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Milk Man 2
|The first few miles are the worst -- the first hill is agony. Not just that
I'm drunk and dizzy and terribly uncertain, but the way this thing shifts
inside of me, this thick piece of soulless plastic, swaying me back and forth
between horrid pain and surprising pleasure.
During my training, after drinking from Angus, I'd take a quick nap -- never over a couple of hours, sometimes as short as thirty minutes. After drinking from one of them, you feel sated, like after the perfect Thanksgiving meal. You feel like you want to loosen your pants and relax in the Barker lounger with your feet up, while your stomach does its work. You drift off, your energy focused on digestion -- your brain rests, allowing the changes to happen.
After drinking from one of them, you feel comfortably drunk, buzzed but sociable, like you've had a taste of the wacky tobaccy maybe -- happy, relaxed, a little sexy. But after drinking from FIVE of them -- hell, twice from Jersey alone -- I'm out of control. I'm drunk. I'm fried. I want the world to fuck me.
That need is alternately answered and exploited by the gigantic dildo I have up my ass, the one that's molded from the BULL's cock. Though not as exciting as having a REAL flesh and blood cock inside me -- with bodyheat and desperate metabolism -- it's serving its purpose. If its purpose is to put me into a ridiculous sexual frenzy.
Each stroke in the cadence, each pump of the leg moves that crazy dildo inside me, shifting it back and forth -- it's agony.
It's pleasure. Coasting down a gentle hill, there's a bump in the pavement, jamming the thing just a little deeper inside me. I orgasm.
When I moan, I hear Shorthorn over the headset in my helmet. "Yeeehaw!" he shouts. "You keep a-cummin' Little Calf!"
Ayrshire: "That's right, Guernsey. Focus on the pleasure."
Hard to focus on anything -- I'm passing out, little speckles of black obscuring my vision. Just barely keeping my balance, slumping forward.
That felt so fucking good.
"Yo, watch yourself, kid," pants Jersey, from somewhere behind me. His voice brings me back to consciousness, and I'm alert once more. "You good?"
"Uh-huh," I force myself to say, but the pain is back, a dull throb deep inside muscles tired of being stretched. Each pedal of the leg brings it into sharper focus. How can I flex around this gigantic thing inside me?
Isn't it funny how your body communicates with your head? My body has already figured out that it needs to work around the obstacle, but my brain -- albeit still drunk a little -- hasn't had that thought rationally until now. THIS thought: there's gotta be a way to work WITH this thing inside me. Maybe my muscles can flex around...
A sudden jolt of pleasure. What the...? How did that...? What did I just do? I was shifting my lower back a little and pushing my leg like...
Okay... (Okay, gotta breathe a second...) Okay, that was pretty cool.
I gotta remember that.
Maybe I CAN adjust to this...
It works on the other side, too.
With that comes the realization that I'm getting another erection. How is that possible? And why am I concerned? Ayrshire is right -- it's easier to lose myself in the pleasure. The milk -- full of their milk. Relax and let it do what it's gonna do.
The rhythm is becoming easier, shifting around this big pole, giving myself little bursts of erotic go-juice. Unfortunately, every time I start to find a groove, we go downhill, or around a tight bend, or through some blinking-light intersection, and I lose my cadence. Then it takes me a few minutes of discomfort to get it back.
There's a quick swell in the land than lifts us up and drops us down almost immediately, and -- relaxed as I am -- it shoves the BULL's dildo that much further inside me. I'm starting to love hitting bumps. I moan again, barely avoiding another orgasm.
Over the headset, Angus' voice. "You still feelin' okay, Guernsey? You're gettin' kind of far behind us."
"I'm okay," I mumble, shifting up a gear.
Jersey butts in, always panting -- that man will never find a comfortable cadence if he doesn't get his breathing down -- "Yo... (pant, pant) ...he looks pretty good... (pant, pant) ...from back here."
The Herd -- Angus, Ayrshire, and Shorthorn anyway -- have gotten a good two or three-hundred yards ahead of me and Jersey, who brings up the rear about fifty-yards behind. Briefly, I think about how tight the formation was when we began this trip. Clearly, Holstein has a more disciplined impact than I imagined.
Or maybe they don't want to go so damn slow waitin' on me -- or maybe I'm supposed to be keeping up. No, Jersey's behind ME -- and he's certainly not being impatient -- he's struggling nearly as much as I am -- so I drop that line of thought. I certainly hope the only goal is to FINISH. I can't imagine there's a time trial.
