Milking It

Rainy nights always made her restless. There was something in the tempo of raindrop against window that excited her and made her feel as if the air around her was holding its breath, like the moment before a first kiss. Before eyes close, before lip gently brushes against lip, when she would hold her hopeful breath while gazing up into eyes and thinking, "Yes, please do it. I want you to."

She was lying in bed alone, listening to the rain, feeling restless, and craving something wildly unexpected. Nothing wild or unexpected was going to happen in her quiet apartment. She lived in a neighborhood full of young families. Most people were in bed by 10:30pm. There were no bars and the handful of restaurants closed by 9pm. If she wanted wild and unexpected it would mean leaving her neighborhood altogether.

She looked at the clock. 1am. There was no point in taking a train so late at night. Wherever she found herself would be closed by the time she arrived. However, the rain called to her like a siren, whispering temptation in large, rhythmic drops that glistened as they ran down the window.

She rolled out of bed, quickly put on her tennis shoes, and left her apartment, still unsure of her destination. The where didn't matter. She just needed to be out in the rain. She wanted to feel it on her skin, rolling in droplets down her face, miniature rivers caressing rapids down her neck and ending just beneath the neckline of her t-shirt.

She walked slowly letting the raindrops drench her clothes and skin, bathing her with cool, almost too cold drops. She walked, not caring about destination, just enjoying the sensations of the rain hitting her then the ticklish drip of it down the length of her face, neck, and arms. However, the rain slowed and then completely stopped. Too soon, she thought. She hadn't yet finished enjoying it.

She sighed and looked up at the street sign. She had walked for about twenty blocks. A few more blocks ahead she could see the glow of a neon sign. She walked towards it. Her jeans and t-shirt clung tightly to her frame.

She was a tall woman -- tall as most men. She the strong body of one who was used to hard, physical labor. She had grown up on a small dairy farm, far from the nearly treeless, concrete city she now resided in.

As a girl she had helped her father milk the cows. Most of the milking was done mechanically, but there were a few cows that did not do well with it. Instead, they preferred to be milked by hand. It was her chore to hand-milk the heifers.

She enjoyed running the velvety soft udders between her thumbs and index fingers as she worked the silky spray from them. Occasionally, once the bucket was full, she would sneak a taste of the fresh, still warm milk. There was nothing, no homemade treat or confection, that tasted better or more satisfying to her than a stolen taste of fresh milk.

Her father caught her once. She paled fearing the worst punishment: to be told to cut a switch for a spanking. However, he just gave her a stern, disapproving look and said, "Careful you don't spill it. It's a crime to waste good milk." His lips twitched and he abruptly turned away, not wanting his stern father's voice to be undermined by his amusement at his daughter's antics. However, as he walked back to the other side of the barn, she could see he was chuckling and shaking his head.

As she approached the bar, she could hear the monotone hum of the neon sign that promised "Live Music." She heard nothing. No muffled sounds of patrons or music coming from inside. She tried the door. Unlocked. So, she opened it and stepped inside.

She was momentarily assailed by the aroma of old beer, stale cigarettes, and disinfectant. She saw no one inside, but there were a few lights still on. She took a deep breath of the freshly rain-washed street and stepped inside the dimly lit bar.

The door closed with a soft click-thud. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light. "We're closing early." called a gruff masculine voice. She heard the groaning of hardwood and the clomp of hard-heeled boots across the floor.

A dark-haired man came into view. His long, straight black hair was pulled tight into a thick, single braid that trailed down to the middle of his back. A few sweat-soaked wisps of hair clung to his swarthy face at the temple. His chin was covered in a short, thick, black beard. His arms were decorated from wrist to shoulder with faded, colorful tattoos. The tattoos seemed to highlight the muscular lines of his slender yet strong arms. He was wearing a simple red sleeveless t-shirt and black roughly cut-off denim shorts. Tufts of curled, black hair peaked out at the deep neckline of his shirt and from his under arms.

