This choice: Olivia - time for your milking • Go Back...Chapter #5Olivia - time for your milking by: Yote   Olivia stands in the doorway. Her dark hair, usually tied back into a tidy bun, hangs in an unruly mess around her head. "Hey, brother," she yawns sleepily, stretching and scratching her arse inside the boyshorts she sleeps in. She walks to the fridge, brushing you aside, and grabs her Brita filtered water from inside the door. She drinks straight from the jug. As you step away, trying to blend into the shadows of the kitchen, your eyes dart down to the infernal device clutched in her hand.
At 24 years old, Olivia is your oldest sister. After F-Day, there was plenty of room for promotion assuming you had the right chromosomes. Olivia was able to secure a well-paying job, but even still she is always on the look-out for more money. She wipes her wet mouth with the back of her hand, then turns to you, raising the milking device. It is called such because it so closely resembles the machine used to milk dairy cattle in both appearance and function. You flinch away.
"You're not busy, right," she states.
"I-I have breakfast to make," you reply feebly. You're not even sure if she hears you. She steps closer.
"Look, I'm kinda going to have to work late tonight so we're going to have to reschedule. I'm going to need to bring your milking forward to, like, now. You don't mind, right? I can be quick, you won't even feel it."
Just stand up to her. Don't let her push you round like this. She has no right. Yet your stomach knots at just the thought of denying her. "Sure," you whimper.
"Thanks, big brother." She's done this so many times now that she doesn't even have to look as her hands tug your trousers and underwear down around your thighs, exposing your member to the frigid morning air. As if it could shrivel up any further. Her fingertips slide under your bruised testicles, cupping and massaging them with cold, detached movements. It actually hurts enough to make you back away from her touch, but trapped beneath her and the kitchen counter there is nowhere to go.
"Don't make me work for this," she huffs impatiently, her fingers increasing their tempo and squeezing your balls with greater force.
"I'm not," you plead. "You need to give me time to rest. You've been doing this too much."
"Bullshit," Olivia retorts. "Don't give me that crap again. We only do this once a day. Cosmo says most men can be harvested two or three times a day, four if you stick a thumb up their arsehole. Do you want me to stick my thumb up your arsehole?"
"No! No, of course I don't want that."
Shaking her head, she makes you turn around. Reaching around from behind, your sister grips your flaccid shaft tightly, pumping it with mechanical movements. "I'm the one doing all the work here," she grumbles in your ear. "You just have to stand there. Am I really asking too much of you? No, of course not." Slowly, reluctantly, your dick grows erect under the harsh yet effective stimulus she is providing. She slides the milking device in place, the glass cylinder fitting over the end of your dick, the leather harness buckled beneath your balls.
"It's not once a day," you blurt.
Olivia's hand pauses only a second. "Selfish dick," she growls. "I knew you've been tugging it off when I wasn't -"
"It's Sarah." As soon as the words escape your lips, you know you've made a mistake. "It's not me, it's her. I didn't want her to but... She started selling it too. She ordered me not to tell you."
Olivia gives your dick one, last, angry tug. "I can't believe she's drinking my milkshake," she mutters, her patience finally giving out. She thumbs the switch on the side of the device, twisting the dial up to 3. You brace yourself against the counter. Don't tense. Tensing makes it worse.
The electrodes dig into your scrotum, sending 20,000 volts of electricity screaming through your loins. Your body buckles, the muscles of your chest tightening all at once, forcing the air from your lungs as a gasp of pain. Your dick spasms, squirting £30 worth of semen into the glass receptacle.
The electrodes retract and you slump against the counter. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Olivia croons, unscrewing the receptacle and unbuckling the device. "Don't make me use the electrodes next time, you know it affects your yields." She sniffs the air angrily. "Great job, now my bacon is burning!" | Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
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