Having given myself permission to crave ruination, I did my best to try to seduce my destroyer, to entice it to enter me so that I could enfold its heat and its power, to merge with it, to be subjugated by it. I was driven by an overpowering lust, fueled by crippling fear, to sacrifice my sexual organs to this monstrous phallic idol.
My breathing became rhythmically labored and my breasts heaved as I stared at the hideous thing. I was mesmerized by it — fixated on it. Its outline was blurred by the wave of heat that it gave off, making it seem to move and wriggle hypnotically. It seemed to radiate an awesome power that pushed my arousal beyond my ability to resist it.
He moved the nearly white-hot iron over me and I cringed at its rapid approach. I could feel heat radiating from it as he passed it over my face and then down to my breasts. I watched, transfixed with mounting terror, as he lowered the glowing knob closer and closer to the tip of my right breast. The searing heat was strong enough to be painful and brought me partially to my senses. I strained against the restraints in a futile attempt to shrink away from the horrible thing.
My traitorous nipple swelled under the influence of the intense heat. It seemed to reach out for the hot iron, willfully seeking its fiery destruction. The heat reached through my breast and rekindled my arousal. The fear of being burned by the glowing iron changed into a perverse longing for its touch, for its intense caress; heedless that the most tender of kisses from my iron lover would mark me forever as its slave with an imprint that would be forever insensitive to another's touch.
Just as I thought my nipple was about to be consumed by contact with the iron, he pulled it away, leaving me intensely stimulated and powerfully frustrated. I dropped my head back on the table, bursting with unsatisfied lust and crazed with the warped desire to see my nipple branded.
After granting me a reprieve, instead of replacing the iron in the brazier, he slowly moved it down my abdomen, tracing a wandering path just barely above my skin. He paused every few inches and teased me by lowering it to just within contact, making me choose each time if I should thrust my stomach up against the hot metal and willingly burn myself in a demonstration of my submission to its power.
Each time I barely managed to resist the temptation and eventually he reached his goal and held the thick shaft lengthwise between my thighs with the fat knob just in front of my pussy. The tender skin on the insides of my thighs felt like it was being baked by the extreme heat and I renewed my efforts to spread my legs further apart, both to escape the heat and as a gesture of submission to my despoiler.
With excruciating slowness, he moved the glowing knob closer and closer to my swollen labia, which curled themselves open lewdly as if to welcome the fiery intruder. I could feel my internal muscles contracting furiously as they pulled my vaginal walls apart, opening my channel and preparing it for my final penetration. The heat from the knob radiated down the open passage, reaching deeply into me and enflaming what was already boiling with another kind of heat. My belly undulated obscenely as my vaginal muscles flexed again and again, flaring the mouth of my pussy, making it seem to beg for obliteration.
Both kinds of warmth made my lubricating juice flow copiously and I could feel it running out of my pussy and down across my puckered anus to puddle on the table. Lubrication would do me no good today. It might ease the passage briefly, but once inside me the iron cock would scald and then sear my vaginal walls, cooking the flesh and then charring it. When it withdrew after it had done its grisly job, it would tear itself from my ruined organ leaving behind a gruesome wreck and a lifetime of agony and regret. None of this made the slightest difference to me. I was consumed by lust and driven by terror to surrender myself to devastation. My one thought was that any second he would quench the glowing iron in my pussy. The anticipation of that instant drove me into a state of sexual heat like I had never left before. My hips jerked forward again and again, as my body tried to reach the glowing shaft, driven to enfold it by a perverted lust so strong that it drove all other thought from my mind except frustration at being denied the thing it craved.
My fatly erect and sensitive clit was poised over the red glowing knob and so close that it felt like it was being roasted as it danced wantonly in the rising heat. The sensation was like nothing I had ever experienced. Waves of pain and pleasure coursed through me simultaneously. The fear and lust had destroyed my reason, leaving only the irrational desire for unnatural intercourse with the iron phallus. If my tongue had been free, I would have begged him for consummation. I would have pleaded with him to shove the hot iron cock through my pussy and plunge it deeply into my body, destroying my sex utterly and driving me instantly into what my body was convinced would be the most cataclysmic orgasm I could, and would, ever experience, leaving my body and my mind totally destroyed.
The tension itself finally broke me and I climaxed while imagining the flaming iron ravaging my pussy. My vaginal muscles flexed violently and forced a stream of liquid to shoot from my spasming pussy and splash onto the glowing iron rod, showering it with hot juice that flashed instantly into a cloud of steam.
