Personally, I had no clue as to what was going on myself. Thepictures that showed me dead sat heavily on my mind. I was starting tohave some ideas as to how we could nail the bastards who did this to meso callously. The questioning the police gave me afterwards was grueling to my mind. Ihad seen videos of police interrogating criminals but the victims werenever shown giving their statements nor what was never shown was theliteral hell fest that one went through emotionally trying to remembereverything that happened to them. I couldn't be much help due to the factthat I was unconscious for the most part. I was able to give greatdescriptions of the doctors and their cohorts from the hospital. Arrestwarrants were forthcoming for as many people as they could get names for.As a witness to my own murder, they were going to require that I go intoa safe house to protect my identity as well as my life. Since I wassupposed to be dead, I was going to be given a new identity so that Icould be. It was a big commitment, but I could see how badly you wanted it. You'd done all the research, of course; you knew exactly what needed to be done. You ordered the herbs, and a breastpump. Within a week we'd begun our regimen of suckling 15 minutes on each side, six times a day. I began using the breast pump as well, hoping each time to see a telltale white drop. My breasts felt heavier, fuller. Finally, after six weeks, one day when I was pumping a thin trickle of milk appeared in the container. That night, you suckled eagerly, moaning when you got a few precious drops. You fucked me hard from behind, my heavy tits swinging, an occasional drop of milking leaking out.After that night, my production steadily increased. I loved the way my breasts looked, full with long, dark nipples. I wondered how big you would want them to grow, how much milk you would demand of me. You asked me not to wear a bra at home, because you loved to see the wet patches my milk left on my shirts. My.
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