The Surrogate Bull by UK Snowy


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The Surrogate Bull


"Is there anything the doctor has told you that you've missed?" asked
Althea, rubbing Clinton's knob over her tits.

"No, I'm sure," he sighed woefully. "It's just not possible, I mean if you
can't do it for me, no one can darling," he lied guiltily, thinking about
Meg. His cock surged slightly at the images of his beloved Meg and Althea
felt the distant tremors. It lifted her hopes and she rubbed her hand
urgently over his purple dome. She aimed her face over it and let a dribble
of spittle fall from her thick lipped mouth. It hit the bulls eye and she
teased the puddle into the half inch long slit and sighed as his glowing,
shiny knob seemed to gulp the saliva.

Sitting on his knee in the office at lunchtime was one of the highlights of
her day. Days like these when the sun is hidden beneath a dark backdrop of
threatening cluds and the wind was whistling round the streets, her
introduction agency business booming and she has found the man of her
dreams, would appear to be the ultimate antidote to her previously quiet and
staid life, but Althea was so sad. Clinton fondled her tits, the huge black
udders hanging near to her waist, free of the hammock like silk brassiere
she was forced to house them in. "The door is locked isn't it?" she
breathed, watching his gnarled but clean fingers pluck at her bulbous half
inch long nipples, which had erected amongst a little pattern of goose
bumps, as soon as he'd had dropped his trousers to his knees and sat so she
could straddle him.

"Shush darling. Stop worrying, we do this every week don't we. No one can
get in here. We're three floors up and can't be overlooked," murmured
Clinton, as she leaned back against him, her wiry black hair agitating his
nostrils. "Besides it's fun, sort of risky. Not like the safe haven of your
bedroom."

He buried his head in the back of her neck, breathing deeply at the Dior
perfume. Althea squeaked agreement and patiently reached down with one hand
between her gleaming thighs and pressured his shaft against her soppy wet
cunt. She sighed as she reached further and gathered up his huge ballocks
and hefted them as if weighing them. She would need an industrial
weighbridge to actually measure their bulk, she giggled to herself. Still
holding his knob between her breasts, she kneeded the pliable thickness of
his prick into the sticky mire of her aching cunt.

"Is it me, I mean are you sure it's not just the chemistry between us that
ain't working? How long for Clinton? I'm desperate to get this monster up
me. You can feel how wet and juicy I am can't you?" she breathed.

"Of course darling. As I said. The doctor says theres absolutely nothing
wrong with me and I'm certain theres nothing wrong with you, you're so
beautiful, so we've just got to be patient. I'm sure it will happen", he
breathed. The tumble of lies, apart from the comment about her beauty, fell
easily from his lips. He hadn't seen a doctor and knew what she desired
wouldn't happen. He spoke again.

"Now I'm going to lick you to cum as I always do, in a minute, but just keep
trying, I like what you're doing," he answered, reaching round her belly and
finding her clitoris. Althea shuddered and groaned at the instant contact.
His clever fingers frigged at her glowing red bud, making more pussy juice
go into free fall and sluice his cock. She rocked on him, holding his soft
hose like dick straight up her front, the ultimate love totem pole, lowering
her head slightly to lick at his knob.

Her toned legs were planted on the thick carpeted floor, giving her
leverage. Her stilettos cast aside, her long yoga trained toes curled into
the pile, their pink under parts contrasting with the deep grey blue
patterns. Clinton let her rock and stroked her oiled thighs, bare to her
hips where Althea had raised her mini skirt. Her pale blue French knickers
were cast aside, the flimsy silk and very expensive garment treated as sack
cloth.

Althea could afford to be careless with her material possessions, being
extremely wealthy and besotted with her new fella of three months. 3 Months
earlier He had approached her on business terms, wanting to find a partner
and during the interview, he had visited the toilet and she had spied on him
as he pissed, as she did with all her male clients. The toilet cam was a
boon to her business, her extremely wealthy female clients were generally on
the look out for studs more than long term partners, such was the rarified
nature of Althea's world and contacts. She always plied her male clients
with loads of drinks, whatever was their liking, tea even and coffee and she
always suggested a comfort break.

