In his studies on the topic he had failed to determine when the particular fetish that was enacted here had taken the present form. He had not been able to find any source dating to before World War II, and perhaps he had not looked hard enough since his concern was with the here and now. Walnut Farm, specifically the area he was driving through now, was his problem. Unfortunately it seemed like it was his own problem and nobody else; since his first suspicions over three years ago he had been working on the case all by himself. Of course, he had kept his superiors well informed and they had in turn let him run a bit looser than usual. Agents at his level were usually allowed to have a pet case of themselves, to work on during moments of slack. Something that had not quite solidified enough for formal (or informal, as case and policy might dictate) prosecution. His pet case, although he refused to think of it as such, was odder than most but certainly not the oddest. And today it. The girl said I could watch my friend get a massage or wait outside. I didnt understand what was going on so I said “ok” and when the woman took of her bra I was suddenly beginning to understand. She began rubbing his shoulders and back with some sexy scented lotion, a massage that went down to his tighs and even his feet. Then she climbed on his back continuing her moves with an extra rub of her huge breasts. When my friend turned on the bed, it was time for me to leave the room as she began holding his fully erect cock in both hands and milking him. I went outside and saw the boy again in the corridor with a mild erection. He only asked “massage?” and all I could say was “yes”. He took me to another room and lied me on my back this time. He rubbed my shoulders and chest and slowly worked his way down to my cock. With his thin fingers of both hands he began milking me. It was so good that I closed my eyes and let him do his job without thinking how I could explain this to my friend..
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