The Milk b***h Trilogy

Chapter Five-1

Chapter Five

“How quickly we adapt,” Gina thought one morning when she sat at her computer. She had not heard from Ward in a week and her fear had faded from darkest black to dull grey. She was still consumed with guilt. She didn’t think it would ever leave her.

She’d worn the clamps to the hospital. In the chaos she didn’t think anyone noticed, though she was acutely aware of men’s eyes on her. Still, she didn’t take them off – not when she came home, not when she tried to do a little work in her office and not when she undressed and went to bed. The clamps rubbed against her sheets and she m*********d.

She dreamed her n*****s were as big as cow’s teats and when men squeezed her breasts, milk came out. She was embarrassed but an orgasm began in her dream and ended by waking her up while the dream was still crystal clear.

The last few days she’d contemplated not obeying Ward. How would he know if she wore the clamps? she thought, until she remembered Stephanie. Gina blanched pure white and felt quite ill at the image. Stephanie was recovering, though she had nightmares and would need therapy.

Marie had called her almost every day to rave about ‘Robert’, once from his chalet in Gstaad. Gina had asked, as persuasively as caution would allow, “Aren’t you taking this too quickly? What do you really know about him?” Marie had not listened.

The phone rang. Gina answered absentmindedly, her attention on her article. Then her blood turned to ice.

Ward’s cool voice told her, “Tonight we are going to an event at my club. It’s black tie and you will wear a long, revealing dress.

“I will be at your apartment at 6 pm. You will be cleaned, completely shaven and made up, and naked except for the clamps and high heels. You will have several dresses laid out.

“I will inspect you.” She gasped. She wanted to tell him he didn’t have the right … but in an instant all the horror was back.

“And then I will give you your first beating.” Gina was speechless, stunned, and he waited – a long pause. “I’m sure you agree that you deserve it.”

She knew who it was because the front desk had announced him. Yet she opened the door timidly – first cracking it just a little, then opening it slowly.

It wasn’t her nakedness. That was the least of it. He’d already seen her in far more exposed and undignified states. It was his domination of her. This was the first time he’d been in her apartment, her private space – at least when she’d been conscious. She felt like a small child facing a large and judgmental parent. Her brow furrowed in distress. She was horribly apprehensive about his ‘inspection’ – she gulped around an arid throat – and the beating.

Ward strode right to her bedroom. “As if he’s been here before,” she fretted, trailing hesitantly behind. Despite her discomfort, she could not help but watch the tuxedo’s fine black wool slide across his strong thighs at each step.

He lifted each of the gowns laid on her bed and turned them, back and front. Finally he chose a vintage Calvin Klein, created years ago when the designer was young. The dress was a fragile, port wine colored silk ‘slip dress’, cut on the bias so it clung to every curve and utterly simple … except it had no back and very little bust.

He returned the dress to the bed and turned, pointing before him with a stiff finger. A tiny jolt of recognition passed through her. The complexity hidden in his muted eyes was impossible to overlook above the sleek white on black starkness of the tuxedo, as was the unyielding angularity of his cheekbones and jaw. For some reason the costume allowed a corner of his true nature to slip from under his usual cloak of purposeful invisibility. She found the glimpse forbidding … and vilely enticing.

Gina dragged herself forward, stopping a few feet in front of him. He motioned her closer, to within a few inches. “Hands behind your back, feet apart.”

She obeyed, body quivering. She felt so hopelessly vulnerable she was dizzy. Her body tottered and he steadied her by wrenching up a fistful of pliant breast tissue. She screamed and tried to pull away, her tender flesh on fire. His grip tightened unbearably. She jerked upright, straining to rigorously assume the position, tears streaming down her cheeks. He released her breast and she almost relaxed – almost, until his hand went to the right clamp.

He twisted first one black teardrop, then the other. Shrill screams rolled out of her open mouth. He put his finger to his lips and she struggled to bite back all sounds. Then, suddenly, he peered at her mouth. The motion felt so ominous, her heart filled with dread. “No lipstick?” His voice was quiet but as thick as an approaching storm.