She thought her cam setup had gone loopy when she watched Clinton unravel
his tool over the cubicle bowl. Althea had rubbed her eyes and glanced away
from the screen, not for long you understand as she saw the monster uncurl
like a snake until Clinton held it in a gentle arc, his knob end beyond her
view, below the rim of the bowl. As she gasped, watching him literally knock
his helmet on the rim to rid the drips, Althea wondered on who she could
award this prize specimen to and the fees she could charge. Yes it was white
and nearly fifty percent of her clients were of coloured stock, but a white
monster was as much a prize as any colour. Althea thanked her foresight in
the toilet cam investment and especially the sound accessory. Often she
would switch that off, not wanting to hear piss, farts and dumps. Many men
were silent in the cubicles, but Clinton's lips had moved and she had turned
the volume up as he pissed. It was as if he was talking to his huge
appendage. She caught the words "gorgeous black beauty, big tits, just our
luck," and she had preened in her vanity on the assumption Clinton was being
complimentary about her.

She sighed as in the last moments of his privacy, Clinton had pulled his
hose like cock up vertically to his face and then Althea had been stunned by
Clinton rubbing his knob with a tissue and then kissing it tenderly, before
the reeling in and careful re-stuffing it back into his pants. She watched
as there was some fumbling and then he seemed to zip up the whole inside leg
of his pants. Althea resolved to try and determine the cut of his cloth so
to speak when he returned to her suite. Christ! A man who could lick his own
dick, with ease and with an obvious love of it was amazing. Her very first
thoughts centred on maybe he was gay or at least bisexual, but she reckoned
most men would like to suck their cock. Then Althea's brain went into
overdrive, more price wise than sex wise for a few moments, until she
decided that her clients weren't going to get a sniff of Clinton Blair.

When he'd appeared back in her reception suite, she took another look at his
pants and realised that they were particularly baggy, not noticing before.
He had sat comfortably and at ease and there was no sign of a zip, although
she did now notice a thickening down his leg leg and giggled to herself,
wondering if it would poke out from his pants bottom. She had gushingly made
it abundantly clear that the fees her clients paid were highly negotiable
and would be added to any other expenses he may incur. Clinton had visibly
licked his lips at the thought of being kept in such lavish means when the
figures were mooted and she wondered how she was going to break the ice and
open negotiations and her legs as soon as possible. He knew he had an asset.
Twentyseven inches long when flaccid or erect, when aroused it grew in
thickness only, from a mere inch and a half to a cunt busting solid and
rampant three inches in diameter. His rough hewn good looks got him girls
but he'd never been able to have full sex with them and therefore justify
the cunt busting qualification.

But he wasn't worried. Clinton was easy going and laid back and he enjoyed
his experiments and grew to be quite an expert in the foreplay department,
sucking hot juicy clitties, tit juggling etc etc. As Althea filled in the
application form, with Clinton happily answering the questions, whilst
thinking of the exciting deal he had done at market that morning, her
secretary Myra had knocked and entered, allowing Althea's boxer dog to tear
noisily into the office.

"Myra, how may times have I told you not to let Jimbo in here when I have a
client," Althea had said coldly. The excited dog had fussed round Clinton
who gave it a lot of attention and managed to quieten it very quickly, much
to Althea's surprise. Myra had been dismissed with some papers as Althea saw
that Jimbo was laying at Clinton's feet as the farmer gently stroked his
shoe over the dog's upturned belly.

"God thats amazing Clinton, hes never that quiet. How did you do that so
quickly?" she had gushed and blushed as Jimbo's hefty collection of genitals
waggled loosely. Clinton smiled in his reply.

"I'm a farmer remember, ways with them." She nodded and tried to concentrate
on her notes, wondering what her visitor would look like, naked, flat on his
back and her stiletto rubbing across his belly. He was certainly powerfully
built, with huge shoulders, a thick neck and that wonderfully open ruddy
smiling countenance. She wondered if his cock dragged on the floor when he
walked naked. Althea felt her fanny sluice and a flush gave her a glistening
complexion, completed by a languid wet lick of her lips. Jimbo suddenly
raised his head and sniffed and then he sniffed again in Clinton's
direction.

