Pull the Udder One (How Very Dairy!)

Most of the stories I tell on here have two things in common: they’re entertaining (honest), and they happened a while ago.  I spent a good chunk of Monday night on a call with R, talking about a few different experiences we’ve each had, and the subject of T and my behaviour with him cropped up.  This only happened towards the back end of last year, so is far more recent than I would normally write about, but since T (the guy involved) was genuinely a good bloke and the comedy value of the tale rests entirely on my ridiculous lack of even the thinnest veneer of sexual sophistication, I figure it’s a safe story to tell without causing undue offence.  Plus both R and I were howling laughing to the point he kept choking and I couldn’t catch my breath, so I wanted to write it down before I forgot about it again.  Please God, at some point, let me forget about it.

T had messaged me on the swingers’ site I’m currently using.  His message of “Fancy a drink?” is one I’d normally have deleted (I’m not a fan of a three-worder), but for whatever reason I messaged back and ended up arranging to meet him in my standard city centre first meet pub.

He was based in Liverpool for a long term assignment with work, going home at weekends and for holidays.  I tend to prefer weekend sessions where I can take all night and not have to watch the clock, but T seemed a decent guy, we had a very good laugh over a drink and when he invited me back to his hotel room I was happy to agree.

As we got to his hotel room T closed the door and pressed my front against the wall, holding my hands above my head in one of his large hands while he unfastened my jeans with the other, pushing his hand in the front of them to find my clit as he ground against my backside.  When he let go of me I was shaking with excitement and need, and could barely undress in my dazed state.  As well as being fat I have a big frame with big hands, so it’s rare for anyone to make me feel overwhelmed but to my delight T managed it.

We spent a couple of happy hours in bed.  T had been swinging for many years and we chatted about clubs and experiences and it was a very positive evening.  He was a little rough but since that’s how I like it I wasn’t about to complain.  I have always found it immensely irritating when a guy hesitantly spanks my arse while we’re doggy-style: if you’re going to slap then commit to it, otherwise don’t bother.  T’s big hand smacking me with force, while not a turn-on for me, was a delight after so many half-hearted spanks and made me laugh in the sheer joy of it.

He was unafraid to manhandle me, dragging me down the bed to give me oral and turning me over when he wanted to change positions.  Again I found it a joy and revelled in how comfortable we were together.  T enjoyed a little bit of anal play from me, some rimming and gentle fingering during oral.  His obvious enjoyment and enthusiasm was arousing to me.

All too soon it was time for me to leave else I’d miss my last train.  T walked me out of the hotel so he could have a smoke outside, and I left with a beaming smile on my face and promises to meet up again.

We met up a fortnight later and this time I went straight to the hotel, where T was waiting for me outside.  Having had so much fun exploring each other the first time round T was keen to push some boundaries.  When he was pounding into me from behind he passed over some poppers.  I’ve never tried them before (I’ve tried no more legal highs than I have hard drugs!) and wasn’t sure what impact they were meant to have, but in spite of taking a good deep sniff I didn’t notice any effects.  I’m still not sure whether they had an effect I was unaware of, or if T had been sold some perfumed water with a different label on the bottle.

When I was under him he kept putting his hand around my neck.  As much as I enjoy a forceful fuck I’ve never been keen to try breath-play or choking.  It made me nervous (and not in an excited way), so I kept removing his hand.  This happened three or four times before I stopped and changed positions, hoping that not having my throat exposed as my head fell back would mean it was less of a tempting target for his attention.

Once again I enjoyed playing with T’s bum, with him spreading his cheeks wide so I could enjoy rimming him.  I was happy to spend some time down there, enjoying his obvious enjoyment of it.  He was relatively vocal and left me in no doubt when something felt good to him.

After a while T got off the bed and stood at the foot of it, leaning over with his hands flat on the shelf that acted as desk and dressing table in the small city centre room.  As I moved to sit on the edge of the bed my face was level with his arse, and I set my tongue to work again.  After a few minutes T said “milk me”.

Now I don’t consider myself to be particularly inexperienced (though I’m aware in some ways I’ve been painfully and surprisingly pedestrian in my sexual history), but I had no idea what he meant by that.  Being a little fuck-drunk by this point I just asked “what?” to which T replied more urgently “milk me!”.  I said I didn’t know what he meant, but rather than explaining (maybe out of embarrassment, maybe he just assumed I was being coy rather than actually being so dim), T spread his legs a little wider and impatiently shouted “MILK ME!!”.

Now it struck me as the weirdest thing to be asked, but we live in a world where men pay thousands of pounds for latex puppy suits and women strap hooves to their feet to engage in pony play, so I try not to be too judgemental over what someone finds arousing, even when it’s not for me.  I looked at T, now swinging his arse from side to side, and I could see his penis hanging between his legs.  I put that together with his demand to be milked and came to completely the wrong conclusion.  I reached between his legs, took a firm grasp of his penis and began to tug on it like some milkmaid from a regency romance novel waiting for the lord of the manor to come and ravish her.

Fair play to T, he let me pull on his manhood for a couple of minutes before calling a halt to things.  It was pretty obvious by that point that we’d left the fun part of the evening far behind us and had somehow taken a detour into rank embarrassment, so when T said he was going for a smoke I pulled my clothes on with some relief, saying I didn’t want to miss my train.

Bearing in mind at this point I’d still no idea what T wanted when he asked for me to milk him, I wasn’t too keen on a repeat performance.  As we took the lift to the street I said that I thought T was looking for something more kinky than I was up for at that point (I thought he wanted his udder pulled, which is pretty fucking kinky in my book), and told him I would leave it for him to get in touch with me if he wanted to see me again.  Somehow it didn’t shock me that he never called.

At least I didn’t moo to set the scene, I guess.