I feel like I'm in a heat right now. My own heat. My sexual heat. Their milk is in me -- it's changing me. I can feel it. Because my legs are working the hardest right now, I notice it mostly there. I can actually feel my quads and hamstrings getting bigger and stronger. Each flex, each stroke of the cadence, my legs improve. A little thicker, a little more dense.
And as my legs alter, so then do my glutes, muscling up and growing. I can sense and control even the most subtle contraction of the muscle -- imagine what it feels like to experience your own ass thickening, and then gaining complete control along with it.
I'm beginning to be able to do things with this dildo that probably only get attempted by the most experienced of fuckboy bottoms. What I'm discovering is that by pedaling the bike, I'm actually training my muscles to fuck. I'm learning rhythm and control, tempo and technique. I can feel my sphincter contract and relax like the legs of a millipede up and down the BULL's rubber dick.
Wait now. If I do this just right, I can really nail my prostate just by pushing it a little like...
Orgasming again. Just up and shooting, you know? Dizzy -- little black dots...
Coming back to consciousness is like waking as a new person. The world fades in around me. I feel so unbelievably good -- and -- like a newly-created vampire learning of his taste for blood -- I realize this I need I now have to get a real cock up inside me, not this plastic bullshit, pardon the pun. I need to get fucked. All that really matters anymore is getting fucked -- as often and by as many as possible.
God, what a little whore I'm becoming! I giggle at the thought. That's what all their milk is doin' to me! At this rate, I'm gonna end up just like Ayrshire, that big muscle-pussy -- although come to think of it, I wouldn't mind HIM fuckin' me, either. Such a hottie. Not that he ever would. I think he's as much a confirmed bottom as...
Well, as I am. Now.
I'm not drunk -- no. I'm sexy. Slutty. Uninhibited.
Wanna press that prostate again. Such a great buzz. Even knowing that cumming's gonna make me change even more -- and I AM changing -- I just wish I could describe it better. I can feel... I'm... what's the word?
Doesn't matter. Just know to use my ass, that's all that matters -- how to take this big cock up deep and...
Shoot and shoot and shoot.
I almost lose my balance and fall off the bike. If not for Jersey's strong arm suddenly grabbing my handlebars, I probably would've tipped right over. The massive beast rides beside me, soaked in sweat, testament, I guess, about how slow I've been going. Hell, JERSEY'S been able to catch up to me.
His tricep is right in my face, so I lean forward and kiss it, licking along the horseshoe shape -- mmm, salty. "You good?" he asks. "Looks like you were about to lose it."
Now I'M panting. "Jersey," I whisper hoarsely, "I want you to fuck me, man."
He snorts. "Don't tempt me, Home." Nodding toward his big hand, the one deftly holding my handlebars, he adds, "You got this?"
I re-take control of the bike, holding steady with the strength of my ever-growing arms. We ride comfortably side by side -- the rest of the Herd three or four-hundred yards in front of us. I can just barely see them up ahead, little blips on the rolling landscape. "Seriously, Jersey," I say, moving the microphone away from my mouth, shifting the dildo subtly in and out of my hole. "I want you inside me, man. I gotta have a cock, not this plastic shit."
He laughs a little. "That's the milk talkin'," he says. "It's fuckin' wit' your sex drive. I'll be inside you soon enough, Guernsey."
Look at him, this soaking wet monster bodybuilder riding only on his determination and ridiculous quad-size. I can smell his masculine scent, his salty musk. He's the most handsome man I've ever seen, with his strong jaw and heavy forehead. The kind of man I've always wanted. "It's not the milk," I say, trying not to whine. "It's you I want. It's you I want in me NOW! C'mon, man."
He adjusts himself as he pedals along, shifting his suddenly uncomfortable cock inside his bike shorts. "Yo, when the BULL's done wit' ya..."
"Oh, FUCK that -- fuck the BULL and all his shit! 'When the BULL's done with ya...' I don't give a fuck about him or bein' his cow or how good it's supposed to be or anything. I want YOU, Jersey, and if it's the milk that's makin' me realize that, well then whatever. I want you. I want the first real cock that goes up my ass to be yours. I've felt that way since I met you. C'mon, Jersey," I plead, tears in my eyes, "be my bull."
