Chapter Fourteen

After that introduction to the antics of the main lounge, our schedule fell into a new regimen. The twice-daily milkings ceased. Instead, our lacteal needs were allowed to accumulate then satisfied by way of a visit with Ms. Adams and her guests.

On most occasions I was simply placed kneeling on a table to become a guest’s entry into the milking contest. It was humiliating, debasing, stressful but satisfying in having sometimes up to two day’s accumulation of milk firmly extracted and collected in the stainless steel bowls.

I never won. A girl from 2 stall could fill the bowl with amazing speed if her milker applied the correct technique. And on the rare times that Maria was not selected for special duty, as I had been with Dottie and Lottie, she always took the prize for quantity, requiring two bowls and nearly filling the second before the huge spurts began to subside to dribbles.

Older women seemed to have the best technique for extraction. The male guests seemed to squeeze too tightly too early in the process. And there was also something about performing for a male that made the flow different, at least in my case. Perhaps the hormones diverted to other parts of the anatomy when a handsome male caressed my nipples or diddled my clitoris in what seemed to be standard procedure for readying the mammary glands.

And young females just didn’t have the learned touch. When Dottie and Lottie cared to enter the contest they always did so as a team, each taking a breast. When they selected me one evening, I concluded their lips and tongue were a much more suitably tactile for extracting essence from my nipples than their hands and fingers.

The physical change in being so often forcibly lactated for the deviant group was slow but steady. Since many guests did not have the soft fingers and did not apply the same gentle but firm squeezes as Dr. Helga and Nurse Inga, my nipples were being elongated with each squeeze and draw. After a few weeks, when aroused the pink darts arose some two inches from the body of my breasts. This feature intrigued the males, many of whom took great delight in feathering or applying cold objects in order to watch the buds erect like small penises. And their odd shape served to attract more milkers. Over the ensuing weeks every guest wanted to feel the soft pink tissue and watch my torrent of milk splash into the collecting bowl. And Ms. Adams ensured that every guest got their chance.

So despite the different skill levels of the guests, I learned that the only way my glands would be relieved of the abundant nectar was in the lounge. Thus, the humiliating trips with bell clanging throughout the ship became an event