Milky Dawn

I spent some time in the dull heart of America a few years ago, working as a surveyor in Tarwood, Kansas. Back then, I had a mistaken impression that I'd climb up the ladder by paying my dues; yeah, that fucking happened. Anyway, the company needed men to go out and verify the borders of all the land it kept buying up were surveyed and marked correctly.

The locals fucking hated me since I kept marking fence posts that would have to be re-positioned. There was one bar in town, and no way was I welcome there, so I had a lot of time to think, thinking about how fucking flat everything was, including most of the women in town.

Anyways, who fucking cares. The only reason I bring it up is that there was one girl there who definitely wasn't flat, and there is a story to tell about her.

I rented a little house near the town's border when told I would be in the region for a while. To my West, a patched-up asphalt road disappeared into the grain fields. To the East lay Tarwood proper, for what it was worth. A mix of agricultural tool shops and feed stores intermingled with run-down housing that probably looked great in the 1950s but was now disintegrating slowly into the soil, the remaining residents seemingly helpless to stop it.

I kept odd hours, trying to avoid interactions whenever possible. I began to learn the rhythm of the town's days, using them to my advantage.

I was home the day new tenants moved into the shack next door. A beaten-down dusty gray minivan pulled up into the driveway that led into a collapsing garage that ran parallel to the east side of my house. The vehicle stopped short of the garage, and then a large, stern-looking woman exited from the driver's side, proceeding toward the front door, fishing for a key from an enormous black handbag she dragged by her side.

A moment later, the passenger side door slowly opened, and a young woman stepped down from the van, turning to close the door. I surmised she was the daughter of the driver.

After closing the door, she turned slowly, taking in the new surroundings. She glanced toward my house but didn't see me observing through the side window facing her.

She was a doe-eyed cow of a girl, no older than nineteen. A particular type of woman has magnificent, lustful curves entering adulthood, but within a couple of years, a couple of kids lose that youthful tightness. She was that, a literal girl-next-door type, her ass rounded and just a bit pear-shaped, filling out her blue jeans nicely. She wore an oversized pullover, her rack indistinct with the billowing fleece, but based on her body type, I estimated she was well-endowed. Even with her pronounced curves, she still had the thigh gap signifying her youth, a small opening beneath her clothed pussy and her inner thighs meeting together below. She looked around a bit more, a bewildered look in her eyes that I sensed was her usual state of being, then followed her mother into the house.

A few days later, I arrived home early in the afternoon, parking my pickup on the street in front of my place - my rental didn't come with a driveway. It was at least 90 degrees in the sun, but the girl was outside, knelt down by the mailbox post that was staked into the ground near the driveway entrance. Three plastic pots containing small marigolds lay near her as she struggled to dig a small hole with a battered old hand shovel. She faced away from me, hunched over in a faded pink t-shirt and tight torn jeans that accentuated her upper thighs, the curve of her young ass tightly bound by denim. I sat in the truck for a minute, not wanting to startle her with the vehicle door.

She turned toward me, still on her knees and intent on widening the hole to place the flowers in. As I had suspected, she was well-endowed. The faded shirt struggled to hold her tits together, barely keeping her heavy melons from scraping the ground below her as she dug. I watched her udders swing in time to her digging the shovel into the earth, jiggling from her exertions. A clear bra line was shown through the flimsy fabric, though it looked as if it wasn't helping much.

I took in the sight of her cleavage a bit longer, then quietly exited the truck, closing the door gently but loud enough to alert her that she wasn't alone. She looked up to see me climb the curb as I headed toward my front door, then sat back onto her ankles, her rack bouncing a bit as she leaned back.

"Hi, Mister?" She brightly smiled at me, briefly raising her left hand to wipe her brow before setting it back behind her to support herself.

"You can call me Tom."

"Hi, Mister Tom! Nice to meet you. My name is Dawn."

"Good to meet you, Dawn. Planting flowers?"

"My mom wants me to make the yard look better. We had flowers around the mailbox at our last house, so she wants them here now."

"Where did you live before?"

"Just across town. Mom got fed up with the neighbors, and the rent went up, so she found this place instead. She says that she likes that it is at the edge of town, away from everyone."

