Milked in London, Volumes One Through Four

by Alex Carlsbad

  ~~~

  The door screeched open and an enormous black man put his smiling head through.

  “You having fun, Archibald?”

  “Not as much fun as I would have had were you not pestering me, Douglas,” chuckled the Englishman. “I didn't fly all the way down here for you to pester me constantly.”

  “Sorry about that, sir. Just wanted to remind you to leave her left tit's milk for Mr Inoukue,” the man smirked. “He insists that you don't drink all she has to offer before he has his fill.”

  Jennifer whimpered in dismay at the senseless horrible way they were completely ignoring her own wishes. The big white man made her straddle him and this very moment was lost blowing circles of cigar smoke in her face as she pumped herself up and down his massive cock. Her breasts swayed an inch from his face and he periodically would crane his neck forward so he could lick her nipples.

  "I wonder which one I should try first he said. "Do they both taste the same?” He took her tender nipple in his mouth sucking loudly as he pulled her exquisite milk in. “Yum, delicious! So creamy. How about this one,” he said moving to her left breast which he tasted much the same way.

  “So he insists on the left one?”

  “If that is okay with you, sir,” the black man at the door said.

  Instead of a reply, loud slurping sounds echoed in the room mingling with the sopping squish-squish that Jennifer’s lips made as she humped the evil politician while he sucked her right breast dry.

  Engorged and Swaying

  “I’m sorry Ms. Jennifer,” Mr. Costas caressed her exquisite face passing too long fingers along her tear-streaked skin. “Mr. Cavendish is such an ass. Did he hurt you?”

  She was cuddled up like a child, all bunched up against the powerful chest of the big black man sitting in the armchair. Naked except for a delicate chain of silver around her waist, Jennifer shivered at the thought of what she had been made to do to the vile man in the other room less than fifteen minutes ago.

  “But he does pay well, I'm afraid.” Mr Costas said. “And, after all, he couldn’t have been that rough on you, could he? He knows your safe word and apparently you didn't use it. Did you?”

  Jennifer nodded miserably hiding her face in the strong neck of the man holding her tight against him gently stroking her back in slow soothing motions.

  “I came while he was fingering me,” she whispered.

  “Ah, you did,did you? Such a horny little housewife!” he playfully smacked her butt. At twenty-three the young mother still retained virtually all of her youthful charm. Her skin glowed with health and even though she had gained some pounds from the pregnancy, they merely added to her appeal, or so Mr Costas told kept telling her.

  “Do you hurt?” He asked and she nodded.

  “Where?”

  She pointed down to her nether parts whimpering in misery.

  “Here, stand please,” he said. “I need to take a better look. Yeah I see your lips are rather red and puffy. Did he stick his fingers up there? The brute!” the man shook his head in dismay. “Poor baby,” he took out one of the little jars with cream she knew so well. His wife back home in London made the salve using his sperm.

  Somehow, in spite of the obscene ingredients the paste did miracles for her bruised flesh and Jennifer knew that once applied, it would be less than a couple of hours before her skin would be all healed up again.

  The man unscrewed the lid and lathered two fingers with the yellowish paste that he then liberally smeared up and down her labia. His motions were repetitive and soon enough, in spite of herself, Jennifer found her hips start to quiver back and forth to the cadence of the man's ministrations. She felt desire bubble up in her very core and caught herself wondering how it was that the man who had first introduced her less than a month ago to the world of being a milkmaid for hire, was able to have such remarkable self-restraint.

  Even now Mr. Costas was fully dressed in one of those business Armani suits that he wore virtually all the time. Not once had he touched her inappropriately other than to apply salve to her bruised flesh or help her into the restraints of the chair he used to milk her the traditional way.

  “There," the man said.

  "In no time you'll be all healed up. Now on to job number two for the day. Once you’re done with Mr. Inoukue, we can leave.” He said.

  “Do you know the man?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” he explained. “He’s apparently a very rich businessman from Nigeria. And a good friend of Mr Cavendish back there," Mr Costas made a grimace motioning with his head in the direction of the room where the fat English politician had enjoyed her minutes ago. “Apparently, they know each other from politics. But don't worry I think you might even like him.”

  “I only love my husband Ben,” she said adamantly, her voice thick and full of resolve. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself more than Mr Costas. “Ben and Melody are the reason I agreed to this trip,” she added. Mr Costas nodded in agreement.

  “Times are tough and to be honest we are both lucky, you and I, to have that source of income.” He said pointing at her breasts. “Were it not for my website where you apparently became a star gaining popularity with your product, neither of us or your family would have been able to keep living where we do in London. That is precisely the reason you need to make sure you please Mr. Inoukue tonight.

  Jennifer whimpered in dismay. Her left breast still retained most of its milk. She had not been milked in the hours since they had left London. Mr Costas had insisted that she avoid pumping so that she could offer the two gentlemen a genuinely unique and bountiful experience.

  "Are you hurting? Your breasts look so different from one another," Mr Costas said. “The right boob is clearly devoid of any milk whereas your left is full to the bursting. Quite interesting I might add. Did our British friend have his fill?”

  "Yes, he did," she answered.

  "But clearly he didn't drink virtually any from your left boob?"

  "Just took a sip," Jennifer said miserably.

  “Very good,” Mr Costas said smiling in delight.

  “Mr Inoukue next door asked that we give him at least a couple of hours to enjoy you fully. Do you think you'll be okay with that?”

  Jennifer nodded looking down at her toes. It was the very first time she had gone on a trip with Mr Costas. Up until now they had stuck to merely selling what her boobs produced via his website. But the money offered by Mr Inoukue and his friend the English politician in Kenya was phenomenal. She knew it would go a very long way in helping their struggling family of three back in London make it through at least a couple of more months until Ben found a job.

  The depression that had hit the financial sector where he had been employed was merciless. Had it not been for Mr Costas' business venture involving the young twenty-three-year-old mother, they would have probably ended up on the streets.

  However more than simply financial remuneration, Jennifer was recently starting to come to grips with the excitement and titillation she felt every time a man, other than her husband touched her breasts.

  Mr Costas had first noticed that a couple of weeks ago and pointed out that she was perhaps a closet submissive. Now she was inclined to fully agree with her black neighbor from back home. Even moments ago when the rough ugly politician had screwed her in the room next door, she had succumbed to an orgasm that had blown her mind like never before. She still knew how much she loved and cared for Ben and their cute daughter Melody at home, but it was as if a wild beast had been awakened and no matter how she tried, there was no way to cage it again.

  “Good," said Mr Costas. "Mr Inoukue is also aware of your safe word. If for any reason you feel he goes overboard, just say it and I know he will stop whatever he's doing to you. Okay go now here is the key card to his room. Try and be good,” the big man said lightly tapping his big hand across her butt as she walked pass. She was still naked, her breasts — one large and engorged blue veins
crisscrossing along its surface, the other one deflated and with a big pink nipple at its tip, they both swayed as she stepped up to the door and left the room.

