The Case Of The Lactating VirginChapter 4 free porn video

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 20 - DAY 53

Things have progressed much faster than I thought possible. Then again, to my knowledge, there have been no recorded studies that have taken into account all of these variables: the weight gain, the forced lactation techniques, the mental restructuring, et cetera. I am assuming that the mental and physical are connected ... at least to some extent. But how could such things possibly be measured? Anyway, I’ve moved up my overall schedule.

On day 41 Ann began exuding small amounts of a thin, clear substance from both nipples during sessions with the breast pump. At first, she was immensely happy at the prospect that she was now able to “help the little babies,” but she sampled the fluid before I could stop her. It was, of course, bitter and unpalatable; and this threw her into a fit of sobbing depression. Once again, it all makes perfect sense. The fluid, obviously, was mostly lymphatic excretions. The tantrums and mood swings were indicative of the huge amounts of hormones I’ve been feeding her. Based on all of this, I removed her completely from the progesterone and estrogen, adding a small dose of a common testosterone drug, instead. I’d begun prolactin in the third week, and I’d bumped up the suction on the breast pump twice. I figured this should do it. Today, I learned that was an understatement.

For those of you who haven’t figured out all the hormone stuff: a woman who takes a mixture of estrogen and progestin has tricked her body into THINKING it’s pregnant, since those two hormones occur naturally during pregnancy. As a result, the pituitary fails to trigger the release of other hormones that release eggs mid-cycle, and pregnancy is averted ... among other things. One of those “other things” is preparing the mammary glands for milk production, and so breast size commonly increases with the use of birth control pills. Through the rapid removal of these drugs, I was simulating the hormonal equivalent of giving birth. If nursing is accomplished routinely, that should start the flow of milk.

She came to me in the morning, trying to communicate a “strange tingling feeling” in her breasts during the latest pumping session. I thought it was too early in the process, and so I didn’t even try to explain the “let-down reflex” to her, thinking that would only lead to psychosomatic problems. But then at noon, her milk came in suddenly and copiously ... almost 60 CC’s in a single sitting!

The personal implications are almost overwhelming. I’m going to lose her ... soon! I’d figured on three full months to accomplish this; and now I realize it’s only going to be two! But once again, there have been no studies done that combine these particular factors, so the timetable was iffy from the very beginning.

She’s a big girl now. After the original ten pounds, her weight gain settled down to a nice average two pounds per week. And, thanks to the intense exercise, it’s all gone to the right places. Ann is a dish! We purchased new clothing, including larger bras, two weeks ago; and I’ve installed the larger cup on the breast pump to better fit her. She tipped the scales this morning at a nice 114, and we’re going to wind up going shopping yet again for a larger wardrobe ... not to mention nursing bras, which I hadn’t thought would be necessary for another two or three weeks. Last week, for the first time in her life, Ann expressed concern about breast sag. She picked up some women’s magazine somewhere, and there was an article about “the pencil test” in it. I never imagined Ann would ever be concerned about such things; but now, of course, Ardly is figuring into her thoughts.

I started introducing the idea of him during our daily hypnosis sessions. I’d found pictures of him online, and printed and framed one of them, which I put on my desk in a spot that she was sure to notice when she came in for her daily entrancements. Through deep suggestion, I implanted the idea that the picture had always been there; but day after day she grew to not only notice it more ... she has become infatuated with it. Only four days after implanting the suggestion, she began asking me pointed questions about “my friend, Justin Ardly.” One of the internet articles (which was actually a reprint of a Providence Journal story) was about his hobby. He is evidently a renown amateur lepidopterist, despite his youthful age, and he owns one of the largest private collections of moths in the country. This prompted Ann to beg me for another trip to the bookstore, where she bought three volumes on butterflies and moths, and she ordered three others which were quite technical. I had promised to introduce her to “my friend” in the near future, and she told me that she wanted to “have something to talk about with him.”