Jersey looks at me, but he seems to be lost in thought, an odd expression for him. "Funny you should say that," he mumbles, then he checks the horizon, looking for the other guys -- nowhere to be seen. "I've been thinkin' lately that it's time to start a Herd o' my own," he says, then smiles when he adds, "and I wouldn't mind startin' wit' you."
I cry. I swear to you, I cry. I'm joyous, a huge smile blooming on my face. "Don't play with me, Jersey," I blurt. because maybe it IS the milk that's making me feel this way. My erection grows.
"Pull over," Jersey says. "Let's get this thing done."
So, we ditch the bikes right there by the side of the road. He has to help me get this big dildo out of my ass, and I'm almost sorry to see it go. I feel kind of empty without it. When the head loudly pops out, I get my final orgasm from it, having to lean against the split-rail fence that separates the road from the pasture, for fear I'll lose my balance again. A little dizzy. I can handle it.
Jersey drops the dildo to his feet, unnecessary. His own cock -- his real cock -- his glorious, glorious real cock -- hardens beneath his bike shorts, showing its blunt protrusion down his thigh. Jersey strips off his shirt, revealing his thickly-muscled torso, his blooming pecs. His chest grows even as he struts toward me.
"I want you to drink from me again," he says. "I want you to get a little bigger."
Of course I drink from him. I gorge myself on him. I bathe with his juice. Jersey's seemingly never-ending supply of milk only drives us both into a frenzy. As I pull from his tiny, brown nipples, I can feel his erection throb against me. When I try to touch it, he stops me. "Don't want this thing goin' off," he says, and kisses me. "Not yet."
"I want it inside me so bad."
Suddenly, I can hear Angus' voice through my bike's headset. "Guernsey," I hear him say, "where are you?"
"Don't answer," Jersey says, kissing me, taking my helmet off my head. "We don't have much time." He hits the button on his own helmet, and speaks. "Yo, chill dude. The kid be good. He's just havin' a little... uh... orgasm."
Angus: "Is he okay?"
Jersey literally tears the bike shorts away from my ass. He feels the round, firm muscle, then slaps my cheek hard with his open hand. "He's very okay," Jersey says into his headpiece.
Angus: "We're gonna wait for you up here. We're not that far ahead. You should be in sight in a couple of minutes."
"Copy that!" Jersey says just as he pulls off his helmet. "See you in a few."
Jersey's erection is pointing straight up, his massive piece ready. He looks down on it, over his milk-stained torso, his soaking shorts, his body language cocky. I fall to my knees before him and kiss the material-covered head. Grabbing the waistband of his shorts, I pull them down over his heavy thighs.
It's the most beautiful cock I've ever seen in my life -- including the dildo -- I can't wait to get it inside me.
It's already wet from his milk, but I slobber on it as much as I can -- not that I think I need to. My ass feels like it produces its own lube, now. It just wants to be full of cock.
"We gotta do this," Jersey says. "We don't got much time."
He makes me lean over the split-rail fence -- rough, splintered wood against my stomach -- and then I feel his big knob against my hole. I'm so hungry for it. "Here cums your bull," he says, and pushes his way in.
My ass knows just what to do, so I let it take over. The comfortable feeling of fullness with his milk in my stomach at the same time as his cock fills my butt is back, only this time it's just HIS milk -- and it's finally a REAL cock. I can feel so much from it -- its warmth, the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his thrust.
I give him the fuck of his life. For a little muscle-whore like me, it's easy now. I can tell what he likes -- I can sense what he needs -- I can keep him coming back for more. Our rhythm syncopates and develops -- he grabs my hips and starts slamming it home.
"Gonna cum, Little Calf," he growls. "Gonna make you mine."
"Do it to me, Big Bull," I moan. "Do it to me."
Jersey shoves it in deep, and shoots, and shoots, and shoots some more. I use my talented new ass to squeeze out every drop. His orgasm causes mine, and I let loose another torrent all over the elephant-grass that lines the fence. He lets loose a "Yeah!" that sounds like he just scored the winning touchdown in the championship game. It's my dream come true! It's the most incredible moment of my life!
More, I can feel it inside me -- his cum. It's warm. It's him. It's doing something...
The screech of bike tires. The sound of breath and hurried movement. As I start to black out -- I can't keep myself from blacking out -- his cum is doing something -- I glance up and see the Herd on the side of the road, staring at us, slack-jawed and frozen, as my new Bull pulls his cock out of me.
I hear Angus' voice as I slip into unconsciousness. "Oh my God, Jersey. What have you done?"
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