Written by Nigel
14 Oct 2009
Having my wife milked- Part One
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My wife, Victoria, re touched her make up and put on some nice silver earrings and a necklace. She brushed out her shoulder length strawberry hair. Blue eye shadow, black mascara and eyeliner and pale foundation made her look very baby faced.
I enjoyed looking at her smooth pink naked body, still petite and slim, except for her bulging pregnant tummy and milk laden breasts. Her nipples were so much bigger with all the milk pressing to be released. Her hips seemed to accentuate by pregnancy.
She looked exquisite, nervous and embarrassed as I watched her pull on a pair of white lace trimmed full briefs and then an open bottom corsolet. It hugged her feminine fertile little figure. As she pulled it up her body, it pulled the panties tight between her slender legs, outlining her bald pussy mound. I watched in delight as she struggled to fit her heavy breast into the lacy top of the corsolet.
I have a thing about black silk seamed stockings and had bought her a lot of pairs. She had even worn them to work as a nurse, which was really sexy. Anyway, seeing her little blonde head looking down at her suspender straps and making sure her seams were straight was really sexy. When she went to put on white full slip, I commanded ‘No’ that is all you are going to wear under your coat. She protested, but I insisted. I was in a high state of sexual arousal and desperate to see my fantasy fulfilled. I wanted anyone who saw us snogging to be in no doubt that my pregnant wife was sexually available.
The sight of her standing there in a very virgin white open bottom girdle, a little triangle of satin panty vee peeping out just above her stocking tops was intoxicating. The four-inch white high heels she was wearing thrust the shining satin front panel of the corsolete stretched across her tummy and her hips forward. I wanted to take her out in the street dressed like that, to expose and humiliate her to all. But I realised she had to wear a coat. She selected a knee length silk evening coat and a small evening back to enhance her feminine allure.
It was chilly, with autumn well on its way, and dark except for street lighting. Victoria’s heels made delightful little click clacking sounds on the pavement as we made our way down to the seedy flats and the path that led up to the entrance. It was raised on pillars of concrete, with a cubic area at the base, where the entrance was. Victoria held my hand as I led her into the grim location and to the far side, but in sight of the entrance. She did not look up until I pushed her against the wall and pulled her coat open. At five foot eight, I am only a little taller than Victoria’s five feet. I have no illusions about being rampantly masculine, but something came over me as I imagined rough cruel hands between Victoria’s pretty feminine thighs, squeezing her pussy mound.
Her little face was pressed hard against my shirt as I felt her up for all I was worth. My prick was hard inside my pants. I pressed my face down on her blonde head, taking heavy slugs of her perfume and mauling her for all I was worth. I heard myself calling her a sexy little slut. It seemed to go on forever. I was a man in an infinite sea, drowning in my own desire.
Then I pulled back, stooping to kiss my wife’s full painted lips. It was an exciting feeling out her on a rough estate, where our sort did not normally go. I could see her swollen breasts. I squeezed them gently and felt the moisture of her milk being absorbed by the pretty white lace around the bulging cups of her corsolet. I carried on squeezing her left breasts with my right hand while rubbing my other hand over the shimmering white satin panel of her tight corsolete. This little woman, leaning against a rough tower block wall, her expensive coat open, with stark white underwear and stocking tops on display, looked exquisitely vulnerable. In that moment I heard male voices and felt fear. They were coming our way and they were raucous and many. Suddenly I felt fear and covered Victoria with my body. My prick was harder than ever. In a moment of madness, I made put a hand on each side of Victoria’s black silk coat and pulled it wide open, before pulling away from her and leaning on the wall, next to her. As the men approached, they could see everything that she had on under her coat. On her high heels, she was not going to run anywhere. I counted seven big rough looking males in the murky light of that night.
This was the early 1980s. These guys were down on their luck. They were pretty close when I realised two of them were black. This really excited me, but I was still scared. Victoria was looking down at her feet. I just stared at them. Two of the white guys were really fat and bald. They looked well over fifty. Apart from one of the black guys, who were a young Rasta, they were all over forty. All of them were staring at my wife’s perfectly outlined and very vulnerable feminine form
‘What de f—k is goin on here man? Said the older black man, veering toward my wife. I smelt beer on his breath as he approached. You asking for trouble round here dressed like that little girl. His friends formed a half circle behind him as he placed a big black hand on the white satin covered bulge of my wife’s pregnant tummy. His leathery skin formed a smile, but there was contempt in his voice. ‘You got de bun in de oven bitch. Did de little white boy give it to you? Or are you a whore? Then maybe you don’t know de daddy.’ My wife carried on looking at her feet. One of his hands moved between Victoria’s legs, the other one cupped a breast and started squeezing it. ‘You got big tits for a little girl.’ His fingers were pinching her nipple.’ He turned to his mates with a look of delight: ‘Hey man, dis bitch is a milker. Come on. Com and feel these big fat juicy tits. We gonna have some fun wid dis slut.’