MILK

The digital radio alarm clock blinked its red display. 11:46.

Lauren leaned back on the king-sized bed, her upper body propped up against the oversized square pillows. Her enormous, heavy breasts retained their fullness of shape despite their weight and her position.

William stood a foot away from the mattress edge. A giant of a man. Six-foot-six and his entire frame muscularly proportionate.

Lauren’s eyes dilated in focus, only skimming his aqua blue eyes before unashamedly taking in the sight of his body: the light blonde hair on his chest, the thickness of his tattooed forearms, and his swollen, oversized cock. Jesus Christ. That cock.

She watched it twitch. His foreskin retracted from the swell; she never recalled seeing the head so purple, so bulbous. A long stream of translucent liquid slowly leaked outwards, hanging from the edge like a silken thread.

The twitching. The veins. God, he was fucking thick.

Everything that came next was impulsive and almost involuntary.

Lauren took a deep breath in. No nerves—just pure instinct.

William had his own focus. The swell of her breasts, adorned with nipples that kept him visibly insane. Her areolae were wide and almost invisibly pink, but the arousal brought them together, erect and tight. Now they stood prominent and darker, with ridges and bumps that he knew by heart, yet still he craved more.

His balls ached—a pain he had never felt before, a tension he had never experienced. The strain for release had gone beyond past encounters, and beyond indulgence with former lovers.

Something about Lauren’s body, her flesh—the way it physically wrapped around him was other-worldly.

The shaking had started in her hands. Her throat felt drier than only a few moments prior. Her pure, milk-white skin was heavily contrasted against her long, almost black hair. With her almond-brown eyes appearing darker, smokier, as William held her gaze.

She slowly and purposefully spread her legs open. A show, as much as an invitation.

Right, then left. The fat flesh of her belly elevated her enormous breasts further and framed the thickness of her thighs. The immaculate centre that hypnotised him, like a moth to a flame.

Perfect. Immaculate. Centre.

He’d fucked his fair share of women, but had never seen a pussy like that in his entire life. It seemed absurd that such beauty could exist between a woman’s legs.

He stared.

Hairless. Flawless.

That pale, white skin was almost indistinguishable from the shade of ultra-light pink, where Lauren had carefully crafted and removed any evidence of hair.

That line. Just a soft, smooth, perfect line. It was artwork.

“Oh, I fucking know what you want,” she said. Her voice almost cracked. Her face almost snarled.

“I want it. I want it, too” she added firmly.

He knew what she wanted, and now his entire body was flushed with waves of heat. The twitching seemed almost impossibly more intense.

He gulped deeply, but it wasn’t nerves. He wasn’t remotely hesitant. He’d held back his desires many times with her, knowing, sensing that she had a fire inside just waiting to be ignited. And now it was manifesting. Burning inside of her. Spilling out with words she’d never before uttered.

With speed, he dropped to his knees, his waist almost level with the height of the bedframe. The noise he made was one of hunger—a deep growl of satisfaction as he lifted her thighs over his shoulders and brought her effortlessly closer.

He was locked in place, his face buried within inches of the radiating heat of her skin. The weight of her thick thighs pressed heavily down against his muscular shoulders, pinning him into the mattress edge. He felt his own involuntary trembling, struggling to maintain control as her scent flooded him—that sweet, addictive aroma once again filling his lungs. A whisper away from her flawless line, his mouth hovering, the image imprinting itself behind his eyes before first contact.

Her noises were somewhere between a whimper and a shout. A frustration that he was there but had stopped. Denial, but for a short moment, created an eruption in her desire. “I fucking want it! I fucki…” Her words came from behind clenched teeth and grew almost inaudible, failing to express what she felt. The energy between them was electrically charged and words became meaningless. His fingers dug into her inner thighs, purposely squeezing so hard, that she was on the cusp of pain. It was what she wanted. What she had asked for. "Make it unbearable.” One of the highlights of her many text messages before he had arrived. One of the many desires that she had laid out to him in writing, with clarity. Her hips bucked and she began writhing, desperate for him to stop wasting time, to stop torturing her for any longer.

​Finally, she felt it. His wide, extended tongue. There was nothing gentle about it, unlike their many previous encounters. This was unrestrained. He pushed his tongue through the lips of that flawless pussy and separated the layers of her burning-hot core.

​Then she looked down. Her elevation, just enough to directly observe in full detail, his mouth and tongue; slurping, licking, penetrating.

Watching him whilst also feeling him inside her body was mesmerising.

