Two Hands, Two Tits, One Bucket
Milk squirted out in two thick jets into the steel bucket between her legs.
Bootlegger’s Taproom – Late Evening
A busted ceiling fan spins overhead. The air smells like beer sweat and burnt fryer grease. The polymer photo lands on the table with a slick slap.
“Got this one with my left hand while I squeezed her tit with my right,” Zane said, smirking. “Told her to smile, but you can see—she weren’t exactly feelin’ festive.”
Colton tilted his head and looked.
Terri, on her knees, soaked in sweat and milk. Her massive breasts were being squeezed from either side, compressed and glistening like oiled meat. Milk squirted out in two thick jets into the steel bucket between her legs. Her eyes, though, told a different story—half-shut, lips parted, expression distant. She looked like she was barely holding on.
