Date: Fri, 8 Jan 2010 12:49:11 -0700
From: Tim Bosley <tim2none@hotmail.com>
Subject: Milkman

Disclaimer: This is a purely work of fiction.  Any resemblance to actual
people or events is coincidental.  If graphic sexual material offends you,
please leave now.  Feedback is welcomed.

I was sitting by the window that morning waiting for the milkman to drop
off a new container of milk.  My step dad drank the last of it the night
before, and I hadn't been able to eat my morning cereal yet.  I'm a little
obsessive compulsive about my breakfast; I just can't start my day until
I've eaten my cereal.  I even had the cereal poured into the bowl, waiting
on the table.  All I needed now was the milk.

At about 10:45 I saw the familiar white truck pull up.  The milkman was
enormous and frightening, and I always stayed inside, peeping through the
curtains when he came to our house.  I watched him every day from my hiding
spot.  He'd step out of his truck, and it would bounce up on its suspension
as soon as it was relieved of his weight.  He'd walk up to our porch with a
wide-stance step that showed just how powerful he was, and he carried one
glass bottle of milk in each of his huge, hairy hands.  His hair and his
full, bushy goatee still had some black in it, but most of it was peppered
gray.  He held his head high as he strut, as if daring the world to fuck
with him.  Normally he would place the two bottles in front of the door,
grab the two empties, get back in his truck and drive off.  I spied on this
routine every day and I don't think he ever saw me in the window; but
sometimes I got the odd feeling that he knew I was there.

Today, for some reason, was different.  He got out of his truck wearing the
usual khakis and blue polo shirt, but he had no fresh milk bottles in his
hand.  He walked up to the door, picked up the two empty bottles and began
walking away.  I didn't know what to do.  I was terrible at confrontations,
but I needed that milk.  I opened the door timidly and managed to squeak
out, "Excuse me, sir?"  He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around,
clearly annoyed at the inconvenience.  Fear now tightened in my chest, but
I continued.

"I... I think you forgot to give us our milk," I stammered.

"Kid, there's a milk shortage," he said coldly, "we got none.  You shoulda
gotten an email about it this morning."

"But I... I need that milk for my-"

He started walking toward me aggressively and I cut myself off, backing
into the doorway.

"What did I just tell you?" he demanded.  Then, stopping at the porch
steps, his face lightened slightly.

"You're that kid who's always starin' at me through the window, ain't ya?"

My stomach dropped.  How did he know?  I hadn't even fully admitted my
fascination to myself yet, how could I have let him know?

"Come here," he said.

I hesitantly stepped out of the doorway and onto the porch, but kept my
distance.

"You some kinda fag, boy?" he asked with a smirk on his lips.  The word
stung, because at the age of 17, I still hadn't figured myself out.  It was
a sensitive question for me.

"No, sir," I said.

"Bullshit," he sneered, moving up the porch steps, "I know a fuckin' queer
when I see one.  You just don't know it yet."

I turned around, wanting desperately to get inside and out of this
humiliating situation, but I felt his large hand grab hold of my arm and
keep me from moving.  I turned to face him, the panic clearly expressed on
my face.

"Hey you know what?" he said casually, "I just remembered.  I do keep a
little extra milk in case of emergency situations.  You want it?"

"Um, ok," I said, willing to say anything just to end this.

"That's what I thought," he said.  He seized me by the throat and roughly
pushed me back into my house.  When we were inside, he slammed the door
behind him and forced me up against a wall.

"Please sir," I whispered as I gasped for air, "please don't hurt me."

He leaned into me, his face so close to mine that I could feel the warmth
of his breath.

"You do exactly what I tell you," he growled, "and I won't have to hurt
you.  Understand?"

With his hand still clasped tightly around my neck, I nodded as best I
could.  My eyes were welling up with tears.

"Good," he said, and spit on me, hitting me in the eye and on my cheek.

He released my throat and placed his hand on top of my head, then pushed
down.  I had no choice but to slide down the wall onto my knees.  I sat
there watching in horror as he unbuckled his black leather belt, undid his
pants button and slid down his zipper.  He didn't drop his pants, but
instead reached inside and pulled out his thick, fleshy 8 inch cock.  This
sight opened the flood gates and the tears started pouring down my cheeks.

The milkman smacked me hard on the cheek with his right hand and said
fiercely, "stop crying, bitch!"