The feeling of relief was incredible. The orgasm poured through me like a flood in the desert, rushing into the dry, thirsty places and instantly saturating them with a refreshing torrent. I rolled my eyes back into my head and surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. My body shook and quivered all over with the sudden release of the intense sexual tension that had built up inside me. The only thing that kept me conscious was the hard ball of fear that remained in the pit of my stomach.
Without making a sound, my captor watched me moan and twitch in a glorious fit of ecstasy. He watched, motionless, while I performed my dance of lust, shaking and straining convulsively against my bonds while I climaxed shamelessly, brazenly showing him the degree of control he had over my body and my mind. When I finally stopped quaking and ran down to an exhausted lethargy, he returned the now-darkened iron cock to the brazier, where he carefully covered it in glowing coals to allow it to recharge its heat.
"Marvelous! You are the best specimen that I have been fortunate enough to find in some time. Your breasts are magnificent. Your skin is golden. Your face is beautiful. You burn with a sexual heat that outshines the coals. And yet, there are still improvements to be made! You will see. You will see. I have learned a thing or three since I started. You just wait and see. Now, let us begin."
He rolled the stand with the electrocutor on it out of the way; but still to hand, I noticed. He replaced it with another wooden box that he sat behind me before I got a good look at it. He reached over my head and brought down two clear plastic funnels attached to tubes that went back to the box. I guessed what the contraption was even before he showed me the quart-size collection bottle.
"One job of the female is to provide nourishment for her children. You will demonstrate to me that you can perform this function. If you do not, or cannot, I am prepared to help you."
He held up a large brown bottle of fluid. All I could make out on the label was "metaclopromide", a word I remembered from the pamphlet on milk donation. It had something to do with stimulating lactation, but if I remembered right, it was part of a treatment that took days to work as the breast tissue hormone levels increased. I had no idea if injecting girls with this stuff would make them lactate instantly and I was highly dubious about being subjected to the treatment.
He rubbed some greasy white stuff on my nipples and they immediately began to swell and itch. They got warmer and warmer until they felt like they were burning up. They grew so large that I could easily see them poking out on the ends of my breasts.
My tormentor watched and giggled as my nipples turned bright red and swelled to the point of bursting. When they stopped growing, he put the funnels on them like little party hats. He pressed them down and they stuck to the cream, making a seal. He then turned on the machine, which made a loud rhythmic thunking noise. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't identify it at first. When I felt the suction pull my nipples up into the funnels, I remembered where I had heard that sound before — it was the sound the vacuum pump in the school Physics lab made when it was pumping the air out of a bell jar. His homemade breast pump wasn't going to take Empty for an answer.
"You have five minutes to begin producing milk. If you cannot, the machine will continue to run and your breasts will rupture and you will give blood instead. Either way, I will take no less than a pint. Milk or blood, it is your choice. I give you the option of having the injection to assist you in this task. If you want the injection, nod your head."
At that moment, the pump sucked all the air out of the wide part of the funnels and my nipples were sucked up into the narrow end, making me jerk. He interpreted this to mean I was asking for the drug and he picked up a syringe with a long needle and filled it from the bottle.
When he had the syringe filled, he jabbed one breast with it and then the other, shooting a massive dose of the drug into each one. He wasn't as gentle or as careful as Bambi had been when she had injected my breasts with her serum and it hurt like hell. He did sterilize the needle and the injection site each time, for which I was grateful. When he finished the first dose, he immediately filled up the syringe and gave my poor breasts a second dose from a different angle. Each injection was as unpleasant as the last. The pain was annoying, but sufferable. It was the idea that some foreign substance was being put into my body without my consent that bothered me the most. I wondered what the effects had been on his other victims and I had an unsettling thought - was he crazy enough to continue to use a treatment that did not produce the desired effect? If not, then what would be the effect of the drug on someone whose hormones were already geared to milk production?
I braced myself for agony, but the drug seemed to have no effect. I felt nothing but the insistent pull of the pump on my nipples, through which something was going to be sucked very soon now, as the vacuum built up in the machine. If I didn't do something quick, it was going to be my blood that the device sucked and that was going to hurt one awful lot.
