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I licked my lips, already leaking with desire and nodded. The summer day was hot, as a mild breeze blew through the open curtains over the bed. Mia was young and lean, in soft pink panties and no bra, her boyish breasts already glistening from the heat. Mia was strong and confident, a skilled and experienced lover who ran a yoga studio across town. She knew about pleasure, how to give it, how to receive it, how to share it, and since this was all her idea, I was in her hands — literally!

Erotic milking testicals stories

Erotic milking testicals stories

With every syllable she teased my prostate, pressing against it, pulling away, short Erotic milking testicals stories jabs and long, lingering patches where she left it in place, storiez throbbing energy making my cock weep as the puddle on my quivering belly filled then stogies down my sides. Trout Lactation with out pregnancy relieved that he had finally been able to tell his story, hoping the prisoner would somehow understand and perhaps forgive. His sweat sparkled. We both looked to see the front panel of her panties damp with desire. James, I drain men like you all the time.

Celebrity free sex site. Introduction:

Using the lubricant, both trainees at each workstation begin to liberally lather Erotic milking testicals stories the enormous man tube with both hands. Infact the whole thing was according to her master script. The Girls Slippery boobs Ch. I sucked his dick first, then he sucked mine. Coming out was the Ertoic part. We followed it up by registering as domestic partners. One Erotic milking testicals stories one the trainees dropped the big bag tdsticals mush to the table, and turned to face Angela. The first orgasms were followed by a second, and a third, and a fourth, and so on, in a seemingly endless cycle of beating and cumming. Sequel to Milking Mommy. She asked me, how the milking was. But I was nervous and excited at heart, but continued with my kneeled down posture. I squeezed more on to her boobs with my hands, her body and buttock with my legs while my cock shot out the cum inside her womb.

Jenni had come to work at my office as the payroll manager about a year ago.

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  • Because of that, now she is not sent out for any jobs including as the helping hands of the milking lady.
  • It was and I was exhausted and sweaty from working on the second story extension to Mr.
  • Thanks for the response, Denis!

I licked my lips, already leaking with desire and nodded. The summer day was hot, as a mild breeze blew through the open curtains over the bed. Mia was young and lean, in soft pink panties and no bra, her boyish breasts already glistening from the heat. Mia was strong and confident, a skilled and experienced lover who ran a yoga studio across town. She knew about pleasure, how to give it, how to receive it, how to share it, and since this was all her idea, I was in her hands — literally!

Just, not… this… completely. I was on my back, my knees bent and high in the air, already sweaty from the heat, head propped up with extra pillows to admire her serene beauty and young, caramel skin. It was medium length, but looked thick. I nodded and watched as she poured a quarter size dot of lube in her left hand before rubbing it to warm between both palms.

When at last she used her right hand to grab my tender staff, it leapt at the touch. She laughed, squeezing the skin under my tip playfully. Normally a comment like that would make me feel jealous, even inferior, but somehow knowing I was in good hands relaxed me. In fact, the thought of Mia with other men suddenly turned me on.

We both looked to see the front panel of her panties damp with desire. She peered back at me with that sexy, knowing expression.

I know how much it turns you on to see me get really, hot and dripping wet. I sighed and nodded. I sighed at the exotic sensation and she smiled, ignoring me as she began to tempt and tease my hole with first one finger, then two.

She was so gentle and persistent, I barely noticed when at last a single fingertip slipped inside my virgin butthole, making me gasp with delight as my cock twitched in ecstasy. I nodded, murmuring as well. You want me to stretch this tight, tight hole? The bittersweet blend of pleasure and pain found me leaking from my cock tip, a clear, fine drizzle that pooled atop my quivering belly.

Her nipples were hard, stiff and maroon, making me wish she was closer so I could suck and tease them in return for the pleasure she was giving me. But it was my birthday and Mia insisted that her gift was total indulgence, from start to finish. I nodded and waited as she slid the throbbing toy along my cock.