Her voice shook. “I ww-wanted it to be fresh when we left.”

“I told you to be made up when I arrived. Go put it on and come back immediately.”

Her body shook so hard as she lurched to the bathroom and back on her five inch heeled black sandals that she thought her knees would buckle. When she again stood in front of him, he said, “You will wear red w***e lipstick at all times, except when you sleep. Your error has earned you two additional blows. Now turn around and bend over with your hands on your knees.”

Turning and bending seemed to take forever. As she slowly, cautiously bent, she tried desperately to catch glimpses of him over her shoulder. Her mind was filled to bursting with one question, ‘Is he going to beat me now?’ Finally she was in position, her body shaking precariously.

She jumped when he touched her, then realized it was his hand not something – what? – else. She felt his fingers circle her anus and pull it open, then move forward to touch and spread her labia. His touch, even perhaps enhanced by her terror, made her p***y moisten. Her fickle body yearned for his fingers inside – either hole, it didn’t matter which.

Instead his hands moved away. She felt them on the full round muscular curve of her ass. A second later she heard a sharp snap and her bottom burned so hot she fell forward onto her knees. “Up,” he ordered.

“No! No!” she shrieked.

“Up.” Her hands were behind her, trying to protect herself. He grabbed both wrists in one hand and wrenched them upward until her arms threatened to rip from their sockets and she clambered to her feet.

“Stand straight, hands behind your head.” She obeyed jerkily, trying to watch him.

His tuxedo was cutting edge, with belt loops in case one wanted to defy convention and leave off a cummerbund or vest. His choice was a chicly plain and narrow black silk cummerbund to best set off the expanse of white shirt front. Underneath he’d worn a belt.

At first he showed her the softly gleaming length of polished leather, doubled in his hand. Then he caressed her with it, running it over her cheeks and between her legs. She twitched and moaned as it moved across her, her body agonizingly tense. He leaned close and spoke softly against her ear. “Are you ready for your beating?”

She whimpered, “No. No. Please, no.”

The belt again snapped against her rear, once, twice, three times. She screamed and tried to twist away but he held her still, then told her, “Stand still or you’ll get more than I planned.” He ran the belt over the insides of her thighs, which had closed together. “Open.”

She looked at him with tears and terror in her eyes. “Please, no.”

He smiled pleasantly. “Open or it will be worse.”

Hesitantly she spread her thighs. He stood an inch away, looking into her eyes. As the leather cracked against her tender skin, his soft lips pressed against hers.

Ward strode up one side of a short, semicircular staircase to a building at the lower end of the steep hill bisecting Embassy Row, Gina on his arm. Her dress’s clinging fabric was so soft. Yet it burned when it caught on the rosy welts rising on her skin.

A uniformed doorman peered stone-faced through the glass’s ornate iron scrollwork then recognized Ward and opened the heavy – and unmarked, Gina noted – door.

Despite its impressive size, Gina had never noticed the building. The discreet façade blended perfectly with the surrounding buildings and in fact with most of the buildings at this end of Massachusetts Avenue. She looked around with interest painted with a pale wash of fear as they passed through the elegant old lobby into a spacious lounge filled with armchairs and small tables. No club members’ portraits, but some really excellent 19th century landscapes hung on the walls.

Striking black-tie clad men and women populated a larger room beyond, once a banquet sized dining room, Gina thought. Laden buffet tables hugged the walls and poked like heavily caloric fingers into the room’s interior. Each corner held a panelled bar with a spectacular array of bottles and crystal carafes magnificently backlit and serviced by three bartenders.

Gina recognized quite a few of the men in the room and a small handful of the women – all high profile Washington personalities. She was on a first name basis with several and quite friendly with one, a prominent female publisher who was now escorted by a short, surly and frequently obnoxious media mogul.

She frowned. Washington was a conservative town and reputations were fragile. She hadn’t known what to expect and was now intensely self-conscious in the costume Ward had mandated. Was she being snubbed as a result? She’d smiled a greeting at the publisher but the woman did not respond, instead stared fixedly into the distance. In fact, though a few men nodded at Ward when they entered, no one acknowledged Gina.

