MILKY WHITE
Something peculiar was happening every time Njanni drank milk. We noticed it in the morning, following up a report one of the associates had submitted. Initially, we were inclined to think the associate had gone mad.
Upon bringing Njanni her coffee one morning, the associate noticed her eyes had become strangely fixated on the tiny white pitcher of cream. In her report the associate wrote that Njanni had “thrust her hands underneath her bedclothes and licked her lips profusely.” When we pressed the associate for further details in an interview, she grew unusually reticent and refused to look at any of us directly. Johann believed she was blushing.
Of course when we inspected the videotapes from the cameras, we understood her elusiveness. The recording was perhaps too grainy to be definitive, but it appeared that the associate aided Njanni in spreading the cream across her stomach as she lay on her bed, having hoisted her white satin nightshirt over her head and discarded it. Oren believed it was against the rules for a subject to be entirely naked underneath her nightshirt, others felt it was a grey area in the procedural code. The associate did not mention it in her report.
Njanni’s breasts were quite covered with cream and her nipples clearly erect, and her mouth was agape, but unfortunately our cameras are not equipped with microphones, and we cannot be absolutely sure if she was mouthing actual words or simply moaning inarticulately. Oren is of the opinion that she made no sound at all; that her mouth opened instinctively in response to what must have been deeply pleasurable for her. She licked at her lips now and then and kept her eyes clenched shut. Occasionally her shoulders would twitch as she would heave forward.
But mostly her head was cast back, and she grimaced and quivered as the associate looked on. Admittedly, the subject seemed to take great pleasure in spreading the cream over herself, which she did rather feverishly. The report simply stated that Njanni had “spilled the cream on herself and seemed disinclined to clean herself.”
Hans acknowledged his regret over the quality of the video and recommended a general upgrading of our equipment. Johann defended the associate’s actions, referring to the fact that her face betrayed no particular pleasure in her conduct, though one is inclined to suspect that it did not displease her entirely to soak Njanni’s genital area with the cream. Her face is not entirely visible at that juncture, and Hans suggested that Njanni then seemed to be giving grunts of encouragement. Her heaving appears more rhythmic and concerted. Hans used the word “panting” to describe it.
None of the committee believes that the associate engaged Njanni orally during this incident; that is, lapped the cream from Njanni’s bosom and genital region, which Njanni may or may not have been pleading for—the recording is quite grainy, as has been noted. We don’t think that is what happened, but the possibility was discussed at some length. Hans thought the prospect “quite delicious” and “something worth thinking about.” We all agreed that this was an area that was potentially fruitful for future development.
The associate was admittedly attractive in her own right, and some on the committee found even her uniform—grey tailored suit that fit tightly across her chest, white blouse, black stockings, black pumps with a slight raise in the heel—possibly subject to fetishization; even the clipboard she carried was remarked upon. “There’s something about the way she holds her pencil,” Oren commented. “Watch how she begins to wave it as the subject’s gyrations become more pronounced.” Johann went so far as to praise the associate’s restraint and noted wryly that not all of the members of the committee would have been so circumspect.
At one point, the associate did lean rather curiously with her pelvis against one of the bedposts as Njanni continued to slather herself. She may have been stimulating herself with the pressure, but that was merely speculation on Oren’s part. She remained clothed at all times, and her hands were almost always visible in the recording. There was a brief moment, which was reviewed several times by the committee, where it appeared that one of her hands disappeared into the folds of the skirt she was wearing.
And needless to say, Njanni was not nearly so discreet; her hands went everywhere, and she licked her fingers and then, too, the fingers of the associate quite lewdly, her tongue could be seen darting over the flesh, more often than not which was covered with cream. The hair in her genital region was soaked through with white, which was made starkly apparent as she threaded her fingers through the area.
Oren eventually admitted that at the very least something not altogether normal had taken place and asked if he could take the video home with him for closer scrutiny on his home equipment, which he assures us is of far superior make. At last, the committee all agreed that we would watch her behavior together at breakfast very closely.
In a clever stroke, Johann instructed the associates to serve the subject cream of wheat. Njanni reported for breakfast in a timely manner, and betrayed no signs of erratic or compulsive behavior. She dressed as she often did, in snug yet comfortable attire, with her hair carefully brushed; and as usual, her part down the middle was admirably ruler-straight. Her prim, tartan skirt was well-pressed, and quite free of any irregularities.
