She felt a strange urge a pull towards something forbidden as if the very air crackled with anticipation.
Her body yearned for release, a sensation that began as a whisper and grew into a roar. 
The lines between reality and fantasy blurred. 
She imagined herself as Bessie, a cow overflowing with milk, her udders heavy and full. 
The fantasy took hold, a delicious tremor running through her. 
Control was a distant memory. 
Each pulse of her blood screamed for more. 
The Witch's Milk whispered promises of ecstasy. 
She was a canvas for desire. 
The comic pages came alive, each frame a new sensation. 
Her body swelled with an exquisite ache. 
She was ready to surrender. 
The engineer of her own pleasure. 
Every curve, every inch, amplified. 
A torrent of sensation. 
She embraced the Rule34. 
No limits, just pure release. 
The milk flowed freely. 
A sweet, intoxicating rush. 
Completely, utterly in control of her own surrender. 