​His thirst was insatiable.

​He had licked her clean and tasted her juices innumerable times before, but this was different. This was raw. Hungry. Relentless.

​His mouth shimmered as the lamp reflected off the wetness upon his lips. He was trying desperately hard to taste her deeper, straining his jaw to force his tongue past its usual limits.

​Lauren growled, finally grabbing his thick blonde hair. For the first time, she pinned him in place and began grinding against his face. The gentle lover had gone from her act.

​The noises weren’t limited to their voices and groans. His lapping motion had teased out a slow trickle of her wetness. Pulsing stronger from her aching walls as he continued fucking her with his tongue, punctuated by the slower, occasional sucking of her burning-hot clit.

It was inevitable.

The crash. The wave.

The moment of being entirely consumed. The paralysing accumulation of ecstatic pleasure held her in place while he drank down her pouring nectar.

​Lauren had no idea where she was and, for a brief moment, who she was.

​She gradually sobered. After one final, slow and deliberate lick, he cleaned her from the cleft of her ass cheeks to the hood of her clit, sucking it slowly in admiration.

​William stood again, throwing her weak legs off his shoulders before pressing into them with the palms of his hands.

​As she fell back into reality, she heard his laboured breathing and saw his arms tremble.

He pushed her thighs wide open again, testing her pain threshold. His body weight almost forced her hips beyond their limits.

​He struggled to focus as he looked into her clouded eyes. His kiss was wild, his tongue snaking into her mouth.

​She adored the taste of her own flavour. His hand grabbed her face, her jaw, then her throat.

​A signal of intent. A symbol of his status.

​He moved his hands further down. Both of them.

​Her breasts heaved, swollen with excitement. She whimpered as he turned his head and bit firmly into her nipples, one by one. He sucked hard and rough. Then his thumbs and his forefingers. Pinching. Pulling. She took a deep breath—a yelp of pain, but a further desire to be fulfilled.

​“Fucking yank them. Bite down on them. My tits are yours.” Her text message had said.

More desires laid out in writing. And there he was. It was real now.

​It was almost unexpected at first, but the shock caused her to wince. A short, sharp slap across her face. A burning sensation followed. Her eyes became watery and her heart pounded.

​Again, she found her voice. “Fucking OWN me.”

​She looked at him. Their eyes locked. Another brief moment of pause. She smiled, her tongue licking the inner crease of her lips. “Use me, William.”

​His groans and growls suddenly muted. His trembling calmed. His movement was calculated.

​He looked down between her legs. The pressure of his hands had left a redness; his fingertips had caused light bruising. He looked back at her face. Her cheeks were flushed claret, and her right cheek now marked with finger lines from the slap.

​There was no nudging, nor any slow entry. It wasn’t required. Her once-tight pussy had long since loosened over the months, accommodating his thickness with ease.

​Still, the elastic softness of her labia and stretching walls always weakened him from the first thrust. From one fuck to the next, he never knew if he’d explode immediately, or last for hours - as was their usual custom.

​But now, he didn’t care. This had little to do with holding out and everything to do with ownership.

​Sure, she was used to his size, but not this.

​He thrust his cock up her hole so rapidly, that she felt his first penetration through her whole body. And he repeated it. And repeated it. The depth, the power. The speed. His entire torso slammed against her in a way she had never experienced.

​That cock, despite its familiarity, now felt like a brand new sensation.

​He pushed everything into her, resting his own hips between hers. His mouth chewed against her tits, as well as her neck.

​Faster. Fucking deeper.

​Harder.

​Surely to climax again so soon wasn’t possible, was it? This wasn’t on the surface. Her centre of existence was being summoned, her face contorting and shamelessly expressive.

​He fucked her with ferocity, her screams barely able to keep up in pace. Each breath she took, he thrusted twice more.

​He pulled her hair and arched his torso, burying himself like he belonged there. He knew she was close. Her cunt began pouring and loosening further; each time he pulled out, her walls opened a little more.

​The noises from his balls slapping against her ass and the splashing of her flowing juices created a vortex of pent up energy.

​Lauren wailed. A continuous, ongoing scream.

​He didn’t stop. Neither did she.

He could barely see through his own clouded vision. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her breasts and fleshy belly. Her tits swayed as her mouth gaped open and her head tilted back.

That was it. He felt it. Her inner walls expanded and he felt the very back of her cavernous structure with the tip of his cock.

Too much. Unstoppable.

He trembled again, but then he shook. He groaned.

His slut. His lover. His secret.

His seed.