The pressure was intense as the tip of the vibrator, much thicker than her finger, slid past my virgin threshold. I winced with that balance of pleasure and pain, then whimpered as momentum brought it in deeper, another two or three inches. I gasped and bit down on my lip and she held it there, the throbbing intense as my whole body tingled with the effort. I gasped and squirmed and, instinctively, she used the opportunity to guide it all the way in.

I nodded, our eyes meeting. I peered down to find her panties thoroughly drenched, to the point where I could see her glistening pubic hair pressing richly against the damp cotton fabric. I could feel it throbbing inside me, deep inside, as the thrilling sensation of being violated made my cock throb and leak.

The breeze blew in, the curtains rustled and down the street a car horn honked. I felt the pressure between my legs intensify as she pressed the toy deeper, deeper, until I flinched and felt a glorious ooze of warmth spread from the chestnut sized prostate that hid deep inside.

My cock leapt, my heart pounded and she never let up. With every syllable she teased my prostate, pressing against it, pulling away, short tender jabs and long, lingering patches where she left it in place, the throbbing energy making my cock weep as the puddle on my quivering belly filled then overflowed down my sides.

Come so hard you can taste it on your lips. As her voice grew hoarse and distant I could feel the orgasm swelling, hot and thick and powerful.

When it came I screamed, a first, as hot, white, milky ropes shot across my belly, my chest and even onto my chin. I gasped and quaked and Mia knew just how to ease off and lay on as the throbbing toy milked endless spurts from my throbbing, spitting cock. I gasped as she rode out the tenderness and sensitivity before gently pressing the toy against my prostate one long, last time. My teeth chattered, my cock splattered, my body writhed as I gripped the damp, twisted sheets with white knuckles until I begged her to stop.

Her right hand still gripped my staff, milky and coated with a generous icing of my own spunk. Tenderly, lovingly, she enrobed my pink, withering cock with cum before bending low and sucking it clean with her ripe, tender lips. When at last I was sated, soft and sweaty and spent beneath her, she slid along my side and kissed my lips. I chuckled and turned to face her.

Hi, I'm Dave. And I'm a No, not really. Hence, these are my chosen topics for this blog. I'm fluent in 3 languages: English, Profanity and Sarcasm. I own a number of male sex toys, and my personal "toybox" is growing rapidly. But prostate toys are my favorite. So, enjoy the ride, and drop me a line if you have something to say! Your email address will not be published.

Erotic short stories: the Passion of the Prostate. Submit a Comment Cancel reply Your email address will not be published. Lovingly maintained by Mr. Racy Powered by your Mom. Pin It on Pinterest.

Not in the usual way of how a handjob is given. My cock moved deep inside her pussy and comes out and rams again. Angela explained that this would happen, and encouraged the women to continue with the beatings, explaining that even the busted nuts could still cough up more of their fluids. I finished it inn one sip. There was an Audi TT in the driveway.

Erotic milking testicals stories

Erotic milking testicals stories. What should be the ultimate fate of Brick Haus' massive bull balls?

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Jardonn's Erotic Tales. The Milking Tree. Jasper McCutcheon. Part 1 -- Wrath of the Natashi. Richard Cargill was a professor, explorer and treasure hunter.

His painstaking research and planning always brought him his prize, and every one of his campaigns had been a success -- until this one. Currently Cargill found himself stripped naked and suspended, his wrists roped to tree limb, his arms in parallel lines overhead and toes inches from the ground. His wrist ropes were draped over the limb about 15 feet above the ground, where their length returned to the ground and were tied to a wooden stake driven into dirt.

Under the canopy of this lone tree in the center of a village clearing somewhere in southern Africa, hundreds of miles from nowhere, Cargill helplessly watched the torture and execution of what remained from his expedition: three load-bearers, also stripped naked, bound to wooden poles eight feet in length and standing vertical not more than 10 yards from where Richard Cargill dangled.