How we have maintained a professional relationship, I don’t know. We each harbor romantic feelings, though I certainly never mention them. From time to time, she has begged me for an additional session in the examination room, but I’ve steadfastly kept the frequency to twice per week ... just as I only let myself achieve sexual release from her ardent manipulations every Sunday. Holy cow, but that girl is enthusiastic! Without further prodding, she has taken it upon herself to learn and perfect (through trial and error) certain techniques that keep me on the cusp of ecstasy for ten or fifteen minutes before finally giving me mind blowing orgasms that leave me utterly satisfied.

Weeks ago, I began having her shave her pubic hair during those times in the bathtub that she also shaved her legs and underarms. Just recently, I’ve sampled her orally during her “examination sessions,” and while it brings her to a peak much more quickly than she’d like, I can tell that her release is soul-shattering.

After the first successful milking session today, I sat her down at the kitchen table and discussed the seriousness of lactation, pleased that her unmitigated joy at this physical accomplishment was tempered with reality. She can really be quite sober and adult when the situation calls for it.

There are actually not that many long-term medical studies on the subject, which is a little surprising, considering the fact that our entire biological class of animals is named after this marvelous gland. On the other hand, medical studies take not only time, but money; and there is really not that much monetary return to be had from the further understanding of females and their reproductive systems. Not like Big Pharma or cosmetics, anyway. The biggest long-term studies to date have been subsidized in Norway and few other small-but-very-progressive countries.

Ann’s milk (having just started) had certain characteristics that would change, not only over months, but constantly during the process ... day to day, and even hour to hour. Fat content in mother’s milk varies tremendously between individual women ... but it is not generally affected by diet. That is to say, if Ann eats a meal that is high in sugars, it will have almost no impact on the sugar and fat content of her milk (even though she would experience an increase in glucose levels in her blood). On average, among all women, breast milk is about four and a half percent fat ... around the same as “whole” processed cow’s milk sold in U.S. supermarkets; but it LOOKS dramatically different. That’s because human milk protein is primarily contained in whey, rather than as casein in curds. So Ann’s milk has a sort of thin, “watery” appearance. That will change over the long run. Mothers who nurse for eight or nine months will develop more casein and less whey ... making the milk appear much richer, even though the fat content remains the same. And ... the milk’s fat content is slightly higher during daytime feedings (when babies need it the most) than it is at night. On top of all that, the breast is an erogenous zone in more than 95% of women. (Did I mention that it’s a marvelous gland?)

My lecture to Ann dealt primarily with cleanliness; for now that her milk had fully come in, it was going to get everywhere! There was little doubt that the tingling sensation she had felt earlier was, indeed, a let-down reflex. Once she experiences that (which will be frequently now), milk will start flowing from the breast NOT being pumped, as well. She might very well awake in the middle of the night to find herself ... or her sheets, or her bed clothing ... wet from her own milk. And at body temperature, milk can become rancid in a matter of hours. Ann is about to increase her duties immeasurably where hygiene is concerned ... more baths, more laundry and more general clean-up.

During the course of our discussion, she was, of course, most interested in what was going to be done with the milk. I may consider myself a monster, but I’m an honest one. There are three organizations in Rhode Island that collect mother’s milk for distribution to infants. I tend to favor the one that gives first priority to state protective services ... that is, for infants that have either been abandoned or taken from abusive situations or mothers who cannot properly provide for them. I put in the call while Ann listened, and we arranged for the first batch to be picked up for analysis tomorrow. Assuming it passes all their tests, they will come by three times per week to pick up all that we have to give them.

It was time for Ann’s walk, and I sent her out on her own (so that I could phone Ardly and give him the news). I walked her to the door and told her goodbye, and she confided that she had put some thin pads in the cups of her bra, just in case her breasts started leaking. I told her that she had excellent foresight, and she beamed up at me; then she gave me a hug and told me thank you. I couldn’t help but admire her as she walked off. She had graduated to three-inch heels two weeks ago when we got her a few dresses in a larger size that fit her new body. Somewhere, she had developed the habit of swinging her hips as she strode along, and she looked damned good. A man coming the other way said something to her that I couldn’t hear, but she turned and smiled at him as he passed. After she had gone past, he spun around and walked backwards for several steps, admiring her from behind.

I sighed and went into my office to make the call. “She’s ready?” he exclaimed loudly, his voice full of excitement.