I closed my eyes and reached for the trance state. Given the situation, I expected that it would be very hard to achieve anything like a meditative mood, but I had done it so many times that I slipped right in. Once there, I got to work concentrating on making milk as quickly as I could.
I visualized the process right down to the smallest level. I summoned the feeling of warm milk filling my mammary glands. I imagined the creamy white fluid flowing through me. I felt my breasts swell and my nipples open and fluid begin to flow out of me. Slowly, I opened my eyes to take a peek. It was happening. Fluid was being sucked up the tubes, and it was milk instead of blood. The suction eased as the liquid filled the machine and was pumped into the bottle. I went into 'cow mode', letting my body yield to the demand of the pump attached to my breasts.
"Wonderful! Marvelous! You continue to impress me. Many girls fail this test and the result is most unfortunate. You seem well suited to this task. Your voluptuous proportions are functional as well as extremely pleasing to the eye."
His praise felt good, even if it was only the ravings of a lunatic. I relaxed and let nature take over. My breasts were keeping pace with the pump, now. The milk was flowing smoothly and the level in the bottle rose steadily. I closed my eyes again, happy to have a momentary break from the torture that I knew had not ended, even though it was very welcome after my bout with abject terror.
While I relaxed, I worked on metabolizing the drug he had unnecessarily injected into my breasts. Just because there had been no sensation or immediate reaction to it didn't mean there would be no effect at all, and I didn't want anything sneaking up on me later when I might have other things on my mind. Since the drug had been injected directly into my breasts, I focused on them, increasing the flow of blood and accelerating all the biochemical processes.
I had developed a wonderful rapport with my body. In the trance state, I could extend my mental control over just about any aspect of it that I chose. If I could visualize it, I could do it, as long as it was possible, didn't require more energy than I had available to spend on the task, and I understood enough of what was happening to activate the proper biological systems. My mental analogy of being a general who commanded an army of soldiers was a good one, but the catch was that I needed to know what had to be done and I had to know who to order to do it, at least the first time through.
The skin-changing business that I was so fond of was a good example. I had become very familiar with my epidermal cells and how to get them to move pigment around to get the effect I wanted. I had fooled around with my 'makeup' enough to make the whole thing almost a reflex. Once I had learned to put on the Dragon face, it was easy to learn how to animate it. Once I learned to make it move, it was easy to make it more realistic. Each effort resulted in better-trained troops who could carry out complex operations with minimal orders from me. If this sounds absurd, think about how complicated a process speaking is and how each of us nevertheless learns to do it at an early age. No one thinks 'I must breath like this, or hold my tongue in this position, or open my mouth just this far'. It all becomes a programmed action, so we don't have to think of the details or worry about the complexity of the action, we can just open our mouths and say, "You want fries with that?"
The catch was in dealing with the unknown. If I didn't understand what was going on, I was more or less helpless to do anything about it. I knew next to nothing about molecular biology or biochemistry, so I was helpless to do anything about being dosed with a complex drug like metaclopromide except to try to burn it up as quickly as possible.
I was 'going with the flow' with the homemade, but effective, breast pump and was starting to enjoy being milked. The sensation was a very primal one and reached deeply into my mind to produce a state of contented euphoria. The only other thing I knew of that could reach that deeply was sex. Indeed, the two activities seemed to share the same primitive pleasure-center in my brain and one sometimes stimulated the other. Lactation sometimes made me horny and sex sometimes made me lactate.
Sometime later, I was floating along on my own private cloud when I became aware of a growing feeling of fullness in my breasts and a feeling of increased weight on my chest. Annoyed at having my reverie disturbed, I opened one eye to check on conditions in the external world.
By accelerating the rate at which I metabolized the drug, I had inadvertently thrown gasoline on the fire. The stuff had stimulated my milk production enormously. 'Enormous' was a good word for it, too, as that was what my breasts looked like.
I had gotten largely accustomed to having big tits. I had been well above average in the breast department when I was still a D-cup. The process to turn me into an HH-cup had been traumatic, but very rewarding, and I would not have gone back for anything in the world. The inconvenience they caused was more than made up for by the pleasure they gave me and the way they fascinated my lovers and admirers.
The large dose of the drug and my attempt to burn it up quickly had combined to swell my breasts to prodigious proportions. They sat on my chest like huge milk bags and my flesh was stretched to the limit to contain the large reservoir of liquid in them. The sound of the pump had fallen off to a soft purr as the amount of fluid available increased beyond its demand.