“Whoops, sorry!”
Kevin felt himself blush involuntarily as he opened the dressing-room door and found himself confronted by the sight of Gary and Belinda going at it like a couple of rabbits. She was bracing herself against the table while Gary enthusiastically scuttled her from behind. The white blouse of her dirndl costume had been pulled right down, giving Kevin a full-frontal view of her ample boobs as they swung vigorously back and forth in time with Gary’s banging. Her large pink nipples were so hard you could hang your coat on them.
Gary turned round at the sound of the door, and grinned cheerfully at Kevin as he continued to pump his cock in and out of Belinda’s cunt.
“Just a second, mate, we won’t be long,” he announced with pride. “I’m nearly into the vinegar strokes!”
Belinda turned to look at him too.
“You can stay and watch if you like,” she offered. “Or I can suck you off.”
But Kevin had already retreated back into the corridor and shut the door behind him. He leant against the wall outside and listened to the sounds of approaching climax.
“It’s coming, babe.”
Bang, bang, bang of bodies against table.
“Oh yes, harder, harder.”
Slap, slap, slap of ball-sack against buttocks.
“Argh, I’m coming!”
Accelerated banging and slapping.
“Eeee!”
“Argh!”
Combined groan and high-pitched squeal as Gary presumably spilled his ample load into Belinda’s welcoming hole.
Kevin sighed. For some reason, the annual Springfield Theatre Christmas Pantomime was regarded by all the performers as an ideal opportunity for a non-stop fuck-fest. Between the afternoon and evening performances it was a common occurrence to stumble across the Dame rogering the Principal Boy in one corner, while the Good Fairy sucked off the Evil Wizard in another.
But this year, for some reason, Kevin didn’t seem to be getting any of it. They were performing that perennial favourite “Jack and the Beanstalk”, but Kevin’s own stalk remained frustratingly lacking in action. Maybe it was just that no-one wanted to be seen bonking the back end of Daisy the Pantomime Cow. It was bad enough that Gary (as the much more prestigious front end) got to do all the best comedy business, like waggling Daisy’s ears, fluttering her eyelashes, and butting the Dame up her well-padded rear. Kevin’s only real laugh came when he had to put his hand through the slot in Daisy’s udders and hand Jack a carton of finest Waitrose semi-skimmed during the obligatory comedy milking scene. But (to add insult to injury) Gary was also fucking Belinda, the prettiest of the Village Girls. True, Kevin fancied another of the girls more, but she (Emma by name) didn’t seem particularly interested in what he had to offer. Maybe she was a lesbian, thought Kevin morosely.
While he was feeling increasingly sorry for himself, Belinda slipped out of the dressing room. She had a pair of pink knickers in her hand, and as Kevin watched she reached under her skirt and wiped the inside of her thigh.
“Sorry, sweetie,” she said, with an embarrassed grin, removed the knickers that were now smeared with semen. “I don’t know where he gets it all from. Every day, he fills me up, the dirty bugger”.
She kissed him on the cheek before skipping off down the corridor, the sticky knickers swinging from her hand. Kevin decided that a chaste kiss was all he was going to get that year, and sighed deeply before going into the dressing room to join the other fifty per-cent of Daisy.
-------------------
It was baking hot inside the heavy cow costume, especially on stage under the lights, so Gary and Kevin normally stripped down to their briefs before putting on the several heavy segments.
“Cor, that Belinda,” said Gary, taking off his trousers and wincing theatrically as he squeezed his scrotum. “She may have a fanny like the road-end of a traffic cone, but she bangs like a Glasgow shit-house door in a hurricane.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Kevin, grinning despite himself at Gary’s colourful idiom, which seemed to be based largely on an encyclopaedic knowledge of “Roger’s Profanisaurus”.
“You should have a go at Emma,” Gary went on, pulling up his black-and-white cow legs. “I reckon she’s up for it. Belinda says she’s seen more pricks than the Big Brother House.”
Kevin shrugged. “I don’t think she’s interested,” he said.
“That’s not what Belinda says,” replied Gary, making a lewd gesture.
“What, has she said something,” asked Kevin hopefully. Maybe he had a chance after all? But before Gary could answer the Assistant Stage Manager stuck her head round the door.
“Hey, come on guys, you’re on in ten,” she nagged. “Pull yourselves together and get moving. Here, let me sort you out.”
