Milk Maids’ Coffee Bar and Restaurant (Part one) [FPOV]

My tits feel heavy and the nipples keep alternating between hard and soft as they feel the counter rub against them. I need feeding time, and now. I hear people ordering from my station, pressing espresso into the gasket and pouring the pumped milk stored in the fridge from the day before. I am not sure how good the breast milk lattes actually are, they’re too expensive to try and I’m not one for breaking the rules and trying one behind the boss’s back, but people rave about them. No, I think to myself as another small latte is ordered. Buy the fresh stuff. Let me get off. Let my back stop hurting.

And the more of yesterday’s supply they buy, the more we have to milk tonight. It’s not nearly as fun, but the way my nipples ache and swell from the pumping machine gets me off in a different way. The wind blows against my used up nipples from the opening front door, and hurts me, and also makes me feel so wet again. You could milk my pussy at this point, if it didn’t all pool and dry in my underwear.

I steam the milk, pour it over the espresso, and bring it to the customers, the cup hot and light with air. It’s a couple, conservative looking tourists, and they smile in a delighted but secretive fashion to each other, trying to avoid staring too hard at my tits, which are leaking white. Which swing down as I lean over the table to set down their coffees. They all want the experience, so they can Instagram with me and their novelty lattes, geotag the place and tell all their WASP-y friends, She even had her breasts out when she brought the coffee out! Talk about farm to table! Ho ho ho!

“Hey, girl, when you’re ready, you’re needed at table five. He requested you specifically. Needs the white girl to pour his cream,” Raquel tsked. “Can’t handle his coffee black.” She made this joke every single time. She had plenty of requests, and wasn’t hurting for tips. Her breasts appealed to the men who liked them long, torpedo shaped, and hanging. They were nice, and her skin was taut over them, barely containing all the volume.

“Oh, thank god. This milk was about to come out either way.”

She looked at them, and took the nipple between her thumb and her finger and wiped it off. “That’s… better.”

“Well, be right back.” I set down my order book and began to march over, and she stopped me.  

“He wants a feeding. Not just a top-off.”

“Oh. Right on.” I smiled internally, feeling the wetness run through the edges of my pussy and upwards. Feedings usually were more of a novelty than even the lattes. Most people just stopped by on their way to the airport or the zoo. They didn’t have time to make a whole event of it. Getting it straight from the tap is time consuming and personal for the customer. And of course, he would need to touch himself while sucking on a breast. Some men get awfully shy about it, and others just need to get to the office. Plus it cost much more to the customer than an average cup of joe. So for me, this was a bit of a treat.

I straighten up and head toward him. He is an older man, thinner and tall. He is not attractive to me, which sometimes makes the experience even more erotic. He is with a buddy, who is wearing a construction get-up, but he wears just a baseball cap, a shirt for Outdoor World, and starchy blue jeans. Probably retired, which maybe explains why he’s such a big spender. I hope I will not have to explain that they cannot share; that each customer has to pay for the service separately. This happens all the time, even though it’s clearly explained on the menu.

“Hello, sir, I’ll be your server today, my name is Andi.” They smiled and nodded. I could see the fellow in the neon vest had his cock in his hand, lightly jerking the uncut tip. His was shorter, (or perhaps obscured by his pants, still buttoned around it) a little thicker than normal, and had tuffs of hair around it. I salivated a bit, instinctively. I stood close to the table, the edge of it against the hard bone of my pelvis. Sometimes if they sucked really good, I would use the rounded corner to rub against.

There was no blouse to unbutton or tit to uncover. He merely started using the back of his fingernail to make me erect. My nipples were longer now than they used to be, from tugging and sucking and pumping. The stranger used his thumb and finger to rub the nipples in between, using both hands now, making them about as long as a wick of a candle. He began massaging my right breast, kneading it like dough, unable to get all of it in one knead, when his tongue began moving underneath my left nipple. His mouth was nice and wet, and I moaned immediately. I felt a little embarrassed, but could already tell that the years had provided the man with many opportunities to suck on a tit. He used the widest part of his tongue and licked from underneath my breast to the end of it.

“That’s a fine set of tiddies. ‘Course, they don’t make ‘em like they used to,” He remarked to his friend in between licks and full-mouthed puckers. “Goddamn, it’s like they used to inject ‘em with lard, all tight and swingin’. Back in the ‘70’s. Pillow nipples back in those days. Those were the days.” He began to be too desperate for his task to remark further. He began to lick less, and suck, suck, suck. He did manage a, “Damn that’s tasty,” when he went to wipe my milk with the edge of his sleeve.

He put his hand on my lower back, grabbing it with a firm hand, and then sliding it to my ass. I could tell that my fountain was coming to a trickle, or at least requiring a more focused sucking from the customer. He began to actually have to milk me into his mouth with his hands, but there was still plenty left for him.

I noticed that the main customer had not yet began to stroke himself, keeping one hand on my breast and one on my hip, but his friend, who occasionally sipped from a mug was absentmindedly stroking, stopping to readjust or twiddle, and then stroking again. A few male customers looked on, stroking through their pants as they chatted with their partners.
He then switched to my other breast, which had been dripping. He opened his mouth and squirted it in before returning to licking, kissing and biting. He took one hand and placed it on my leg. Here we go. Reaching for my panties under my dress, he lightly brushed his knuckles against my wet briefs, and I could feel him on the most sensitive part of my outer lips. I wished the sensation of a wet tongue there, but instead he rubbed me with his rough index. He slipped them in and they slid in easily, so he used another. He must have been getting just drops now as he pulled away from my breast, saliva dripping from his mouth and my chest. He wordlessly moves me with my hips, positioning my ass over the placemat in front of his chair.

Many clients feel it necessary to taste the milky in-between of my legs after they’re done with my tits, but now he took out his cock, hard and dripping with its own viscous, white precome. I was delighted: this was an unprecedented opportunity, being used at work. It’s not as though they weren’t allowed, but when sex these days is every where, inundating every facet of life, you had to really want someone’s particular flavor to want to fuck them in the middle of the day. Something about me, especially, made him want to take me and do what he wanted with me.

 It was a good size, and my pelvic muscle memory could feel it already. With little ceremony, he took his penis and dipped shallowly in the pool, took it out, dipped a little deeper, and then again, until it was ready enough for the whole thing. I still felt stretched as he began to use my tits as an anchor for his thrusting. He took his cock and would occasionally rub the wet end of it against my asshole, which craved filling. I looked at his friend and smiled, already feeling well-fucked and satisfied.

“Hey, Ron, d’ya mind if I take a crack at her? I could use a good milking myself. Pay ya back?”

(end of part one)

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/9h0ya6/milk_maids_coffee_bar_and_restaurant_part_one_fpov

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