”“It’s your casts and the trauma. Just a dream. It will heal,” she said. “I didn’t let go of you then and I won’t now. J, you had me so ...cared. I know it’s been hard but don’t quit on me. Please?”“I ... I’m back, Em. I’ll live. I promise.”My sister stroked my forehead and hair. I looked up at her in the dimly lit room and saw her breasts a few inches from my face. I grimaced as tumescence fought with my catheter.“Do you need something more for pain?” she asked. “The nurse said she’d bring. 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 unfettered tits jiggled obscenely behind the darker, wet spots. You wanted to take pictures of my milk-laden tits, and asked me to pose on all fours, using a goat milker you'd bought. The humiliation I felt at being milked like an animal. More

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