The spots around her eyes look like smudgy black eyeliner. She has a button nose, her black hair is pulled up in twin pigtails, and her full lips are painted black. She’s adorable, but you’d have a horn in each eye the moment you tried to call her “cute”.
Her breasts are swollen and straining her ripped black t-shirt. She crosses her arms under them, trying to look aloof, but she’s clearly trying to relieve some of their weight.
As you approach with a bucket, she rolls her eyes. She says, “This again?”
You remind her that this happens every day.
“Tsk. Whatever. I’m over it.” The wet spots over each nipple are just barely visible on the black fabric. As she shifts her arms under her breasts, the wetness widens.
You offer to skip today, if she’d prefer.
She rolls her eyes again. “Just get it over with already.” She reaches down to the bottom of her shirt and strips it off, her breasts bouncing back into place as she throws her shirt to the side.
Her nipples are swollen and leaking, her breasts heavy on her chest.
You remark that she doesn’t look like she could have waited until tomorrow.
“Fuck you, pervert. Hurry up!”
You reply that you’re not quite sure if you should be staying or going.
She huffs, crossing her arms under her chest again, and the discomfort is clear on her face. She blushed, then glances up at you.
She won’t say it, but it’s the same old song and dance every time. She’s ready to be milked.
You approach and she looks away but turns her chest towards you. You place the bucket at your feet and then cup each of her breasts in a hand.
Gently, you start to massage.
She gasps and closes her eyes. She bites her lip, and her composure starts to slip as you apply your gentle touch to her sore breasts.
You give her a little extra foreplay today. She relaxes into it but then starts glancing towards you, clearly yearning for the next step, but unwilling to say so.
“T-taking your sweet time?”
You remind her that you can’t rush perfection. But, you offer to move on.
You kneel down and she follows, the bucket between you. She leans forward slightly so that her breasts hang over the bucket.
You bring a hand up under each breast and lift slightly. Her fullness is heavy on your palms.
Gently, you circle her areolas with your fingertips.
She shudders, biting her lip, as milk beads on her nipple.
Before she can protest, you take her nipple in your hand, squeeze gently, and tug.
She stifles a moan as a stream of milk flows out of her. She presses her breasts towards you with her hands.
You ask her why she’s now so eager.
“Eager to g-get this over with, obviously.”
You tug on her nipple again and she holds back a gasp at the next stream of milk. It proceeds like this for a few moments, her trying to hide her gasps and moans of pleasure.
Then her cheeks flush redder. Her eyes, which had been glancing sidelong, flutter shut. She stops biting her lips and they part with a little moan.
She starts rocking her hips on her heels, stimulating her flower. She must be a aching with desire.
You milk her, alternating breasts, her moans growing louder and louder and the streams of milk growing thicker.
She no longer attempts to hide her pleasure. She moans openly, grips her breasts in her hands to squeeze more out for you.
Finally, her desire becomes irresistible and she drops a hand to her flower.
The wet sounds of her fingers over her vulva join her moans and the splashing of the milk in the bucket.
“Ohhh fuck…” As her breasts empty into the bucket, the fluids from her flower drip onto the floor. “Fuck…”
You put a hand to each of her nipples, squeezing and tugging steadily, giving her the sensations she craves.
She alternates fucking herself with her fingers and rubbing her clit, her aroudal steadily building.
“Oh, fuck… holy shit…” Her body trembles, her milk comes in spurts. But you know that this is not all. This is just the edge.
Her eyes flash open. They lock onto yours, and they are nearly black with arousal. She sees you, with no pretense, no pretending. She gasps, “Milk me!”
And then her eyes roll back and her body shakes with pleasure. Her milk spurts into the bucket, her fem-cum onto the floor, pulse after pulse after pulse.
Finally, she starts to relax.
You milk the last few drops from her breasts. The bucket is nearly full.
Her breasts are much smaller now, the shirt that could barely contain them before would now hardly need to stretch. But she doesn’t make any moves to clothe herself.
She flops backwards onto her ass, eyes hazy with the afterglow. She turns her gaze up to you and gives you an appreciative blink and a sigh.
You pick up the bucket and promise to see her tomorrow.
“W-whatever,” she says, but she doesn’t look mad about it.
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