"Yeah, that's what I like about it here too."

Her wide eyes stared blankly at me momentarily, trying to process my joke. She gave up, then spoke again.

"Do you like marigolds? I like the color, but they don't smell very good. Mom likes them because they don't die very fast."

"Yeah, I like them. It's good to see you care about making the neighborhood look nice. Are you in school?"

She shook her head. "No, I did my best but didn't have enough credits to graduate with my class, so I stopped going." She thought for a minute. "And Devon says it was just a waste of time for me anyways."

"Who's Devon?"

"My boyfriend. He says we're gonna move out of here one day and get a place together somewhere far away, so I'm trying to save up some money."

Shit, Devon clearly was born in Red Flag City. "Sounds like a plan. Well, I better let you get back to beautifying the neighborhood."

"OK, it was nice to meet you, Mister neighbor Tom."

Dawn may have liked me, but her mother did not. She knew who I was and why I was there, even though I knew nothing of her. The few times we crossed paths, she would pretend I wasn't there, treating me much like the rest of the town did.

But her mom's dislike of me was nothing compared to her boyfriend's. A couple of weeks after Dawn moved in, I heard the coughing roar of a crappy motorbike drive into her driveway, sputtering to a stop. I stood up to look through my front window, watching a pudgy thug climb off the bike he dwarfed. He turned toward my house with a sneer, then lobbed a large string of spit onto my yard before lumbering into the house.

I wondered what the fuck his problem was until I realized he was the son of Walt McArthy, one of the largest landowners in town. The company had warned me about him, and I could see why. Big men in little ponds can be dangerous when challenged.

The little cretin showed up a couple of times a week, usually when I was trying to get in a nap. I didn't see Dawn much. She had gotten a job running the register at a deli a few blocks away. Sometimes I got a glimpse of her as she listlessly walked herself to work, her black shirt emblazoned with the restaurant's name and logo bouncing up and down with her slow steps.

A few months passed, and I noticed that Devon wasn't coming over any longer.

Shortly after my observation, I drove up to see Dawn hunched over her marigolds again, this time with a small watering can. She seemed to labor a bit as she moved. I exited the pickup and greeted her.

"Awfully hot today, isn't it?"

She looked up at me brightly. "Hi, Mister Tom!"

She looked a bit plumper than I had remembered, and her tits even larger, wrapped in a blue t-shirt that bore a logo of a shark riding a surfboard, the surfboard rippling across her milk jugs bulging the cloth outward.

"How is it going at the deli?"

She sheepishly looked at me. "I don't work there anymore. I wasn't very good at it."

She braced herself against the earth, then pushed herself up to stand. I noticed a small bulge in her midsection. The little fucker had knocked her up.

"How is Devon?"

She looked away bashfully. "I haven't seen him in a while. He said he would find a place somewhere else for us and the.." She looked down at her belly.

"Oh, congratulations. I didn't notice."

She gave me a weak smile. "Thank you. I'm glad someone is happy. My mom isn't."

"How far along are you?"

"Six months."

Her belly really wasn't all that large for being so far along. It may have been that it was only small compared to her bulging tits, which dwarfed her belly below as if it were sheltered under an overhang.

"Well, I would have never known if you hadn't told me."

We made a bit more small talk, then I went into my place. Two thoughts occurred to me. The first was that Devon was a cowardly piece of shit, and he was probably gone forever. The second was that if I could work my way into Dawn's pants, I had at least a month or two of emptying my balls into her risk-free.

I set about to make that a reality. Even though we were on a quiet road heading out of town, I was nervous about being in the front yard; too many people hated me. I cleared out a small patch of the neglected backyard patio, then began hanging out back after doing my daily rounds. A thick row of hedges ran between our houses, smothering an ancient dividing fence beneath, but an occasional opening allowed a bit of view between the yards. I made enough noise to make it obvious I was spending time back there.

Sure enough, it worked. After a few days, I would hear Dawn come into her backyard and rustle around. We would find an excuse to start a conversation, and she began to trust me more.

In her seventh month of pregnancy, she began to confide in me. Her breasts were heavy and inflated, and she felt like she was about to burst, even though she was supposedly two months away from delivery. Her nipples had been sore for a week, but now she had a different problem.

