Milk, Made (cock milking, machine fucking, public nudity, huge ejaculations)

The first time she saw it, she laughed.

Casey was walking through the city, her heavy book bag over her shoulder, when she looked across the street and saw the sign: MILK BAR. It was printed in a thick serif font, possibly Rockwell. The windows seemed tinted, perhaps for the same reason someone started marketing opaque milk bottles.

As a woman who consumed neither alcohol nor caffeine, she was tickled by the idea of a bar for her preferred beverage. The smell of coffee tempted her sometimes, but every new coffee drinker had to thin the harsh brew with milk anyway, so… why not just drink the milk? The only caffeine that passed her lips was in the form of coffee ice cream or the occasional Ghirardelli chocolate square.

Casey took a picture of the exterior of the MILK BAR for the sake of remembering this place. She thought better of posting the amusing sign to social media before she even went inside. Who knew what actually went on in there?

She put her phone back in her purse and went about her day.

***

Casey passed the MILK BAR a few more times, once or twice a week as her work duties took her down this street again. A bar where they served many kinds of milk… or maybe many beverages that used good old-fashioned cow milk as a base. Is this just a bar that serves milkshakes, with checkerboard tile on the floor, red stools mounted to the floor, and a clean-shaven man in a paper hat scooping ice cream?

There was a LOT of retro kitsch in this town. Maybe that really was what was inside.

It was the fifth time she approached this shop that she was finally on the right side of the street and free of the burden of her book bag. It was her day off, no longer being carried past this location on pressing business. She was dressed in a blue camisole under her faux-leather jacket, mid-length skirt and sensible shoes.

She walked up the few concrete steps and noticed the door was ajar, maybe by an inch. From within, she heard something she wasn’t expecting. It sounded like moaning, a chorus of voices all groaning. But what hit her first was a familiar aroma coming from inside.

Casey leaned away from the door while still gripping the handle. The air from inside had a familiar scent, and even a familiar humidity.

This bar smelled like… semen.

As she leaned back, one of her heels slipped off the step and she stumbled back, pulling the door open all the way, letting the sunlight and some fresh air into the place. Casey regained her footing and was about to turn away, but someone within called out to her.

“Come in!” The voice said.

Casey cleared her throat as she brushed a wrinkle out of her skirt. Feeling a little too meek to run away, she stepped inside.

What she saw inside was not at all what she expected.

There was a ‘bar’ against the left wall, with stools affixed to the floor, and women seated in each seat. But the stools were almost completely against the wall, each of the women pressed right against it. The ‘bar’ didn’t have anywhere for the bartender to stand. It was just a wall… with a gauge like a gas meter in front of each seat.

There was a sudden ding. One woman’s gauge had filled into the red zone. She pulled herself off her seat… and from the wall. Inch after inch of shiny, exhausted cock emerged from a portal directly in front of the stool, and the weary woman staggered to a comfortable looking chair in front of the tinted glass. Two assistants were upon her very quickly, one with a washcloth, and one…

With a Collins glass of orange juice.

Casey was beginning to suspect there was no milk to be had in this establishment at all.

“I could’ve kept going.” The woman who had vacated her seat on the line protested as the assistant cleaned her cock with the washcloth.

“You hit the limit. Just relax for a while and we’ll let you back on.” Said the woman who first greeted Casey. She wore a black blazer and skirt. She spoke with a faint Spanish accent, clearly someone who was comfortable with both English and Spanish. She had black hair and tanned skin, with dark, wide eyes that intimidated Casey when they fell on her.

“Welcome to the bar.” The woman returned her focus to Casey. “I’m Teresa, but everyone calls me Tess.”

Casey turned around to the door, which was still ajar by an inch. She pulled it in, but the door wouldn’t close all the way.

“Door won’t close.” She mumbled, looking at the top and bottom of the doorway for the obstruction, perhaps a tiny stone lodged somewhere in the door frame.

“I know. It lets the funk out.” Tess grinned. “Is this your first time at the bar?”

“What on Earth is this place?”

“See that hole in the wall?” She pointed to the seat vacated by the person relaxing in the chair. The portal was entirely black

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