The house always wins.

It was, admittedly, a lot less **** and frantic, when we conceived our second, but it was still a lot of fun.

It was Rancher's turn to host the Boy's Night poker game that week, and I was in the kitchen getting dinner and the snacks ready for them. He came in from putting our kid down for their nap, got himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the table. And I could feel that his eyes were laser focused on my butt as I was moving stuff from counter to counter. I definitely did not slap my own butt and leave a wet hand mark there, when I was just wiping my hands dry while I was doing the washing up.

A couple of minutes later, I hear him ask me if I wouldn't mind helping him out with the game. Now, I do not condone manipulating things in games like this, even if it's for fake money, but this is his house, and therefore the odds should be tilted _slightly _in his favor. So I looked over my shoulder and told him that so long as I'm not actively influencing the game or helping him cheat, I'd be glad to help out. He then came up behind me and put his arms around me. I didn't think much of it at first, but then I felt a little big something pressing up between my cheeks. Whispering in my ear, he told me that he wanted my help clearing his head of distractions so that he could focus on his game a couple of hours later.

Immediately my brain started working. What if our kid woke up? What if one of the Boys show up early? What if one of them called and said that they couldn't make it and threw my portions out of whack? What if there was a mess in the house that needed clearing up? What if this, what if that? What if, what if, what if? But then, a giant cock-shaped hammer labeled "HUSBAND HORNY" came crashing down on all those thoughts, and that was all it took. Looking over at the oven, I told him, "You've got 15 minutes 'til those birds have to come out, Rancher."

"15? I don't know if I can go that fast, but I'll do my best," he chuckled, kissing me on the cheek, before slipping his hand in under my top. I chuckled back and moaned slightly as he nibbled at my ear, twiddling my fingers wildly in front of me, reaching for the ties to drop the window blinds, so that our neighbors wouldn't see anything they weren't supposed to.

So there I was, bent over my kitchen sink with my skirt and panties around my ankles, my husband's face buried between my legs, his tongue doing laps at my pussy; I had my top and bra pulled up, and I was massaging and pulling at my boob, getting most of my milk in a bowl, and biting on my knuckles to not moan too loudly. He had gotten so good at eating me out that it wasn't long before I tapped out, telling him that I couldn't wait any more.

Popping up with a loud slurp, Rancher gave me a quick smooch before unceremoniously mounting me from behind. My long low groan suddenly shot upwards when he grabbed my free udder and squeezed it roughly while he started his rut. I had enough 'natural padding' in front of me so I was never uncomfortable as he bumped me against the sink, so all I had to do was be a good wifey-cow and just take my hubby-bull's milking and breeding.

And if you're asking, yes. This was about the time when I really started to lean into this cow-bull kind of roleplay/dynamic thing with Rancher. It took a while for the fine-tuning part, but we've since found a nice groove with it, and I can admit that I love it now. I love and appreciate my boobs being full of fresh, delicious milk that sustain and feed my kids, and that my husband never lets go to waste. I love my soft and squishy belly that my family loves being snuggled with. The heavy and energetic bundles of his love and joy that I have the privilege of bearing inside me for most of the year. I love that when we're in this kind of play, I can be completely passive and just go with whatever Rancher wants to do with me. (Just as he does when its Momma's suck time)

I've gone back and forth in my own head as to why he wanted sex right at that exact moment, but I still don't have a solid answer. Was I actually distracting him, and he just needed to get it out of his system? Was he unsatisfied with the amount of sex we were having at the time? I didn't think so. I mean, yeah it took a bit of a dive since we now had a child to mind, but I thought we'd been pretty regular and mostly consistent with it. Or maybe it was just as simple as, we've got a bit of time to ourselves, let's fuck. I may never know. What I do know however, was that my brain was completely focused on how good he was making me feel, how good I was making him feel, and how quietly we could communicate that to each other.

(Okay, I lied, there were a couple more things on my mind. One of them was the oven timer, and the other was "thank God we're at the sink, because then the drain can take care of whatever the bowl is missing.")

With a couple of minutes to spare, he gave me one more strong squeeze and pull, and with a powerful thrust, started topping me up with his own hot sticky milk, all the while grunting heavy in my ear about how hot I was for letting him use his favorite cowgirl for a quickie. I just giggled and let out a little cute moo, and he snarled like a beast and another spurt shot out of him. I'm pretty sure that one had our number 2 in it.

I spent the rest of that evening watching TV with my hand idly resting on my midsection, just basting in the warm liquid Rancher had pumped me full of, while he went on and crushed it at his poker game. So I guess it kinda worked? I also probably shouldn't be admitting this but, (and it only happened like maybe twice. Three times, tops!) we did share a bit of an evil kick, knowing that the coffee that he had been drinking right in front of his Boys, (and just his mug, I swear!) may or may not have been spiked with my breast milk, while they were none the wiser.