"Mister Tom," she whispered in a lowered voice one afternoon through the hedges, "They're so itchy now!"

She scratched her tits through her blouse and bra, sharply circling her nipples with her thumbnail. She told me this partially to see if she could shock me and partially because she truly was suffering. She had replaced her typical blue jeans with a denim skirt. I glanced at her curvy calves, following them up to her thick shapely thighs, where they disappeared behind the skirt concealing her treasure box.

"It seems a little early for you to be, uh.."

"That's what I thought! But Andie said she started leaking a whole bunch way before giving birth, so maybe it is just a family thing." Andie was her cousin in Ohio, presumably similar in make and model.

She fluttered her eyelashes at me, clearly flirting. "You should come in. I'll show you around."

"Not sure that's a good idea. I get the feeling your Ma doesn't like me much."

"She's at work until Four."

"Yeah, you say that. You're not the one that would be strung up if your ma came home to find the neighbor man she hates in her house with her daughter."

"Relax. Mom will probably be at work until Four." She slowly turned, then sauntered towards her back patio. "I'll leave the back door unlocked."

Probably. I pondered for a bit about what mortality really means in the grand scheme of things, then decided I would be responsible and not remove my pants under any circumstances; I was just helping a neighbor out. Having justified myself, I dragged a couple of plastic milk crates serving as makeshift tables on my patio over to the biggest gap in the hedge. I stacked the crates, braced myself up against the fence and onto the top of the stack, and swung myself over through the hedge on Dawn's side.

Once I hit the ground, I dusted myself off, then looked around, ensuring I hadn't been seen by anyone. I tentatively approached the back door, and once I had gotten close, the door swung open, Dawn having opened it for me.

"I was wondering if you would come over!"

"Just for a bit. Don't want to get either of us in trouble."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm in trouble already."

She gave me a brief tour of their house. She showed me the cramped kitchen, their den consisting of an old couch and a large TV in the corner, and a tiny bathroom at the end of the hall. There was no magical transformation by interior design - the inside of the house was as crappy as the outside.

"Now, my room!' She proudly exclaimed as she opened her bedroom door. She had made the bed, which stood out against the room's chaos. Several piles of clothes lay next to the hamper, and much of the floor was covered by one article of clothing or another. She had a vanity in the corner next to her bed, an ornate mirror mounted onto a wooden dresser covered with fingernail polish bottles, scented perfumes, hair ties, and a couple of hairbrushes. A small desk sat across the room, covered with fashion magazines. A plastic shopping bag lay next to the desk, which she picked up as I looked around, taking in her room.

"Mister Tom, I was hoping you could help me." I turned to look at her as she fumbled with the bag. She blushed a bit as she pulled out a small cheap lactation hand pump, which was currently in separate pieces. "I have been trying to use this to ease the pressure, but I don't think I am doing it right."

"Uh - are you trying to save the milk?"

"Oh yes! I want to freeze as much as possible now. I want to make sure I have enough for later if I run out."

For being born in Kansas, she sure didn't know much about farms. Once you get a cow's udder filled with milk, she'll keep it full as long as something is milking her teats. But I figured it wasn't my place to inform her of this.

"OK, good plan. You need me to put this together?"

"Yes, please!"

She was either setting me up or even dumber than I had considered, as there wasn't much to the device. There was a small plastic bottle that needed to be screwed into a spout that looked as if it came from a spray bottle with a small pump handle. On the top of the fixture was a threaded nozzle, on which a plastic cone could be screwed to keep it in place. I spent thirty seconds assembling it and then handed it to her.

"OK, this should be pretty self-explanatory from here."

She giggled, taking the device from my hand, then skipped over to her bed. She heaved herself onto the mattress, her jugs rising upwards and falling back as her hips bounced around a bit from the spring. Again, her bra seemed to barely contain her, her nips prominently showing through the padding and the shirt holding her all in. She patted the bedspread on her right, indicating to sit down with her. I obliged, trying to keep a respectable distance, but she squeezed beside me.

"Mister Tom, I want you to help me with my boobies. I keep having thoughts about you helping me. Do you want to see them?"

"Uh - yeah, of course!" What the hell else was I going to say?

