Sex with Lactating Mother Part 2
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The Case Of The Lactating VirginChapter 3 free porn video
CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 20 - DAY 4
I acquired my new project (Ann) on Friday. This was Monday, and I couldn’t simply quit the rest of my life’s work just because there was a woman living with me who would be requiring much of my time for the next three months. On this day, I saw three patients and prepared for my lecture at the university the following morning (I taught a two and a half hour course on Tuesdays and oversaw another two and a half hours of practical exercises and lab work on Thursdays: a five hour, “T-day” course). Fortunately, I’d had the whole weekend to get Ann established in a routine that would now allow my absence.
Our mornings began with oatmeal. Oddly, though starting out as an old wives’ tale, it was now established medical knowledge that this food somehow aids in the production of milk in lactating women ... even though the reason for this has not yet been determined. Luckily, she likes it. I showed her how to prepare it ... just as I insisted on her helping me with every meal over the weekend. I laid out her morning pills ... eleven of them ... and was very pleased when she simply took them without question, though I told her what they were anyway, since there was really no reason to withhold the info. Most were vitamin supplements, though the hormones and steroids were there, as well. She seemed indifferent about them, so I didn’t bother to explain the seven pills with the evening meal.
Saturday morning, I took her out for a one-hour walk, which I had mapped out the night before. I made a few corrections to the course so as to comply with a timeline, and informed her that this would be her morning routine every day after breakfast. Next, we went shopping. I left her in the hands of a sales clerk in a high-end mall department store, giving explicit instructions and a discretely passed hundred dollar bill, along with my credit card; and when I returned an hour later, Ann stood in a new dress and carried three large bags of clothes, including new bras, panties and shoes. She wobbled a bit in the two-inch heels, but was otherwise beaming shyly. I then took her to the jewelry department, where I purchased a “smart watch,” which I had the salesman set to vibrate on a continuous four-hour alarm cycle. When we got home we disposed of her entire old wardrobe. I instructed her that while indoors, she would either wear the robe with nothing beneath, or shorts for her daily workout on the exercise machines that I had ordered (but hadn’t yet arrive). It was exactly noon, and her watch let her know it was time for another session with the breast pump, so I allowed her to retreat to her room.
Afterward, dressed now in the robe, she fixed us a large lunch, with me instructing her on the preparation. Following that, it was time for another hypnosis session in my office. As soon as she was seated in the comfortable chair, I called up “her spiral” on my computer and turned the screen toward her, pleased to see that she allowed herself to be drawn into a mesmerized state within seconds, relinquishing emotional control completely. With three minutes of deepening, the induction phase was complete, and I was able to proceed directly to reward-based subconscious suggestions, which she accepted without question. Once again, I marveled at the fact that fate had seemingly handed me the perfect prey (at least in mental terms) in my first attempt at evil doctoring.
This session was pretty much like the first. I was practicing, actually, trying to find the perfect blend of excitation and pleasure mixed with a deep-set need to obey and serve. She seemed to accept it automatically ... there was no hesitation or reluctance in relinquishing control at all. For a full hour, I kept at it; and not once did she fight my dominance, even though I increased the level of ascendancy and supremacy in an attempt to find the upper limit of her acceptance. Apparently, there was none. When I brought her out of it, she actually shuddered in emotional overload ... something that is sometimes seen in very small children when they are very pleased. In an adult, it’s akin to a small orgasm.
Due to a lack of exercise equipment, I then had her put on one of her new summer dresses, and we retraced the one-hour stroll from the morning. I was pleased to find that she knew the route well enough to do it on her own from then on. It took us an additional fifteen minutes because of the new shoes (she had never worn heels, even two-inch ones like these), and I let her set a slow pace. It was early October, and warm. The sales clerk had done an excellent job, and the dress was designed for someone of Ann’s slight figure. Though her grayish pallor remained, she looked rather fresh; and the fact that she smiled frequently added greatly to her appearance.
When we got back, for the first time, she requested my permission to use the toilet. I consented offhand, but then told her sternly that I did not want her to touch herself sexually. She blushed, then asked if she was supposed to change back into the robe. I told her no, that I had other plans, and she nodded and rushed off toward the only bathroom in the apartment while I shook my head in wonder. Within twenty-four hours, she had become a true submissive.
When she came back, I led her to the car, and drove her to a large bookstore. There, I left her to her own devices, telling her that she could pick any twelve books she wanted. Her eyes grew wide in ecstatic wonder. I later learned from her that she had never actually owned a book in her life ... she had only checked them out of the library. Once home, I left her in her room (dressed only in the robe) for an hour, while I did some work in my office. I somehow knew that the “reading hour” would be the only time in her life where she had no restrictions, at least where her intellect and imagination were concerned. Having some command in her life was necessary in my little mind-control scheme. She wouldn’t be able to find bliss in surrendering control unless she had some TO surrender.
