PeterFiles #09: Molly Does the Milking

The PeterFiles: A (fictional) clinical study chronicling the activities of Peter, a lifelong habitual masturbator. Copyright 1995-2017 by Onania.Org/asm. Click to Read All Stories in the PeterFiles

In which Peter gives a generously-bosomed friend a hand with the milking, and the favor is returned.


Editor’s Note: Partialism, the fixation of sexual attraction on secondary sexual characteristics, is commonly associated with masturbatory addiction. The habitual masturbator, accustomed by long practice to manual gratification, loses his capacity to perform normal coitus and may find the primary female genitalia intimidating (see Peter File #05). He transfers his sexual attention to other parts of the female body, most often the bosoms, usually responding strongly to women with generous endowments. The logic of this choice is clear: After her vulva, the breasts are the most feminine part of a woman, and the traditional association of the breast with nurturing and sympathy provides an important reassurance to the sexually insecure masturbator. Peter’s breast partialism is apparent in many of the PeterFiles. — Dr. Margaret Wilson, Registered Genital Therapist.


The summer after graduating from college, I spent traveling around the country, and I stopped for a week to visit one of my friends who was then living on a farm in northern California. The farm was run as a commune by several young, hippie-type men and women who had moved there to escape modern city life. They were all very friendly, and I liked them right away, but one in particular caught my attention, a girl named Molly. She was a redhead with a farm-girl plumpness, and a large, heavy bosom which gave her an earth-mother quality. I’ve always had a fascination with women’s breasts, and I was seized with a desire to suckle at her huge, nourishing mammaries. At first I was far too shy to make any approach, and contented myself with masturbating in secret thinking of her. Finally I did manage to talk to her, and her easy, free-spirited manner made me feel so comfortable, that I offered to help her with her chores the next day.

I didn’t know just how free-spirited she was until the next day when I went to the barn to meet her. I heard some footsteps, and out of the door came Molly, carrying a full bucket of milk in each hand and– incredibly– nude from the waist up! I stared open mouthed at her two massive breasts hanging bare before me, and she was the first to speak.

“Oh, hi! I already started with the milking.” I was still staring dumbly at her bosom, unable to pull my eyes away. “I guess you’re surprised to see me like this. I usually don’t wear much when I’m doing the milking, it gets pretty warm in the barn. You don’t mind if I keep my top off, do you?”

I managed to stammer, “N…No, not at all…”

“Good. The guys here on the farm are used to it, we all go around half naked, but it does bother some guys. I don’t want you to think I’m making a come-on or anything. It’s just a lot more comfortable without my top. Sure you don’t mind? I know how some guys get about seeing a girl’s tits.”

I forced my eyes up to meet hers and assured her I had no objections, trying to sound perfectly casual. I could feel my member starting to throb painfully inside my pants, but this was a small price to pay for such a vision.

We got down to work, spending much of the afternoon milking the cows and performing other routine chores in the barn. I must have seemed pretty dumb to her, because I could hardly work or converse with my attention so attracted by the magnets of her breasts. Whenever she walked, the heavy pendants swayed hypnotically. Each time she leaned forward to milk a cow’s udder, her own teats swung down beneath her, and I longed to seize them and mimic her rhythmic squeezing with my own hands. I tried not to be obvious in my voyeurism, but often she caught my eyes riveted on her endowments and seemed to smile slightly.

Although I wanted to prolong the heavenly feast for my eyes, the chores and milking were done at last. I expected Molly to replace her top and head for the house. Instead, she stood in front of me, her hands squarely on her hips, her breasts proudly bare. She looked down at my crotch and at the stiff erection plainly visible through my jeans and grinned,

“Now then, Peter, I expect we need to talk about something. That thing of yours has been poking out at me all day long!”

I stammered in excruciating embarrassment, “I… I’m sorry Molly… I can’t help getting this way … when I see you like that …”

She laughed. “No, I guess not. You’re not used to the way us country girls dress, are you? Did you have fun looking at my bare tits while we worked?”

