She’s a total bimbo slut, permanently throbbing, aching, leaking rock-hard nipples and clit. Every inch of her is wired for one thing: all of her own sexual fluids. Her therapist made her that way. Dr. Reinhardt, with her calm voice and latex gloves, rewired her reward system over months of "exposure therapy." Now the bimbo can’t stop leaking.

She sits on the edge of her bed, thighs spread wide, fingering the slick, frothy lips of her pussy. The sound is wet, messy — *squelch, squelch* — thick white creamy discharge coating her fingers in a pearly glaze. She brings them to her nose, inhales deep, then licks them clean. "Fuck yes," she moans, "that’s my breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Her nipples are stiff as pencil erasers, tiny pinpricks of pain that beg for attention. She pinches one, then squeezes her full, heavy tit. A bead of milk forms at the tip — white, warm, sweet. She tugs harder and it sprays in a thin arc. She catches it on her tongue. "Mmm, my own cream." Then she squeezes both breasts, milking herself into a shot glass until it’s half full, then knocks it back like a cheap whore doing a body shot. The milk dribbles down her chin.

Her clit is the main event. Engorged, hooded, it pokes out from its sheath like a tiny cock. She flicks it with her thumb — *throb,