The next thing that happened stunned her. Jimbo, who was now quite agitated
had busied himself at the cuff of Clinton's pants and was seriously licking
at what seemed like her guest's ankle. Before Clinton, enjoying the
attention, could stop him, Jimbo's powerful front paw had frantically
scratched at Clinton's pants and released a stud. Clinton pulled him away
and cursed inwardly at his stupidity of thinking about the market deal, the
leaky arousal it had caused and the ultimate revelation to Althea of his
greasy great knob end hanging next to his formal dark blue sock.

"Good god!" exclaimed Althea. "I don...It can't be (she knew it was, but was
feigning surprise)(and not very well). Clinton is that what I thi...no..it
can't be. Oh my god, it is," she shrieked. The intercom buzzed and Myra
enquired if Althea was OK, getting a short affirmative in reply.

"Afraid so maam," drawled Clinton, not surprised and certainly not
fazed,used as he was to female reaction to his genitals. He attempted to
fasten the stud and hold Jimbo back.

"Bit juicy, he got wind and well you saw what happens. Dogs go for that sort
of scent you know."

"My god Clinton, it's enormo.....I mean, does it go?....Silly me, of course
it goes all the way up," Althea blustered.

"This is truly amazing. I mean you're going to be such an asset. Thats worth
a fortu..."

"I certainly hope so maam," chuckled Clinton. "It's not the sort of thing
you discuss in interviews is it?"

"Well no, not in my circles, but bbuubbbb. we should...I mean we should get
some er..some er details yes?" she stammered, grabbing a pencil and note
pad.

"It's not in the usual questions hah hahhah," she trilled, leaning forward
and letting her mammoth tits rest on her knee. Clinton eyed her ample, deep,
dark cleavage and patted Jimbo, whilst holding the dog. Jimbo for his part,
whined and pawed the air fruitlessly as his mistress bit her lip and
hesitantly spoke.

"Look Clinton. This is silly, I mean I can't write file notes on your
er..your your di...your appendage, can I?"

"Nope, the ink won't stay on," he chuckled. Althea screeched with mirth,
then settled again. She took a deep breath

"This is silly. Lets get down to it."

"I'm game maam if you are," said Clinton.

"You want it?" Althea's eyebrows shot up, her mouth dropped open, her tongue
hung out, her cunt flooded, Jimbo snorted. She licked her lips and nodded
timidly. She couldn't get the words out. She knew and he knew that she was
lost. Lost in the admiration and lust for the giant penis. Clinton nodded
meaningfully at Jimbo and she got the hint and dragged the boxer to the
door, finally unceremoniously booting the dog out and shouting at Myra to
feed him and not to disturb. Althea locked her office door, confident that
Myra could take care of things, turned and gasped when she saw Clinton. His
baggy pants hung open down the inside of his leg and his huge cock lay over
the flat of his hand in a long curving droop.

Althea mewed and walked to him. Words weren't necessary any more. She fell
to her knees and gazed in wonder at it, her head tilted from one side to the
other, her lips pursed open as a child in awe, then she grasped the puddingy
knob, its greasy outpourings smearing her manicured hands as she smoothed
her hand over it, feeling its globe like form. There was no foreskin and she
mused on the doctor who had cut the juvenile boy, wondering if the medic had
made a tobacco pouch from the redundant membrane. With wondrous eyes and
careful strokes, she explored the length of Clinton's immense prick. Heavily
veined, hot to touch, her hands climbed it as if she was proceeding up a
rope in the gym. She literally hauled it in, finally reaching the folds of
his pants. On fumbling inside, she gasped loudly as she pulled out his
gonads. Each ballock filled her hand, five inches in diameter, perfectly
smooth and as heavy as two ripe melons.

"It's truly amazing Clinton," she breathed glancing up at him. An hour
later, Myra buzzed through and apologised, but reminded Althea of an
important meeting. It was one Althea couldn't put off. Althea felt too weak
to go, but knew she must, yet how she would prepare herself was another
matter.

"I am so sorry Clinton," Althea frustratingly breathed. "It must be me, out
of practice you know."