  ~~~

  Mr. Inoukue

  Jennifer shuddered as she walked over to the suite next door. She used the card that Mr. Costas had given her to unlock and let herself into the apartment of Mr. Inoukue. Mr. Costas had explained the man to be a very influential and rich local businessman but hadn't elaborated more than that.

  She felt cheap being asked to visit the man's hotel suite like that, but felt obligated to entertain him in return for the one-hundred thousand dollars she had been promised.

  At twenty-three Jennifer was still trying to come to grips with the harsh reality of being the principal earner of her family. Ben, her husband had been laid off months ago during the onset of the financial crisis when his venture capital firm in downtown London had been closed down. Had it not been for Mr. Costas, their big, burly neighbor and his extravagant business plan, Jennifer was quite sure they would have soon found themselves on the streets scraping to make ends meet.

  Now, here she was — thousands of miles from home, in Nigeria, on a quick visit in exchange for money that she knew would go a very long way indeed to support her struggling family.

  “You’re naked,” the man chuckled from the dark corner of the room she had just entered. “You do realize of course you are only naked because your master Mr. Costas wanted to play a fast one on me.”

  Jennifer had just closed the door behind herself and stood at the entrance to the room, her toes ensconced in the deep plush thread of the Persian rug that covered the expanse of the floor. The deep booming voice did not do its owner any disservice. He appeared to be positively gargantuan and even though still seated at the other end of the room, Jennifer found herself having to look up to meet his eyes. She shuddered to imagine what Mr. Inoukue would look like when he stood up to his full height.

  What was this nonsense about being naked as some sort of joke on the part of Mr. Costas? If anything, he had been very gentle and nurturing when he had suggested that she perhaps shed her clothing lest one of the two rich men paying for her trip to Nigeria today chose to rip up her dress. Lord knew they had precious little money with her husband to afford a new set of clothes and those were among her best.

  “Lift up your arms," he told her and she whimpered and obeyed.

  “Turn around slowly for me, Ms. Jennifer.” She felt him smile in the darkness. “You see, unlike good old fat Mr. Cavendish who you entertained moments ago, I am not only interested in what you have to offer physically, but rather — I am most interested in your soul.”

  She heard him smack his lips in appreciation. “Good, very good,” he said. “I like what I see and since we have to start somewhere, your beautiful body might as well be it. Tell me, precious, how much money is the man you call Mr. Costas offering you for your trip down here today?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars,” she replied.

  The man exploded with laughter as if she had said the funniest joke ever.

  “Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha… One hundred thousand dollars! He's offering you the full sum! The sick bastard has you wrapped around his little finger like you wouldn't believe, and you don't even realize it. Come here!” he suddenly ordered, his voice preternaturally low and menacing in the confines of the spacious room that felt tight and foreboding all of a sudden. She walked over in small steps focusing on the floor afraid she might trip and fall and tumble in embarrassment.

  When she was about a foot away from him, the man brought his gigantic palms together and clapped three times in rapid succession. The lights in the room suddenly came on bathing them both in blinding silver.

  He was naked!

