a healthy young broad like you will be a valuable addition to our dairy herd," he went on. "There's a very lucrative market among the Smart Set," he pointed out, "for human milk and milk products, like cheese and yogurt." Jeepers, how revolting! Just like a cow! "Plus our Leche parties, where the cocktail girls are always ready to supply a sip of milk, right from the tap, as it were. Or our formal dinners, where the serving wenches have an unfailing supply of milk for the coffee or tea. All the guest has to do is aim and squeeze. "And of course, the girls are also available for entertainment after dinner," he pointed out. "Or even before dinner is over, if they just can't wait. The other guests always get a kick out of watching someone spread a girl out on the table and do her right in front of God and everybody. Sometimes it develops into a real gang bang," he grinned. "And one other little item," he went on. "Before a girl is admitted to our herd, she submits her milk for judging. Sort of like a wine-tasting event, except that the judges of wine don't usually drink right from the press. And instead of awarding medals, we mark the girl herself -- right on the breast, which we think is the most appropriate place. Show her, Cathy," he prompted. Soundlessly, Cathy exposed her breast, showing the grading, neatly located underneath her breast, where the fold usually kept it hidden. The burn had completely healed, but my head reeled at the thought of how painful it must have been when they branded her. Chapter 12 Well, then he started giving me instructions again. There were several times during his little speech that I almost puked, but I managed to keep it under control, don't ask me how. And the worst was yet to come. Waving his dingus in front of my eyes, he started to croon in that sickly sweet tone of voice again. "Look at the mess you've left on John Henry," he complained. "Now, we can't have that, can we? No indeed, we can't. You're not finished with your lover until you've cleaned him off." "But you never gave me a chance . . ." "Now's your chance, Baby." And he left no doubt as to what he meant, as he pushed the revolting thing up against my lips. "After all," he went on, "you won't always have any other cleaning instruments handy, so you might as well learn to use what Nature gave you. And Heaven help you if I get even so much as a touch of your teeth." He twisted my nipples by way of warning, and I found that I could clean him off very nicely, thank you. "And now to finish cleaning you . . ." This time it wasn't nearly so gross. He had some huge swabs -- they looked exactly like ear swabs, only about an inch in diameter -- which he dipped in some liquid that cleaned the surface of my vagina, and gave it a mildly bracing feeling. And a very lightly perfumed smell. I thought I was ready for my next rape, (I had no doubt about what the other boys had in mind), but he had to have a little more fun first. "Report card time!" he announced. I found that this was to be a part of the ritual every time a customer took me. The client would recite a list of ways in which my performance had been "inadequate", and then administer whatever punishment he (or she) thought was appropriate. And often this roused the customer to the point of further dalliance, of course. Followed by another report card session . . . I forget all of the things he found wrong with my performance but they included: Not looking eager enough (and happy enough) to please ("If these videotapes are going to sell, you've got to be convincing. When we want you to look unhappy, we'll give you something to be really unhappy about . . .") Having to be told what to do to warm him up, and having to be told to clean him off afterward ("You ought to be woman enough to know these things instinctively. Anyway, you know now. And if you're wise, you'll ask your lover what special behavior he wants before you start. As a matter of fact, you're going to keep a journal - in your own handwriting - of what each of your lovers prefers. No need to identify him in the book, of course, except by a code that will remind you when you look him up in preparation for your next date with him.") Interrupting my stroking of his nipples a couple of times ("I don't care if it did itch, or if you had to move to ease the pain. You're performing for my happiness, rather than yours.") And the punishment consisted of another caning, of course. Right in the same place. Chapter 13 I don't think that I've ever got a perfect grade from one of my customers, no matter how hard I've tried. And believe me, have I ever tried! OK, so some of them have grudgingly admitted that my performance was "pretty good", but have grumbled that it could have been better (no particulars), just so they would have an excuse for a punishment session. Some of them seemed to like the punishment better than the sex itself, and every last of them had to inflict pain along with the sex. I don't know whether it was the "policy of the House", or whether it was just that the Boss catered especially to that kind of clientele. Probably a little of both. Certainly the atmosphere of the "workrooms" was designed to arouse any latent sadism that might be present in the customers. There was that restraint framework, for instance, where they could strap a girl into any position. And there were whips and paddles and other goodies hung in plain sight on the walls, where the customer could just reach out and grab them. Or better yet, have me take them down from their hooks and pass them to the customer. And of course, just the sight of them would often give the john ideas -- as if he didn't have enough of them already! And there were all sorts of visual aids -- pictures of girls servicing their customers, usually in