“Almost. I’m not just going to desert her, Ardly. I need to prepare her for this ... um ... transition in her life. It has to be something that she wants ... that she’s ready for.”

I let the conversation lag. Finally, I said: “I need to know a couple things. Do you want her on birth control?”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “I want her fertile. Can you do that?”

I sighed. “As fertile as can be expected under the circumstances. Breastfeeding women are less likely to conceive ... that is, the odds of conception are lower ... but there will be nothing to prevent impregnation.” Again I was silent for a moment, considering. “You should buy some rope.”

“Rope?”

“Yes. Thirty or forty feet of soft nylon. You can get it at a hardware store. I’ve introduced her to bondage, and she’s come to expect it. I didn’t want her thrashing about and injuring her hymen during sexual conditioning. She’s quite ... passionate. Oh, and you should explore books or websites that talk about safety during sexual bondage. Not the X-rated story sites ... but real, how-to stuff ... like safe words ... or never putting anything around her neck, or leaving her unattended where she might fall. Things like that.”

“Um ... okay,” he said. I paused for awhile, trying to think of something else to say. “You’ve fallen in love with her, haven’t you, doctor?” he asked solemnly.

I sighed again. “I’m not going to renege on our deal, if that’s what you mean. But I do care for her, yes. If I thought for one minute that you were not going to treat her properly...”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve shown that side of your character already, five years ago.” He was silent for another moment. “You have my word ... if she’s not what I’m looking for ... if she’s not everything I hoped for in a wife ... I’ll take her back to you and we can start looking for another prospect.”

I thought about that for awhile. “Okay. You sound sincere. I appreciate that; thank you.” Again I sought something to say. “Did you purchase the exercise equipment I told you to?”

“Yes. I turned one of the guest bedrooms into an exercise room. And ... I started using them myself. Three weeks now. I’ve lost eight pounds.”

I smiled. “Congratulations. I think she should be ready next weekend. I’ll call you again soon and let you know when you can come get her. Good bye.”

By the time Ann got back, I’d made my plans for her last week with me. It was time for her four o’clock pumping session, during which she produced another 75 cc’s, and we combined it with her original batch in the refrigerator. The amounts, of course, would increase as time went on, probably to more than 750 cc’s per day ... up to 25 or 30 ounces ... if she kept to this milking schedule.

When she had finished, I sent her on ahead to my office to launch the spiral program on the computer and get settled. She actually skipped like a little girl as she went off toward the office, and her smile was radiant. I, of course, found life a little more bitter-sweet, and I tarried a bit too long before joining her. As was the case when I had left her in front of the spiral too long on other occasions, she was already in a deep sleep when I arrived. “Tell me what you’re doing, Ann,” I ordered.

She moved slightly, as if awakening, but still in a trance, her eyes closed and her face muscles slack. “I am going deeper, doctor. That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”

I nodded. She was completely conditioned. “Yes, Ann. Very good. Please tell me when you are as deep as you can possibly go. We have much to discuss, and I want you very, very deep when we do that. Your mind must be completely blank ... completely open and receptive. Tell me when you’ve accomplished that, please.”

She was silent for a full minute. “I’m there, doctor.”

“What are you thinking about, Ann?”

“Nothing, doctor. I am completely blank ... and open ... and receptive.”

“What is the truth, Ann?”

“Your words are the truth. I believe your words. They are the truth.” Her words were recited, dull and expressionless.

I nodded again. “Tell me about the picture on my desk,” I commented.

“Justin Ardly,” she said in a flat monotone. “I am in love with a picture of a man. I know I will love him when I see him.”

“How will you show him your love?”

Her brow creased in thought. We hadn’t discussed that in previous sessions. “Show him?” she asked, uncertain.

“What will you do, Ann? If you love a man, you should convey that ... you should show him somehow.”

“Um ... Should I tell him I love him?”

“I think that would be inappropriate.”

She struggled with that for a moment. Finally: “Please, doctor. What should I do? I’ll do whatever you suggest.”

“You are very submissive, aren’t you Ann?”

