Was he carrying a full load or had he relieved himself before coming to work? The thought of the amount of milk being carried around was staggering, I stopped looking at other guys as human beings, more as milk-producing machines, my boy being the recipient of all of it, that beautiful mouth becoming increasingly soiled as, although the vast majority went in and was immediately gulped down, some spillage was inevitable his lips and chin spotted with the occasional jet gone awry, how they lined up and one after another shot into his mouth, like a factory line… I’d periodically intervene to scoop the stray globules from his face and feed them to him…
I became a crotch-watcher, obsessed with the bulge of every man that passed. There was no way I’d let him suck any of them - that pussymouth was mine and mine alone, sculpted lovingly to fit my dick like a glove - but the thought of filling the boy to the brim with fresh sperm made me lightheaded. Think how many red-blooded latinos were scattered across the entire city, Brazilians, Colombians? The leather-clad couriers that came and went all day? I thought of the boy on his knees with his head tilted back like a baby chick waiting to be fed. How many virile men were in that opposite building alone? CEO’s, Consultants, Managers, hell, even the security staff. There was obviously no way I could produce enough spunk for this to become a reality, but… what if I recruited? I looked out of my window, over the opposite offices.
They say the human body is 90 per cent water. I thought of his body becoming increasingly muscular, how it was built of my sperm. Hell, not just sustain him but power that sportsman’s body, fuel his game, increase his muscle mass. I fantasized about becoming the boy’s sole means of nutrition, his need for food diminishing because the vast quantity of his Dad’s milk was all he needed to sustain him. The exact same thing had happened to me: I’d gone from spilling my load every other day to a steady, constant flow my balls filled several times a day and the boy ate like a prince. I thought of biological tales of how a mother’s milk only dries up when the demand for it wanes, how it will keep coming as long as there’s someone sucking. I found myself sitting in my office thinking over the last year, how I’d not spilled a drop of my seed anywhere other than in the boy for an entire year. It was at the twelve month mark that things took a turn. This was surely the most beautiful sight on earth. The framing of the jockstrap, pouting pink-lipped pussy there in the centre of the footballer buttocks, milky white, shaved for my pleasure perfect rump presented with legs pressed together, all trace of his manhood blotted out. I thought back to my history with women and wondered how I had ever chosen them over this. He’d embraced that and his cunt really had matured over the months permanent lips had formed around the opening that puckered up and called me inside. I’d told him how beautiful his pussy was when it gaped how a wide open pussy is testimony to a well-loved boy. We both enjoyed that first entry the prizing open of his beautiful behind, the initial tightness that within two strokes was gone, the way he gaped when I withdrew fully. The legs stayed pressed together as he yielded to the pressure of my entering him. But then I remembered this whole endeavour started because there was hardly anything there.
He really had embraced the renouncing of his dick permanent jockstrap aside, he presented to me in such a way that even the pouch was invisible and all I was greeted with was his smooth buttocks, the inviting crack between, not even a trace of the underside of his little balls. The boy lay on his side and kept his legs together. We started in the same fashion every time. The boy fit his old man like a glove these days and lovemaking was simple and fluid. Withalowercaseb : Dealing With Bullies, Part 20Īfter several months of making love every night things eventually settled down.