obvious agony. And pictures of the agony without the sex. Videotapes, too, where the customer and I could sit as if in a theater, with him holding my hand (or other part of my body, of course). Even popcorn, if he wanted it. I say "he", because the majority of my lovers were men, but there were plenty of women, too. And they really knew how to hurt a girl. But I'm getting ahead of myself. For the moment, there were those schoolmates of mine to take care of. Chapter 14 Well, those kids were an anticlimax, after the professional job the Boss had done on me. For one thing, my sensibilities were pretty much numbed by now, so the degradation was more or less a matter of routine. In fact, the Boss had to warn me (just once) that my performance must not become perfunctory ("the johns aren't paying for a chunk of cold meat"), but must always be characterized by one extreme or the other -- either I must be friendly, co-operative, even eager, smiling warmly under the ordeal, and actually begging for more, as if I really liked it; or, more often, I was to beg, and struggle, and scream, as if I were suffering the horrors of Hell. More often the latter -- far more often. And that was easier, in a sense, because it didn't take any acting ability at all. But this time, he wanted the friendly approach, as if I really enjoyed what I was doing; or at least as if I were being handsomely paid for servicing my young friends. And that did take some acting ability. But you'd be amazed how expert an actress I became with nothing but that whip to help me! Well, the guys did show some originality, but they were so eager to get it off that they didn't take time to hurt me an awful lot, and the videotapes of my performance mostly looked as if we were both having a good time. Which is what they wanted, of course. When a guy showed the still shots from those tapes around school, he wanted it to look like he was the Great Kahuna, and not like somebody who was just lucky enough to have access to a girl he could torture into submission. They were still creative at "report card" time, though, and managed to find excuses to whip me again, no matter how hard I tried. And the Boss squeegeed out my vagina every time, of course. No use letting all that precious fluid, that Nature had produced for this very purpose, go to waste. And after the guys had finished, there was still Cathy to be taken care of. I don't think that she really enjoyed it any more than I did, but she had learned a lot about acting -- learned it the hard way, of course, just as I was learning it -- and I'm sure that the tape looked as if we were both having fun. So when I had finished doing Cathy, the Boss had her do me, something I had never expected. Of course the orgasm lost a lot of its pleasure from the fact that I was still starring in a video movie, and from the fact that the boys were all watching, shouting things like "go, baby!" and like that, but it was still sort of pleasant. In spite of the lingering pain from the whippings. Until the Boss pointed out that sure it was nice to have the tape of me enjoying a Lesbian episode, but also my contractions would help suck all of that semen into my womb, and increase the chances of my becoming pregnant. Chapter 15 Eventually, the boys went home, and the Boss said it was time to "get down to business". I guess that he didn't think that what I had been doing had been "business" enough! For starters, he made me start my "order book" - one page for each boy (and for himself, of course) - telling in lurid detail what they had wanted, and what I had done for them. That was the way I've been able to write this journal - every chance I've had, I've set aside a sheet of paper, and written down a description of the episodes just as they happened, and hidden them where nobody can find them. I can usually manage to get hold of only one sheet at a time, and that's why each "chapter" has been so short. (Editor's note: that stupid little broad thinks that she has been putting something over on me! She doesn't know that there is a good market for writings like this, and that I have deliberately looked the other way ever since I found that she had literary ambitions. Someday I'll let one of her schoolmates read them to her, just to embarrass her.) And after I had finished writing up the first day's adventures (in my own handwriting, as he insisted), he handed me a preview of what the boys were going to want tomorrow. I didn't expect to get much sleep that night - if I ever got home at all - knowing that I had all those gross things waiting for me. By now it was starting to get late in the afternoon, and the Boss finally said it was time to go home - after I got ready. "Ready" meant first an enema ("so you won't have to take the butt plug out"), and then the butt plug itself. A very special butt plug, that slowly and relentlessly kept swelling, stretching me painfully. The Boss said that it wouldn't keep on expanding forever - that it would just grow until it stretched my rectum to the point where I could do the things that tomorrow's customer wanted, and then it would just hold that size until I got used to it. He didn't tell me what the dildo was for - just shoved it in as a matter of course, and told me that I could take it out when I got home, if I wanted to, but that I must always be wearing it when I showed up for "work". There was no question about my wanting to take it out - it was designed for irritation, rather than for pleasure. And there was no question about my feeling it, either - one of the boys had "fixed up" my bike so that it gave the most possible vibration all the way home - and Cathy rode home beside me, to make sure that I didn't get off and walk the bike. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |