
By SHEILA KAPLAN from NYT Health https://ift.tt/2tFb8HY
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I’ve got 2 new books – Nursing The Ogre: Young Hucow Lost In The Dark Forest & Mile High Discipline: A Forced Lesbian Submission. Both books will be available for $0.99 on Amazon until Sunday March 3rd.
I will also be making Feeding the Vampire available for FREE until Sunday March 3rd:
A short excerpt from Nursing The Ogre: Young Hucow Lost In The Dark Forests:
I shrieked and turned to run away but two more of the creatures had emerged on the other side of the clearing. I was trapped. Whimpering, I backed into the middle of the clearing as they approached. At the last minute, I tried to dash between them and escape, but it was of no use. A strong hand grabbed me and another hurled me to the ground. Winded by being flung like that, I couldn’t get my breath for a second or two and by then it was too late.
Rough hands tore at my dress and I squealed and shrieked as the lovely white material was ripped and shredded, exposing my pale skin, my breasts, my thighs, my ass. I thought they were going to eat me and, paralyzed with terror, held fast in their grip, I closed my eyes and tried to brace myself for the pain. I felt them groping me, grabbing at my breasts, pulling at my ass, probing all of my intimate places. But there was no biting, no sudden pain. I risked opening my eyes and immediately wished I hadn’t. All three of them were naked, their loin cloths on the floor and their cocks erect in front of them like massive weapons. I squealed again, but that too was a mistake, for it gave one of them a chance to grab me by the hair and force his cock into my open mouth.
I was so shocked that I couldn’t react. All I could do was try to open my mouth wider so that the creature wouldn’t choke me. But it was so big, so hard and seemed to be pulsating, throbbing as he pushed it into my mouth. His claws dug into my head a little as he held me into place, and I could hear him grunting as he forced that foul cock into my mouth.
Suddenly, he pulled out, and I gasped, doubling forward. But I didn’t have time to recover. I felt a sharp pain as another one of the creatures pulled my by the hair and forced its cock into my mouth. I was too weak and frightened to resist so I tried my best to accommodate him, kneeling and tilting my head in the hope that he could push down my throat. It didn’t really work, and the desire to choke was almost overwhelming as he pounded his cock into my poor mouth.
A short excerpt from Mile High Discipline: A Forced Lesbian Submission:
“Where are you taking me?” I shouted, over the noise of the airport. But she ignored me, and instead led me across the tarmac and up another flight of white plastic steps into the luggage hold. The hold was dingy, despite the open doors, and I had to peer into the gloom to follow her, navigating between the piles of cases by listening for the clacking of her heels.
Eventually she stopped and turned, surprising me. Before I could react, she had grabbed me by the neck and pushed me up against the wall.
“Take off your panties,” she commanded.
“What the hell? No way!”
This seemed to anger her and she gripped my face hard, squeezing it. At the same time, she pressed something metallic against my neck.
“I could put a bullet in you right here. When they found the drugs in your bag they will assume it was a drug deal gone wrong. Do you want that?”
I shook my head. Desperately I tried to weigh up the possibility of her doing that. It sounded improbable. But not impossible. And nothing in her demeanor suggested that she wasn’t serious or capable of carrying out her threat. I closed my eyes and nodded.
“Get on with it,” she said, stepping back. I opened my eyes to see her holding a gun with some sort of silencer attached to it. Humiliated, I felt under my skirt and gripped the hem of my panties. With a little wriggling, I was able to free them and they slipped down my legs until they were at my ankles.
“Give them to me,” she commanded. I bent down, freed my feet and held out the black lacy panties. She snatched them off me and as I watched made a big show of sniffing them. I wrinkled my nose in disgust which seemed to please her even more.
“Turn around,” she commanded. I did as I was told. I could feel my heart racing. This was so wrong, so demeaning. And yet, why was I obliging her? Was it just her threats making me do it?
“Bend over those suitcases.”
“What?”
“Do it!” she shouted.
This time her voice was so loud that it made me jump and I obeyed, leaning forwards, propping myself up on the edge of a suitcase. I felt so humiliated and vulnerable. I heard her footsteps drawing closer and then, suddenly, I felt my skirt being yanked upwards. I gasped but almost immediately, felt a sharp sting across my naked ass.