Men with chic women on their arms periodically approached Ward and conversed cryptically on an array of only occasionally familiar subjects. They did not introduce their companions, who remained silent and ignored Gina’s attempts to speak. When she started toward the publisher to say hello and remedy any social irregularities, Ward shook his head and held her back. She did not understand the prevailing etiquette and Ward only nodded at her few timorous questions. She stood close by his side and observed.

Her attention was caught by a controversial ball-busting Democratic Senator on the arm of a beautiful effete man quite a few years her junior and not her husband. Gina hadn’t initially paid attention, despite the dumpy woman’s uncharacteristically chic attire, because she’d assumed the man was one of her infamous gay friends. However, something odd in the man’s treatment of the Senator caught Gina’s attention. His attitude seemed imperious, even proprietary, as if by his right her behaviour was under his constant scrutiny and criticism.

On closer look Gina noticed the Senator’s spine oddly arched, her small breasts forced conspicuously forward above her pear shaped hips. Gina realized the odd posture was the result of the woman’s gloved hands clasped in a V behind her, unwaveringly so it seemed. Gina also noted the Senator’s companion periodically gripping – no, digging his fingers into – the woman’s arm and her suppressed wince and heightened attention to him.

The media mogul and the publisher passed once or twice but never stopped. Were they avoiding her? The publisher’s usual socially graceful ‘Washington wings’ of subdued strawberry blond hair were swept up into a complicated wispy twist, dramatising the capture of her slender throat in a spectacular but very wide, tight and certainly uncomfortable diamond, ruby and emerald ‘choker’. Gina had never seen the woman’s head held so stiffly erect.

Suddenly some oddity in every woman’s demeanour became apparent to her. With shock, Gina recognized the only female appointee to the President’s Cabinet. She walked precisely upright on the arm of a male colleague, a sanctimonious but charismatic leader of the Religious Right who had barely scraped past his confirmation hearing. She wore an exquisite pink damask corset dress. But her waist! Her waist was freakishly constricted to an impossible diameter half the width of her hips. Her trim hips and belly swelled roundly below the gruesome stricture.

The CEO of a major consulting firm, there with her husband, was continually on tiptoe, heels raised above the high heels of her conservative Italian shoes. A gold ankle chain seemed to disappear upward into the long multi-tiered skirt of a biotech entrepreneur. The favourite society gynaecologist held her mouth rigidly closed.

Gina watched entranced, fascinated. She also found herself curiously aroused. Her fingers drifted unconsciously to her n*****s until she noticed her action. A soft laugh escaped her lips. She stopped herself, startled. When Ward glanced over, she reluctantly whispered, “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about the clamps shocking anyone.”

Ward’s approval surprised her. “I’m pleased you understand.”

“But I don’t understand! What is this place?” A few heads turned at her outburst.

Ward instantly put a finger to his lips. He started to speak but his attention suddenly shifted into the distance.

Gina’s eyes followed his. For hours now she had noted the attention of a large glowering man. Their eyes had met once or twice but he’d instantly looked away. The dark man now approached Ward.

“Please forgive my rudeness, Sir, but I must ask, is your new property for sale?”

“Quite all right, Sir James. I’m always happy to assist you and your patron in any way I can. However, I’ve only begun to work with this one so it’s not yet developed properly. I’m not certain of its capabilities. It may not be sufficiently durable for your patron’s purposes. Also, as you can see, it’s quite special and I’m considering keeping it myself. Call me in three weeks and I’ll have more information. Perhaps you can use it, even if I keep it.”

The dark man bowed and moved away.

Gina was stunned. Her voice was small and afraid. “Was he asking about me? Will you let him …” she stammered a little “… be with me? And what did you mean by durable?”

“His patron, the victim of generations of royal inbreeding, requires a girl with special abilities. The rewards are tremendous but so is the wear and tear ... and the danger.” His smile into her eyes was piercing and chilly. “I’m not sure you would survive his ministrations.”

