Milking was starting without a hitch, no delay, and the flow of the cow filled tide told me I was going to be involved in new work learning on the fly... I moved to get busy with whatever I was to be doing as I entered what was known as the milk house. The paint on the interior walls was supposed to be white, I assumed, but was a bit dingy in places yet kept clean. I could tell. It was cool, felt damp in there, almost uncomfortable cool but the kind of coolness that reminded me of my grandparents. It ensured that I wouldn’t touch myself, wouldn’t be able to cum by my own hand. That way he had control over me, and he knew it as he had read all of the books about how to control your trans gender partner with a penis cage. I’d seen the books, titles like ‘make him your girl’ and ‘chastity devices and mind control’. Actually, this aroused me even more. I understood that I wasn’t able to control myself, as I quickly got addicted to almost anything life had to offer, missing the self. More

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