Maid for Milking

by Vanessa de Sade

  So it was with a spring in her step that she hurried down to the Mistress’ parlour that morning to meet some new clients who were interested in boarding her out for a few weeks while their baby was nursed at her breast.

  She’d heard tales of boarding jobs from the other girls, some boasting of luxurious apartments and personal maids, others of small cramped rooms and difficult mothers demanding hard labour in addition to their wet-nursing duties, but she had no doubt that she had landed on her feet when she entered the room and saw just who was seated on her employer’s plush leather sofa.

  She’s seen the guy a million times before, of course. Standing grim-faced behind Humphrey Bogart or James Cagney in a myriad of gangster films, opening fire on Edward G Robinson with that vicious tommy gun in Little Caesar or dying so tragically in Scarface. He was fleshier in real life, though, and possessed of a cock-sure grin that he didn’t use in his films, sitting there in his elegant charcoal pinstripe and immaculate white spats. But, incredibly, the woman beside him was the legendary Yvonne La Roux, a petite little redhead who looked like a young Fay Wray, dressed today in a demure two-piece costume with a burnished gold Joseff of Hollywood necklace around her buttermilk-white throat; and she took Lizzie’s breath away. She’d just signed a contract to play opposite Clark Gable in the new Technicolor civil war drama from David O Selznick, and Picture Play magazine were tipping her to be the biggest star of 1940, bigger even than Greta Garbo or Jean Harlow. And there she was, sitting not two feet away from Lizzie on the same sofa that she and the Mistress had rolled around on, naked, not two nights before, with not a crease in her immaculately tailored jacket as she sipped green tea from a tiny china cup as fragile as an eggshell.

  Lizzie thought she was in love.

  ***

  The celebrities had a new baby in need of nourishment, and Lizzie was to stay with Brett de Carlo and his pretty wife for the next three weeks, and would be paid the unthinkable sum of three hundred dollars on her return, more than enough, when The Farm had taken its cut, to pay back the Mistress’ original investment and ensure that she and her baby could go free. Disappointingly, however, they were not returning to the couple’s Hollywood hacienda, but instead were to travel to a large antebellum mansion on an overgrown plantation which the stars had recently purchased as a country home, and Lizzie was also permitted to bring baby Tom along, plus Violet, the maid who had first milked her, to complete the party.

  So, not two hours after the Mistress had agreed the contract, they were off. Brett de Carlo and his wife driving on ahead in his shiny new roadster, the slick wheels throwing up the dry red-clay-dust as he roared along the quiet country roads, while Lizzie and the rest of the party followed at a more sedate pace in a big black Packard sedan, the de Carlo baby sleeping alongside Tom Junior in a smart leather carry cot.

  Violet was impassive, having been boarded out to rich folks many times before, but Lizzie was bouncing like an excited school girl and spent most of her time peering breathlessly the out of windows, watching all the white clapboard towns flying by as the huge sky above them turned pink and then orange, finally soaking into a dark and velvety-purple as their little motorcade turned along a rutted drive lined with twisty old oaks dripping in Spanish moss, and they beheld the mansion house where they were all to stay.

  The once stately gardens were ragged and overgrown, and the grand white-pillared front was in need of more than a lick of paint, but there was no denying the grandeur and opulence of this old sugar baron’s palace, and Lizzie felt a little thrill of excitement run through her as she thought about the next three weeks with two movie stars for company.

  “Remember we’re just hired help here,” Violet whispered, reading her mind, as they came to a halt and Lizzie bounded excitedly from the confines of the big sedan. “Don’t you be making doe’s eyes at that pretty red-headed lady, and especially don’t be a-jumping into bed with her husband neither. Mistress told me to keep a real good eye on your horny ass after the lights go out at night...”

  “Reckon you’ll just have to keep my ass happy then, Violet,” Lizzie whispered with a twinkle as they gathered up the babies and walked up the stairs to the cracked black and white checked marble entrance hall. “Glory be, and is this not just like being in a movie?”

  “Just make sure it’s one with a happy ending, then,” Violet grumbled, but Lizzie was already rushing up the huge curving staircase and pretended not to hear.