“Be quiet, bitch,” she commanded and spanked me again. I opened my mouth to squeal, but managed to contain my instinct. But it was hard not to make a sound as she began to spank me harder. My poor ass was soon stinging and painful soreness was spreading across my butt and down my thighs and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. At one particularly hard slap I yelped and almost immediately I felt her breasts on my back as she leaned over me and stuffed my panties into my mouth. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do, but I didn’t dare spit them out so I was left there, bent over, squealing muffled sounds into my own panties as she made my ass sore.
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article sponsered by Northern Michigan certified lactation consulting and Mother Hubbards Country Cupboard
Basically, we have a cool system of communication happening here. I like the science (check it out!), but it can be very heavy. Here’s a way diluted version of what’s happening in your body:
Pretend your body is a milk factory. You’ve got a client, a hungry one, so your body starts producing these little containers of milk waiting inside them. It makes a bunch and waits to see if the client consumes the milk. As long as the milk stays in there, the factory won’t make more. And if the milk stays in there long enough without being removed, the factory starts to shut down some of the containers.
Photo by ELEVATE from Pexels
Now, in the beginning, the milk factory is still programmed for extra containers to be created. As long as more milk is being requested, more milk is made. If the containers are all being emptied every time, your body will make more containers and fill those too. Often times from the outside this looks like cluster feeding, a baby who is ‘stuck to you for hours at a time’. Some people worry that this a hungry baby and you’re not capable of making enough milk. The beauty is that what it often ends up being is a baby who is demanding and forcing your body to make more containers to make more milk. And if you resist the urge to supplement with formula, your body will respond! Cluster feeding will often happen multiple days in a row. Some people feel like they have a cluster feeding baby for the entire first month. I did with my first, for sure. But this is totally normal! It doesn’t mean you have a starving baby. It usually means you have a growing baby!
Photo by Akil Mazumder from Pexels
So, the factory will continue to make and fill more containers as long as there is demand for them. This happens until you hit sort of a plateau, where all the containers are being emptied or nearly emptied, but no milk is requested beyond that.
Photo by Madison Inouye from Pexels
Your infant client will tell you they’re getting enough milk. As long as baby is drinking, continue to let them. There is no need to cut them off at a 15 or 20 minute mark. If baby is getting ornery or disinterested on one breast or nipple, offer them the other one. If they take it and keep drinking, let them do it! Sometimes after a full feed on both sides, you can even offer the first again and they’ll keep drinking!
Remember that as soon as you empty a container your factory is getting a signal to refill it. So it’s entirely possible to have a new supply of milk in a breast that was emptied only a few minutes before! A cluster feeding baby is demanding an increase in production. Totally normal, totally healthy. Supply and demand in its most natural form!
Of course, as always, talk to your doc or a lactation professional if you’re concerned about your baby’s growth or eating habits. Remember that when feeding a baby directly from your breast or nipple they won’t overfeed, so an overweight breastfeed baby is not really a thing. A good indicator of adequate milk intake is an appropriate number of poos and pees every day, and a baby who is following their own growth curve. So if you have a pretty happy baby who is hitting all those marks, trust in your body to make enough milk!
Someone (Cece) messes with Mooddie’s stream. Breast expansion, butt expansion, cowgirl TF, and lactation.
“Hey everybody! Mooddie coming at you for another Milky Monday stream!” She waved. “Well… hold on.” With a snap, Maddie’s ears reshaped and her horns grew. The witch reached behind herself and pulled her tail out of her leggings, and the camera operator zoomed in on the dark splotches staining her sweater.
“Moooooo! That’s better!” She smiled and fluttered her ears. Without input from her, Mooddie’s top and bra flew off. “What the heck?” The pumps seemingly animated themselves and flew towards her nipples, attaching themselves and starting up. “Oh-hhh gah- moooooo!”
The intercom in the stable piped up. “It’s just me, Cece, having some fun! And now I’m here to tell your viewers that they can donate to the ranch to blow up your curves! Just specify tits or ass on checkout!”