"Hey it's alright Althea. We've had a good time and there'll be others eh?"
he chuckled, patting her black rump as she unstraddled herself from his
reclining body. He watched as she staggered across to her bathroom, her
buttocks rolling deliciously, her back deeply grooved at the spine, her
breasts rolling into view at each side, her thighs glistening front and back
with their combined juices, which turned her black skin, chocolate brown as
it caught the sun light. She turned and nodded as she reached the door. Her
boobs swayed and crashed against the door frame and his eyes lingered on the
erect, black, glossy bulbs of her nipples, finally sweeping down to the
thick matted patch of her pubic hair.

"You bet, there'll be a next time," she giggled girlishly.

"you're mine. I pay your fees. None of my high class whores are getting a
whiff of you, don't worry."

"All them bitches...and the dogs get a whiff of me Althea," he laughed,
waving his cock wand at her.

"Remember how you found out?"

"Yes well, those rich cows ain't getting anything of you so there. Now I've
got to get ready for this damn meeting. Oh god look at me." The last words
were screeched from the depths of the ensuite bathroom as she stared in the
mirror Clinton contemplated her first words and smiled. If only you knew he
thought, stroking his dick. He would get washed and dressed, pick up his
truck, change into his farm gear and go to the market as arranged. He would
be pleased to get out of his fancy suit, not that he was in a suit at the
time. Althea sat on the toilet and pissed hotly, her pussy stung as the
acidity washed out. Her purple tinted labia was sore from so many aborted
attempts to force Clinton's knob past it. Her clitty felt like a burst boil,
such was the inflammation from her rubbing it with Clinton's cock and his
good, very very good tongueing and fingering.

She had been sure she could take such a massive porker, she had fucked
around for most of her fortyone years. Hell she had taken her brother's
solid brown donger when she was thirteen and never looked back. Two
marriages, five kids, two divorces, countless lovers had made her hole
sumptuously accommodating. Why the hell hadn't she been able to get Clinton
up hard? She swiped her drips and winced, then she stood in front of the
wall mirror. She peered down and carefully pulled her cunt lips wide open,
wishing she hadn't but determined to prove to herself that her cunt was big
enough. She had known enough men, to realise some needed help or time to get
it up. If she was impatient, she had been able to stuff a semi hard or even
a flaccid cock into her snatch, such was the slashing great cavern she was
now gazing at in all its flushing, gaudy red wetness. Surely she could have
stuffed it in, that would have got it hard, but Clinton's dick had remained
stubbornly soft and floppy. Long - yes, thick - not particularly, wet -
certainly, but hard - no fucking way Althea, she moaned as she got on with
her hair and makeup. They had parted, Clinton's success on landing a
supportive financier evident in his cocky manner and the twenty tens in his
wallet.

Althea half staggered, half ran to her car, being tugged by the effervescent
Jimbo. Gingerly she sat and drove off, still wondering if she had lost her
touch, but determined to try again. He changed in the gents at the
supermarket and drove into the cattle market. He was greeted by many friends
and neighbours, all treating the day much a social occasion as a trading
day. Most of them were packing up their trucks and Clinton finally got to
the pens, cleared papers with the tally man and loaded in his purchases from
the morning. After a quick meal following the unloading and penning, Clinton
wandered to the sheds in high anticipation. Inside, he gazed at his
newcomers, all of them munching placidly, blinking their soft eyes as he
approached.

"You'll be Molly, you'll be Grace, you'll be Meg," he muttered as he passed
each byre. The three cows chewed cud noisily as he walked back up the line.
Their lower jaws slowly rotating at odds with their uppers, nostrils damp
and ears twitching, they looked supremely gentle. Molly was a beautifully
marked Freisian. Grace was a delicately tinted Guernsey and Meg was an inky
black Aberdeen Angus. He had already chosen her as his favourite at market.
He stepped into her byre, grabbing a tub off a shelf and placing it on the
struts of the byre, patting her rump as she swayed away.

