Milking
"You ready?" my wife asked when I walked into the living room. "We really need to get going if we're going to be on time."
"I...yea...I just...why does she need to come with us?" I asked.
"Hon, we talked about this. She's my mother, she just wants to make sure everything is going okay."
"Can't she just ask you? Does she really need to...to go with us?"
"Why wouldn't she?" my wife asked.
"Because...because it's...it's embarrassing," I blurted out.
"It's just a milking, it's just a medical procedure, there's nothing to be embarrassed about."
"But..." I thought of each milking, the table I climbed upon, naked, face down, my hips raised. I thought of the curved massager, well lubricated, the nurse pushed into me while my wife held my hand.
I thought of the vibrations, the feeling of being full, the inevitable thought of what it would feel like with a cock inside me.
I thought of my wife's whispered words, encouraging me to relax, to squirt.
"But there? Does she have to be there?"
My wife nodded. "Yes," she said, "she needs to see how well you're doing."
That it is a procedure done by medical staff, I find is an interesting take on a prostate milking. That, what is the only allowed form of sexual release (kind of) for the sissy, is only perceived as a medical procedure for wife and m-i-l, must really feel quite humiliating, I give the poor thing that. But I love the loving and encouraging support that is given by the wife, wonderful.
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