I tried to stop, but I couldn't control what had now become breathless,
panting sobs.

"Open your fucking mouth," he ordered.

"Please don't make me..." I gasped in between ragged breaths.

He slapped me again, harder this time.

"I'm not going to tell you again!"

I was so scared that he had me completely under his control.  I did as I
was told as he slowly stroked his own half-erect dick.  He entered my mouth
like it belonged to him and put it in until his cockhead hit the back of my
throat.

"Now suck," he commanded.

My lips closed around his shaft and I could feel his heartbeat pulsing
blood to his organ.  I slowly pulled my head back until just the head was
still inside, then pushed forward.  The milkman let out a soft moan as I
did it.  He put his hand on top of my head as I built a rhythm sliding up
and down his stiffening meat.  Since my mouth was full, I had to breathe
through my nose, and it was the first time I noticed the man's smell.  It
was a heavy animal musk, sweet and pungent, and overpoweringly masculine.
It had a calming effect on me, almost like a sedative drug.  My fear eased
its vice grip and my desire to resist the man's authority was lessened.

"Faster," the man said, and I sped up my pace.

"That's good," he cooed, "you keep that up and you'll get all of that milk
you wanted."

He leaned over me to grab the blue t-shirt I was wearing.  When he did it,
his belly forced me to turn my head sideways as I continued working his
massive hardon. He pulled my shirt up over my head, removing his cock from
my mouth momentarily. Once my t-shirt was off, he invited himself back
inside and I resumed sucking him off.  He then pulled his own shirt off his
body, revealing what I'd only been able to imagine before.  His shoulders
were broad and powerful, supporting thick, muscular arms with a couple of
tattoos.  His belly suited him well.  It didn't make him look fat, just
solid and sturdy.  His stomach and chest were covered with course, dark
hair, sprinkled with gray.

"Good slut," he said as I blew him faster now, "You like sucking my big
cock, don't you boy?"

With my mouth still crammed full of his meat, I cast my eyes up at him.  He
gave me a look that told me there was only one right answer to that
question, so I nodded and mumbled, "mm-hmm".

"I knew you were a little faggot," he said, clearly very pleased with
himself. "Come here."

He grabbed me roughly by my hair and yanked me to my feet.  He let his
pants drop to the floor and stepped out of them.  He pulled me over to the
dining room table, keeping my head down low so I had to bend over as I
followed him.  He lifted me up and almost slammed me down on the table.  I
was on my back and he pulled me closer to him so that my head hung off the
end.

"Open wide and say ah," he ordered.  I obeyed.

"I love you little fucking teenagers," he commented, "always so eager to
please." He had the shaft of his cock in one hand and he stepped closer to
my face.  His big heavy balls hung loose and he dipped them into my mouth.
I could not believe I was being teabagged by the milkman!  I tried not to
think about what was being done to me and just focus on finishing my job
and getting this man out of here.

"Now be a good little whore and lick my balls," he said sweetly as he
caressed the side of my face with his free hand.  My tongue came out and
did what the man wanted.  He stroked up and down the length of his own
thick pole as I polished his nutsack for him.  Once it was glistening with
my spit, he removed his balls and replaced it with his cock.

"Let's see how much cock you can choke down," he said, and inserted it into
my mouth.  Once it hit the back of my throat, he latched onto my
upside-down head with both hands and began to force it down deeper and
deeper.  I was gagging and I couldn't breathe but I was powerless to resist
him.  By the end of this first assault, he had all 8 inches lodged in my
throat and his hips were grinding against my face.

"Fuck yeah!" he shouted, and pulled out of me all at once.  I gasped for
air.  "You're a natural born cocksucker, boy!  You didn't even puke!"

I had felt the contents of my stomach trying to regurgitate, but I had been
able to suppress it.  Plus, I hadn't eaten yet so there wasn't much in
there anyway.

"I'm gonna fuck the shit out of your cute little fucking face," he
announced.

True to his word, he buried his bone in my throat and began thrusting in
and out. Still holding my head for leverage, he sodomized my mouth with
industrial-grade power.  With each penetration, his hip bone knocked my
chin and his heavy balls slapped against my nose.  The only sound I could
make was a sickening wet sloshing that was barely audible over his loud
guttural grunting.  A sloppy mixture of precum and saliva began to ooze out
of my mouth and down my face.