Her skin was silky yet curly and shone in the shafts of sunlight that
streamed through the slatted walls. His practiced hands felt over her body,
confirming her bone structure and noting her trim legs. As she stepped round
her head, she lowed gently and he heard the familiar splattering of her shit
on the concrete gully behind her. Clinton ignored her natural function as he
smoothed his hand over her ears. Her eyes gazed at him soulfully as he ran
his hands over her snout and onto her gently blowing nostrils. Splayed wide,
they were wet and he coursed his fingers round their rims watching the
membrane of snot that trailed after his finger tips.

"You're an absolute picture Meg," he murmured into her ear.

"We are going to be such good lovers...yes you and you too," he chuckled as
Grace and Molly shuffled and mooed. Clinton walked round behind Meg,
chuckling at the sloppy dump below. He shovelled it to one side, got the
hose and washed it away. He saturated a cloth and washed Meg's rump, lifting
her tail and carefully scrubbed her anus free of the droppings that had
smeared down her haunches.

He noticed the ample vee pouch of her vagina, its protruding envelope of
delicate folds exciting him. Swiftly dropping his pants and whipping off his
tee shirt, Clinton stood in his sturdy boots, his huge cock swaying, barely
avoiding scraping on the hard floor beneath. He stooped as he stepped into
the thick carpet of fresh sawdust beneath the cow, his knob shunting the
dust like a ploughed furrough. He felt for her great udder and smoothed his
hand over the bulging sac, finding each of her teats and fingering them as
if human teats. They were warm and firm without hardness and he spent some
time with each one, finally sliding onto his butt and sucking at each one.
Each gave him sustenance, sweet hot creamy milk which he guzzled
contentedly. It would build up his strength he knew, as he guzzled on the
cutely domed teats.

He gathered up his dick and smeared it over her udder, pressing it gently
into the huge undercarriage as if to fertilise the outer membranes. Meg
twisted her neck and gazed round and he offered his length to her.
Immediately she started to snuffle at his knob and wrap her long curving
tongue round it, lapping with such verve as if it was salt tablets or cow
cake. He let her arouse him this way, squeezing his immense donger, feeling
the slow surge of blood starting to filter into the thick veins that coursed
through it.

Clinton got up and tensed his tool and it leapt and swayed in that
satisfying way, which never failed him in this situation. He chuckled at the
trouble Althea had taken that morning and her awful realisation that she had
failed to get an erection on his prize member. He toyed as he always did, on
whether to show her what turned him on, but as always decided that it was
his secret.

He would get paid handsomely while she endeavoured and he could fuck to his
hearts content with Meg, Grace and Molly. He dipped his hand into the tub of
odourless lubricant and smeared it on his arm. He recalled the countless
times he had watched, then helped his father and then taken over the
assisted birth of hundreds of calves as he closed his fist to a point and
gently pierced Meg's vulva. She gripped it as he waited then he pushed,
loving the intimacy and ease at which she took his full arm length.

"No worries there then Meg," he murmured withdrawing. Clinton didn't bother
to wipe his arm. All the odours and smeg trails were part of his love affair
with his beast and he prepared himself now for the ultimate joining. Before
stepping close to Meg's rear he moved a special stool he had fashioned from
sturdy timber. He leaned forward and held her tail over Meg's back, baring
her genitals. Slowly dropping his head he thrust his face towards her
vagina, sniffing the intimate air until he caught the whiff of her sex. His
cock twitched and he tensed his sphincter muscles. His balls rolled and
tightened and he tensed again as he dipped his face into the soft folds of
the bovine cunt.

Clinton tensed again and his member swirled in its blood curdling activity.
He infiltrated his lips and nose into the dense swathes of her vaginal
crevasse, licking at the earthy tang of her inner labia, finding more
pungent scents and textures amongst the opening walls of her hole. He tensed
his cock again and it swung in an arc, its colour gradually changing from
pale pinkness to an ever deepening red.

Holding Meg's tail clear, he grabbed his solidifying cock and held it along
his torso, dipping his tongue alternately onto his knob, lathering it with
Meg's cuntal juices. His tongue pierced his slit and he let some of her
fluids drain into it. With his feet, he budged the stool into place and
stepped onto it. He stood motionless behind the unsuspecting cow, letting
her tail drop, not touching her, simply tensing and relaxing his groin and
sphincter as his cock responded. It took a huge effort, his eyes bulged, his
neck tensed.

