Milking A Stallion.
The panicked Rocco awoke to discomfort and confusion. Was it something he ate? Witchcraft? His date for the evening - the petite, quirky brunette from accounts - was now planted upon his upper body, riding his face with the force of a cement truck. Try as he might, he could not budge his chest or arms an inch beneath the now-elephantine female as she rocked on her haunches and pressed his little face further against her with a stifled giggle.
"Don't struggle, my little stallion" she advised the diminutive former bodybuilder, "The extraction should be quite pleasurable for the both of us."
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