"Yeah," he groaned, "take my cock you fucking whore.  You love being my
fuckdoll, don't you?"

I couldn't answer so he did it for me.

"Yeah, I know you do.  I know you love being my fuckdoll."

He began ramming into me even faster now, and I could tell he was getting
close to orgasm.  This moment was both what I feared most and what I was
looking forward to, because it meant that my ordeal was almost over.

He pulled his saliva-glazed dick out of me and grabbed me by the hair
again.  He pulled me straight off the table and I thudded down on the
floor.

"Now open that mouth bitch," he said, kneeling down over my chest, "I'm
gonna give you that milk I promised you."

My eyes were still streaming tears and about six inches above my face he
was beating himself off.  I had my mouth open as he ordered, dreading what
was coming next.  Panicky fear took hold of me once again as I watched his
nuts dangle under his flying hand.

"You're gonna swallow what I give you now, understand?" he said.

I nodded, and he delivered a blow to my right cheek.

"Tell me!" he snarled, "say 'I'm gonna swallow all of what you give me'!"

"I'm gonna swallow all of what you give me," I repeated.

"That's what I like to hear," he grinned.

He kept stroking his engorged cock and beads of sweat dripped off his
nutsack onto my chest.  Then I saw his balls tighten.

"Here it comes!" and he threw his head back and let out a deafening roar
that all the neighbors could probably hear.  His cum began to pour out of
him and it was so thick that it had no velocity to it.  Instead of
spraying, it flowed out of his convulsing dick and into my mouth like a
river of creamy white semen.  He continued his triumphant roar of ecstasy
and victory for about five or six volleys of his warm fluid, and then it
ramped down to ragged, heavy breaths.  He had been surprisingly accurate
with his enormous load, getting almost all of it in my mouth, and a little
bit around my lips.

His cum was the most supremely repulsive thing I'd ever tasted.  It was
salty and bitter at the same time.  It was like the embodiment of this man
in concentrated form.  It was as if he had injected me with all of his
anger, aggression and sexuality.  In other words, his sperm was the essence
of his masculinity.  And even though it totally disgusted me, I couldn't
deny to myself that there was something intoxicatingly wonderful about it.

"Oh, you fucking whore!" he groaned as he wiped off a dangling drop of cum
on my forehead, "don't swallow it yet."

He summoned up a glob of spit and with careful aim dropped it into my
gaping, jizz-filled mouth.  Then he pinched my nose together and said, "now
take it all down, like a good little cumslut."

I closed my mouth and let the fluid slide down my gullet, only getting the
full taste of him after I swallowed.  He put his softening dick back in my
mouth.

"Keep sucking it, make sure you get every last drop out of there."

I worked on him for a couple more minutes, and got a little bit of leftover
cum. Then the milkman stood up and I sat up.  I could feel his sperm
swimming around in my otherwise empty stomach.

"Did you like what I did to you?"

Knowing what he wanted to hear, I answered, "yes sir, I liked it."

"I know boys like you are all the same," he said, pulling his pants up,
"you kick and you scream like bitches but deep down you love getting fucked
like a whore. How did you like taking my load?"

"I enjoyed it very much, sir."

"You'd better thank me for the milk or I might start to think you're an
ungrateful brat."

"Thank you for giving me your milk, sir," I said.

As I watched him put his shirt back on, the shame started to set in.
Shame, humiliation and confusion were quickly replacing the fear.  I
couldn't believe what this man had done to me.  And worse, I didn't know
how I felt about it.  Was it possible that I did actually like it?  I
realized that not only had the man received what he wanted from me
physically, but mentally, too.  He had wanted me to feel ashamed and
disgusted with myself.  He had stripped me of my pride just as easily as he
had stripped me of my clothes.  And with that, his domination over me was
complete.  He had broken me like a wild horse.  I felt that by swallowing
his seed, I had accepted him as my master.  I belonged to him, and the
shame was crushing.

The milkman laughed to himself as he tucked in his shirt.

"You know, I've been jacking off in your milk every morning for the past
few months," he said, and my eyes must have shown my horror.

"I got you addicted to my cum long ago and you didn't even know it.  Now if
you want it, you're gonna have to work for it."

He headed for the door as I stood up.  At the door, he stopped and turned
to me.

"One more thing," he said, "make me a copy of your house key.  I'm going to
visit you again."