‘Yes,’ she answered, blushing faintly.
‘And do you . . .?’ Eliza continued, pointing rather awkwardly at Polly’s naked breasts.
‘We milk each other; we have to,’ Polly answered, ‘and when we . . . Yes, we do.’
‘Might I . . . I mean, can I . . .?’ Eliza faltered. ‘I mean, would you let me touch them?’
‘Certainly you may,’ Polly answered softly.
Eliza’s hands came out, very slowly and tentatively reaching for Polly’s breasts. Polly swallowed as gentle fingers touched the smooth skin along the upper surface of one fat globe, stroking, then pressing a little.
‘They feel very firm,’ Eliza said.
‘They’re quite full,’ Polly answered.
‘Are they heavy?’
‘Yes. Feel them.’
Eliza placed her hands beneath Polly’s breasts. Polly dropped them in and Eliza caught them, one in each hand, with the flesh spreading out beyond her splayed fingers. Lifting each in turn, she began to weigh them, all the while never taking her eyes away.
‘They’re lovely, Polly,’ Eliza sighed. ‘So big, and so heavy. You don’t mind me feeling, do you?’
‘No,’ Polly answered, ‘take as long as you please.’
Eyes closed in bliss, Polly allowed Eliza to explore her breasts. She could feel her nipples coming erect and the dampness as the gentle kneading began to make the milk come.
‘Do they hurt at all now?’ Eliza asked tentatively.
‘A little,’ Polly answered. ‘I’m not due to be milked until after tea.’
‘Would you like . . . I mean, might I relieve you a little?’ Eliza continued, her voice now barely more than a whisper.
‘I can’t see why you shouldn’t,’ Polly answered, despite an instinctive shock at the thought of Eliza milking her breasts. ‘After all, I’ll have to teach you how to do it, soon enough. Now, it’s best if I kneel, and you put your hands . . .’
‘No,’ Eliza interrupted, ‘I mean . . . I mean, I want to suckle you, Polly.’
Polly said nothing. The blood was coming to her cheeks, as it was to Eliza’s, yet the idea was impossibly compelling. Holding her arms out, she allowed her friend to come to her. Eliza responded, curling into Polly so that her head was near one breast. Polly cradled Eliza’s head and held out her breasts, offering the engorged nipple. Eliza hesitated, then opened her mouth and took it in. Polly sighed as soft lips closed on her nipple. Eliza began to feed, sucking on the sensitive bud and swallowing Polly’s milk as it came out.
Polly sighed deeply, lost in the exquisite sensation of being suckled. The urge to spread her thighs and stroke herself between them was strong, yet not so strong as to overcome the final barrier between deep intimacy and outright sex. Instead, she contented herself with stroking Eliza’s hair and allowing the sexual need to build slowly up inside her.
Finally Eliza sat back, her expression set in a happy smile. There was a dribble of milk running down her chin and her lips were wet with it. Polly swallowed, wondering if she dared express her desire to her friend. Her sex was tingling with urgency, while her breasts felt vast, despite having been drained. It was too much to resist. Abandoning restraint, she began to pull up her skirts and petticoats, then rose to reach for the buttons of her drawers.
Eliza watched in fascination, saying nothing. The last button came open and Polly pulled the flap up through her legs, exposing her sex. As if mesmerised, Eliza sank to the floor, placed her hands on Polly’s thighs, spread them and buried her face in the wet, swollen quim she had been offered.
Polly sat quietly in the wain as they approached the farm. As when she had first had sex with Octavia, she felt happy but guilty. She had said nothing of what had happened to Lias, only that she had persuaded Eliza to attempt to bring herself into milk.
As they approached the farm, she saw Octavia, leaning on a granite gatepost and clearly waiting for them. Something seemed different about her, something in her stance that conveyed excitement, and as they drew near it became apparent that she was flushed and beaming.
‘I,’ Octavia declared as soon as Polly and Lias had alighted, ‘have spent the day at Kerslake, in the company of young Mr Maray.’
‘Jervis Maray?’ Polly responded with her heart sinking.