All four men that very morning had been pounced upon and taken prisoner by a tribe of fierce female warriors known as the Natashi, and now, while waiting and wondering what fate awaited him, Cargill fought the urge to regurgitate from the brutality perpetrated upon his pitiful men.

Each man faced him. Each man hung with wrists crossed behind their poles and tied with rope, while their ankles were bound in the same manner, their feet inches from the ground.

Gravity stretched them. Because their limbs were roped behind the poles, their torsos protruded towards Cargill.

Because their limbs were crossed, their chests and bellies formed a V shape with rib cages expanded and abdomens flattened. Because their poles were buried in the open without protection overhead, unlike Cargill who was shaded by foot tree, their ebony skin glistened with sweat, the unforgiving late-morning sun baking them with ungodly heat.

And for reasons Cargill could not begin to guess, the leader of this Natashi tribe a woman Cargill privately named Blue-face because of the dazzling designs of blue painted across her high cheekbones allowed her female warriors to savagely beat these helpless men with wooden clubs.

She shouted a command and her warriors sprang into action. With two Natashi women assigned to each victim, the pairs ruthlessly assaulted these glorious men. Powerful men they were, devoid of fat and bulked with muscle, muscle built naturally from transporting on foot many pounds of cargo hundreds of miles countless times. None of their strength could help them now. Cargill tried not to look, but each horrific impact of blunted wood to stretched torso brought agonizingly horrific grunts and screams.

He had to look. They were his men, his companions, his responsibility. As the female pairs grew weary, Blue-face ordered them to hand their clubs to the next groups of two's and the beatings continued without interruption. The men howled and cried out as their chests and abdomens were viciously pounded to putty. Cargill could hear the unholy cracks and pops of ribs and other bones breaking. Each warrior had their opportunity batter their victims, and as the final pairs dropped their clubs in exhaustion, Blue-face stalked up and down the line, inspecting what was left, making sure her sister warriors had done a proper job.

Apparently pleased, she with commanding authority ordered the females to begin tearing the men's skin to shreds with whips. Again matched in pairs assigned to each victim, they relentlessly laid their whips across the battered bellies and chests of the pitiful prisoners, following the same pattern as before by passing the whips down the line, until all had been satisfied. Cargill tried to shut out the unholy screams of agony coming from the poles.

Their cries permeated the village until he thought his head would explode, and as the lashings ended Cargill stared in disbelief at what remained of pitiful helpers. Their once gloriously masculine physiques now hung as though slaughtered meat upon vertical poles, sweat and blood intermingling to drip off their toes to the ground below. Screams and pleadings had turned to sobs and moans. One of them seemed to praying, surely for death, as Cargill also prayed for them, for it was he who had led them here to this god-forsaken place, only to see them turned to bloody, battered, living corpses.

His anguish soon turned to shock and amazement. Appearing from one of the huts came a man -- a white man who wore nothing but a loin wrapping and some sort of vegetation-made crown upon his head. Three females were knelt in front of the prisoners as the white man hovered nearby.

They tied the victims's genitals by use of thin animal hide strips, wrapping them behind the testicles and over the tops of their penises, tightly securing the strips at the base of each. As the women stepped away, each phallus became engorged with blood, as the strips slowed the exiting flow from their dangling male organs. Now the white man stood before one of the battered men. He knelt on the ground and began performing oral service upon him, which caused the man's body to flex.

Despite being half-dead, this hapless victim was forced to respond to the oral assault on his isolated and hardened penis. His face was shrouded with anguish and utter humiliation -- anguish from the pain of his brutalized torso -- humiliation from the degradation inflicted upon his exposed manhood.

The tempo increased and soon the prisoner shot his load into the tormentor's mouth, as the white man continued sucking on the spent penis to elicit every last drop into his throat and down to his gut. This relentless assault on the sensitive cock forced the prisoner to involuntarily flex and twitch, causing ungodly pain to reverberate throughout his broken and brutalized body. Then the white man released the organ, rose to his feet and proceeded to the next victim, where he knelt to perform the same task on that man's penis.

