The Milkmaid Ep. 02

Gentle reader: I do hope my introduction last time met with your approval. I realise, of course, this may not be the case at all. "All this spunky nonsense is nothing more than stuff and nonsense", you may have scoffed, and proceeded to find something much more entertaining to read or do. If so, all I can do is proffer my most sincere apologies from the very bottom of my damp box -- oops ... I mean of my heart - and can only promise that I shall do my utmost to improve. If you can find it in your nether regions -- oh, dearie me, I am incorrigible, I fear - I mean in your heart, to give me another chance, I would be infinitely grateful.

Now, I said last time that I would trace the origins of my fondness for manual come-hitherness, if such a term is possible. It is quite a harrowing tale of how a young slip of a girl growing up in a picturesque market town in the English countryside was swept up and thrust into wanton womanhood with a raging desire, this lustful liquid longing that dare not speak its name in polite company, following the intervention of an element that can throw parameters into disarray and reshape our futures for better or worse -- that of sheer chance.

I beg you, however, to bear with me on that for just a little longer, just a tad, I assure you. Quite frankly the event that caused a turning point in my life involves considerable explanations, a certain amount of nuance and, in a word, a substantial mise en scène, and I am keen to get it just right, without rushing into it. As you may have noticed, I am rather finicky, and in my little world things must be just so. And after all, my friends, first and foremost these are supposed to be erotic pennings to get John Thomases a-swelling and Minnie Mounds a-bubbling, I do not wish my readers to get bored by a narration with less of a sexual slant, and so -- and this is a practice I shall strive to continue in subsequent episodes -- the first few paragraphs should contain some general blatant, out-and-out bonkography (I do not expect this word of mine to ever make the Oxford English Dictionary, but it is not illegal to invent words, and well, why not, I say!), an eclectic array of vivid sexshots just to get things nicely started, a collection of unconnected, disjointed, miscellaneous images in the mind's eye, just to whet the appetite. Or, indeed, wet it. No, no, dear reader, reader dear, please do not feel you have to humour me by chuckling, as I realise my curious sense of humour is not to everyone's taste. Pay me no heed, and move on.

So, without further ado, relax and consider, by way of a small hors d'oeuvre, an index finger and a middle finger naughtily marching under cover of darkness and with malice aforethought, slipping under a flimsy nightdress, left-right, left-right, left-right, marching up, up, up to the top of the hill of those milky thighs and down, down down again to an aching gap requiring ministration and excitation, an entrée in more ways than one, indeed. By way of a first course, we could serve up a majestic disembodied trunk disappearing into a vibrant vulva, shuddering amid the prolonged slow lascivious clitoral lappings of an accomplice stretching those gash lips apart with her leather gloves, transfixed by the size and sheer power of the jackhammer jizz machine at work just inches from her nose, yearning for the moment it shall be whipped out and emptied impudently and without ceremony all over her as she licks and is licked to the rear, legs splayed out over the hapless unseen cock-engulfer below.

The second course is, of course, rather more filling, and consists of a rampant purple knob emerging from a tiny starfish, a red rosebud blinking open and shut repeatedly amid a gush of the gunk that has just painted this beautiful rag doll's arse walls whiter than white. The girl, still writhing on her back from the force of the inner blast, gasps as she watches it withdraw, dripping all around, and its owner clenches it in his fist right in front of her gaze, as if he wants to be sure that she knows there can be no mistake, and that yes, this is the monster that has breached her road less travelled by, and shot its terrible load into her plundered bottom. Her panting becomes more rapid and urgent as she watches him rise up and over her chest to insert the glistening gland between her lips, a knob that is must needs heady with the reek of her own ass, and the panting then gives way to a hungry slobbering at her own juices and his jack-off.

After a few seconds he rips it impatiently from her mouth with a crude plop, positions himself between her spattered legs again, amid a renewed crescendo of panting as she realises just what he is about to do, and then wedges that big black cock in that heavily rogered ass of hers again. The lady's head snaps back with a piteous long whimper as her back door flings wide open once more to admit him, and she now turns her attentions again to the two men at her sides whose curved giants she has been feverishly wanking throughout. This, of course, is the dessert on the menu today, and the feisty lass is certainly intent on having her fill of cream, glancing rapidly, urgently, from one thick rod to the other, seeking to gauge their ETAs. Sensing they are not quite ready to dump their own rations of prime semen on her features, however, her attention shifts once more and her eyes almost roll back in her head as they survey the finely chiselled black marble of the black man's gym-ripped arms still gripping her legs tightly over his powerful, straining shoulders as he continues to spunkfuck her anus, and her hand flits down to rub the warm juices on her navel and taut legs into a mop of red cunt hair.

Finally the two men edge closer, as their moment has now arrived. One of them tells her he is going to come, yes, and barks to her to do it, yes, go on, shoot my goddamn spunk all over yourself. You may imagine the next scene as you will, but you know me well enough by now to surmise that in my version she does not hesitate to grasp both cannon at once and fire the first jets straight between those pouting lips, already wet with sperm from her own private ass burglar's previous shenanigans, although in my fantasy I do then allow the men to take control and cover her face and chest as they so desire. The man who talks is the chat-as-you-come type, and he likes to keep up a running commentary of Yes, take it, all over those fucking red lips, yes, watch us come all over your fucking face, open your mouth, take it, yes, drink our come, baby.