  ***

  She had fed and bathed the De Carlo babe and then Tom Junior, and was just about to settle down for the evening when she heard the sound of laughter and music from below and crept to the top of the stairs to investigate, astounded to see an array of famous faces flooding along the hall and into the big state room to dance to Cab Calloway songs.

  “I told you we were just hired help here,” Violet’s voice whispered from behind her, as Lizzie felt strong arms embrace her and she inhaled the maid’s clean floral scent. Like fresh sheets hung out to dry in the noonday sun, or a warm August wind in field of buttercups. “At least we’re not expected to go down and wash dishes in the kitchen. That’s a definite plus point, that is!”

  “Oh Violet,” Lizzie sighed. “It’s all so glamorous and we’re stuck up here like naughty children in the attic while our parents entertain!”

  “Oh, there’s advantages to being up here,” Violet whispered coquettishly. “Particularly as I seem to recall that you and I have a little unfinished business to attend to...”

  “You mean you finally want to...?”

  “Hell, yeah, girl. I told you that there would be a time and a place. And this is the time and certainly the place. Now, you coming or what?”

  ***

  Violet’s room was sparse, with clean white walls and a small attic skylight looking over the rear courtyard of the huge house. But there were brightly coloured curtains at the window and a warm rug on the floor, and the big brass bed was easily big enough for two. More than enough for their needs that magical evening.

  The big maid was dressed in a long cotton nightdress in snowy white, and her immense breasts bulged enticingly beneath it. Calling to Lizzie like sirens luring sailors to their deaths on rocky seas.

  “I’ve dreamed about this for a long time now,” Lizzie confessed as she watched Violet settle her bulk on the bed, catching a glimpse of a sleek coffee-coloured calf as the other woman arranged herself.

  “Well, you going to keep dreaming or come over here and do something about it?” the maid challenged, her big Aunt Jemima bosom starting to rise and fall.

  “Oh, I’m coming, all right,” Lizzie promised. “I’m just wondering if you deserve a little peep show first...”

  Violet smiled. “Oh, I reckon I do!” she whispered.

  Lizzie winked. Then she reached quickly under her skirt and slid her panties down, stepping neatly out of them and meeting Violet’s eye as she straightened. “Nice?”

  The other woman nodded. “Turn around,” she commanded, “and undo all your buttons, real slow...”

  “Like this?” Lizzie teased, slipping one pearl button out after another and then pulling the dress up slowly over her head, imagining Violet’s eyes as she ate up the sight of Lizzie’s pert little ass, all white and naked in the reflected lamplight. “Want me to turn around?”

  Violet shook her head. “Take the bra off first,” she whispered. “I want you naked when you turn. Your big cherry-tipped tits all bare and your little gold pussy quite naked...”

  “Like this?” Lizzie asked, letting her bra fall to the ground and turning to face her lover, her big nipples stiff as candy canes, her long legs trembling as she felt Violet’s gaze sweep up and down her body and come to rest on her pussy.

  “Hell, girl, that is one nice rack,” the maid intoned. “Get yourself over here and show me some loving.”

  But Lizzie shook her head
and stayed out of Violet’s reach. “Not till you’re naked too,” she whispered.

  “I got one big old belly on me, girl,” Violet replied, suddenly shy. “You sure you want to see that?”

  But Lizzie still remained where she was. “I want to see everything. Now. So strip!”

  The maid shrugged and reached down. Gathered up the hem of her nightdress and slowly raised it, showing first her legs, then her fat and shapely thighs, an all-too-brief flash of pussy, then a huge belly and two gigantic tits with fat aroused nipples, areolas like a doll’s tea set saucers and the colour of bitter chocolate, her glistening skin like gleaming molasses in the lamplight.

  “Fuck, you are beautiful, Violet Watermelons,” Lizzie sighed, sliding onto the bed and joining her, her little white hands all over Violet’s coppery skin. “And you smell wonderful too. All floral and earthy at the same time...”

  “You ain’t so bad yourself,” Violet murmured, caressing her. “Lift your arm for me, I want to kiss your furry little pits...”

