Bed time milking

I knew what washing the sheets meant, but I had no idea what she meant by, milking me. I had learned how to milk cows since I’ve been here.

I was 10 years old when my parents were involved in an auto accident, that resulted in their deaths. I had only one living relative, and it was my grandmother on my mother’s side. She was like 71 years old, and a widow.

I had never met her before my parents were killed. Apparently, when my mother left home, it wasn’t on good terms. All I knew was my grandma lived in an Amish community in Pennsylvania, on a small farm.

I’ve been here for two and a half years now. I have assigned chores that I do around the farm, and actually kind of like it.

One day after supper, Grandma told me to go take my bath, then afterwards, she wanted to talk to me.

When I finished my bath, I put on my pajamas and went out to the living room where grandma was waiting for me.

“Sit down John. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a blunt woman. At my age, I don’t have time to beat around the bush, so I’m just going to say it. I was doing laundry this morning, and I noticed pecker tracks on your sheets.” She told me.

She probably knew by the look on my face, that I had no idea what she was talking about.

“What’s a pecker?” I asked her.

“You know, your male part.” She said.

“You mean my weenie?” I asked her.

“Yes, your weenie.” She replied, smiling at me. I loved when Grandma smiled, because she had no teeth. A smile without teeth, just looks happier to me.

“Boys your age, start having sex dreams. And when you do, your pecker squirts out juice. It happens while you’re sleeping, so you might not even know you’re doing it.” She told me.

“There’s two ways to address this. One, you can start washing your own sheets. I ain’t washing your sheets every day. Two, I’ll milk you before bed every night, so you won’t squirt in your sleep.” She told me.

I knew what washing the sheets meant, but I had no idea what she meant by, milking me. I had learned how to milk cows since I’ve been here, but I didn’t think I could be milked like a cow.

“What do you mean by, milking me? I asked her, thoroughly confused.

“Same way you milk a cow.” She told me. “Take your clothes off, while I go get the shot glass, then I’ll show you.”

I was uncomfortable with taking off my clothes in front of Grandma. I had never been naked in front of her before. But I had also learned in my time here, that Grandma was not somebody you said no to, and you didn’t dilly dally.

I began to disrobe, and by the time Grandma came back into the room with a shot glass in her hand, I was naked.

“You’re probably going to like this. Your uncle Oscar sure did. I used to milk him every night, right up until he was drafted and sent to Vietnam to be killed.” Grandma told me.

I never knew my uncle Oscar, but I knew of him and had seen pictures of him.

Grandma sat down in her rocking chair, and put the shot glass on a coffee table next to her chair. Then she motioned me to come stand in front of her. I moved over in front of her, and had my hands covering my weenie, I mean pecker.

“Put your hands down to your side. How am I going to milk you, if you’re covering your pecker?” Grandma told me, as she swatted at my hands.

I put my hands to my side, and Grandma leaned down to get a closer look at my pecker. She took it between her fingers, pulled it up and down, and moved my testicles around with her other hand.

“You got a small pecker. When Oscar was your age, his pecker was a lot bigger than this. I could use my whole hand to stroke it. Yours ain’t big enough for my whole hand yet. Maybe one day.” Grandma told me, as she continue to inspected my pecker.

Then, to my horror, my pecker started to swell. Within seconds, it was fully hard, and arching up towards the ceiling. The whole time Grandma was handling it, I felt intense heat radiating out from it.

After a few more seconds of testing its firmness, and moving the skin up and down a few times, Grandma said, “okay, you’re ready for milking.” Then she took my pecker between her thumb and finger, and began to slowly stroke.

I couldn’t believe how good it felt, and without even realizing it, I started to rock my hips back and forth as Grandma stroked me.

It wasn’t exactly like milking a cow, but I could see the similarities. As Grandma stroked me, I looked down to watch what she was doing, and saw the head of my pecker was getting wet.

I started moaning, and had to grab onto Grandma’s shoulders for support. Her stroking speed increased, and I started getting the feeling I had to pee.

“You better stop Grandma, I need to pee.” I told her as the feeling kept getting more intense.

Grandma grabbed the shot glass, and held it so the head of my pecker was pointed at the glass. She continued to quickly stroke me, “you ain’t going to pee, you’re going to juice.”

She wasn’t even finished speaking, when the first squirt shot from my pecker and splashed at the bottom of the shot glass. She kept stroking, and my pecker jerked and pulsated four or five more times, each time squirting a little more juice into the glass before the intense feelings finally started to subside.

Grandma’s stroking began to slow down. Then she did something that completely shocked me, she leaned forward and licked the remaining juice off the tip of my pecker. That was like an electric charge going through me.

“Okay, why don’t you head off to bed now.” Grandma told me, as she put the shot glass up to her lips, tilted her head back, and drank my juice.

I went to my room, put on my PJs and got into bed. A few seconds later, Grandma came in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You make good pecker juice John.” She told me. “Did you enjoy being milked?”

“Oh Grandma, that was the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.” I told her, still in a somewhat stimulated state. Grandma pull back the blankets, and noticed my pecker was still hard.

“Just as I thought. Since you’re new to milking, you might need to be milked more than once before you go to bed, at least for the first couple of weeks.” Grandma explained.