She sat down to her meal after a polite greeting, though Hans felt she perhaps lingered a bit in the eye contact she made with him. This may explain why he was the first to reveal himself during what ensued. The cream of wheat itself brought on no special response when it presented to the subject in a porcelain bowl, and she even seemed slightly disappointed that the ordinary menu had been altered. She said that she “fancied a biscuit,” but the cream of wheat, she reassured us would “do.”
But when a carton of milk was introduced, her response was rather striking. When Oren filled her glass, her eyes opened wide, and her lips pursed noticeably. A low, gutteral sound was heard, and a dry swallow. Johann believes her heard her begin to salivate. Hans wished the associate were here again to witness what was happening.
Njanni began to fidget most rhythmically in her chair, as if she were sitting on something quite prickly, and she began to clutch at her blouse, pulling it taut against her body to disclose the curve of her breasts. Her nipples were once again markedly erect; this became clearer the more her breasts strained against the fabric. Clearly there were associations between the milk and her own breasts that had successfully been established, but the nature of the response was not entirely what had been anticipated. She rubbed her nipples through the silken fabric of her blouse, as though she wished to make them protrude even more, make them more accessible for tonguing, as it would indeed turn out as event proceeded.
Always the clever one, Johann held the glass away from her, taunting her with it a bit, perhaps to see whether she would begin to drool. For a moment this seemed certain. Instead she opened her blouse, and swung her braid back and forth with a mesmerizing insistence. She thrust her bared breast forward and seemed to “grind” her hips in place as she sat.
She appeared to be lost in her cravings, acting from some preternatural cycle of responses, some deep-laid desire for a more primal satisfaction than we customarily have the courage to admit. But that may only have been a hopeful interpretation, given the project’s ambitions. Hans was fully ready to describe Njanni’s posture as “estrual” but may have corrupted the objectivity of the operational theatre by stating to the subject, “You’re in heat, aren’t you?”
Nevertheless, she did nod in response and licked her lips again and again; it was remarkable how quickly they became so full; Oren called them swollen and voluptuous, but we hesitate to use such loaded terms. With her head still lolling to and fro, she upended her bowl of cream of wheat (making a spectacular mess of her skirt), and began to labor further in her breathing, using her mouth solely. Her eyes appeared to gleam with a wanton lust for satisfaction; they greedily devoured Johann, or at least he admits to feeling curiously bristled by her gaze, and inspired to be even more clever than he usually is.
She leaned forward out of her chair suddenly and planted her hands firmly on the table. Looking hungrily at the milk Johann held, she let her breasts hang down and dangle. One couldn’t be sure if her breasts were indeed larger or if it merely appeared so under these unusual circumstances. She rocked forward and back so they would swing slightly.
“Give me,” she said petulantly, absently licking her lips. She rubbed herself rather rudely against the edge of the table. “Milky white,” she repeated, quite a few times, in fact. Yes, her breasts were positively larger then, we all noted it. The husky sound of her voice made several of us somewhat uncomfortable. We admonished Hans later for a therapeutic intervention we thought was a bit premature, but he offered his penis as a substitute for the glass.
Clearly this presented Njanni with a dilemma, as she pulled anxiously on her braid, trying to make a decision regarding the penis. Finally she made a stab at the glass, springing with a sure, feline stealth. Startled, Johann, let the glass fly from his hand, spilling milk all over his coat and the floor around him. Later we all expressed disappointment over our failure to be concerned about the possibility of broken glass interspersed with the milk on the floor, but admittedly, things were progressing too quickly for us to completely manage all the risks.
At first, after the spill, Njanni was inclined to lick feverishly at Johann’s lapel, while rutting rather shamelessly against his thigh, but ultimately she found herself, of course, lapping at the milk puddles on the linoleum, emitting a strangely satisfied purr as she swallowed. Milk soaked into the tights she wore, and at some point they were simply removed, though whether the subject removed them or one of the observers assisted remains unclear. Johann recalls Oren working them down over her hips as she was preoccupied with lapping the puddles. Oren claims Hans later employed them in his onanistic practices, wrapping his penis in the moist material as he stroked himself. The tights were later found a bit soaked and soiled in a bunch in a corner of the room and await further analysis; Oren is believed to have taken them to his home facility for that purpose.
More material to this report is that the subject had become naked. She seemed to take no interest at all, at first, in the manner with which Hans was furiously stroking his penis a few meters from her face. In a departure from the cream incident in her bedroom, she appeared to have no interest in applying the milk to her labia nor to any other portion of her body, though she did seem to writhe a bit in the puddles, and no one would make the claim that she wasn’t full well covered with milk by the end of this episode. At some point the carton itself had been upended, contributing to that state of affairs, though there is absolutely no truth to Oren’s assertion that she had thrust the carton at her vagina in a vain attempt to employ it as a dildo.