She giggled, then placed the hand pump on the bed on her left side. She reached behind her back, slipping her hand inside her blouse to unhook her bra, then moved her hand up to drop the left side of the strap over her left shoulder. After removing her hand from her blouse, she adjusted herself forward and grabbed the bottom hem of her blouse, where it ran across the small bubble of her pregnant belly, then slowly pulled the blouse up. As the blouse rolled upwards, it drew her massive tits up slowly, pulling her unfastened bra up with the blouse's fabric, slowly releasing her swollen melons until the material could no longer hold. Her breasts fell out of their constraints, bouncing back against her chest, finally freed.

Her jugs were as magnificent as I had imagined. More than a handful, maybe even two, plumped up and clearly heavy, their youth still barely keeping her perkily pointing toward the sky, the chubby lower tit below her nipple swollen. Her nipples were swollen and erect, nearly an inch long and thick, tiny drops of milk clinging to their tips. Her areola, puffy and slightly misshapen, also seemed to swell with milk beneath.

She removed her shirt and bra, giving me another show as she raised her hands above her head, stripping the clothing off.

"I don't know why my nipples are so itchy, Mister Tom. I feel so full and drip some, but it always feels like I'm blocked."

It was either a bizarre pickup line, or she genuinely wasn't bright enough to use a search engine.

"Well, maybe now that we have the pump put together, that will help."

"Yes! That's why I wanted your help. Want to see what I can do?"

"Uh, sure."

She batted her eyes flirtatiously at me as she grinned, then grabbed her massive right tit with both hands, her left hand cupped under the boob and the right hand raising her nipple to her lips. She licked the tiny droplets of milk from her nipple, then pulled the nipple lightly between her teeth. My cock immediately stiffened as I watched her suckle herself.

She pulled her tit from her mouth. "See, just a little milk, but not enough! It's been like this for a week, and it kinda hurts now."

"OK, try the pump, and maybe that will get you started."

She grabbed the pump from the bed and handed it to me. "Help me, please."

"OK, keep holding your right side up but bring your nipple down for me." She did so, her nipple and areola now parallel to the floor. I placed the pump over her breast and then applied pressure to the handle. The pump action pulled her huge nip into the device, sucking her with each pump, but her tit was too big to maintain the seal with the cheap plastic.

"Did you buy the smallest pump or something?"

"It was the only one I could find at the dollar store."

"OK. Let's try something else. Stay on the bed, but get on your hands and knees."

She did as told, raising her legs and swinging herself backward onto the mattress, then turning over to prop herself up on all fours. Her skirt hiked upward as she bent over, revealing a pair of white cotton panties patterned with small strawberries that tightly wrapped her snatch. The direct center of her panties dipped slightly inward, showing a slight hint of her slit hiding behind the cloth.

I placed one hand on her right hip and another on her left shoulder, then positioned her hands at the edge of the mattress, leaning her slightly forward so that her enormous udders hung free, her nipples weighted down toward the rug. I rubbed my hands together rapidly to warm them, then I bent over, grasped her left breast with both hands right at the base of her chest, and slowly began to milk her, bringing my hands slowly but firmly down her tit, pressing her plump flesh with my fingers. I worked my way down to her nip, pressing the giant heavy globe of her lower tit upward and stroking the front of her tit downward, working her milk towards the pendulous nipple. I continued slowly repeating this, listening to her soft moans as her tit began to wake.

She began to drip a bit, the nipple now showing a little bubble of white at the tip, where tiny drops began to fall to the floor. I dropped to my knees, then brought the nipple to my mouth, pulling at her with my lips, lightly at first and then deeper, gently surrounding the swollen nip with my teeth. She cried out, and a hot stream of milk filled my mouth. I pulled her milker deeper into my mouth, sealing my lips tightly around the swollen areola, and sucked at her a bit more, her pure young milk trickling down my throat.

I let go of the boob with my mouth and knelt back. Dawn's right tit was beginning to let down, excited by the left's swollen, spraying nipple. I grabbed the back of her right udder from behind, threading my right hand through her cleavage to grasp her, then I lightly slapped the tit to the sides of her nipple, working the milk forward. She gasped, and her right side began streaming milk, joining her left side in soaking the rug below.