At the end of the hour, I went to her and ordered her to follow as I led her back to the examining room. When I commanded her to take off the robe, she hesitated only briefly before doing so. During the hypnosis session, I had actually reinforced her shyness while explaining patiently that she must muster the courage to overcome it in order to submit to my authority. From the degree of her blushing embarrassment, this was obviously the case, and I could see the warring emotions within her. She demurely complied, though, lying on the table and allowing me to once again strap her down and lift her legs so that they could be bound in the stirrups. Flushed and breathing deeply, she shuddered as I once again subjected her to a long breast exam; then she waited silently as I used some hand sanitizer and then pulled up a stool and seated myself at her widely spread nether region. She was secreting heavily.
I began by running the tip of my finger all around the inner surface of her vaginal opening, and she jerked in her bonds and gasped acutely. I smiled to myself, safe in the knowledge that I had done a very good job of securing her to the steadfast table. I didn’t want to do anything that would cause her to tear that multi-million dollar hymen. Finally, I began tracing the ring of tissue that made up this spurious prize. “Do you know what I’m touching right now, Ann?” I asked her as she quivered and panted.
“It’s ... It’s my cunny, doctor.”
I huffed a short laugh. “Who taught you to use that preposterous word?”
She took another deep breath. “Aunt Gerty.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about any intimate relationships or sexual hang-ups concerning her Aunt. Not now, at least. If emotional bonding became a real problem with the girl, I would further explore and attempt to solve any psychosomatic troubles later in the process. For now, she was reacting better than I could possibly have hoped.
“I am touching the inner walls of your vagina, Ann. You may call it your pussy, if you’d like.” I began gently running my finger all around the outer edge of her hymen. “And this is the membrane that defines you as a virgin. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes, doctor. It means I haven’t been with a man before. You ... OH! ... You are the only man who has ever touched me there. You’re the ... OH! ... the only PERSON who has ever touched me there. Other than me, I mean.” Okay, that meant that she hadn’t engaged in sexual relations with the aunt. I put the matter of a previous intimate relationship out my head.
(NOTE TO THE READER: This, as it turned out, was my first big error in The Case of Ann Johnson, Patient #20. It would not be my last.)
“And that leads me to our latest rule,” I said, stroking her again.
“Oh my God!” she moaned, but didn’t jerk enough to endanger anything.
I withdrew from her inner opening. “Ann, it is very important that we keep things intact in this area. For my experiments, I mean. I’m afraid that I must insist that you refrain from touching yourself sexually for the rest of your stay with me. Do you understand?”
I resumed running my fingertip around the inner edges of her vaginal opening. The muscles in her tummy fluttered and a heavy flow of fluid inundated her vagina, but I don’t think she experienced an orgasm. “OH! Don’t ... Don’t touch myself?”
“I must insist. You will comply with my rule, won’t you, Ann? You must promise me.”
“Oh, gosh! Um ... okay. I promise, doctor.”
I rewarded her by scrolling my fingertip upward to her oversized clitoris, and I began tracing circles around it. She cried out and attempted to heave her pelvis upward toward the finger, but the strap around her hips held her firmly in place. I noticed that she had begun clenching and unclenching her fists in their restraints. “And one other thing, Ann. When you have your period, you will use pads instead of tampons. Do you understand? I’ll get you some.” She cried out again as I grazed her nubbin. “I’m afraid I must hear your answer, Ann,” I continued. “Do you understand my rule?”
“Yes! Oh, yes, doctor! Anything! I’ll do anything!” she cried. I smiled and began rubbing the clitoris directly, hard, increasing my tempo; and she launched into a straining, quaking, screaming orgasm. Her hair flew all about her head as she flung her face from side to side in her ecstasy. Her vaginal lips dilated widely, clenched hard until her opening was almost closed, then repeated the cycle, while a new gush of oily fluid soaked my hand. The muscles in her flat stomach rippled like small waves on a shore, and her entire body shook against the straps that held her. I’ve never experienced a woman who was so ... vocal, I guess you would say, though words had no place in this little exhibit. Grunts, moans, shrieks and various other sounds emanated from her, and the display kept up for almost a full minute while I continued my assault on her clit.
Finally, I was the one who ended it, withdrawing my fingertip from her most sensitive spot; and she sort of collapsed in on herself, falling into an almost fluid state of relaxed muscles. Her moans subsided into a purring sound. I stood and looked down on her, realizing that she had apparently fallen asleep.
“Wow,” I said gently to myself. I unstrapped her, extended the lower part of the table, and gently let her legs stretch out below her. Still, her eyes were closed and she appeared to slumber. Tenderly, I shook her awake. And, when she finally opened her eyes ... there it was. Adoration. She looked at me the way a pet looks at a long-time master. No doubt about it ... she had fallen in love with me ... weeks before I thought it would happen. I sighed, helped her up, and held her robe while she put it back on.
Without another word, she followed me back to the apartment. I showed her which bottles and how much to add to her bath while the tub filled, then watched as she took off the robe and her wristwatch before stepping into the steaming concoction. A little later, I went in and relieved myself in the bathroom while she bathed, making an unspoken point that she had no privacy in her life, even here. I left the shampoo and conditioner with her to use. She helped with dinner after she dried her hair, and we again ate in front of the TV. When her watch buzzed its alarm at 8:00, I paused the DVR and went to get the breast pump, and she blushed as she parted the robe and used it next to me on the couch. By the end of the movie I’d picked, she’d curled up next me, put her head on my shoulder and fallen asleep; and I once again carried her to her room. Later, in my bed at midnight, I awakened briefly as I heard her rev up the breast pump and use it in her room.