She seemed entirely content to eventually use Hans’s organ in that capacity, after he mounted her from the rear once she had presented her backside to him with a irresistible moan. She raised her behind in the air, with her hands spread in front of her on the floor, milk dripping from her chin, and she wiggled her hindquarters. The milk certainly seemed to have an aphrodisiac effect.
One would be inclined to suspect the we had all lost our concentration at some point, because all our notes are a bit spotty from there on out. We all noted the frenzied fervor of the subject; her lasciviousness; the way milk saturated her hair; the many orgasms she seemed to experience. We all recall her sighing, “Squeeze, squeeze,” at one point, and none of us, certainly, could fail to remember her thrusting her fingers dripping with milk in and out her mouth with suggestive rapidity.
It remains unclear if all the milk present in the kitchen was from the carton, or if not some of it had indeed come from Njanni’s own breasts, as Johann suggested. We all recall the way she kneaded her nipples with her saturated fingers, but we do not fully endorse Hans’s claim that definite spurts ejaculated from them upon his own climax inside her; in fact, we question his angle of vision.
Oren believes Johann was the first to take suckle from her breasts, though this was also, he admitted, while he was in the process of being fellated by the subject. Johann, for his part, remembers sucking her and indeed drinking, noting the sweet fulfillment this gave him. Hans believes that Johann came simply from nursing on the subject. Others recalled his climax corresponding with a wet, milk-soaked kiss on the lips that he gave to the subject
Perhaps we should have pursued a closer inspection after she lay crumpled in a satisfied heap on the floor, her braid undone, her hair loose about her, her eyes dilated in languid fulfillment, her vagina seeping a milky white ooze, and so forth. But her mad giggling made us a bit wary of approaching her just then.
Naturally we grew curious to see if these effects were solely conditioned upon the structured environment we provide for her, so we agreed that we should escort her out into public, to a French restaurant noted for, among other things, its wealth of delectable creamy sauces. Hans admits that we should have notified the proprietor in advance of our intentions, but one supposes we were far too absorbed with the immediacy of the situation. Njanni was informed that we would be escorting her to Watelet’s, and that she should dress in an appropriate manner. She certainly did not disappoint us, as she chose to wear her finest black cocktail dress, and, as we were later to discover, her most elaborate and expensive undergarments.
Nothing too out of the ordinary occurred in the limousine ride to the restaurant, though Oren thought that Njanni’s eyes lingered lasciviously on the white marble statue that stands in front of the Judiciary building. He admits to being tempted to unveil the quart of half-and-half he concealed in his overcoat at that moment, so liquid and full her eyes become then. We have since instructed Oren not to wax so fanciful.
But perhaps he was not wrong in all his observations, as we all noted her proclivity to bring her hands frequently to her lips, and her sudden refusal to sit still after we sped away from that particular building. Her lipstick did smear a bit, and Johann was forced to hold her compact open while she reapplied it before we entered Watelet’s. We spoke sparingly during the ride, preoccupied as we were with our observational mandate regarding Njanni. We felt required to committing even the slightest irregularities to memory.
We all agreed later that the wealth of detail we accrued from that aspect of the evening proved quite satisfying. Especially pleasing was Johann’s lovingly precise description of Njanni’s inner thigh, the milky whiteness of which he caught a brief glimpse as the car rounded a tight corner. He hadn’t seen Njanni wear garters before, and he interprets this as evidence of her growing unconscious sensuality revealing itself. “How it dimpled!” he said of her flesh, indicating the point at which the belt fastened itself to her stocking, “I would have liked to touch it! I wanted to run my finger beneath the elastic. Is that wrong?” He described how taut the stocking was pulled, how her flesh shifted beneath the silk as she squirmed in her seat. She alternated between squeezing her thighs together and allowing her legs to open, and Hans opined she was trying to generate friction on her labia.
Hans notes the intricate lace work at the tops of her stockings; he found it very difficult not to stare at the patterns they traced. “Swirls and spirals that disappeared and reappeared from view, all with the hint of her milky white flesh underneath,” he said, perhaps a little too eagerly. “I couldn’t stop looking.”
Oren reported a helpless fascination with her shoes, tall black heels that strapped to her feet, through which her stockinged toes peeked through. The quality and shininess of the leather enticed him. “The street light outside seem to reflect from it, a luminescent center of attention—I was riveted. Her delicate ankles. I wanted to caress them. They seemed to gleam white through the silk. Can you imagine the pleasure,” he asked us, “the delicacy?”
