Girl on the Net

Can I interest anyone in a story about a guy getting his dick milked in a cold, clinical manner by person or persons unknown? That’s what this post is about. I hope you enjoy it as much as I vigorously masturbated over it. I’m kind of obsessed with the idea of people getting their dicks milked at the moment, mostly thanks to a particular twitter account I follow which consists of amazing videos of exactly that. Scroll to the bottom for the link to it, and be warned that just like this post, it’s NSFW. 

Milked: lubed up, tied down and milked to orgasm

There is no talking. No ‘hello’ or ‘please come this way’ or ‘settle down and make yourself comfortable’ – just silence. His shoes squeak on the spotless floor of the corridor as he makes his way down to room 12.

He strips off his clothes, lies down on the wipe-clean table, and presents his arms – palms-upwards – to be restrained. The sticky plastic straps pull at his soft skin. They’re tight. Wrists, ankles, neck: tight enough that he cannot move, not quite so tight as to choke him.

He’s covered with a plastic sheet, from neck to ankle. Just a single hole in the center for his cock to stick through.

It’s already hard when the sheet goes on, and as he feels the smoothness of the plastic getting tighter around his dick, it twitches.

There is no eye contact. No talking. No niceties. Just firm, slippery hands around his cock.

It begins with long, slow strokes. Squeezing hard at the base, as if to try and trap more blood there. He tenses his muscles, pulling against the straps, trying to thrust upwards as the hands twist and pull at him.

The head of his dick shines – taut and dark and full and aching.

At that point the movements change. Long, wet strokes become tiny, gentle tickles with fingertips – just at the point on the underside of the head that makes him bite his lip and try to wriggle. Those slippery fingertips, in just the right place.

He moans. They gag him. They begin again.

Long, slow, firm strokes – squeezing him as if they could crush his cock with bare hands. Pouring trickles of wetness all over him, and massaging it into the skin. He can feel his nipples twitching in response, brushing up hard against the cool smoothness of the plastic sheet.

As they speed up, building into a punishing rhythm, he clenches his hands tight. He can feel his cock throbbing in time to the rhythm of the strokes, but he doesn’t want to finish yet. It’s too soon – too quick.

He yanks on the plastic straps that restrain his wrists and ankles, feels them bite deep and hopes the pain holds him back. But he’s not likely to win this battle – the hands are too determined, too firm and warm and slippery and skilled. So skilled.

This is not a hand job: he’s being milked. He will cum – and soon – whether he wants to or not.

He tenses the muscles in his thighs, willing himself to hold back the tide of spunk that’s bursting to pour out of him. Grits his teeth and moans again, muffled and animal and miserable against the gag.

He stares up at the bright white ceiling, trying to catch a glimpse of the person whose hands are so skilfully milking him, but the straps restraining his neck are too tight and too neat and too perfectly aligned.

They’ve thought of everything, here. His dick throbs again and he can feel the telltale tingles of his orgasm starting to build. Two minutes, that’s all it took: two minutes.

Twisting, slippery, firm hands that grip and stroke and rub at his dick until he can no longer work out where the fingers are, or how many hands there are, or even whether the way his cock jumps and thuds is caused by their hands or caused by his bucking attempts to break free of those restraints.

He cannot see it, but he pictures it: dark skin, shining with lube and filled with blood and thudding with need. He pictures the hands – those hands – so skillful and soft and harsh and clinical. Pumping away now, quickly, with strokes that are almost robotic. No pauses when he whimpers or twists, just relentless, slippery, twisting pounding stroking squeezing oh God holy fuck.

At that moment the intensity of sensation overcomes his sense of shame, and he comes.

Thick, copious, long strings of it squirting out of him and landing with a splatter onto the plastic sheet. Pumping over those skillful hands, as they continue relentlessly – rubbing harder as he comes than they have even in the build-up. Milking every last drop from him until they are covered with thick, white spunk and oily lube.

They will not clean him up before he leaves.

He will have to do that himself.

 

This post is also available as audio – click ‘listen here’ above or visit the audio porn hub for more sexy stories read aloud.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also enjoy this Twitter account (NSFW) @Perfect_Match_X, or other posts about forced orgasm or orgasm control.