"We're closed." He repeated. Then he noticed her appearance. "You're wet."

She nodded and said, "Rain."

He walked to the bar, his long legs gliding across the old hardwood floor. He picked up a towel and then handed it to her so she could dry her face and arms. "Thank you." She said.

He watched her. Her coffee-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail that dripped rain water on to the hardwood floor. She had grey eyes and small pink lips. At first glance she was rather plain until he noticed the faint dusting of tiny, charming freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She was almost as tall as him he observed.

She handed the towel back to him. He took it and reached both arms around her to wrap her drenched hair with the towel. The unexpected movement made her gasp and jump slightly. However, once she realized his innocent intentions, she stood still and let him dry her hair. From his close proximity she could smell him. He smelled of some faintly sweet spice and leather. It was an oddly comforting musk that left her with a sudden urge to move closer to him, to lay her head on his shoulder so she could breathe him in. As soon as she had noticed the urge he was already turning away to walk back to the bar. As he set down the now damp towel he asked, "What'll you have?"

"I thought you were closed." She said.

"One won't hurt. Besides you can keep me company while I close up." He replied.

"What do you recommend?" She asked.

He thought for a moment, looking at her with his dark eyes. Then he grabbed a glass and several bottles and began concocting a drink for her. As he created, she noticed his hands. He had long, thick fingers and calloused knuckles yet there was something graceful about them as they worked. He poured her drink into a martini glass, but a small amount overflowed and began dribbling down the side of the glass. He quickly caught it with his rough index finger, wiped it off and licked his finger tip. He gave himself a slight nod, happy with the taste and handed her the drink.

She sipped it and groaned, closing her eyes. It was slightly sweet and tasted of almonds and rose petals. Not a drink you would expect to find at a small, dingy bar. It reminded her of a warm, sunny May day.

He watched her enjoying the drink. Her eyes closed and her soft, petal pink lips slightly pursed. He had the urge to lick her lower lip and suck it into his mouth. He stared at her mouth. She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Delicious!" She exclaimed, still smiling.

She noticed he was staring at her, and the intensity of his eyes made her ears feel hot. She could imagine that his eyes were making her skin steam. She glanced away and took a quick gulp of her drink, still smiling.

Her smile was like an aphrodisiac to him. He wanted to kiss her more now. He walked over to the front door, turned off the neon sign and locked the door. "You can stay as long as you want." He said as an afterthought, not wanting to startle her, but hoping that she would stay a good, long while. His heart was pounding.

She had thought nothing ill of his sudden movements as she was enjoying her drink and still warm from his gaze. She turned to watch him walk towards her. The way he moved, the way he looked at her... She was a woman used to polite men who asked to kiss her goodnight and gave nothing more than brief, sedate kisses. This man looked at her like he might devour her. She felt breathless. The air between them was lightening.

He sensed her interest and walked to stand directly in front of her. He hadn't even touched her yet and he was already hard, the bulge of his cock pressing eagerly against the fabric of his boxers and very noticeable, through the black denim of his shorts. He stared at her, ready to back-off, but hoping he wasn't misreading her. He leaned forward slightly, and she immediately closed her eyes and parted her lips for him. He smiled and paused, moving no closer. Confused, she opened her eyes. His smirk was charismatic. She glanced away awkwardly, but then noticed how hard he was. She looked into his eyes, questioning. Why hasn't he kissed me? She wondered.

He grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and slowly lifted it up over her head and then tossed it on the floor. Her thin simple white bra was soaked through, and he could see the muted rose hue of her nipples through it. Excited, he freed one of her full breasts and sucked as much of it as he could into his mouth. The sensation of her cool damp breast being branded by his hot mouth and lazy circling tongue made her gasp and moan loudly. He made quick work of removing and haphazardly throwing her bra to the floor. He pressed his hips closer to hers. His cock rubbed against her. It was hard and insistent, demanding to be touched. Her hands unthinkingly obeyed, caressing the lines of him softly. She hurriedly unzipped his shorts to grasp him and his sighs of pleasure excited her.