It no longer surprised us that we had found him later that evening cradling her foot and licking gingerly between her toes, with the heel of her shoe, removed, nestled between the cheeks of his backside (one knows not how else to put it), but the patrons at Watelet’s who observed him will have to draw their own conclusions as to his psychological disposition.
The shoes themselves have been discarded, one of the heels mysteriously had broken off in the melee at Watelet’s, and they had become, by the time we departed, entirely unwearable. Of course, we had to carry Njanni out of the restaurant through the rear exit, so she was little affected by this at the time. Indeed, Oren is most forlorn at this particular turn of events, though we know that he has many pairs similar to this one in the bottom drawer of his portmanteau.
As usual, Johann also recorded what he saw in the mirror, which he adroitly positioned to point his gaze directly at Njanni’s midriff. He recalls her slender fingers on her belly, and the way she thumbed the gold ring on her middle finger. He claims her nails were manicured exquisitely, painted the richest ruby imaginable. He saw her lick them a few times, he insists, and rather lewdly, as though they were slender phalluses. “I love to see her running her little finger over the soft wetness of her inner lower lip. It tickles and it comforts me,” he said.
We were forced to chastise him for his florid language, which we felt occluded the specificity of his report. But no action was taken in response to his later request that she eat her truffles with her fingers, an action which we all agreed enhanced the piquancy of the proceedings and the integrity of our findings. We liked the way she manipulated them between her digits, and we felt this gesture allowed us to later note the manner in which her fingers were especially adroit with her clitoris when she lay atop the tablecloth, with the dress pulled over her head.
The driver showed no signs of having sensed anything strange having happened, though Hans, who had sat beside him, wondered a bit at the way he kept his right hand in his lap, even as we were giving him his directions. Perhaps our hushed intensity, and our failure to engage him in pleasantries about the weather cued him to the nature of our experiment. Perhaps such moods of restrained excitement are simply contagious. The behavior of the patrons at Watelet’s later certainly seemed to suggest such a thesis; however, we are still reluctant to draw any definitive conclusions.
Matters proceeded unremarkably at the restaurant, until the couple at the table beside us, in the plain sight of Njanni, received their second course. The gentleman appeared to have ordered a lamb dish, which was smothered in a creamy white sauce of the most striking texture. Njanni was taken with his plate, and the gentleman was perhaps discomfited by her approaching him on her knees.
The gentleman’s companion was none too pleased by this development, nor did she take kindly to the manner in which Njanni pawed at the gentleman’s trousers with her fingers, moaning, “Oh milky white, milky white!” The gentleman glanced nervously about him, as if to summon the maitre’ d, but Hans had wisely waylaid him in a discussion of the finer points of their house chablis.
We suppose the gentleman would have protested more vigorously had Njanni not begun to suckle his penis, which grew promptly erect, to his companion’s considerable dismay. It is not entirely clear whether the other patrons at Watelet’s initially understood what was taking place. They may have attributed the strange sounds to peculiarities with the plumbing. The man’s ejaculate came spurting in thick white ropes that soiled the linens.
But when Njanni began grunting with animal fervor, the true nature of our experiment became unmistakable. Johann, ever the clever one, had arranged with the waiter, a man who called himself Jean, to bring a bowl of the chef’s thickest cream into the dining room on an engraved silver platter. This set Njanni into a positive frenzy, clutching fervently at herself, and it was at this point that her undergarments were fully revealed to us, a subtle off-white, inlaid with lace filigree, through which her dark public hair could be seen definitively. It was certainly a shame that the gentleman removed them so vehemently; such craftsmanship is difficult to come by, and surely he might have mustered the patience to undo them remove them over her stockings rather than chew them off with his teeth.
The bowl of cream that Jean had prepared had been set on our table, and it wasn’t long before Njanni had hoisted it above her head and poured the thick cream over her long hair and her shoulders. The viscosity was something to marvel at. The cream dripped languidly over her the straps of her dress, hesitating ever so slightly as it adjusted to the angle of her bosom, finally spilling off those peaks in shimmering droplets, only to splatter on the table on which she knelt. Oren had wanted to retain that tablecloth as a keepsake, but in all the hullabaloo we simply forgot to take it with us.
Their meals were expensive, so it wasn’t so surprising that some of Watelet’s clientele chose to continuing eating, but even the most dignified of the elderly gentleman could not help but venture a glance over at the spectacle Njanni had made of herself, funnelling the cream between her bared breasts, intoning, “Milky white, milky white.”