We were back on familiar ground, and she smiled. “I am very submissive. I always have been. It is in my nature to be submissive and obedient, and I should not try to change that. I accept it absolutely and completely.”

“Who are you submissive to, Ann?”

“To you, doctor. I am submissive and obedient to you. Always.”

“Why? Why are you submissive only to me?”

She sighed dreamily. “Because I love you, doctor.”

“And you show me your love by always being submissive and obedient. Isn’t that true?”

She gave a little gasp. “I can be submissive and obedient to Justin Ardly! That’s it, isn’t it, doctor? That’s the answer!”

“I think that would be an excellent way to show him your love. Very good, Ann! When you awaken from your trance today, you will not remember what we have discussed because you were in such a deep state of hypnosis ... and yet, you will know what we have discussed is the absolute truth. It is fact ... and completely irrefutable. From now on, you will know in your mind that when you finally meet Justin Ardly, you will fall deeply in love with him; and you will be able to show him your love through your complete subservience and obedience. You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you, Ann? Anything in the world. Anything at all. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You have done very well today, Ann. As a reward, I will grant you a gift. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Again she gasped in joyous surprise. “Oh, thank you, doctor.”

“I will grant you the gift of very pleasant dreams. Every night, after you go to sleep, you will dream of Justin Ardly. He will ask you to do things ... romantic things ... sexual things. And what will you do in your dreams when he does that, Ann?”

“Obey! I’ll obey him!”

“Of course you will. It will only be natural to do so. In your dreams, you will be with him ... walking together, or talking together, or visiting or meeting on the street. And he will become amorous and insistent. He might want to kiss you, or touch you.”

“I’ll suck his cock if he wants,” she exclaimed.

I laughed at that. “You’ll do anything, I’m sure. And ... I know that you’re going to start thinking about him a lot, even when you are not asleep. You’ll probably find yourself daydreaming about him often. And ... when I have you strapped to the examination table, pleasuring you; I’m sure you will find yourself thinking about him then, too. It’s only natural to do that. And ... in fact, you will probably be extremely horny when I wake you up from this trance, and want sexual release very, very badly. And ... it IS a Saturday: your day for me to do that to you.” She began fidgeting in the chair, and a small moan escaped her lips. “And ... it IS time to wake up,” I continued. “So, on the count of three, wide awake and alert and feeling very, very good, and very, very horny. One, two, three!”

For the first time since I had started doing this to her, she awoke, stood and clutched me by the sleeves of my shirt ... all in one smooth movement. I stumbled backwards a step, shocked by this. She had begun breathing rather hard during the last part of her trance, and that did not diminish now as she gazed up into my eyes imploringly. “Please, doctor. Please, sir. It’s Saturday. I know it’s earlier than usual ... but can you ... um ... strap me down on the table? Can you make me all helpless and then... ? Oh, sir ... please?”

I recovered from my surprise and tried to paste on a look of patience and tolerance. “Really, Ann! Such a display of wanton desire would be extremely embarrassing for most women.”

She suddenly went crimson. “Oh, sir. I’m SO sorry. But it seems like it’s been so LONG. And the feelings in my breasts ... with the milk and all ... It’s just that all day long, I’ve wanted to feel ... um...”

“Enough!” I interrupted. I let my countenance soften. “You HAVE been a very good girl lately. Very well. Go get ready for me.”

She let her breath escape in a long, pent-up sigh through a huge, open-mouth smile. “Oh, sir. Thank you!” and she let go of me and sprinted out the door, turning toward the examination room. Allowing a self-satisfied grin to grace my face, I strolled after her.

By the time I entered the room, she had divested herself of all her clothing and settled onto the cushioned table, moving her head a little on the pillow. As was her habit, she had tried to help me by strapping her own right wrist into its leather cuff, but she hadn’t enough time for that, and she simply lay still, waiting for me to complete the process of immobilizing her. It was all routine, of course. She helped as much as she was able, lifting her legs for me, one at a time, to be secured to the braces. When I had tightened the last strap, I idly ran my fingertips up and down the length of her sopping gash, watching and smiling as she clenched her entire body in response; then she shivered violently. I was afraid she might peak at once, so great was her need, and I removed my fingers entirely, eliciting a frustrated groan.