A tumultuous haze swirled through Gina’s vision. Her thoughts were utter, turbulent chaos. “I do not understand! What’s going on here?”

“This is the place where decisions are made. The only entrée for a woman, no matter how influential, is as the slave of a member.”

Gina gasped. “These powerful women do this willingly?”

“How do you think they got their power? Access to power motivates many women. Some come for power but stay for other reasons.” Ward’s voice was uninflected, inhuman. “Many don’t have a choice. But most find it is their true nature.” He took her chin in his hand and raised her face to his. “Look inside yourself. Haven’t you yearned your entire life to surrender to someone else’s responsibility? Isn’t this your true nature?”

“Ironic, isn’t it? Women have the most power when they allow themselves to be the most subjugated.” Eileen, the publisher, had called Gina the next day.

Gina laughed despite herself. “I realized that truth a long time ago. Feminists do themselves a great disservice by not using the tools God gave them.”

“Eileen, I need to tell you something.” Gina paused to make sure Eileen would take her seriously. “Ward has exerted a lot of …” She wanted, needed, to tell Eileen but was afraid. “… pressure on me to do what he wants.” She heard a small sound of understanding and ascent on the other end of the line and hurtled ahead. “I don’t understand and, Eileen, I’m afraid.”

“Gina, I do understand. You can talk to me about anything you need to. Montie blackmailed me in ways far beyond anything I could deal with. I think he just liked terrorizing me. I still can’t talk about some of it, it was so traumatic. All the while he told me, in his hideously autocratic manner, that this was what I needed.

“One day he took me to the club. No explanation. Nothing. It’s escalated from there into some really shocking experiences.”

Eileen laughed uncomfortably. “It’s been fabulous for my career, though. And you know something … I’ve come to like it in a strange and compelling way. It moves me and it’s not boring ... Anyway, Montie wants you and Ward to come to dinner.”

Gina didn’t know how Eileen could stand him. Eileen’s life must be hell.

It wasn’t that he was a boor or even his often unpleasant table manners. She’d cheerfully tolerated, even been charitably friendly, with lots of disgusting, venal men. Congress was full of them. She felt sympathy for them and never took their offences personally. Why should they bother her, after all?

What got her was Montie’s relentlessly narrow-minded attack of all he surveyed. His venom extended far beyond his multibillion dollar media empire. He was renowned for the vitriolic editorials he insisted on adding to his otherwise exceptional news magazine. Secretly she thought he was profoundly stupid and for some reason she did take it personally.

Montie sat at the round dining table in the hotel suite, pontificating on the President’s latest foreign policy decision and stuffing excellent pate into his mouth. The suite was in his five star hotel located on one end of his sleek, meticulously landscaped downtown media complex.

For an hour Montie leered at Gina’s breasts. Suddenly, mid-sentence and mid-bite, he reached to his left and ripped apart the fragile pale green fabric of Eileen’s evening dress, exposing her lovely firm breasts and round pink n*****s. Gina stopped eating, aghast. But she was far more shocked by the complete lack of response by both Eileen and Ward, who simply continued their meals. Montie c****d his head toward Gina. “Nice boobs.”

“Gina, take your top off.” Ward did not raise his voice but she clearly had no possibility of dispute. Gina stared into his eyes for a moment then slowly lowered the top of her dress for the slavering pig across the table.

Montie laughed uproariously. “Man! Nice cantaloupes! I bet you have fun squeezing those!” Then in celebration – or so it seemed to Gina – he again reached over to Eileen and pushed her face into her sublimely bloody Beef Wellington. He held her head down with his meaty paw while she choked and sputtered.

“No hands.” His voice was nasty, despotic, between the laughs.