Cargill watched in horror as his poor men were one by one degraded before the female warriors. The Natashi relished this spectacle. They chirped and chattered. Each twitching of prisoner brought laughter. Each moan of pain and humiliation brought mocking with fingers pointing. They viciously ridiculed what was left of the pitiful wretches stretched before them, as the mysterious white man extracted manly fluids from each cock, leaving the cock owners spent and nearly lifeless on their poles of torture.

He now turned and approached the tree, followed closely by Blue-face and the rest of the tribe. Cargill shuddered. Were they coming for him? Was it his turn to suffer what he'd just witnessed? Instead, the man ignored and drifted past him, continuing on until he reached the trunk of the mighty tree. The warriors formed a circle around the trunk behind Cargill and began a solemn chant.

Attempting to see what was happening, Cargill peeked over his shoulder and watched in wonder as the white man stuffed his fingers into his throat, gagged himself, and spit what he'd regurgitated onto the trunk of the tree. Man seed, fresh semen taken from three tortured and slowly-dying prisoners, that's what was spit onto the tree. The she-warriors broke into frenzied celebration, chanting, flailing their arms and dancing in wild circles. As he dropped his head to rest on his chest, Cargill at first was saddened, but then sickened and angered by the spectacle taking place behind him.

His poor men had suffered unspeakable tortures, just so these savages could spit sperm onto a goddamn tree. And what was worse, the instigator of these atrocities seemed to be not the savages - which, while not excusable, could at least be somewhat understandable - but rather, it was the white man, perhaps at one time or another a civilized man, who had done this to his fellow human beings. To be sure, this ritual most-likey had been part of Natashi culture since the tribe came into being, but still, the lone male had played a major role, and Cargill vowed to himself that when and if opportunity came to him for exacting revenge, he'd take it.

He'd do so not for himself, but for his men. As the crazed celebration drifted back towards the three prisoners, spears soon pierced their chests and abdomens, finally bringing an end to their unholy suffering. The white man did not participate. Cargill felt the mysterious man' s presence behind him, and then heard his voice.

Cargill, my name is Roger Trout. Part 2 - The Kutambi Elephant. Cargill's eyes widened upon hearing the name. Roger Trout was known as a famed explorer and treasure hunter like himself, but the name had faded from the memories of most people involved in this field of adventure.

As the story goes, Roger Trout launched an expedition 16 years prior, seeking the same treasure that brought Cargill to Africa.

This Roger Trout and all who came with him had not been heard from since, thought lost forever. Trout smiled as he faced his prisoner, not in a welcoming and brotherly way, but in a sinister and superior way. Imagine my delight when the scouts told me an expedition had passed through our jungle. I immediately knew what you were looking for. Did you find it?

Richard Cargill hesitated, knowing the first words he spoke would determine his immediate future. Surely you were looking for the statue, the magnificent Kutambi Elephant I failed just as you did. It is nothing but a myth. The ruins are still there, but nothing remains of value.

He unleashed 16 years of frustration on the poor man. Fists rained into his gut, onto his rib cage and sternum. Cargill grunted and groaned in accepting these blows, flexing all muscles in defense. Slowly circling, Trout continued to pound on him from the back side, targeting his kidneys and shoulder blades before returning to the front of his victim to deliver more blows into his abdomen and chest until exhaustion forced him to rest.

Now both men were gasping for air. After several deep breaths, Trout continued the interrogation. I read the notes on every chart and map you had with you.

I saw your log book, doctor. Do you think I'm stupid? Still trying to recover from his beating, Cargill knew his game was up but for one piece of the puzzle: the diamonds. He'd written nothing in regards to the tusks. Their location was known only to his memory, and so rather than answer Trout's stupid question about who thought who was stupid, Cargill tried some offense.

How could you stand by and let these savages murder those innocent men? You are alive and that is all that matters.

Erotic milking testicals stories

Erotic milking testicals stories

Erotic milking testicals stories