COVID-19 RESOURCES
LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

Udders, hucows, mating and milking

It's funny how zeroing in on a fantasy can bring into relief the differences between it and other, related fantasies. While I've long been interested in mating and milking fantasies, the idea of a woman being milked by a machine (which is for some immediately adjacent to my interests) holds no attraction for me at all. And while I'm totally turned on by a fantasy in which a woman's breasts grow fatter and heavier with milk, including long, thick, udder-like nipples, the idea of a hucow isn't arousing at all for me.

Just funny. My stories are here: http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1302162&page=submissions

Go figure. :)
 
David_Singularity said:
It's funny how zeroing in on a fantasy can bring into relief the differences between it and other, related fantasies. While I've long been interested in mating and milking fantasies, the idea of a woman being milked by a machine (which is for some immediately adjacent to my interests) holds no attraction for me at all. And while I'm totally turned on by a fantasy in which a woman's breasts grow fatter and heavier with milk, including long, thick, udder-like nipples, the idea of a hucow isn't arousing at all for me.

Just funny. My stories are here: http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=1302162&page=submissions

Go figure. :)
Click to expand...

Like all fantasies and fetishes I guess there are many levels.

The machine aspect turns me on but then so would the being milked by hand.

However the full hucow "let's wear a cow mask" thing is a real turn OFF.

as you say, go figure
 
MilkFountain said:
I'm not sure which of the "topics" you want to hear a story about, so I don't know if this qualifies:

In reality my wife is eye-candy, petite, tautly curvy and has been that way, she says, since she began developing at about 9 years old. She has nearly black hair, cinnamon colored skin and, at times, dark red, almost black nipples. I loved her breasts before pregnancy. I lovingly watched their changes during pregnancy. From comparatively virgin, small buds, her areolas became looser, broader and darker; her nipples lengthened and, for me, almost impossible to believe, her breasts swelled to be both youthfully high again but at the same time more maturely full.

But then, our baby was born, and I became obsessively fascinated by her milk. And . . . I discovered how high, tight and sometimes painfully full her breasts became in the early morning. I loved her more for them.

Not just anyone's milk, but HER milk. And not just by the sight of her breasts, but by how other men (and women) looked at her. Even in the kitchen, while she prepared a meal, I'd come up between her and the sink, nod up under her blouse or t-shirt, and while she did her best to stir, rinse or carve, nuzzle between her breasts and then suck on a nipple, then the other, drawing the nipple into my throat and as much of her breast as I could into my mouth.

One morning, sitting across from her, I asked her to push back the chair, stand and lean over toward me. I pulled her t-shirt from her shorts and tucked it up above her breasts. I milked her into my coffee. She was astonished and delighted, blushing and smiling at me as with both hands I drew her milk through toward her nipples. Careful not to squeeze them, I let her letdown do all the work. Streams came, some of them wetting the tablecloth. But the sizzle into the slowly diluting coffee of the principal ones I aimed, aroused me so much my hands were shaking.

I loved it the two times our best friend came over and I encouraged my wife to add her milk to his coffee right at the table. The first time, his eyes almost popped out. The second time, I'm now sure he had been thinking about it, anticipating it. One of the first things he shyly said was, "I hope you've got some of that delicious coffee ready!"

That time he watched. No, stared . . . hungrily, I'd say. His mouth was slightly ajar and I saw he had difficulty breathing. My wife blushed with pleasure. Although it didn't seem possible, I was sure her breasts swelled even more than the usual early morning engorgement. She took some time getting them to flow. At first, they were so tight, so full, that even stroking forward, she produced only a few palely milky drops. Then little geysers appeared, so thin you could see the individual droplets in stream as they arced onto the tablecloth, the cup and her forearm. Finally, when the letdown came, she had to lean far forward, so close to his cup, that in trying to make all the streams into the coffee, her nipple was level with the lip of the cup and so close to the surface of the steaming liquid, that the thicker streams made a deep pock in the surface as the coffee went from black to mud, to tan. At one point she looked up and asked him, "Is that enough?" and all he answered was, "Never."

She blushed, her smile so broad it lit her eyes, and we saw that suddenly her letdown came in spate―a thick stream gurgling, little, forcibly directed ones sizzling into the coffee, then rising as her letdown increased to spatter the tablecloth.

I leaned from where I sat beside her, and caught up the free, sympathetically dribbling nipple in my mouth. I couldn't swallow fast enough. So I did the same as when I try to chug down a beer: opened my throat, let it fill, and held my breath. I turned her to me. I felt spray from the other breast on my cheek, opened an eye, and saw that, in turning, all the milk from the other breast was then spraying the plates, silverware and tablecloth.

With one hand I beckoned our friend to come to us. When he pulled up a chair close to hers on the other side of me, I pulled his shoulder to bring him down to her breast. He and I have both done this once more, just recently. She masturbated him while we sucked.
Click to expand...

