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Yea, it’s a tier 2 fantasy for sure 😉
There’s nothing much to it, I simply wish I could take a bath in pure, creamy white milk, maybe with some rose petals spread delicately and other botanicals too.
I could sit and watch a sunset, maybe sunrise in an outdoor soaking tub. A copper tub would be sexy, porcelain classic as well but maybe black for contrast. The amber, peachy skies would look dazzling as I sat submerged in lactose. A wineglass, just empty and I’d dunk it around my pelvic area and bring ‘er back to the surface to take a sip. Like the 100% milk at the store, just with essence of pussy. Forget the strawberry milk or Yoo-hoo’s, look for the Red cap of Tonya’s Milk. You’re welcome.
It would be perfect to have one of those boards across the tub, where I’ll keep my cookies. Can a girl treat herself every now and then? I could dunk my cookies in the glass or tub, whatever feels right at the time.
Sure, I’d shower first, probably shave too. Don’t wanna be the nude poster child for Got Milk with cream saturated in my bush. Might save that for the next guy who has a tub he’s willing to experiment with. Where do the farmer boys hide out at?
Wonder what my dermatologist would say, if it’s good for the skin topically? A monthly milkdown would help avoid calcium deficiency too. I don’t mind warm milk, the scent of it warming, the bubbly froth.
Currently the only drawback, mostly for girls, is yeast infection. And as far as pH goes, milk is fairly basic, so there’s that.
Aesthetically, it would be sexy to be naked under a high opacity escort bursa fluid if neighbors saw me soaking. Could casually say hi and have a whole conversation wearing nothing but dairy. Just that 3mm edge of transparency threshold as my upper breasts stay mostly afloat. The peaks of my knees visible but nothing more.
I could try it with homogenized milk, then raw to see what’s better. Raw might be a little too thick, that shit getting stuck in my hair. One could even make it a challenge: how long can you last in the tub of milk. I wonder how many hours it would take until it started to smell sour, kind of a mood killer, no doubt.
Wonder if it would weird some guys out if I shared the fantasy with them. Again, the milk would render that sexy element of opacity; you can’t see inches below. I could bath with my Dairy King and grab his balls on a whim, and he wouldn’t see it coming like he might in a normal bath with no bubbles. Well, I suppose by the same token I wouldn’t be able to see through the milk myself to lock onto my target. And oh yea, BUBBLES!! I’d bring a classic straw with red stripes and blow bubbles in my bath. Depending on the fat content, they might last longer that with skim milk.
For guys with breastfeeding fetish (all of them), you wouldn’t have to wait ’til your girlfriend/wife is pregnant, just suck her tits in the bath and keep the nipples at “sea-level”. I myself wouldn’t mind another girl to soak with, to scrub her back and she’d scrub mine. We’d have a fun little girly splash fight, and once one of görükle escort us gets the other’s hair wet, it’d be OVER. We’d dunk each other beneath the porcelain surf and wrestle; a fly on the wall would wonder if we were churnin’ butter with such a bout. Classic blonde and brunette feud. Eventually, we’d get a little exhausted and inevitably her lips would find mine and make it happen. I’d feel her legs straddle atop me, serial pecks quickly transitioning into full duration smooches and then French kissing. With her rhythmic breathing and soft tongue gliding against mine, there’d be no time to cry over spilled milk. Trust, with the level of passion described, there’s bound to be at least a pint gone overboard.
As aforementioned, eventually the milk would near expiration, and we’d have to shower off. “All good things must come to an end”…..or was the fun just beginning? She’d lead me delicately by the hand to the standing shower, glass pane door with white tile and black components. Behind us a white spotted trail. She turns on the water and voila, it’s a rainfall faucet. We start by wringing out the dairy in each other’s hair; first rinse then lavender shampoo. The rest is fairly straightforward, though ironically, “straightforward” might not be the best descriptor for what’s to come.
She presses me against the tile and manually squeegee’s the water down my torso, with extra attention to my breasts. With nothing better to do, I perform the same service. She has nice handful-sized B-cups with just enough sag for depth plus cute tan nipples that look incredible curtained behind her blonde, wet locks. I love how the milk streams down our things, watching how the opacity fades to pure translucence while we scrub the milk away. It’s like light-pattern marble, more noticeable on my body than hers since she’s a little paler than I. It’s now my turn to spring up from against the wall and press her ass again the glass, making out again like we did in the tub. I really wish I could see what it looks like from the other side, even if there was a mirror facing parallel to the view, there’s too much steam. Two fingers find their way inside her, then I add a third plus my thumb to rub her clit with tight counterclockwise motions. If there was an Asian dairy farmer named Miagi, he’d be sure to advise “milk on, milk off” for those circular motions I make against her sex. Her sing-song moans get me going too, as I start to feel her grab my boobs with one hand and ass with the other. Yeah, she tries to grab both with her small palm, the effort only yields her a grip of both my areolas pinched together in her grasp.
“Fuck..”
Her centimeter-long fingernails dig into my ass as she grips tighter, must be thanks to the delight from the labor of my digits. And they only keep going until the grand finish of my little blonde lass. Someone standing outside the bathroom door would attest, she’s the perfect soprano for the choir. Always in tune, thanks to yours truly.
You ask, “Tonya did you cum too?”
Well, no because I still have dairy on the mind, specifically Ben & Jerry’s. So that’s where I’ll be after we towel off.
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Conclusion: Unlike that one Bowling for Soup song, the girls that the bad guys want aren’t always creaming over tough guys.