Cowgirl Ch 02

A few weeks later Michael brought up the subject of the necklace. "You don't wear it when you go out in public, out to work," he said to me.

Unconsciously my hand when to my neck and I touched the fine, thick silk that encircled my throat. It was true. I wore the necklace around the house because I wanted to please Michael, because I did enjoy how he treated me in bed when I wore it, because I enjoyed when he suckled me, but I felt uncomfortable wearing the unusual necklace where people might inquire about it. The necklace was an odd ornament for someone who didn't decorate their desk in a bovine theme.

"It would be hard to explain to my co-workers," I explained.

"Every time a bell rings," he quoted, "an angel gets it wings."

"Yeah, like they'll believe that," I said.

He pulled me close and started stripping of my shirt and bra. "You'll wear it tomorrow," he ordered me. "Or I'll lock it around your neck and you'll never get if off." His lips clamped on my tit and started sucking. He knew how to manipulate me.

"Okay," I agreed. "I'll wear it to work tomorrow."

And, as promised, I did. For the longest time no one in my office said anything and I started wearing it to work on a regular basis. Of course I always wore it at home when Michael and I fucked. We had moved to have sex almost exclusively in the rear entry position. I enjoyed being fucked that way, even with the animalistic symbolism of that particular position.

It was at work that I was almost outed for the first time. I encountered Marie, who worked in a cube the next row over from me, in the break room while making coffee. "That's an interesting necklace," she said, pointing at my collar.

I froze and blushed, then tried to recover myself. "Thank you," I stammered. "It was a gift."

"It's cute," she said innocently. "It almost looks like a cowbell."

I laughed, probably a little to nervously. "Every time a bell rings," I said for her, "an angel gets its wings."

Luckily she laughed too.

"Michael calls me his angel," I said, compounding the lie.

"Really!" Marie said. "My boyfriend calls me that too. That's why I got my tattoo."

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but Marie seemed so quiet, so demure, that a tattoo wasn't at all her style. I certainly hadn't seen one on any of her exposed skin at the office. I hoped I wasn't about to find out something I was going to regret.

"Tattoo?" was all I could say. "Do you have an angel tattoo?" I asked immediately regretting the direction of the conversation.

She shook her head. "No, that would be too obvious. I have wings." She smiled as if sharing a naughty secret.

"Where?" I blurted without thinking.

"On my back of course," she replied, turning around and tugging down the neckline of her blouse to expose the top edge of some carefully inked feathers. Judging by the relative size of the few feathers I saw, the wings must cover her entire back.

"Wow," I said, amazed in more ways than one. "That's...impressive."

"You should see me without my blouse on," she said without a hint of humor or tease.

"Yeah, maybe," I vaguely agreed.

"I'll bring you pictures too," she promised.

I shivered, unsure if I was excited or scared by that prospect.

It was Friday night and Michael was fucking me, as usual from behind, he was enjoying himself, spanking my ass, then leaning forward and squeezing my tits to make a little milk flow out. This he would wipe away, and knowing him, he'd suck my milk off his fingers. I was especially horny and had already gotten two orgasms when he abruptly pulled out.

"What are you doing?" I complained. "Don't stop!"

"I've got a present for you," he announced.

I froze, the last time I got a present from him, I wound up with a cow bell around my neck. I couldn't imagine what he had for me now. My leeriness wasn't eased at all when he threw on his robe and disappeared out the door. I waited a few moments, still on my hands and knees, then said the hell with it and rolled over to my side. After a few minutes Michael reappeared in the doorway carrying a large wooden contraption he had put together in his workshop.

"You're not supposed to be lying down," he said. "You have to get up on your hands and knees for this to work."

I looked at him skeptically. "For what to work?" Actually, Michael is very handy and his small inventions and household repairs are very reliable. What worried me was his bringing a strange wooden contraption into our bedroom during sex.

He didn't hear me. "Actually, maybe we should try it on the floor first." Without looking at me he placed the machine on the floor, grabbed some cords and hoses and started hooking them up. Only when I recognized my old electric breast pump and saw it had been integrated as part of the toy he had created did it dawn on me what he had built.

"No way, you're not forcing me to use that!"

He glowered down at me. I wasn't sure if this was part of the game or if he was truly angry, but I started to move to his contraption. Michael carefully positioned me above the structure, moving me slightly then adjusting all of the lifts and clamps until everything was to his liking.

"There," he announced. "Perfect fit!"

It was little more than a scaffold-like structure designed to hold the suction funnels of my pump, these could be raised and lowered on the structure. The funnels he raised up to my large, full tits, positioning them right over the nipples so that they were ready to spew forth milk. He had arranged a neat and orderly system that arranged the collection bottles, hoses, cords that connected to the breast pump.

"You're going to love this," he whispered in my ear as he turned on the pump. I felt the familiar tug of the funnels around my breasts, it was a little harsh, then it let go, when nothing happened. A moment later the tug was back and I could feel my milk being sucked from my tits. It was familiar and nice. I had used the pump extensively when I had returned to work after giving birth, but hadn't used it in a while. And of course I had never used it while completely naked (except for my necklace-collar) and on all fours.

"Comfortable?" Michael asked me.

"Uh-huh," I responded dreamily. I had forgotten the strong suction of the pump not only drew out my milk, but stimulated my pussy as well. I was already wet from our early fucking and this only helped make me wetter. Michael had put me not on hands and knees, but let me rest on my forearms and knees, forcing my ass into the air and bringing my tits closer to the floor. I should have been ready for what came next.

"This is going to be great," he announced as his hard cock slipped its way between my open sex lips and well up into my cunt, where it belonged. It was wonderful. He fucked me from behind, adding a slap to my ass every now and then. I could hardly think except to concentrate on the cock in my cunt and the suction on my tits. When Michael carefully pressed on the brown rose of my asshole, I clamped down on his cock causing him to flood my cunt with his spunk.

He groaned and thrusted a few more times before pulling back and removing his cock from within my body. I waved my ass at him, but didn't move my chest away from the milking machine he had created for us.

"Are you done yet?" he asked.

I looked down at the collection bottles and funnels. The suction pulled at me again and another squirt of milk went into the bottles.

"Not yet," I said, wishing I could reach down between my legs and frig my clit, but that would break the suction and spoil the game. "Soon."

I stayed in my position on the floor as Michael fell on the bed and watched the machine pull the milk from my tits. He smiled at me and I knelt there proudly, wondering what he would do with my milk.

"You're a good cow," he complimented me.

"You're a good bull," I said. "Are you trying to breed me?" We hadn't really discussed birth control since our last child and he certainly hadn't made any attempt to use a condom when fucking me, but the constant flow of milk from my tits had disrupted my cycle and fertility. I wonder if I was even capable of getting pregnant now.

"Maybe," he smiled, watching the last of my milk dribble into the nearly full bottles. He rolled off the bed and turned off the pump. I pulled away from the funnels and examined my slightly reddened breasts. The cups always left unusual marks on them that faded in a few minutes.

"What are you going to do with the milk?" I asked him as he carefully screwed the caps on.

"Use it on my morning cereal, maybe as creamer for my coffee."

And damn him if he didn't drink that milk. He found that it was fine with cereal or straight, but mixed with coffee it wasn't so good. It served him right to have a sour taste in his mouth.

It was good, the machine he built for me, my milking machine. Sometimes we would fuck while I used it, sometimes he would watch me be milked, then he'd fuck me, other times I just used it to relieve my over-full breasts. As with everything else, it was strange at first, then it seemed ordinary, commonplace and comforting.