  “Like this?”

  “Yeah, that’s perfect. You taste like honey, and your hair is so soft and fine. Is your pussy as silky as that too?”

  “Why don’t you kiss it and find out?”

  “Patience, girl. Now, are you big enough lick a real woman’s pits?”

  “Sure am,” Lizzie replied, eagerly, lifting Violet’s heavy arm behind her head and kissing down the soft flesh until she came to the thick curly secret hair that nestled there. “Now that is fur,” she moaned, kissing and licking and working her way to Violet’s gigantic breast. “But right now I’m going to milk you...”

  Violet groaned. “Massage my tits first before you go for my nipples, if you spend time heating me up I’ll really gush for you...”

  Lizzie swallowed. “You know how to do mine,” she gasped as she felt Violet’s strong hands going to work on her.

  The maid was breathing like an old fairground engine by now, and her musk was strong and sweet. “That is so good,” she whispered, kissed, in Lizzie’s ear. “Start squeezing my nipples now and then milk my big titties to your heart’s content.”

  And her big glossy breasts were wet with sweet hot milk by now and Lizzie brought her own swollen tits up level, the two of them covering each other in their honeyed ambrosia, and then Violet moved down and began to suck, taking Lizzie’s throbbing nipple in her mouth and imbibing hungrily until the other pushed her off and went down for a session of her own.

  “No wonder all those rich bitches are queuing up for your milk and the Mistress keeps fucking you in her room,” Violet gasped as Lizzie sucked on her massive mammaries, pausing every so often in her feeding to squeeze at the big inflamed nipples and squirt Violet’s creamy white nectar all over her face.

  “Play with your pussy while I suck you,” Lizzie managed to gasp. “I want to feel you come while I’ve got your nipples in your mouth.”

  “Okay, but feel me first. I want to feel your little fingers in my big hairy cunt...”

  “Alright, lie back for me and open your legs so that I can see you. Fuck, that is amazing. You show all your pussy lips, just like me. Can I put my fingers in? I want to feel how wet you are...”

  Violet nodded and groaned as she lay back for her, her large fat thighs apart and her open cunt like a yawning pink cavern in the middle of her thick bush, everything wet with sap and ready to be fucked, her engorged clit like a fat little peanut in the middle of all her crinkly wonderland.

  “Yes. Finger fuck me for a little, then come back up and suckle me again while I play with my own clitty. Then I’ll do you...”

  Lizzie gave a moan as her fingers slid deep inside Violet’s crack and she pushed in and out like a cock for a few moments before sliding back up and squeezing at her lover’s tits again, making the sensitive mocha nipples give up their contraband as she felt Violet begin to rub around her own clit in ever decreasing circles.

  “I think I’m going to come soon,” the big woman moaned and Lizzie paused in her sucking to give a little smile.

  “You go right ahead, lover, while I milk you hard...”

  “Alright, squeeze me real deep, I’m almost... I’m almost there... I’m... I’m coming... oh FUCK!”

  And she came, over and over again, as Lizzie tugged and sucked at her huge engorged nipples, hot sweet milk squirting everywhere as she bucked and writhed in her ecstasy.

  ***

  The sound of a throaty sax was drifting up lazily from the party downstairs as they lay spent on the snowy white coverlet of Violet’s big brass bed, their hearts thudding as their fingers still played with each other’s milky breasts and their cunts throbbed contentedly.

  “You know I’m going to make you milk me like an old dairy cow as soon as you’ve got your breath back,” Lizzie gasped. “My pussy’s on fire for you and so are my tits. I want to feel you sucking me while I play with my great big clitty. And then you’re going to lick me out down there while I do the same to your big fat honey-scented cooch.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Violet replied, her hands sliding down Lizzie’s belly and stroking the soft hair of her pussy. “Hell, girl, your bush feels like a rich girl’s dolly hair. And it’s so long and silky, and, fuck, your cunt’s so wet that my fingers are just sliding inside your little crack like it was made of greased velvet. Reckon I could just finger fuck you right now and there’d be nothing you could do about it...”

