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Mike & Millie / Peach: Chapter 4
🕑 Added 2025-11-29 21:07:56 +0000 UTCThis is the continuation of the story I named Swingin’ Road Trip. I’ve changed it to the series name of Mike & Millie’s Swingin’ Road Trip and this first short story is called Peach (as in Peach state). Here’s the new cover:
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When Millie drew her lips to the point of Pete’s cock and then slipped off, she backhanded wet from her lips, her other hand thumb-levering downward Pete’s fully erect member so she could admire it. Her eyes roamed all over the man’s cock. Eyes still on the impressive member, she said to Pete, “I haven’t sucked another cock in the longest time. Just my Mike’s.”
Millie’s lurid words had Pete fully engaged, looking down his uniform chest and at his own proud and fat member sticking upright, Millie’s thumb pressing it out. “Is it good?”
“Like, do I like it?—fuck, yeah, Pete. It’s really big. Way bigger than Mike—and Mike doesn’t have a little thumb down there or anything. Mike’s is perfect. But, god, this is a beauty.”
Mike had to admit Pete’s cock grew to a pretty impressive size. And it was really fat. Right from the base to the tip, the head a full and plump helmet that matched the shaft’s beefy girth. He said, “Millie’s kind of a cock expert. A coxpert, if you will.”
Pete nodded, said dumbly, “Like a cock-spurt.”
“Ew, no,” Millie said. “Don’t be gross.”
“That’s not gross,” Pete said, eyes wide and fearful, defending his sense of humor. “I meant it like a compliment.”
Millie smiled and looked down at her hand stroking a slow slide up and down Pete’s impressive member. She said, “You’re not married. I don’t see a wedding ring. You have a girlfriend?”
“I had one, but we broke up last year. She moved to Oregon and I got this job here. It’s my dream job.”
“I see why,” Millie said. “Stopping beautiful women so you can show off your massive beauty.”
Pete shook his head no. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Mike smiled. The guy was a hunky cop with a big dick but he was still a good boy with manners. Probably came from a good home and just missed out on fucking chicks when he was younger. And Millie was like a sex therapist, one hand on the guy’s dick, sweet-talking the truth out of him. She’d be good at sex therapy if there weren’t rules about fucking your clients.
Millie looked into Pete’s eyes now, stroking his dick, saying, “You’re a hot guy. You’ve got a beefy body, all this cop muscle, and a big thick cock and massive balls. Most guys like you would be such a fucking asshole. How come you’re so sweet?”
“I’m not so sweet,” Pete lamented, and without having to say it, both he and Millie—exchanging looks—knew what he meant: look at me now in the back seat with some nomad rich kids who were speeding and flashing tits, and my dick’s out.
Millie plunked her chin down on Pete’s shoulder, looking up at him all sweet and innocent. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Pete. We all want the same thing here. I’m not doing this to get out of a ticket, and hey, man, you’re on your break.”
Pete nodded and before he could lament his way out of this fun, Millie lowered her head into his lap again and put her mouth around his cock, her blonde head bobbing up and down, slurping sounds muffled. Pete’s head went back to the head rest and Mike watched all the lamentation float up into the hot sky.
#
Pete’s cock was made for fucking not for sucking. She loved sucking cock, loved knowing the pleasure she delivered, and loved the feel of a hard cock in her mouth. Or a soft one, too. But a hard cock ripened to bursting was a beautiful thing. Right on the edge of orgasm, the salty stream flowing from his balls. And Pete had huge balls that felt amazing in her hand. Pete was a huge turn on as hard as his girth made him to suck. They should fuck. Pete would be a great first fuck on their road trip across America. She slipped her mouth off Pete’s cock and stroked it, looking at Mike. “We should get condoms,” she said.
Mike laughed at her and rocked his head forward. Mike was a buzz kill but also the voice of reason she needed. She said, “What?”