Again Eileen made no complaint but simply did her best to bite off pieces of the tender meat and suck up the succulent young haricots verts. Blood and butter smeared her face and ran down her chin onto her exposed breasts and the shredded remains of her dress

How Gina hated this disgusting man! How dare he degrade her friend – or any woman – this way! Her eyes blazed with fury. She looked up, ready to tell the monster exactly what she thought and saw he was enjoying her indignation. Her mouth opened ... and she felt Ward’s sinewy fingers dig into the pressure point behind her knee cap. Pain shot up her leg. Her head snapped toward Ward. The warning in his eyes was unmistakable. Her mouth closed and she was silent.

Coffee and cognac were served in the living room. Montie leaned back on the huge white silk couch, one arm around Eileen’s straight back. With the other he patted his gut. “I need to take a leak.” He swirled his fingers downward. Eileen slid off the couch onto the floor. She knelt in front of Montie and unzipped his trousers, took out his p***s and put it in her mouth.

Gina watched Eileen swallow. She was now horrified, amazed and thoroughly confused. This time she did not contemplate speech.

Eileen’s throat was still moving when Montie put his hand on her forehead and gave her a hard push backwards. Urine squirted onto her face and hair. She tumbled onto her back then gracefully stood up, smoothed her skirt and re-seated herself next to him.

Montie nodded toward Gina. “Maybe she’d like some too.”

“I’ve only started to train her so no one’s pissed down her throat yet ...” Ward’s tone was polite, “... and I plan to do it first.”

In some primordial place inside her, Gina felt Ward’s control, his maleness. A thrill pierced her and she did not understand her response. She couldn’t control the sensations swirling inside her. She was distraught but also helpless to resist their pull.

The thought of drinking urine revolted her. Yet the thought of Ward making her do it, of his c**k filling her mouth and his foul fluid flowing down her throat made arousal course through her body. She saw herself kneeling before him like Eileen had knelt before Montie and she pushed the image out of her mind, pushed it hard. But her body responded ... for a moment, until she heard Montie’s next words. She froze.

“Okay. So how about if I f**k her?”

“Go ahead.” Gina stared into Ward’s eyes, pleading.

She heard Montie’s bestial voice. “Hands and knees.”

Her eyes never left Ward’s as she lowered herself onto the floor – even when she felt Montie behind her, even when his big grubby hands wrenched the fine Italian fabric of her skirt over her hips and she felt his hot breath on her back, even when he spread her cheeks and without preamble rammed his c**k into her ass. Gina flinched then and flinched again when he laid his gross bulk on her back and manhandled her breasts, squeezing, pulling, twisting the soft flesh. She struggled to maintain her balance as Montie pounded her tight round ass, grunting laboriously and painfully stretching her n*****s for leverage.

Yet still her warm brown eyes were locked into Ward’s cool grey ones. Like a dog she genuflected on all fours, her udders hanging heavy and pendulous, unprotected and accessible at his whim. She felt full and round and supremely erotic for him. Montie f****d her but Ward controlled her actions. It was Montie’s p***s in her rectum but it was Ward who she made love to.

With a loud grunt and a wrenching thrust Montie came inside her. She started to rise.

“Don’t move.” Ward dug in the small satchel he’d carried with him and removed a six inch long, tapered piece of black rubber with a flat end. He lowered himself to the floor behind her and she wondered if he was going to f**k her too. He leaned over her back and caressed her ass with one hand, his breath warm on her neck.

Gina’s eyes closed. The juxtaposition of his degradation of her and his sensuality thrilled her. He touched her and she felt a burst of pain in her anus and then an uncomfortable fullness inside her.

He whispered in her ear but loud enough for the others to hear. “Montie gave you a generous gift. You are going to wear it until you adequately appreciate it.”

Gina looked back at him in discomfort. “I can’t clean up? What if I drip on my dress?”

“You’ll get it cleaned.”

Gina felt Montie’s vile semen squishing around inside her around the thick black plug. She squirmed on the black leather seat and the plug pushed into her, opened her.

Ward glanced at her as he manoeuvred the black Range Rover up the hotel parking ramp. “You are now ready for serious training.”

“Yes ...” Gina didn’t understand why the next word came from her mouth but it seemed so appropriate. “... Daddy.”