Sit back and allow me to tell you of my Milk Man Tales. Drip, drip, gulp. More, Please! In my little town of Bourguignon, France, I grew up with the little cart man yelling at dawn, “Lait, fromage, des figures, du beurre et les baies!” Quick translation? The Milk Man was yelling about his milk, cheese, figs, butter, and berries. My mother always got so excited seeing him. I got excited when his handsome son took over the deliveries. He was FINE. Dick always sitting front and center, sweat glistening on his bare chest, perfect nipples, great tan.
I wanted to grind on him because he made my pussy cream! And not the kind he had on his cart. Additionally, something about the way he stood at his cart made me want to run up to him and say, “Hey Milk Man. I want to suck you DRY! LOL. Just didn’t have the nerve… yet. I made my way down to him and told him Mom wanted the delivery back near the barn. I lead the way down the path.
He looked at me sheepishly. I nodded with a slight grin. Barely noticeable, I’m sure. I opened the doors to let him go ahead of me. Turning only to lock the big bolt on the barn door. Wouldn’t want to be interrupted during my milk man tales, would we?
He heard the lock engage and gave me a look somewhere between amusement and fear. Damn it! He’d seen it too quickly! He seemed to have some idea of what its purpose was. The Milking Table. “Is that…” he murmured. “A milking table…”? Yes, I replied. “But, how do you…” again, he stuttered. “A cow? Up there?” I replied, “We don’t… It’s NOT for cows. It’s for MEN!” He was clearly confused by my revelation. Time to break it down for him. “From today forward, this will be known as the Milk Man Tales. And, everyone in my family will use you and your cream as we see fit.” Do you understand?
He nodded his head slowly, still sporting that sly grin. “I’ve been hearing about you and your family my whole life. I had always thought it was an Urban Myth!” My turn for the knowing grin. I hadn’t exactly expected a fight, but a WILLING VICTIM? Yea, maybe a tiny bit surprised. Instructing him to lie upon the slick, cold steel of the milking table as I slid out of my jeans and tee. I used the step stool to climb over him to reach the spreader overhead.
Climbing up, I lowered the sheet over him for my milk man tales; then, I affixed the corners at intervals along the sides. After that, I walked the short distance to the control panel, pressed the suction, and watched as the latex spread over his entire body. Then, it began to spread over him and attached him to the steel table on which he was spread. It formed around him. The only opening in the sheet was for his nostrils and mouth so he could breathe. Oh! And one for his dick, of course. Again, I just wanted to yell out, “Spank away Baby!”
Then, to the opening for his dick, I attached the milking pump to his shaft, returned to the control panel, and pushed the green button for go! So, he let out a small yelp as the force of the milker hit him. But, that yelp quickly turned to intense, mind-altering pleasure. The even, steady rhythm of the suction and the slow, wet swirling of the headpiece was more than he could stand. So, to help him along, I climbed around him from the head of the table where I stood. Up, over, and down.
I dragged my wet pussy along the latex. He didn’t get wet, but boy did he want to! However, I ended up with my mouth wrapped around the fabric around his dick. Then, I devoured his balls. Then, I slid further down to continue my assault on him. So, more milk man tales for you! Apparently, overtaken by my own desires, I ripped and tore at the latex sheet until I had exposed his delicate asshole and I bit into the spongy texture of his balls. Not enough to draw blood. Not yet anyway.
He cums so hard that he overflows the milk bottles. My good-boy has more than surprised me. However, everyone in my family has developed a taste for his heavy cream. “I’ll do ANYTHING, Mistress is what he said, and that holds true even today. But, he’s now a valued member of the family. However, we never run out of fresh dairy! Yum! Want to take a guess at who his favorite Milk Maid is? Call me for more milk man tales, and hear all about it. Moreover, promise to be the best phone sex you’ve ever wanted.
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