Mike didn’t even respond to her, saying instead to Pete: “You see what I mean? Millie loves sex. Once she starts . . . ”
But Pete agreed with her. “We should get condoms.”
She smiled at him, big and wide and with teeth, nodding in theatrical wags.
Mike shook his head no, the two of them working at odds. He looked at Pete wearily. “Millie goes crazy with big dicks.”
She squeezed Pete’s cock and the head bloated and reddened as she shook it at Mike like a weapon.
#
Mike raised his brows and said to Pete, “You see what I mean?”
Pete looked from him to Millie like they both might be crazy people. Maybe dangerous even. He was in the back of an old muscle car from a different era, and Millie in this situation might come across like a wild hippy from the Manson Family.
But any fear washed away as Millie stroked a tight squeeze from the base to tip and watched a clear bead of seminal fluid blossom in Pete’s urethral cup. Pete groaned and his head fell back again.
Millie fingered the fluid and painted a glossier sheen on the shape of Pete’s fat cock head, saying, “I love little dicks, too. I can have a lot of fun with a little dick. But big dicks turn me on so fucking bad.”
Mike said, “If she sees a big dick, she disappears for a half hour, masturbating in the bathroom. I’ll turn around and be like, ‘Where’s Millie?’”
“I do not,” she squealed.
“Yeah, you do, Millie.”
“Whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes. “It was like one time.”
“It’s more than one time.”
Millie scoffed and shook her head, surrendering the fight but still believing she was right. But Mike was right. It was four times. He remembered each one with clear distinction.
He smiled at his lovely and kinky and endlessly horny wife, sitting in the back of his dream car and getting what she wanted. “We don’t have time to go get condoms, Millie, baby. We have to get to the resort and check in. We don’t want to miss the dinner. Pete’s on his break. He’s obviously going to pop in about a minute and—”
“He’d be such a good fuck, Mike. God.” She pushed Pete’s wet cock up again against his cop belt. “A big fat cock on black leather.” She squirmed in her seat. “I need it so bad right now. My stomach aches.”
“I’m going to take care of you, Millie. Don’t worry.”
“I know you will,” she sighed, her sexual need showing right now in everything she did. Her head lowered again and bobbed on Pete’s cock, her hand seen through her shaggy mane with a good coddling grip on Pete’s huge balls.
Mike watched a while, knowing Millie’s insides were squeezing right now. When she got horny she was a devil. It took a lot of effort to douse the fire that built inside her. One Saturday off together they’d fucked seven times and he was shooting water by the end. Millie was still horny and he went down on her, fingered her and used her favorite dildo right up until midnight. Then she slept for twelve hours and was an absolute angel on Sunday.
His hand went to the back of her warm head, riding up and down while her head bobbed, Pete’s cock in her mouth. Millie’s sex drive was his biggest turn on.
He said, “Pete’s going to come, Millie, slow down a little.”
Pete’s chest was heaving as Millie’s head-work boiled those big balls to an overflow. He’d never seen Millie with another man before. But he knew what she could be like. If he didn’t stop her, she might suck Pete the cop until he blasted off down her throat even though she’d warned Pete he better not. Truth was, as Mike saw it, she could warn him not to but Millie probably thought it would be the hottest thing ever if Pete came in her mouth.
“Millie, come on,” he said soothingly, her head not slowing, knowing Pete was going to come and wanting the dirtiest thing possible to happen—the thing that shouldn’t happen. He said to Pete, “Millie’s as hot as this Barracuda but god damn she doesn’t have any brakes.”
At last, Millie rose her head, snuffling laughter and wiping her mouth. His sense of humor was what won him such a hot, sex-loving prize as Millie.
Pete groaned as if in pain and overcome with grief as his orgasm had been teetering on the edge. His cock twitched in his lap, looking inflated to its max.