I walked around her, then; stroking her sides, her thighs, her neck, her breasts. She began mewling like a starving animal being teased with food. I stroked her sex with my fingertips again, just once, then stroked her elsewhere, dragging it out as long as I could. And finally, when she least expected it, I lowered my face to her chest and captured her right nipple, sucking hard. “OH!” she screamed. “Oh, sir! Oh, gosh, sir! I feel it! That feeling in my breasts ... like this morning. Oh, doctor!”

And my mouth was suddenly full of warm milk. I strummed her clit with my fingers ... again, just once ... and then reached up and massaged her left breast, kneading roughly with my thumb and fingers, first from the sides and then from the top and bottom. Four little jets of white shot up into the air and splattered wetly onto her lower chest and stomach. I kept stroking her sex every fifteen seconds or so between manipulations of the breast; then, slowly, I strolled around the table and feasted on the left breast, squeezing the right one with my hand. She had been right on the edge of orgasm for many minutes. There was no way now that she could NOT begin associating feelings of being milked with feelings of sex.

She was moaning constantly, and I finally relented and rubbed her prominent little nubbin hard with increasing speed, knowing full well that this would launch her into orgasm. As expected, she began to shake wildly, her stomach muscles spasming violently and rhythmically. After fifteen seconds, I began lessening the frequency and pressure of my rubbing, but I kept it up for a long, long time, more and more gently, until I was barely touching her at all. She began muttering unintelligible words, as if talking in her sleep, and after awhile she said dreamily: “Oh, Justin. You make me do such WONDERFUL things...”

I left her, walking to the apartment and fetching the bathrobe out of her room. In the bathroom, I let the water run in the sink until it was hot, and I wetted a washcloth and took it back to the exam room, where I swabbed away all traces of the ejected milk from her smooth skin. That caused her to awake fully; but she said nothing, even as I unstrapped her, helped her up, and slipped the robe around her. She followed me docilely back to the apartment, then mechanically began helping me prepare supper. “Are you okay, Ann?” I asked her, finally.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, barely above a whisper, letting me know, of course, that she was not; but I didn’t press it. I set the table while she finished tossing the salad and added the cut-up pieces of flattened chicken that I had just pan fried. We ate facing each other, and she’d peek up at me from her food from time to time to catch me watching her mildly.

“What is it, Ann?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t answer me for a long thirty seconds. Finally: “Doctor, about your experiment ... not the milking thing ... the other one...”

“Yes?”

“Your experiment was to change me, right? To change the way I think. To change the way I am. Right?”

I couldn’t keep a small smile from my lips as I studied her. “Yes.”

“And ... you think you’ve done that now, right?”

I smiled and nodded, figuring that, at long last, there was no reason to withhold the truth. “Yes, Ann. You might not realize it, but I HAVE changed you ... significantly.”

She looked down at her food and took another bite. I could tell she was thinking hard about this. “In reality,” she said somberly, “you have tried to change me into a kind of slave, haven’t you?”

Once again, I felt so confident about what had occurred in this apartment during the past two months, that telling her about it now should not alter the outcome. “And it’s true, isn’t it, Ann? You ARE a slave, in effect. You would do absolutely anything I told you to do, wouldn’t you?”

She set down her fork and looked up into my eyes. “Yes, doctor; I would. I am your slave. I really am.”

I leaned toward her, my forearms on the table edge. “Does that make you unhappy? That’s not my intent. I want very much to make you happy, Ann.”

She smiled up at me sadly. “I am happy. Knowing that you are my master, I mean ... knowing that I belong to you.” She let that statement hang for a moment. “But ... you’re about to give me away, aren’t you? This love I have for ... for a man in a picture. YOU put that love into me, didn’t you? You’re about to give me away to Justin Ardly, aren’t you? You’re about to try and make me HIS slave, aren’t you, doctor?”