Veins throbbed over his groin and thighs. His belly rippled and his breath
came in sharp grunts with the effort. He was stimulated by the odours on his
face and the sight of Meg's rump, her swishing tail giving him glimpses of
her fanny. As his cock gained the horizontal, Clinton gasped with the effort
and proudly swayed his body, letting the magnificent member slap gently
against Meg's rump. Swinging his dick in line with her hole, having to
support it with his hand, he pushed as it centred and he gained six inches
easily into the heat and tightness therein. Now his cock didn't buckle with
flaccidness as it did with all the human cows he had been with. His cock
stiffened as it entered Meg further, now twelve inches in and gaining.

Clinton pulled back and glanced to examine the girth of his now quite florid
penis. No damage, so he thrust harder sinking it deep. He felt Meg contract
round him and paused, loving the vice like grip until she pulsed, released
him and he could ram at her again. He grabbed her rump, holding the
protruding knuckle joints of her haunches as he made the last push. It was
easy although firm, feeling pressure along his dick as he became fully
embedded in her body. All twentyseven inches were buried up to his golloping
great ballocks and he groaned in ecstacy as Meg again pulsed and gripped as
if adjusting to this sudden intrusion.

Clinton waited and admired the way her labia wrapped tightly round the wedge
of human muscle, so alien, but so fitting and comfortable. Meg lowed and
turned her pretty head as if to say, "What next honey" and Clinton smiled.

"Like it darling?" the surrogate bull whispered hoarsely.

"It's yours from now on and Molly's and Grace's, welcome home." In the early
evening, suffusing the light to oranges and tints of pink mixed with grey
clouds, the bestial love scene commenced in earnest. Clinton started a
steady shunt at Meg's sturdy rump, his practiced motions, gained over the
years, with calves and then full blown cows, which were his ultimate
favourite, made the fuck motions easy. His stool was spacious enough for him
to take steps to continually adjust to the stride he had to take to fully
insert and withdraw his massive dick into Meg's cunt.

Once hard, he could screw for hours and recalled the sows he used to keep, a
legacy from his father. Long since dropped from the farm, due to economics
and regulations on feed, they had in fact proved perfect receptacles for
Clinton's growing appendage and particularly the time it took for him to get
off. He had watched the boars at work daily and they seemed to be lodged up
their various mounts for ages, motionless, staring into space. Quite why the
animals attracted him this way and were the only females to get him hard,
escaped him. He let the numerous farm dogs lick his dick and when they had
kept horses, Clinton had fucked them too, but his favourites were the cows
and the young heifers, Meg was a stunning choice from his marketing foray.
She stayed calm, still and munched happily while Clinton the bull rammed at
her rear.

Sweat flew off him as his pace quickened. His drenched body sprayed the
byre, damping the sawdust. He knew the pain and near exhaustive moments on
cumming were near, but drove on to reach his climax. His body shook, his
breath was gasps, his sphincter was rock hard and his balls had screwed into
huge tight bulbs, held in a wrinkled sac. With a shout - no a bellow,
Clinton shot his load. Meg shifted and the other two mooed as Clinton
groaned, feeling his seed flow as if he was pissing, such was the relief.
Stars shot across his eyes as he reached the last pumping action, ramming as
hard as he could at the cow's fanny, until he stopped, shuddered and fell
across Meg's back. She moved sideways at the sudden weight and with a farty
wet slurp his tool slid out of her cunt and Clinton fell to the floor. His
cock ached, his balls seemed pinched and his knob was lividly purple.

Clinton's breath was rasping through him, sawdust stuck to his lathered skin
and his legs were jelly as he tried to shuffle away from Meg's slightly
disturbed bulk. As usual he nearly blacked out, but he shook his head and
kept it low, waiting for the blood to begin its lengthy course back from the
softening pole that lay across his thighs and dribbled wetly into the
sawdust. Half an hour passed before Clinton could stir and check over his
tools. Everything was intact, back to their still incredulous size. His
breath was calm and he slowly got on with a gentle cleaning of both Meg and
himself as he pondered on his next trip to town.

END


  
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