  Mr. Billionaire

  Where Mr. Costas her neighbor made a point of wearing trendy and expensive business suits — this man here appeared to be naked like the day he had been born luxuriating in the harsh light of the blinding bulbs ensconced throughout the hotel suite. Even though she had expected to meet and maybe even have sex with some rich snob, Jennifer felt momentarily lightheaded at the spectacle of the 360 pound giant that could easily match strength with any of the MMF fighters her husband so enjoyed watching on ESPN.

  In fact, from the looks of his quivering muscles that rippled like snakes beneath his ebony skin, Jennifer thought he might even be able to take on at least a couple of these monsters of the fighting arena at once.

  “You can put your arms down now,” the man said a smile crossing his big lips that nicely complemented his exquisite and exotic cheekbones and deep fissures crisscrossing his face. He looked unnaturally fascinating in that peculiar way that was sure to make a sculptor salivate. Jennifer felt herself blush when she realized she had completely forgotten to lower her arms once she had pirouetted for the man upon entering his hotel suite.

  With a shudder she saw him place the palm of his hand around his massive languid cock that still lay between his thunderous thighs in semi-relaxation.

  “You two will soon get acquainted, trust me,” the man said. “But everything in due course. Why don't you come and sit here in my lap?” He said tapping his thigh.

  She whimpered and yet again did his bidding assuming a precarious position as she placed her butt along his quads that felt like a seat beneath her cheeks. She almost jumped when he nonchalantly placed his palm on the small of her back almost encircling her entire waist with the fingers of his one hand.

  “Tell me, sweetness, what is the normal percentage Mr. Costas offers you from his earnings selling your milk,” the man asked.

  “Thirty percent, sir,” she replied and he nodded.

  “Thirty, that's correct. And of the one-hundred thousand dollars he is paying you for your trip to Africa today, how much do you think he's actually keeping for himself?”

  “I do believe he promised to give me the full sum,” she answered her lower lip quivering.

  The man again nodded his giant head. “That is correct. Tell me, did you go to college?” He asked. Jennifer felt his warm hand slide gently down her back to where it now cupped the side of her butt cheek gently massaging it.

  “Yes –, yes I did,” she replied caught off balance by the change in topic.

  “Tell me more; where did you go to school? What did you graduate?”

  “I graduated summa cum laude from Harvard with a degree in finance,” she answered, her voice getting quieter as she spoke.

  “My, oh my,” he said. “Finance, Harvard, summa cum laude," the man chuckled. “So you are not only beautiful but also smart.” She didn't feel the need to reply as his intonation sounded more like a statement than a question.

  “Now tell me, smart lady, how come that the man who normally offers you a measly thirty percent from the proceeds of selling your milk online, has suddenly decided to offer you the full one-hundred percent of the proceeds from what he is being paid for down here in Nigeria?”

  “I –, I'm not sure," Jennifer stammered. She was now starting to wonder about that herself. The man stayed silent giving her time to ponder the question as he absently rubbed her naked ass where it sat along his thigh.

  “Maybe he would like to impress me with the earnings so I continue to do business with him," she suggested.

  “You and I both know you're smarter than that," the man said the sinister tone creeping back into his voice. “If your master truly wants to keep you doing business with you, as you so delicately put it, he probably wouldn’t offer you so much money in one fell swoop. This would risk enabling you to gain some financial freedom, if not full independence from having to rely on his seedy little milking chair. Would you offer a million dollars right off the bat to a future employee as a signing bonus and then go back to offering them a measly thirty percent of 60 pounds per milking? You and I both know the answer to that question,” he said.

  “I will give you more time to ponder the real explanation for Mr. Costas' newfound largesse. But first, why don't yo
u feed me?” the man said and she gasped feeling him take hold of her left boob lifting it up to his mouth.

  “Stay where you are,” he said continuing to rub her ass with his left hand while he expertly squeezed her boob from base to tip in a rhythmic way that immediately elicited thin sprays of white to gush forth from the engorged flesh.

  He put his lips to her pulsating nipple and started sucking precious warm nectar in hungry gulps like somebody who had starved for a long time.

  Mr. Passion

  Jennifer closed her eyes and relaxed. She leaned into the man's chest as he cradled her while he suckled on her breast. The sensation was unlike anything she had experienced before. Unlike a child's small mouth, the powerful suction and big wet lips of the strong man holding her now created a sensation not unlike something out of a science fiction movie. It was as if she had somehow opened up the tip of her breast to the vacuum of space and it was now emptying its contents out into the void of darkness beyond.

  A shudder coursed through her and she trembled like a leaf making her blond curls fall over her contorted features. The man looked up but did not stop feeding as he reached around her small pelvis and she felt a long finger gently worm itself into her curly blond love triangle. He quickly found and started rubbing her clitoris with his thumb while his index and middle finger played at her entrance.

  She moaned softly when he pushed one finger in slowly and groaned. It felt excruciatingly tight. In some obscene irony of fate, Jennifer was actually happy that Mr. Cavendish had so flagrantly opened her up with his fingers an hour ago. Had it not been for that, Jennifer seriously doubted that she would have been able to take this man's much bigger and rough hand inside her.