Chapter Eight
The Ignominy of Being Milked
The words of Miss Evers, offing a hand job for a p***s ringed in sharp toothed steel, come to mind as Christy’s torso rests on the kitchen table, on the floor below her milking bowl at the ready.
With Miss Evers’ desire to view the relatively unfettered p***s, I refrain from returning Christy to the cockcage. Instead a flaccid phallus dangles between widely spread thighs, hobbling chain removed, Christy knowing the position all too well.
Wrist cuffs clipped behind the back, ankle cuffs clipped to the table legs, Christy is in bondage... viewed with enthusiasm by Miss Evers as I prepare for the slow and methodical penetration of Christy’s anus.
Christy is apoplectic at this point. Being milked by a woman is demeaning on its own. But to have