  And Lizzie groaned and arched her back, impaling herself on Violet’s probing hand. “It’s not the plan but I like it,” she gasped, pushing herself up and down, her swollen clit plastering itself against Violet’s penetrating hand. “But you still have to milk me when we’re done...”

  “Alright, but kiss me...”

  And then her big full mouth met Lizzie’s lips and their tongues immediately entered each other, duelling deliciously as Violet held her tight and pushed two fat fingers in and out of her hot wet slit, Lizzie’s orgasm welling up inside her like some underground explosion travelling up to the surface in shockwave after shockwave, finally engulfing her and making her cry out in ecstasy as the room door opened and Yvonne La Roux stood framed in the yellow light of the doorway, a salver of food in her hand.

  “I’ve brought you some supper girls, the party’s just breaking up...” she began, but the words froze on her lips as she watched Lizzie shuddering to her second orgasm impaled on Violet’s fingers, both their ample breasts wet with creamy white milk.

  Chapter 5

  Watching

  Yvonne La Roux stood very still in the doorway as her two employees stared at her in horror, suddenly aware of just how naked they both were. Violet, mortified, began to reach for her nightdress, but her boss saw the gesture and whispered, “Leave it where it is...” Then she very quietly shut the door and came over and sat beside them on the bed, her small pale hands neatly folded in her lap, her flawless face like a Venetian mask. Just like in that climatic last scene in Hearts of Honour, when she told a distraught Leslie Howard that she was dying.

  “You girls are dykes?” she asked quietly, her big sad eyes eating up their naked bodies, but they shook their heads, no ma’am.

  “Then why this?” she asked, indicating the tableau of depravity that was spread out before her.

  Violet spoke. “We don’t have husbands, Ma’am, and we already got children from the wrong side of the bedcovers. We can’t rightfully go get ourselves men in our situation, so we do what we can to get by...”

  Yvonne La Roux considered them both carefully. “You know that I can have you both fired,” she said finally, her voice low. “So, in return for my silence anything said within these four walls doesn’t go any further than here. Is that understood?”

  And she looked from one frightened face to another and laughed a sad little laugh. “It’s alright, I’m not going to tell on you,”
she whispered. “I just need to be sure that I can rely on your discretion...”

  “Whatever it is, Ma’am,” Violet said in a low voice, “you can trust us. We got far too much to lose to go talking carelessly.”

  The movie star smiled her sad smile again. “The thing is, girls,” she whispered, “is that I’m a dyke. My marriage to Brett is a sham for the studio publicity office. He’s been a bachelor too long and I need to be seen in public with a man on my arm. The baby’s from an orphanage. That’s why we needed someone to feed him till he builds up his strength and can be weaned onto formula...”

  Her voice tailed off and Lizzie finally spoke. “We’ll keep your secret till the day we die, Ma’am,” she whispered passionately. “But why have you told us?”

  Yvonne La Roux regarded them both again with her big limpid blue eyes, her alabaster face like a beautiful china doll. “Because,” she said in a tiny voice barely audible above a whisper, “whatever it is you’ve got going up here, girls, I’d be grateful if you’d cut me in...”

  ***

  There was a long silence, and then Lizzie finally spoke. “You want us to fuck you, Ma’am?”

  But Yvonne shook her head, her long red hair like a shimmering sheath in the soft yellow lamplight. “No,” she said in her quiet voice. “I want to watch you fucking each other...”

  Violet sighed ruefully, like a trapped animal, but Lizzie shook her head and faced her employer. “No deal,” she said flatly, and to Violet’s horror. “We’re not whores, we’re not performing for you. Your secret’s safe with us, but if you want to be a part of what we have here then you’re a participating member, not a spectator.”

  Yvonne La Roux stared her famous stare. The stare that had melted the hearts of a million movie goers in The Agony of Sister Mary, the stare that had stared down Joan Crawford in The Wrong Woman. “The thing is, girls,” she whispered. “The thing is that I’ve never been a practicing lesbian. I could never risk the scandal. I’ve only ever looked at pictures and, you know, touched myself...”