I have to say it -- this man is not my favourite type, and on a personal note, this is not the kind of thing I like to hear myself, because this lady likes to do her own dirty little talk during a frenzied Spunky Moment, thank you very much, and in any case personally I have little time for barked orders, be they vulgar or otherwise, and do not respond to them. And ... do not even get me started, please, on the possibility of calling the lady a slut or worse at these critical moments. I also have a tale to tell about that in the days and months ahead. In any case, I merely mention the man-chat sequence because I realise it is a pulse-quickener for many. It is so difficult to be consistent in one's principles, is it not? Yes, I admit it is.

One other thing I would have insisted on here, as it is a kind of constant both in my spunky fetish world and in my real sex life, because it is something stronger than me (and this again goes back to the history of my fetish), is that I can rarely resist the urge, when mopping-up operations have been completed, if I can put it that way, to slap myself in the face a few times with a spent member, and so I would certainly have my lovely girl in this last fantasy do just that with all three decommissioned knobs. Why I choose to do this, I cannot say. Occasionally I toy with the idea of asking a psychiatrist about this and other issues, but if I have not done so to date, it is probably because I prefer not to know why! One thing I do know on the subject is that I do the slapping, mind, and I cannot emphasise this enough. I do not like him to do it to me. I am rather particular, dear reader, am I not? Oh well -- each of us are the way we are, are we not? You pays your money, and you takes your choice.

Oh, bother. I do blabber on sometimes. Really, do you know anyone else who can go off at such a tangent? And on a subject such as cock-slapping? Unbelievable. Especially as there is so much to tell, and already I am sure this second missive will be much longer than the first. I trust you do not mind. Hopefully you are not too bored. Let us look on the positive side -- preferably you are mellowing out with these little slices of debauchery.

Oh. Dear, dear people. ... Do you know, it is quite cheeky of me, I realise, but time is a-wasting, and I am afraid I shall have to secure your permission to postpone my journey down memory lane until the following chapter, because I have another tale here which must come first, for various reasons. So .... would you ... would you mind terribly? I shall be most grateful and I shall not let you down next time.

So what is next? Oh yes, I did mention that I have not run the full gamut of sexual exploits, but that I would like to, and occasionally I find pictures or videos on Internet which represent new experiences I would like to have. Now, a few months ago I found such a still pic, and I drooled lavishly over it for days and masturbated endlessly at just the thought of it or kept it in mind when I was actively making the beast with two backs. The thing is -- and I am actually shaking as I type this - that only last week I was able to play out my fantasy in real life! Let me first tell you about the photo it was based on:

It is in full colour. On the left sits a pretty brunette (with a bit of imagination, she looks rather like me, in fact, which is why I homed in on this picture), and her splendid tits are plastered across with fresh wet semen, almost transparent. This is possibly the only fault I can find with that particular pic, as I like my shots of come to be vivid and visual, but it is not a perfect world and clearly one cannot have everything! By the way, I am sure more than one of you may think I am petty, and it is true, I admit I can be very fussy about language, but I do prefer the preceding expression to the seemingly ubiquitous and rather lewd term "cumshot".

Anyway, let us not digress too much, because you know how distracted I can get!! She has obviously just squirted this all over her torso from the gorged shaft she clutches, which is now spent but still appetisingly stiff -- and, I like to gleefully imagine, still quaking in spasms within her delicate fingers, which have the added value of drops and smears all over them. The lucky fellow lying beside her has blonde hair and a handsome sixpack, his mouth is open and he is staring at her in awe. As well he might. I would be too! In fact, I am every time I look at her! I would love to be there, in fact, to stare at her deftness, or even better, of course, to actually be her, or, failing that, to lend her a helping hand, take a load off her hands, if you follow me! Dear Lord, I know, I know, I have some terrible puns! The best advice I can give you is to shrug, roll your eyes skywards, ignore them and read on.

Now, where was I? ... Oh yes ... She, however, is looking away from the thick member she has recently emptied. Before I describe her expression, please do not get me wrong here -- I like to see photos of jizz-covered tongues and lips and wicked, joyful drippy spunky smiles to camera as much as the next gal or guy, but there is something tremendously sexy about the way this girl with a huge cock in her hand is simply transfixed post-jerk and seems to be unable to avert her gaze from slightly further to the right. You see, they are not alone in the photo ...

She is staring at another gentleman, faceless since he is more or less back to camera, but we can see he is holding his own spectacular stiff tackle. As I said last time, a man holding his own manhood out for all to see is the horniest sight, topped only by a woman doing so. This fine specimen has also just posted his load, but unaided, I suspect, and over the other man, as shown by the glorious globules and lickable lines of the sticky stuff on the recumbent chap's shaft and wrinkly hairy balls and -- oh joy! -- with some of it glistening on his sixpack too, and the second man's spunk stands out more because it is much whiter. This kind of bisexuality setup does not bother me in the least, as I have few sexual prejudices, if any at all, and in fact in an MMF bisex scenario there is much more chance of seeing a cock with male goo cascading rivulets down the shaft. O for a spunk-streaked shaft! I am afraid I cannot help it, as merely contemplating streaks on an erect dick, irrespective of whether the gunk has spurted therefrom, or has jumped out of another man's knob, is almost enough to open my lower sluice gates on its own.

And yes, yes, I have to tell you the best part again, especially since I am practically gushing on the keyboard here as I write -- I actually managed to act out the entire scenario, readers! All shall be revealed next time, along with those obscure beginnings of mine.

Adieu, mes braves, adieu, à la prochaine ...