So ridiculously hot. Not into human cows, but that little story is awesome :)
 
MilkFountain said:
I'm not sure which of the "topics" you want to hear a story about, so I don't know if this qualifies:

In reality my wife is eye-candy, petite, tautly curvy and has been that way, she says, since she began developing at about 9 years old. She has nearly black hair, cinnamon colored skin and, at times, dark red, almost black nipples. I loved her breasts before pregnancy. I lovingly watched their changes during pregnancy. From comparatively virgin, small buds, her areolas became looser, broader and darker; her nipples lengthened and, for me, almost impossible to believe, her breasts swelled to be both youthfully high again but at the same time more maturely full.

But then, our baby was born, and I became obsessively fascinated by her milk. And . . . I discovered how high, tight and sometimes painfully full her breasts became in the early morning. I loved her more for them.

Not just anyone's milk, but HER milk. And not just by the sight of her breasts, but by how other men (and women) looked at her. Even in the kitchen, while she prepared a meal, I'd come up between her and the sink, nod up under her blouse or t-shirt, and while she did her best to stir, rinse or carve, nuzzle between her breasts and then suck on a nipple, then the other, drawing the nipple into my throat and as much of her breast as I could into my mouth.

One morning, sitting across from her, I asked her to push back the chair, stand and lean over toward me. I pulled her t-shirt from her shorts and tucked it up above her breasts. I milked her into my coffee. She was astonished and delighted, blushing and smiling at me as with both hands I drew her milk through toward her nipples. Careful not to squeeze them, I let her letdown do all the work. Streams came, some of them wetting the tablecloth. But the sizzle into the slowly diluting coffee of the principal ones I aimed, aroused me so much my hands were shaking.

I loved it the two times our best friend came over and I encouraged my wife to add her milk to his coffee right at the table. The first time, his eyes almost popped out. The second time, I'm now sure he had been thinking about it, anticipating it. One of the first things he shyly said was, "I hope you've got some of that delicious coffee ready!"

That time he watched. No, stared . . . hungrily, I'd say. His mouth was slightly ajar and I saw he had difficulty breathing. My wife blushed with pleasure. Although it didn't seem possible, I was sure her breasts swelled even more than the usual early morning engorgement. She took some time getting them to flow. At first, they were so tight, so full, that even stroking forward, she produced only a few palely milky drops. Then little geysers appeared, so thin you could see the individual droplets in stream as they arced onto the tablecloth, the cup and her forearm. Finally, when the letdown came, she had to lean far forward, so close to his cup, that in trying to make all the streams into the coffee, her nipple was level with the lip of the cup and so close to the surface of the steaming liquid, that the thicker streams made a deep pock in the surface as the coffee went from black to mud, to tan. At one point she looked up and asked him, "Is that enough?" and all he answered was, "Never."

She blushed, her smile so broad it lit her eyes, and we saw that suddenly her letdown came in spate―a thick stream gurgling, little, forcibly directed ones sizzling into the coffee, then rising as her letdown increased to spatter the tablecloth.

I leaned from where I sat beside her, and caught up the free, sympathetically dribbling nipple in my mouth. I couldn't swallow fast enough. So I did the same as when I try to chug down a beer: opened my throat, let it fill, and held my breath. I turned her to me. I felt spray from the other breast on my cheek, opened an eye, and saw that, in turning, all the milk from the other breast was then spraying the plates, silverware and tablecloth.

With one hand I beckoned our friend to come to us. When he pulled up a chair close to hers on the other side of me, I pulled his shoulder to bring him down to her breast. He and I have both done this once more, just recently. She masturbated him while we sucked.
Click to expand...

Wow, that is just incredible.
 
You really know . . .

frosty3610 said:
I loved it when my wife was engorged and needed help I took turns sucking each nipple and then she rolled on top and we started to fuck her tits were leaking all over me. I miss that
Click to expand...

In a few words you said it all! My wife loved me for encouraging her to share with others a couple of times. Eventually, for several months she completely replaced cows milk in our kichen with hers.
 
ErectDesire said:
Everyone wants to suck a breast bursting with milk.

This is a profound statement, going to the heart of how comfort, eroticism, need and passion coincide. A true lover is selfishly wholly self centered, and unselfishly giving at the same time. Giving is receiving. When we fear not doing the "right thing" at the "right moment" gives way to merely wanting to do something at a whim, with near total disregard for our partner, we are at the same time giving them our experience of their body--which is exactly what they came to you for.

Your use of the word "bursting" in this context says it all: her great need to give and to relieve is the perfect answer to our until-that-moment unrequited screaming want to be satisfied.

