Milk Bar 1

>>> This is just a quick scene I've had sitting in my drafts for a while -- hope to expand it to a fuller story when more inspiration strikes! <<<

The man beckoning me over has broad shoulders and a dark beard flecked with silver. I make sure to swing my hips as I pick my way through the crowded room to him so my heavy tits sway and jiggle until they threaten to spill out of my flimsy milkmaid uniform. Even though I just finished servicing a table of four, my teats are already straining painfully with each bounce and bulging obscenely through the thin white bodice. I've been one of the tavern's top milk producers lately, and while that keeps my customers satisfied and keeps me from receiving too much punishment from the managers, it comes at cost. I have to pump constantly in my off hours, even in my sleep, so my poor tits never feel that their supply has met the demand.

And if I go more than a few minutes without finding customers to suckle them both, the consequences are painful, and the puddles of milk draw unwanted attention from the managers. Of course, my massive milk production has left me with perpetually engorged tits almost twice the size of my head, and the never-ending suckling and pumping has made my nipples huge and constantly swollen and sensitive. The less sadistic managers let me carry my tits from table to table on a tray, but the man running the floor tonight loves to see us milkmaids suffer.

As soon as I'm an arm's length away from the bearded customer, he reaches out with large, calloused hands to roughly grab my throbbing teats through the coarse fabric of my dress and uses them to tug me towards him. He spins me around and pulls me into his lap. I can feel his hot breath in my ear as he wraps one of his powerful arms around my tightly corseted waist, securing my arms against my sides. With his free hand, he yanks down the flimsy bodice of my dress to expose my massive tits. I watch as he traces a finger around my areola, which is such a pale pink that the veins are clearly visible through it and so distended with milk that the skin appears shiny. He puts just enough pressure to make my teat throb for release but not enough to actually provide any.

The customer brings his face next to mine so he can see what he's doing to me, his stubbly cheek scratching against my smooth one. Confident that I'm not going anywhere, he uses both hands to cup the bases of my breasts and heft each heavy tit in his hand. I gasp when he gives them a harsh shake, and he laughs a husky laugh into my ear. Without warning, he squeezes down both of my breasts from base to tip, forcing a sharp moan from my lips. My let down is sudden and almost violent, and he digs his fingers into the ends of my breasts, causing the milk to spray out in arcs. He continues to pinch and tweak my plump pink teats until his greedy fingers are slick with my milk, but it's not enough. I'm desperate for him to suckle or really milk me to relieve the pressure building in my engorged tits.

As he continues to relentlessly work my fat, aching tits, I accidentally make eye contact with a baby-faced man at a nearby table, who's watching the scene with his mouth slightly agape. "Let's wait for that one," he half-shouts to his friend over the noise of the tavern, momentarily dragging his eyes away from my tit mauling. I stifle a sigh. Now that this customer is making such a show of machismo with me, I'm in for a night of getting groped and slapped and thrown around. Some nights are easy, like this one has been so far -- I walk up to a table, present my full tits to the customers there, and let them suckle until they've had their fill, at which point a repeat the whole thing at a new table. Sure, they squeeze my tits, they bite my nipples, they fondle my ass; but they don't make a huge scene of it and whip everyone into a sadistic feeding frenzy.

This guy, though, is extremely aggressive. He pauses his groping to unhook the belt from his waist and bind my arms together behind my back with it. It's not a very secure restraint, but it doesn't need to be -- we both know I'm here to be used however he wants. He pulls me again by my leaking nipples until I'm straddling him with my massive tits in his face. He takes my right breast in his mouth and closes his teeth down right at the edge of my tender areola. With my whole swollen teat in his mouth, he suckles hard and fast, pausing every so often to slide his teeth down the length of my nipple and stretch it as far as he can before it springs back into place. I let out a high whimper of relief as he starts roughly milking my other tit with his hand. He milks like a pro, using his thumb and forefinger to elicit powerful streams of milk from my overfull udder.

By the time he's drunk his fill, the entire ends of my breasts are an angry bright pink from his aggressive suckling and from the chafing of his wiry beard. My thimble-sized teats stand out like throbbing pink "suck me" beacons even more than they normally do. I'm supposed to cover my tits as much as possible when they're not in use -- the customers like to see them unveiled. But the bodice of my uniform is sheer and revealing at the best of times, and now it's stretched out and soaked with milk. And besides, the second the bearded customer has unbound my arms and let me go, the baby-face guy and his four companions from the next table over are waving me towards them enthusiastically, unbuckling their belts. Their blatant mimicry of the last guy would almost be cute if I didn't know it meant five more variations on the same treatment before I can leave this table, and who knows how many more until the end of my shift.