[F4M] Milkmaids make milk; Milkmen move milk; Me? I’m a milkwoman, so I take milk.

The milkman comes, fucks your wife behind your back then leaves, only to return another day. Or at least that’s how the story usually goes.

”Oh… please…” He moaned, unable to utter more than begs and whimpers as I stroked him, nearing completion. The device attached to the end of his cock whirled up at a touch of a button and began to pump the air out in search the white gold I wanted.

I smiled fondly at the memory, continuing to drive along the rather empty road. The sun was breaking past the horizon and giving the neighbourhood a faint glow, dusting off the shroud of darkness that had crept up overnight. The early bird gets the worm, the early milker gets the cream, I thought, eyeing the houses and going through the list to see who would be next in line.

The loud sound of air rushing in filled the room as my lips parted with his cock, purple and veiny from fifth orgasm of the hour. This would be his last as his stocks ran dry and depleted himself, my hand never stopped stroking as I stared up at him, eyes innocent while I latched the machine onto his head. “For me? Just one more.” I coaxed, begging for his milk and imploring him for more, to offer up his last and sate my hunger.

I stopped the van, heels hitting the ground with a bag in hand carrying all my necessary tools of trade. They clicked off the ground, cool air wrapping its wispy embrace around my revealing shirt and skimpy shorts, awful clothing for this weather - unless you were a milkwoman, then it was perfect for getting them to rise and shine for paying their morning’s dues.

Fingers passed through the clenching hole, pressing up against the bump and massaging it gently to begin with. “I just want to thank you very much for participating in our newly approved milking method, I do hope you enjoy your hour,” I told him, genuine gratitude dripping from my voice as my hand and lips returned to riling up his cock in preparation of the the session. Poor guy, he’ll be in tears by the end of it, all swollen up and ready to explode at the slightest touch. I shivered, calming myself down and reminding myself about the goal. To get milk, not to ruin the poor lads that offered themselves up. A sigh escaped my mouth, the ruining was optional but they always paid the premium for pleasure. One day…

I knocked on the door, shivering from both the cold and the excitement. “I wish there were more customers over the weekend,” I muttered to myself beneath my breath. Nothing like a Monday Milking.

Prompt Status: Closed

DPP Profile

Open up, it’s time to get milked. I hope you've filled in your contract details correctly.