When I wake before dawn, immediately conscious of my wife beside me, her passive-agressive femaleness unself-consciously waiting for me to recognize her need, my burgeoning "morning wood" responds, swelling, seeking her softness. It is then I snake an arm beneath her waist, draw her entire body onto me, burrow, find a nipple, and allowing the flesh of her breast to settle soft, hot and heavy on my face, that I draw into me the sweetness of all that is female, draw aroma-conscious breath in through nose and mouth, through half opened eye, my seeking hands and rampant cock, to marry my need with hers. Her milk flows into me, at first in thin driblets, then flow and finally, gouts of musky-sweet mother's milk, as my "milk" clamors for release into her.
Click to expand...
 
Last edited:
Discovery . . .

While my wife sits astride a friend--impaled and facing his feet, she leaves the sight of her ceaselessly rising and falling thighs and bottom to inspire him to penetrate her deeper and greater, hip-straining force--I kneel between their legs to latch onto a breast, or both, squeezing them together so that the nipples become one in my mouth. Then, the oxytocin hormone that his ceaselessly pounding thrusts bring to life in her such a milk letdown that my mouth and throat are flooded. I cannot swallow fast enough. I feel through her body, quite consciously, that his bone-erect cock drives the hormone to produce and eject her milk into my mouth. mouth full of breast, I'm grateful to him. Going from one breast to the other, I cough when milk goes down the wrong pipe. Once I sneezed milk out through my nose.

Recently, last week, the friend, a boy really, only 25 years old, was so turned on by the situation, that he unexpectedly and powerfully left all three of us astonished, if not appalled: He explained afterward that he began to lose consciousness as his climax took him by surprise. It was so sudden, he said, and so overwhelming, like "a lightning strike," that the promise he'd solemnly made to her and to me not to finish inside her had ". . . no chance to reach [his] brain" (his words). Without my wife or I being aware, he'd emptied into her "in one go," as he put it, one of those hollow bellied, leg weakening, spine draining climaxes.

I could see it on his sweat-sheened, exhausted face.

It wasn't until she asked, still astride him, why he'd stopped, that he confessed he'd already cum. When I lifted her bottom off his belly, his semen dropped out of her momentarily gaping cunt and overflowed my hand. I turned my wrist so that the palmful slid down over his cock, sliding slowly lower until it pooled in his pubic hair. His semen soaked dark curls looked to me like a bed of ocean seaweed afloat in milk.

At least half a minute had passed since his climax, so I'm still waiting for her period. Although I haven't mentioned this worry to her, I think I will bring the subject up to see what she thinks, what she feels.
 
Last edited:
MilkFountain said:
While my wife sits astride a friend--impaled and facing his feet, she leaves the sight of her ceaselessly rising and falling thighs and bottom to inspire him to penetrate her deeper and greater force--I kneel between their legs to latch onto a breast, or both, squeezing them so that the nipples come together, to suck. Then, the oxytocin hormone that his thrusts bring to life in her produce such a milk letdown that my mouth and throat are flooded. I cannot swallow fast enough. Going from one breast to athe other, I cough when milk goes down the wrong pips, and once I sneezed milk out through my nose.

Recently, last week, the friend, a boy really, only 25 years old, was so turned on by the situation, that he unexpectedly and powerfully left all three of us astonished: He explained afterward that he began to lose consciousness as his climax took him totally and by surprise. It was so sudden and so overwhelming that the promise he'd solemnly made to her and to me not to finish inside her had ". . . no chance to reach [his] brain" (his words). Without my wife or I being aware, he'd emptied into her "in one go," as he put it, one of those hollow bellied, leg weakening, spine draining climaxes. I could see it on his face.

It wasn't until she asked, still astride him, why he'd stopped, that he confessed he'd already cum. When I lifted her bottom off his belly, a palmful of semen that overflowed my hand dropped out of her momentarily gaping cunt onto his cock. It it drooled down to pool in his pubic hair, making it look like a milky, floating bed of ocean seaweed. At least half a minute had passed since his climax, so I'm still waiting for her period. Although I haven't mentioned this worry to her, I think I will bring the subject up to see what she thinks, what she feels.
Click to expand...

I do love your stories, Milk Fountain ;)
 
Not really into the whole hucow stuff, but I've been getting into ANR (Adult Nursing Relationship) thoughts for awhile now.

It's something that can be both sexy, but intimate as well. You'd be surprised how many women out there have the ability, but are desperate for someone to share it with. It's almost sad.
 
It is good to see my friend MilkFountain here again! I have always enjoyed reading his erotic tales.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

TheMalevolence
  • Locked
Rate that FETISH!
Replies
0
Views
3K
TheMalevolence
TheMalevolence
S
Hucow stories
Replies
18
Views
4K
SteelPoint
S
B
Not sure what plot to work on
Replies
1
Views
813
sirhugs
sirhugs
RightField
The unvarnished truth - politics and economic factors shaping the US and the world
4 5 6
Replies
134
Views
6K
koalabear
koalabear
P
  • Locked
I Demand An Immediate Retraction And Apology
9 10 11
Replies
259
Views
11K
AH_Mod
AH_Mod
Back
Top