I leaned even closer to her. “Try to imagine it. Close your eyes.” I waited until she had done so. “Now, try to imagine that you belong to him ... that he owns you ... that he does things to you ... that he orders you to do things. If he was your master ... if you were his slave ... then he would most certainly do many, many things to you. Sexual things. He would use your body for his own pleasure, wouldn’t he?” She took a ragged breath; and she shook, as if suddenly chilled. “How do you think you would feel about that, Ann? Would you like belonging to him?”

She opened her eyes. “Would you, doctor?” I was surprised by that, and I wasn’t sure what she meant. She saw the confusion in my eyes and clarified. “Would YOU like it if I belonged to Justin Ardly? Is it what YOU want?”

I sat back in my chair and contemplated that. “Yes,” I said flatly. “That IS what I want.”

She let a long second go by, and then she smiled. “Then, that’s what I want, too. I think that belonging to him might be ... wonderful.” She sobered suddenly. “Do you think he might ... hurt me? Some men like to beat women. I’ve read about it. Do you think he would beat me? I mean, if I was truly his slave ... well ... some men beat slaves, right?”

“I would never let anyone beat you, Ann. I think he would be a good master.”

The smile was back, broad and expectant. “Then, I want to be a good slave for him. Will you tell me how I can please him? Will you show me what do to make him happy?”

God, it had been so easy! Everything slid right into place, from the very beginning. Sure there had been a few problems along the way; but it had all come together. It had all clicked. I got up from the table and went to the calendar hanging on the wall. I pulled a pen from my shirt pocket and circled a date: December 7th, seven days from now; then I returned the pen to my pocket and sat back down, facing her.

“So soon?” she asked quietly.

I just nodded.

“We have so much to do,” she told me seriously.

(NOTE TO THE READER: Okay, have you figured it out yet? Do you know where I went wrong? I have now disclosed all the clues and told you all the details you need to unravel our little mystery. Patient #20 was supposed to be my first great success ... but she was not at all. It doesn’t take a lot of knowledge in psychology to solve it. Anyone who has sat through freshman Psyc 101, should see it. But I was simply too close to the situation to realize it was even there.)

CASE FILES - PERSONAL NOTES - PATIENT 20 - DAY 60

As soon as I heard the doorbell, I knew who it was. I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure she was ready, but the curtain has to go up sometime. At some point, you have to declare your masterpiece finished and present it to the world. And so, I sent her to answer the summons and bring our visitor to my office. It took longer than I had anticipated, but eventually, she led him in. She was nervous, and I would guess, more in awe of him than afraid. As for Ardly, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of her. Maybe awe is contagious.

“Doctor,” Ann said anxiously, “Mr. Ardly has come to visit.”

“I told you to call me Justin,” he chided, smiling at her.

“That wouldn’t do,” I said flatly. “We have been practicing this past week. What is it you should call him, Ann?”

She turned to face him. “I should call you Master. You ARE my master ... from today on.” She fidgeted. “Aren’t you?”

He swallowed heavily and rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers. “I ... um ... need to get used to that idea, I think.” He glanced at me. “This is a hell of a way to make introductions, isn’t it?”

I grinned. I liked having the upper hand; but he WAS my employer ... at least until payment was received. “Let me really introduce you properly, then. Ann ... please sit in computer chair and start the program.”

“Yes, doctor.” She went to “her” seat, which was a secretary’s chair in front of the computer in the corner of the office. Ardly drifted closer to her and watched as she clicked the proper icon and started the spiral video, while I began gathering folders from my desk and stuffing them into manila envelopes.

After a minute, I rose and went to her, laid a hand on her shoulder and ordered: “Sleep.” She collapsed back in the seat, her chin on her chest, her arms dangling at her sides. Ardly seemed shocked by the suddenness of it. “Sit up, Ann,” I said curtly, and she sat up, prim and alert, though her eyes were closed. “And now, Ann. Tell me about Justin Ardly.”

“I am in deeply in love with Justin Ardly. I have been ever since I saw his picture on your desk. I know that you will give me to him today. I am his slave now, and I always will be. It is in my nature to be a slave ... it always has been. I am naturally obedient and submissive; and I will surrender to Justin Ardly completely ... my mind and my body. Always. I am deeply in love with Justin Ardly. I have been, ever since I saw his picture on your desk. I know that...”