She wrapped her legs around him. “Drain those fucking balls inside me baby, put it all in there.”

His roar was untamed—a transcendent passing of time as sparks flashed in his eyes. Pulsing and spraying. His soul draining into her.

How many times had he cum inside her over the many months of their affair? Too many to count, yet still the sensation increased.

That pain, that ache—his balls retracted and flowed into her like a rushing river.

Lauren was frozen in the deep satisfaction of draining that beast. She never grew bored.

His deep growls vibrated through his chest before falling to a whimper.

Yet still, he wasn’t done.

William brought himself up to his knees, not allowing his cock to go soft inside her. He pulled out. No hesitation. No patience.

The slurping pop was loudly audible. Her pink hole partially gaped, her walls still relaxed.

His shaft was still twitching and hypersensitive. Glistening. Coated in her juices and streams of creamy white.

She stared at it again. His foreskin partly rolled back, his entire length a purple-red from blood flow. His veins appeared like thick ropes under his skin.

She didn’t get a chance to say anything as he stood up on the bed. The mattress compressed as his feet sank in, almost causing him to stumble but he paid no heed to the clumsiness.

His desire hadn’t reduced. His cock hadn’t softened at all.

He put his hands into her sweat-damp hair, clumping it into his palms.

She knew.

Her mouth instinctively opened. She lifted her hands and put them on his buttocks, offering a silent invite.

The taste was both sweet and bitter. He’d fucked her so hard that she’d left layers of herself coating his length.

He pushed. No time to suck him slowly or clean. This was the first time Lauren had ever dared try to open her throat. It was almost impulsive to do so. The retching came immediately, but her throat had no time to reject it.

The sensation of not being able to vomit whilst gagging was almost too much. She submissively tapped his ass and he pulled his cock from her throat, now coated in saliva alongside everything else.

Her deep gasp inward left her light-headed, but she chose to overcome it. To go beyond her senses.

Short, deep breaths in, she tilted her head back once more and looked up at his face. He leaned over her, making a judgment on whether or not to continue. In spite of the raging desire, his senses were always intact.

For the briefest of moments, he stroked her face and offered her an exit, but she finally spoke. “Carry on.”

It didn’t need a follow-up sentence.

The hardness of his shaft seemed impossibly rigid. Harder still than when he was fucking her. She tried to focus on the thought of becoming more submissive, becoming his object, but her instinct was powerful and she was untrained.This time her eyes scrunched. She panicked and pulled her entire body away, his girth unplugging from her airways and allowing her one more gasping recovery.

​“It’s too much for you. I see that now.”

​“No. It’s not that, it’s just...” Her voice tapered off momentarily.

​A realisation. A self-reflection. She knew full well what she meant. “Use me. Own me.” Every ounce of her soul had finally verbalised it, but now she saw the disconnect between her existing ability and desires of her mind.

​“It’s okay,” he said softly.

​She couldn’t distinguish between his role and his reality. She was lost in it herself. All of those text messages to him, craving to become nothing—to become his object. Was that really her?

​“I just need a glass of water.”

​But she noticed. Despite his soft assurances, his girth still twitched. Throbbed. It ached.

She could see it as he loomed over her. But even in her moment of doubt, she remained infatuated.

Did other women stare at dicks the way she did?

Just seeing that raw, pulsing flesh weakened her.

​Again, she was unsure. She chastised herself. Stupid bitch. Why did you stop?

​The doubt crept in. She stared at the glass of water on the bedside cabinet. The transparent curvature warped the framed wedding photo behind it, almost removing her husband from the image entirely. But she saw herself in her wedding dress. She looked fat. William fucking loved it.

That flesh. Those rolls. Those monstrous tits and her self-hatred.

​He stepped down from the bed, and his penis swung almost comically, slapping against his own thigh.

​She gulped the water down and looked back at him.

​William stared at her. His arousal was like a disorder. No matter how often they managed to get together, he always came multiple times. She wondered if he even had a limit. She also wondered if his desires had a limit. The water didn’t quench her thirst. It was only a pause. A moment to doubt. But doubt was not her friend.

“Stretch my cunt open. Make me gape. I want your fist inside me.”

Sure, she had said it. Typed it out. But did she mean it?

This wasn’t about being an unfaithful whore. Though he’d never called her that to her face, she knew what she was and so did he.

It didn’t matter that he was also married. He must have fucked a hundred other women but she was his whore. His object. Nobody else’s. An absurd irony. Lauren was unfaithfully committed to one other man...