Chapter 2 Filling the Jar
Jamie steps into the dim UC stables, the warm, heavy scent of hay and horse enveloping her like a memory she never quite buried. Kayla and Mia follow close behind, their phone lights cutting sharp beams through the darkness, red recording dots unblinking. The stallion in stall seven—Scout, according to the faded nameplate—shifts restlessly, a massive shadow snorting softly as Jamie approaches.
Kayla whispers, half-laughing, “Okay, pledge… your assignment is to milk him. Fresh. Fill that jar. We’re serious.” Mia zooms in on Jamie’s face, expecting hesitation, tears, maybe a refusal. They’ve seen pledges crumble at less. Only one girl has ever completed this task before—Lauren, the chapter president, four years ago. The legend still circulates in hushed, admiring tones.
But Jamie doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t beg. Doesn’t even blush as hard as they expect.
An inner war flashes behind her wide blue eyes—This is insane. This will change everything. They’ll own this footage forever.—but it’s brief. She’s faced darker nights, pushed past limits that should have broken her, and come out the other side hungry instead of ruined. The fear is there, sharp and real, but it’s drowned out by something stronger, the need to prove she belongs, the dark thrill of being watched, and the quiet certainty that she can do this.
Without a word, she slips into the stall.
Scout nickers, ears flicking. Jamie murmurs soft nonsense, steadying him with one hand while the other finds his heavy sheath. Kayla and Mia fall silent, stunned, as Jamie’s fingers work with practiced confidence—slow, firm strokes that coax him out, thick and dark and rapidly swelling. Her breath is steady, lips parted, eyes focused. The first load comes fast and powerful, hot jets pulsing straight into the waiting jar in heavy ropes. The glass fills a third of the way almost immediately, thick white clinging to the sides.
Kayla’s voice cracks. “Holy shit… she’s actually doing it.” Mia just keeps filming, mouth open.
Jamie doesn’t stop. She adjusts her grip, milking rhythmically, drawing out every drop until Scout begins to soften slightly. Then, without hesitation—almost like she’s done this before—she sets the jar down carefully in the straw, drops to her knees, and takes the still-throbbing length into her mouth.
Both sisters gasp.
Jamie’s lips stretch wide, sliding down the flared head and along the shaft until he hits the back of her throat. She hums softly, eyes fluttering, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. Scout stiffens again almost instantly, and the second load surges—thick, hot, overwhelming. Her mouth fills in seconds, cheeks bulging with the creamy flood. She holds it all, throat working to contain the volume, then slowly pulls back. Kneeling upright, she tilts her head over the jar and lets it pour from her swollen lips in a long, deliberate drool—glossy white strands stretching and splattering into the glass, doubling the level in heavy, viscous waves. A few drops escape, trailing down her chin and dripping onto her cropped hoodie.
She licks her lips clean, savoring the lingering musk, then locks eyes with Mia.
“You like this, don’t you, Mia?” Jamie murmurs, voice low and teasing, one hand lazily stroking Scout back to full hardness. “I can see you dripping down your thighs already.”
Mia’s breath catches audibly; the camera wavers for a heartbeat. A dark flush climbs her neck, and she shifts her weight, thighs pressing together. She doesn’t deny it—just keeps filming, lens trembling.
Jamie’s smile turns wicked. Without another word, she sinks down again, taking him deeper this time—one smooth, practiced push until her nose presses against warm hide, throat relaxing fully around the massive length. She holds there, swallowing around him, humming until he throbs helplessly. The third load erupts straight down her throat in powerful pulses; she gulps greedily, but pulls back halfway through to let the rest flood her mouth completely.
Cheeks full once more, she rises just enough to hover over the jar. Slowly, deliberately, she drools the final thick load in—long, creamy ropes cascading from her lips, overflowing the rim slightly, white rivulets running down the glass and over her fingers. The jar is brimming now, swirling and heavy with the combined collection.
Jamie lifts it carefully with both hands, turning it for the cameras so every glistening detail is captured—the weight, the texture, the strands clinging to the sides and to her skin. Cum cools in trails across her face, chest, and hoodie; her pink panties peek out, damp for reasons the sisters can guess.
“Tell Lauren,” she says softly, voice husky and satisfied, “the jar’s full. Not a drop wasted.”
Kayla lets out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. Mia keeps filming in stunned silence, thighs still pressed tight, the red light never wavering.
Jamie stands in the straw, jar cradled against her chest like a trophy, and smiles like she was always meant to be here.