“Oh no,” Mooddie muttered as she felt her curves beginning to surge already. Her tits had a sizeable head start, but both them and her booty were plumping up, and the milk pumps began to work overtime.
“Don’t worry Mads, I already switched your pumps to flow into one of the mega-cow sized tanks! Have fun!”
“Myouuuuuuuu cow harlot!” Mooddie slumped into her growing udders as the donations poured in, pushing her to bigger and bigger sizes. Beyond beach balls her tits grew, pulling her chest to the floor. Her arms splayed out on top of her gigantic boobs, her ass thickening behind her. The camera moved as Mooddie’s leggings burst off, circling around to focus on her breasts. The ranch workers started up a picture-in-picture camera, keeping the inset camera to follow her nipples as the pumps picked up with her growth.
Mooddie’s face was flushed as her udders grew bigger than she was. The boom operator brought the mic in close enough to pick up her mewls. “M-mooo… so- good… keep growing, keep milking… please…” Donations skyrocketed, and Mooddie began to grow so much she was pushing the film crew back; they scurried backwards, keeping the stream going, until the room was running out space. As they got out of the stable, Mooddie’s tits filled the room, the pumps magically resized to stay attached to her gigantic nips.
Cece giggled behind the crew. “I guess it’s time to end the donations, then! We can leave the little witch in there until she’s dry, though.”
It is a milestone week. My baby is now past the six week mark. We saw our wonderful wise midwife for the last time professionally and were transferred into the care of our medical centre. I took my son for his vaccinations, somewhat more anxiously than with my older three: a Facebook friend had called people who vaccinate imbeciles and could not understand how people could be so wilfully blind. Which for some reason hit whatBrene Brown calls my shame triggers.
For Brown, shame emerges when we are confronted with other people’s perceptions of us that differ radically from how we would like to be perceived. Motherhood is a huge shame trigger for many women, and so is work performance. I’ve posted previously about a major work fail that happened when I was distracted with mothering, but my friend’s comment hit a different note.
Perhaps it is because I am a researcher that accusations of being an imbecile over a matter of health research grates so bad. What if I am not as good a researcher as I believe, despite having access to all the published scientific papers and Cochrane reviews, despite having an intimate knowledge of the politics and economics of research funding, despite teaching ethics and knowledge production to science students? I know there is vaccine injury and what the risks are compared to the risks of disease in the work I do and the places I travel with my family. I have witnessed the ongoing struggles of children who had whooping cough as babies and I have lived in places in the world where the infant mortality rate approaches 25%, from almost entirely preventable childhood illnesses. I have heard from parents whose children seemed to begin to display symptoms of autism around the time of vaccination and I’ve heard the stories of autistic folk who cannot understand why people think autism is worse than tetanus or hepatitis. I have heard people ridicule anti-vaxxers and heard people ridicule vaccinating parents. I have seen the internet articles arguing against the efficacy of vaccines and doctors revealing the conspiracy and indeed they have an internal logic that appeals to my anti capitalist tendencies. How do I sort through a wealth of information of varying quality on a matter of deep personal importance without becoming susceptible to shame?
I’ve done my best and decided to vaccinate. But I hovered over my baby for two days through a fever then an upset tummy, cuddled him through all his sleeps while editing a student’s thesis with one hand. My maternity leave draws to an end and I must find a way to continue my work alongside mothering, both if which are neverending sources of both pride and shame. When I forget to do a work thing or do it less than perfect I imagine everyone sees me as totally flaky. When I don’t turn up for a parent thing or social thing or I make a parenting decision different from my peers, I imagine everyone sees me as a hard-assed working mother neglecting her children’s school and social lives.
The reality is, academic maternity leave is not really leave at all and especially not a holiday from ever present work and mothering shame. Brene Brown suggests that we build resistance to shame, however, by recognising the triggers the developing critical awareness and compassion. Fortunately for academics, our job is critical awareness and fortunately for me, a large part of my job is about critical awareness of the social, political and economic systems that shape women’s lives. So here I am again, fourth time round, still analysing and researching myself… perhaps this is why maternity leave can never really be leave.
You can read some of my earlier publications on academia and maternity by using the tags to navigate.