Millie rose to her knees, one long pretty hand going to the crotch of her short-shorts and rubbing her pussy through the denim. She bit her lower lip and looked at Mike, then to the rear of the Hemi and out to the police cruiser. She looked at Mike again. “Let’s take him outside.”
#
She had a horny and devious image in mind; one that turned her on. She pushed Pete toward the back of the Barracuda, Pete struggling to hold his pants up while his fat cocked bounced and wagged. She patted the back of the Hemi’s trunk. “Put it there,” she told him.
He didn’t know what she meant and stood there waiting for more instruction. Of all the studly highway cops in the world she and Mike got pulled over by the most sexually naive. She gripped his cock and pulled him so his knees touched the bumper. He had to go up a bit on his toes to get his cock to lie on the bed.
“It’s hot,” he complained, but she began fanning her hand in quick flashes up and down his shaft, her thumb pad circling the supple flesh around his spit-slick pee hole. He groaned again, eyes closing, supporting his weight on his hands, curled on the edge of the Barracuda’s trunk. “I want to see you come,” she told him. It had been a long time she’d been with a real live man besides Mike and watched them come. There was a sense of sexual victory and accomplishment making a man come. A profound and fundamental feeling that set a lot of crooked things in her psyche straight and aligned. Her other hand was squished between her thighs while she squeezed her little lady and tried getting those silvery lines that traced right through her heart and flashed light behind her eyes as it brought her close to her own orgasm. Within seconds of playing with Pete’s gorgeous cock—that should be shoved deep inside her right now if it were up to her—and squeezing her pussy she felt the edge of another orgasm racing up from her core. Her legs started to shake and she began squeaking and gasping. Pete began roaring, hearing her come sounds. His balls were ready to burst.
And just when she thought she was right where she wanted to be and things couldn’t get any better, Mike was close behind her, his hot naked cock sliding on her inner thigh. His finger hooked through the teeny crotch of her shorts and tugged them to the side. She went on her toes and shoved her ass back. Mike’s fingers slid through her hot gash and the orgasm began in slow waves. She began to warble sexual cries thick with the hunger for dick.
Mike’s dick slid into her all the way, and the orgasmic fireworks began. Her pussy overflowed and her hot juice trickled down her inner thighs. She went knock-kneed and weak and whimpered as the orgasm rumbled through her.
Comments
KT Morrison
Peach is a much better title than Georgia.
KT Morrison
I am a longtime fan of said Crumb and later loved the documentary on him and brother and brother's notebook evolution!
KT Morrison
Saucy pedantic wretch! (I somehow know wholeheartedly you'll get that reference!) I'm a pretender to grammatical perfection. The transitive and intransitive are a definite weakness of mine.
Bill F Protagoras
BTW not to be pedantic to 'raise' is a transitive verb, and 'rise' is an intransitive verb. They are commonly confused, but they are not interchangeable... they are confused. And confusing... like the commonplace misuse of 'bring' and 'take.' The latter pair possibly exacerbated by the proliferation of long distance technological communication devices... and even letters. Mail or post.
Bill F Protagoras
Juicy fuzzy peach. Sticky fingers.
Bill F Protagoras
Unbelievable!
Bill F Protagoras
A dishevelled (blond) redhead.
Bill F Protagoras
Fuzz peachy perfection... According to the idea, or is it the ideal, that every thing that can exist must exist... plenitude (sic The Great Chain of Being) I am fully entitled to imagine Artist Emeritus Robert Crumb gleefully tickled pink by this beautiful retooled latter day tale from Existential Comics, chuckling away in implacable defiance of moral censure and lit by free speech. Mr Plenitude himself appreciating the abundance of our very own horn-you-copia spilling over page after page. If it makes you happy... revel in it, why don'tcha! And my Mr Crumb dabs away at the ink stains on his sleeves in solidarity. And we receive redoubled unlooked for elation from 'our' favourite author... for calling to mind our sainted Honey Bunch Kaminsky's awfully spectacular SNORK !