On Sunday, after breakfast and her walk (which she did alone), I broke the lock on the door to the basement, just off the entrance foyer, and we went exploring together. The stairway was wide and sturdy. Below, we found entrances to two full apartments, each with five rooms, which included bathrooms. So ... there were seven apartments in the building, plus my offices. Not bad ... once you got around the idea that they were all filthy and in very poor shape. There were holes in several walls, and the carpet (where it existed at all) was threadbare. After our initial explorations, I went out and bought cleaning supplies, then assigned her one room to sweep, scrub, scour and sanitize between her hypnosis session and second walk of the day.
By now, I had gotten her hour-long hypnotic suggestion period pretty much down pat, and I recorded it on my computer as a sound file for use in later sessions. It was only our third day together, and already it had become somewhat routine. I ensured, even considering all the new requirements, that she had her one-hour “alone time” in her room with the book of her choice. In bed that night, I didn’t even wake up when she used the pump, knowing in my heart that she could be trusted to perform that ... and every ... task that I had ordered.
On Monday, as I have already mentioned, I saw patients. Ardly was correct. While I was unable to determine if he was actually responsible, all three of them were women. Somehow, the word had gotten out that I was an especially adept psychiatrist in the area of female emotional health. Through it all, Ann was on her own, walking the course I had laid out (always in one of her dresses and low heels), cleaning downstairs (in a pair of gym shorts), reading, fixing me lunch ... everything according to the schedule I had written out for her. During the hypnosis hour, I prepared for my lecture, while for the first time, leaving her with a set of headphones listening to the recorded hypnotic session from the day before. When I went to get her, just before the recording ended, she obviously didn’t have a clue that anything had changed.
After my last patient left (just after her reading hour), she surprised me by coming to me and standing, meek and compliant, requesting to ask me a question. I had hoped to reach this level of submissiveness in week five or six of our time together, but chalked it up to yet another stroke of good luck where my task with Ann was concerned.
“What is it, girl?” I asked, bemused.
“Please, doctor. Please ... can you examine me on the table again?”
This I had NOT expected. I stood for a long moment, contemplating, trying to weigh the benefits and possible consequences of complying with her request. While I was considering, she stood before me with hands at her sides, eyes cast downward in meek subservience. Finally, I nodded before realizing that she wasn’t looking. “Okay,” I told her seriously. “Go get on the table. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She breathed a small sound of joy, gracing me with a huge smile before running off toward the office.
When I walked into the room, I found that she not only was lying naked on the table waiting for me, but that she had managed to fasten her left wrist into the restraint cuff and secure one strap across her midriff.
CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 20 - DAY 17
There are always setbacks in every project, nefarious or not. We had reached a routine, which had evolved over the days and weeks. Ann had many things in the course of her day that were mandated, and which did not need my approval. She arose at 8:00 on weekends (this was a Sunday), relieved herself in the bathroom, used the breast pump, and then went back to the bathroom to scrub and prepare herself for another day. This included weighing herself on the scale and recording that weight on a chart, which I had hung on a wall. Every diet, be it for weight reduction or gain, will generally start out well, but then will eventually begin to fluctuate, no matter the regimen.
Up to this point, she had either recorded at least SOME weight gain (the scale was calibrated in pounds and tenths of pounds), or at the very least, no change at all. When these “no change” days occurred, it was obvious that she was disappointed. But today, she had lost a full one point three pounds. I had taken to sleeping in late on Sundays, but on this morning, she burst into my room without knocking, threw herself into my arms and bawled like a baby over this perceived failure on her part. Looking back on it all, it made perfect sense. In the first basement room that she had cleaned, I had installed three large exercise machines; a stair machine, an elliptical trainer and a treadmill, all of which were the high-end devices used in health clubs. The day before, based on increased endurance, I had upped the levels and times in her afternoon workout. A loss of weight was not abnormal at all as her body began to tone muscle mass. And the girlish tantrum, of course, was the result of the increased estrogen and other hormones.
It took me ten long minutes to calm her down; and during that time, her clinging and her frail femininity began to have an effect on me. I am a man, after all. Her robe, which she had at least had the wherewithal to put on before she invaded my sanctuary, remained untied, and gapped open widely as she pressed herself into my body, seeking comfort and forgiveness. These first two weeks had seen her gain ten pounds; and the walks, exercise and diet had begun to do their work. She felt good. Realizing that I was going to be unable to hide my reaction, I tried to get her to retreat by scolding her. “Enough of this, girl! Get up, now. Go and start breakfast! You didn’t even knock before you came in here!”
And with a sobbing wail, she pressed herself into me even more, her arms around my neck, her bare breasts bulging against my chest. “Oh ... I’m SO sorry, sir! I ... I ... I ... don’t mean to be such a ... a ... worthless...”
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