Many others chose not to be so passive in their spectatorship. To our surprised delight, the gentleman’s companion, a blonde-haired woman of approximately 27, with breasts rather large in size, judging by the way they pendulously hung from her frame, elected to accompany Njanni on the table, finally, after her impatience had been fretted to its fullest extent. She removed her dress with remarkable aplomb, and bathed herself in the cream, while Jean, our waiter (though some insinuate he is merely a busboy), aided her by ushering out another full bowl for her to lather with. “The way it feels!” she cooed, as her hand glided with the cream over Njanni’s thighs and her own, with carefully modulated strokes.
We later saw her sucking at Njanni’s breasts like a hungry infant, her eyes closed dreamily, her blonde hair matted to the side of her face with sweet, sticky cream. The chefs had congregated by the kitchen entry, huddled together, some masturbated openly while others merely watched with bemused interest. Some men watched the two women at our table hungrily while they took their wives from behind, others furtively touched themselves underneath the tables, out of plain sight. Many women massaged their breasts, perhaps wondering at their fullness; while only some freed them from confinement and made clumsy attempts at milking themselves. Johann was assiduous in his aid to these women, providing the assistance of his nimble fingers and his ready, forceful mouth.
When Hans decided to have Njanni we watched as he bent her over the table and inserted himself from the rear; she smoothed her breasts along the slick table top, occasionally ducking her head to lap at the froth she had generated there. From time to time her tongue would compete with the blonde-haired woman’s (regrettably we never discovered her name, though in his report Hans calls her the ‘silk-throated girl’), as she too found this whipped cream (of a fashion) quite irresistible. At some points, perhaps, their lips even met, though the thought is perhaps a product of our own titillated wishful thinking. Adele, who from her costume appeared to be a waitress, was complacently lounging in a chair, her pants undone, her fingers working busily between her legs, which were slung over either arm. The maitre’ d watched her suspiciously; perhaps he envied her the liberties she was taking. Perhaps he sensed some of the elderly gentleman in her station were appraised of the menu, and quite ready to order.
Of course it was difficult to remove Njanni’s stockings, so thickly encrusted had they become with dried cream, but the effort appeared to be worth it, as we found a middle-aged woman happily binding her dinner partner’s wrists with them; after which she forced him to watch as she satisfied herself on an emptied bottle of claret which Oren had thoughtfully provided her from behind the bar. The man seemed desperate for someone to touch his penis, which throbbed palpably in the dim chandelier light. We suspect it amused his colleague to watch his frustration, as she made recourse to pouring ice and cream over it, finally resting a highball glass playfully over its breadth.
Njanni cried out, desperate for “something to suck on,” as she put it, and the blonde’s imposing nipples seemed, unbelievably in retrospect, somehow inadequate. Try as she could, the blonde could not get them to take in between Njanni’s swollen lips, so she had no choice but to lean her head down and lift them up to her own mouth, forming a solipsistic circuit with herself that must have regrettably narrowed her own pleasure, regardless of how much we may have enjoyed it. Though technically it was not legal to smoke inside the restaurant, Hans could not resist lighting his pipe as he watched Adele, the aforementioned waitress, bring herself to satisfaction, letting out an unrestrained bleating as her fingers went in and out of her. Her shirt had managed to come undone, but Hans later reported that he found it fortunate that he could only see her taut bare shoulders, and the tensing and relaxing of the muscles in her throat —he indicated that her breasts would only have distracted him, and it was already difficult to focus with Njanni sucking fulsomely at his penis as she was. “Sloppy,” she said, as cream seeped out from her mouth when she grinned up at him, poking at the stains which were left on his tie.
Since it has become difficult to coax Njanni out from her bathtub full of milk, we must be content with the proceedings of this evening in attempting to synthesize our hypotheses. She has lay in the tub for numerous days consecutively, relentlessly masturbating herself, crying occasionally, muttering, “The milk comes in and out! In and out! In and out!” Johann still likes to sit with her sometimes and toy with her, but others among us feel that things have gone too far too fast. Oren can hardly bring himself to look at her, even on the video monitor; but we still find him occasionally in her bedroom, dressing himself up in her fancy clothes, or rearranging the shoes in her closet with compulsive precision. Others of us have deemed the whole affair a resounding success; and we eagerly await the opportunity to continue exploring the efficacy of our methods with the honeypots we’ve collected in the pantry. Marianne already seems exceptionally frisky at the sound of a buzzing bee.