She shoved his shorts down so she could see his cock. It was wonderfully thick and seemed to grow impossibly harder the more she fondled it. She caressed his head with her fingertips. His eyes closed. His breath was rough and desperate. He looked at her and grabbed her ponytail firmly. It was as if she was reading his desires. She was already kneeling and sucking the head of his cock into her mouth. Her mouth was amazing - warm and wet and making him throb. He grabbed on to the bar for support as she took him entirely into her mouth. He moaned loudly.

She pulled back and grasped his moist cock in her hand, slowly stroking the length of it. When she got to the head she turned her hand over it, rubbing it with her palm before stroking back down the length of his cock. He was beside himself with pleasure. She did it again while giving his balls quick soft licks. It was nearly too much for him to handle. He pushed her away slightly, still gripping her hair.

She stood and quickly removed her pants and bra completely. He looked her up and down, grinning. He reached out a rough hand and slipped it down between her thighs and immediately groaned, "You're so wet." while pulling her hair and pressing kisses on her face, neck and lips. His lips were soft and warm; his beard was soft yet tickled her skin. She shivered as he gently rubbed her clit.

She wanted him inside her but wasn't sure how to make it clear to him as he was now kissing her deeply on the mouth. She took his cock in her hand and tried directing it towards her clit. He just groaned into her mouth. She grasped his ass with her hands, pulling him closer. He understood.

He briefly stopped kissing her, led her to a table, bent her over it and entered her, enjoying how hot and wet she was. He moved slowly, filling her with his cock then pulled back all save the tip out only to slowly fill her again and again. He was making her gasp with each thrust. Then she began to feel a deep building ecstasy inside her and felt herself exploding. She had had orgasms before, but this was deeper and more intense. She heard herself caterwauling with hedonistic delight and then something within her released. She squirted all over his cock, drenching it while writhing excitedly.

"Holy shit!" He gasped. He filled her and stopped briefly until her climax ended, enjoying the feel of her tight twat squeezing his cock. As her orgasm subsided, he pulled out. As he did, he could see her wet pussy spasm unexpectedly, rhythmically echoing her orgasm, already missing the feel of him inside her.

She slowly turned around to face him, her knees weak. She grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it towards her to sit directly in front of his cock, still damp and glistening from being inside her. She leaned back in the chair, thrusting out her breasts while grabbing his cock firmly in one hand, his balls in the other and began stroking him. His head rolled back, and his eyes closed. She quickened her strokes to match the tempo of the rough breath escaping his lips. Occasionally, he would glance down at her in amazement, wondering who this woman was that she seemed to be able to read his body so well.

He was close. He wanted to let her know, but he couldn't form words. She seemed to understand, pressing the head of his cock close to her breasts, and stroking him fast while caressing his balls. He groaned and his cock began spraying copious amounts of lustrous white cum wildly drenched her soft breasts and hard nipples.

After his breath was slightly less ragged, he offered to get her a clean towel from the back so she could clean up. She smiled and thanked him. He stumbled away, smiling, and shaking his head in amazement. As he was wetting the towel, he thought he heard something, but continued. He wrung out the towel a bit a walked back into the main room.

It was empty. She and her damp clothes -- except her white bra -- were gone. He sat down slightly disappointed, but glad for the silky memoir of his unexpected, wild encounter.

As she hurriedly turned the corner at the end of the block she smiled. His cum was still fresh and warm on her breasts. She had the image of his climax was etched in her mind. She paused for a moment. His cum was seeping into the fabric of her t-shirt and her skin was perfumed with his scent. She stuck her finger under the neckline of her shirt and rescued a finger-full of his cum before it was forever bonded with fabric. She closed her eyes and put her finger in her mouth, tasting him. She was glad she had rescued it. She smiled and headed home, feeling satisfied.