That sounded good to me, I pushed my PJs down to my knees and laid back with my head on my pillow, smiling at Grandma. Grandma chuckled, then took my pecker between her thumb and finger and began to stroke me.

I lasted a lot longer this time. The feeling that I was going to pee started to come on, so I warned Grandma.

“I think I’m going to juice Grandma.” I warned her.

“Shoot, the shot glass is in the other room. No time to go get it.” Grandma said, just before she took my pecker into her mouth.

The sudden warm, wet, gentle suction and the movement of her tongue on my packer triggered my juice. My pecker started squirting as Grandma used her gums to gentlely chew on it, while she ran her tongue back and forth just under the head of my pecker.

I thought being milked was the most amazing feeling in the world, until I felt Grandma’s toothless mouth, working on my pecker.

After a while, it started to tickle the head of my pecker, and I had to push Grandma’s head away.

Grandma sat up, licking her lips and smiling at me. I was smiling back, happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I had no idea my little pecker could give me so much pleasure, until Grandma showed me.

After that, Grandma decided she liked getting the juice directly from my pecker, so we didn’t use the shot glass anymore. Instead, she would most often suck the juice out of me.

It was probably the 4th or 5th time that she sucked me, that I noticed her hand was up under her dress and it was moving around. It looked like there were two cats wrestling under her dress.

“What are you doing Grandma?” I asked her.

She lifted her head and said, “sucking your pecker.” Then she took my pecker back in her mouth.

“I mean with your hand, what are you doing under your dress?” I persistent.

Stop sucking my pecker again, and sat up. Then under her breath, and barely audible she said, ‘there’s no reason why you can’t milk me.’

“What did you say Grandma?” I asked her.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking out loud.” She replied, her hand still moving around under her dress.

“Can I see what you’re doing?” I asked her.

She pondered that for a few minutes. She seemed to be struggling with her decision, then finally she said, “why not?”

“Here John, get on your knees, down on the floor in front of me.” She instructed me. I still hadn’t juiced, and my pecker was throbbing. I got into the position she told me to, then she grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it up, bunching it at her hips.

She had on a whole nother set of clothes under that, and it took her a few minutes to remove everything. When she finally did, she had this wet gash between her legs that was covered with black hair.

“What’s that? Where’s your pecker?” I asked her, stunned at what I was looking at.

Grandma chuckled, as she spread her legs wide apart and begin to move her finger up and down the gash between her legs. She seemed to favor one spot in particular, at the top.

“Lean in close here John.” She told me. “Okay, this is my snatch. This hole right here, is where a man puts his pecker, to make a baby.”

I leaned a little bit closer, to see what she was pointing at. It looked like a pink tunnel. Then she pointed do a protrusion at the top of her snatch.

“This is my bean. It’s sensitive, just like your pecker. Before I married your Grandpa, I had a boyfriend that used to lick my bean every Saturday night, after we went dancing.” She reminisced.

“It’s been over 50 years since anybody’s licked my bean. Do you think you could try licking my bean John? If you don’t like it, you can stop.” Grandma said to me. After what she did to my pecker, there was no way I could say no.

“Sure Grandma, I’ll be happy to lick your bean.” I said, as I leaned in closer and stuck out my tongue. I could smell her snatch, and it wasn’t a smell I was accustomed to, but it wasn’t offensive either.

I touched my tongue to Grandma’s bean, and she gasped, and grabbed a hold of my head. “Oh sweet weeping Jesus, I forgot how good a tounge on my bean feels.” She said, as she held my face firmly against her snatch. Grandma was moaning and groaning like I’ve never seen before. I was beginning to think something was wrong with her.

“Keep licking my bean. Keep licking my bean, just like that.” Grandma said, as I flicked my tongue back and forth across her bean.

Now I knew nothing was wrong with her, she liked having me lick her bean.

My tongue was starting to get tired, I wasn’t used to using it like this. Suddenly, Grandma pulled my face in even tighter and kept saying “suck, suck, suck” over and over again.

“Hmmm?” Was the only sound I could make while my tongue was flicking back and forth across her bean.

“Suck my bean.” Grandma moaned. Grateful for the change from licking, I began to gently suck her bean.

I wasn’t sucking very long, before Grandma starting to jerk her hips up and down, while at the same time, her legs clamped shut like a vise, squeezing my head, making it hard for me to keep sucking her bean or breathe for that matter.

After a few more seconds, she released her vice-like grip on my head, and allowed me to breathe again.

Grandma was panting and struggling to breathe, and it alarmed me.

“Are you okay Grandma?” I asked.

“John honey, that hasn’t happened to me in over 50 years. Thank you so much.” Grandma said between breaths.

“You’re welcome Grandma. I like licking your bean.” I told her, very happy that I pleased Grandma.

“Uh, Grandma, I hate to have to tell you this, but sucking your bean made my pecker hard again.” I told her, as I held my throbbing pecker in my hand.

Grandma gave me a big toothless smile, and then begin to gum and tongue my pecker, until I juiced in her mouth. After that, I was exhausted. I don’t even remember Grandma leaving my room, just waking up the next morning feeling more rested than I ever have before.

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