With a few deft movements she stuck Daisy’s head on over Gary’s, made sure the moving parts were working properly, then zipped the two halves of the cow together.
After one final adjustment of her dangling udder (Daisy’s, not the ASM’s), she guided the cow out of the door and down the corridor, ready for her big entrance.
-----------------------
It was a good audience that evening, and all the comic business in Daisy’s first scene went well. There was then a twenty minute pause before her next appearance. It wasn’t worth the effort of getting the costume off and on again, so Gary and Kevin usually lounged in the wings during the intervening scene, in which the Dame tried to cook Jack’s dinner and ended up getting both of them (and the front three rows of the audience) covered in slop, in traditional pantomime style.
Kevin’s mind was turning to his own dinner, when suddenly he felt something bump against Daisy’s dangling udder. Before he had a chance to wonder what was going on, he heard the zipper holding the udder in place being pulled open. Then he gasped as he felt a warm hand touch his leg, before sliding upwards towards his briefs.
“Who’s that? What’re you doing?” he whispered urgently.
“Shhhh!” hissed Gary. Kevin bit his lip. He knew the rule about keeping quiet in the wings, but the questing hand had now reached his crotch and was actively fondling his cock and balls through his underpants.
Kevin strained to see who the hell it was. There was an area of thin mesh in the side of the cow costume that let him see more or less where he was going when Daisy was walking around, but however much he squinted he couldn’t see anything of whoever had their hand on his old man. But he did know that they’d pulled the front of his briefs down, got hold of his dick, and were stroking it enthusiastically.
Naturally enough, he felt himself getting hard. As he became more erect, the hand slipped round his shaft and began to pump away at it. Kevin gave up wondering who was doing it, and decided he might as well enjoy the experience. He was fully erect by now, and the hand was working vigorously at his shaft. Then he began to worry – what would happen if he ejaculated? He didn’t really want to go through the next scene with sticky semen splattered all over the inside of his costume.
He needn’t have worried. The hand let go of his dick, and there was some shuffling and manipulation of his costume from outside. Then he really had to stop himself from crying out, as he felt his erection enveloped by something warm and moist. For one weird moment he thought it was actually a cunt, and he was fucking a contortionist. But then something lithe and flexible began to slide around his knob-end, and he realised that it was a tongue. Someone had got their head right up against the hole by Daisy’s udder, and was giving him a blow-job.
They knew what they were doing, too. The tongue slid round the rim of his helmet and tickled at his frenulum. Then he felt every one of his eight inches being sucked deeper into the mouth (which was contracting tightly around the shaft to increase the stimulation), while the tongue pressed the shaft tightly against the roof.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, and the mouth responded by sucking even harder on him. He was so turned on, and the tongue was stimulating him so effectively, that he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back for much longer. He felt his climax approaching, and Kevin barely managed to suppress a groan as his dick erupted, shooting spurt after spurt of his thick creamy spunk into the eager mouth.
Greedily, it continued to suck on him, milking every last drop of semen. As Kevin tried to get his breath back under control, he felt the mouth withdraw, and a hand pulled his briefs back up over his still erect cock, but not before giving it one last kiss on the tip. He felt Daisy’s udders being zipped back into place, and a hand gently slapped his (or rather Daisy’s) backside.
It was a good job he’d come when he did, because at that very moment he heard Daisy’s cue from the stage. Three, two, one, and they were on, to a massive cheer from the audience. Kevin tried not to think about what had just happened, and concentrated on not bumping into the scenery.
--------------------------
All too soon, their final scene before the interval was over. They made their way back to the dressing room, and the ASM unzipped them. Kevin sat down and scratched his crotch, wondering if he’d ever find out into whose throat he’d deposited his spunk. Then he saw Gary pick something up from the table and look at it.
“Here, I think this for you,” he said, picking up a folded piece of paper and handing it to Kevin. “It’s got your name on it anyway.”
Kevin unfolded it.
“Thanks for the milk, Daisy,” it read. “Could I make a regular order – a fresh helping every day? E.”
Kevin looked at Gary, who was trying without success to hide a grin.
“Is this something to do with you?” he asked.
Gary held his hands up.
“Not guilty, mate.” he said. “But Belinda said Emma liked to get a good glass-full of fresh milk every day. Maybe she just decided the back end of a cow was the best place to get it.”