“I didn’t mean to stare, Molly. It’s just that they, I mean, you are so beautiful!”

“I guess you mean big!” She grinned and looked down at her chest. “I am a pretty big girl, aren’t I? And I know what that does for guys. I got a kick out of the way you kept sneaking peeks at my tits when you thought I wasn’t looking.” She looked me in the eyes and teased, “You don’t have to peek now, do you? You can get a good look at them. Go ahead, Peter, don’t be so shy about it. Take a good look at my tits.”

I stared open-mouthed at her breasts, dumbfounded at her bold and surprising offer, but grateful for the opportunity. My penis throbbed painfully in my jeans.

“Actually, the way you stared at my tits, I thought at first I might have a problem with you; but you were so sweet about it, I don’t mind your looking. You really helped me a lot today, Peter, and I think that deserves a reward. How’d you like to try your hand at milking these?”

She placed her palms beneath her heavy breasts and hefted them toward me in offering. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. “You mean, can I … touch them?”

“Sure, go ahead, Peter, give them a squeeze and a suck.”

I fell to my knees at her feet, and grasped her treasures. She gently pressed my head to her bosom and let me suckle to my hearts delight on each rosy nipple.

I could have continued forever, content to do no more than suckle and knead her bounty, but she said, “Now I think there’s just one more little cow that needs milking,” and reached down and unsnapped the front of my jeans. She pushed me down on my hands and knees and, reaching underneath, extracted my very erect penis from my britches. She grasped it in her hands and began squeezing it with practiced movements, milking me exactly as she had the cows. She leaned forward into her work, and I could feel her heavy breasts resting on my back. I was in heaven, and smiled up at her gratefully.

She winked, and said “wait, I’m forgetting something.” She reach around and grabbed an empty milk pail, just the same as she used on the other real cows. She slid it underneath me, and the resumed her milking, holding my throbbing teat over the waiting pail.

She pulled slowly at my penile dug, joking as she milked, about how much cows like to be milked, about how much each one can be expected to yield, about what makes a “contented cow” yield more milk, etc. She seemed to be enjoying the humor of comparing the panting young man straining in her hands to a cud-chewing Holstein. She hefted my scrotal sacks in her hand and commented approvingly on the fullness of my “udder”, and ran her fingers along my penis with complements to the length and diameter of my “teat”.

I was getting more and more aroused, now issuing soft moaning sounds as Molly stoked my penis in a gentle rhythm. She teased me about the sounds I was making, “That’s a good little cow, mooing when it gets a milking. Does it like to be milked? Let Molly hear it, then. Moo for Molly, moo like a little cow.”

I could not help yielding to the embarrassing but oh so exciting teasing, with “M.. Moo.. oh, Molly, milk me .. Mooo .. Mooo ..”

We continued like that for a delicious eternity, as she was in no hurry to make me “let my milk down.” But at last the inevitable happened. I tensed, my “mooing” became more insistent, and Molly’s strokes became firmer and faster urging me towards release, until I let down my milk in gushing spurts between her fingers. She aimed my spasming teat at the bucket and I squirted thick, white streams that spattered the bottom of the bucket in audible spurts.

I helped Molly every day that remained in my visit, and she repeated her service each time. She often varied the manner of my release. Sometimes she sat on a bench Indian-fashion with her knees apart and her bare feet pressed together; I would kneel in front of her, kneading and suckling at her nurturing bosoms while she worked my penis between her toes until I spurted. Other times she laid me flat on the bench, and leaned over me, taking my throbbing member into her soft cleavage and receiving my urgent tribute between her breasts.

She never showed interest in anything further sexually, and I don’t think she really considered what she was doing for me to be a sexual act. To her it was just a friendly favor to relieve the tension that I built up while helping her. And being then (and still!) a worshipper of the female bosom, I wasn’t wanting for anything more.

* end *