‘He was most attentive,’ Octavia declared proudly. ‘He had me undress, then beat my bottom. That made him ever so excited, so I said I’d suck his cock. He was ever so passionate, holding my hair and pushing it right in . . .’
‘He beat you and then made you suck him?’ Polly exclaimed in horror. ‘Why, the . . . the . . .’
‘Certainly,’ Octavia replied, ‘but even that wasn’t enough, and nothing would do but that he had to mount me.’
‘Mount you?’
‘Yes, like dogs do it, he said. He was very passionate with his words.’
Polly was left speechless, and torn between a desire to cry and to take a stick to Octavia’s bottom. She was also wishing fervently that she had made more effort with Octavia’s moral education, but now it was clearly too late. Then a yet worse possibility occurred to her.
‘He didn’t . . . he didn’t do it in you, did he?’
‘No, he didn’t,’ Octavia responded. ‘He’s a gentleman. He pulled out just in time.’
‘Just in time’s too late, as often as not,’ Lias put in. ‘Many’s the lad who’s thought he was just in time and ended up a father but not a husband. The best way to do it is in their mouths, that’s what I always say.’
For once Polly ignored the crudity of Lias’s words, instead continuing her harangue of Octavia with even greater venom.
‘Silly girl! Now you’re probably going to have a baby – and by Jervis Maray, of all people! You don’t imagine he intends to be respectable, do you?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t risk a baby if his intentions weren’t respectable, would he?’ Octavia demanded sulkily.
‘Oh, my Lord!’ Polly went on. ‘You poor girl! Do you think he cares a whit for you? You’re no more than any other pretty farm girl to him, just there for his amusement! You foolish girl! Why, I ought to strap your behind!’
‘As you like,’ Octavia answered meekly.
‘Wouldn’t do, not after the caning she took,’ Lias supplied.
‘That’s as may be,’ Polly answered, ‘but I still say she needs a bit of sense putting in her head, and if a good beating’s not the thing to do it, then what is?’
‘When I was a lad to Knighton,’ Lias put in, ‘and a girl’s behind was sore, they used to whip her titties. Always worked a treat, as I remember.’
‘What with?’ Polly demanded.
‘Sometimes with one of the little dog quirts,’ Lias answered, ‘more often plaited shoots. Apple or pear by and large. Titty-whips, we used to call them, though I always used to prefer to beat a girl’s bottom if at all possible.’
‘Make me one,’ Polly snapped. ‘Come on, Octavia Challacombe, you’ve a lesson to learn.’
‘Just as soon as I’ve seen to Georgie,’ Lias answered. ‘First things first.’
As Lias led the horse away, Polly took Octavia by the ear and pulled. The girl made no resistance as she was marched briskly to the farm’s tiny orchard. Here, Polly made short work of stripping her to the waist and lashing her hands, then attaching them to a branch above her head. This left her hanging with her chest bare and defenceless and her toes barely in contact with the ground.
She was left like that until Lias reappeared and started on the titty-whip, all the while whistling cheerfully to himself. First he cut a trio of apple suckers and plaited them together. The ends of this he then bound with string, producing a light, flexible rod of some three foot in length. Octavia watched, wide-eyed but unprotesting, as the preparations for her punishment were completed. With the whip finished, Lias gave it an experimental swish through the air and then passed it to Polly with the same smile he always wore at the satisfaction of a job well done.
As Polly lifted the ti
tty-whip, she tried to maintain her sense of right. Octavia’s behaviour had been foolish and dangerous, and it cried out for retribution. She also expected to become excited by Octavia’s naked, sweat-slick breasts and the effect of the whipping – emotions she had become used to. Despite this, she felt uneasy, knowing that the punishment was motivated less by reason than by the jealousy that burned within her.
Angry with herself as much as with Octavia, she brought the little whip down hard across the girl’s naked breasts. Octavia gasped and the plump globes wobbled, distorting and then bouncing back in much the way a pair of rather soft buttocks might have done. The blow had left a long red welt, crossing both breasts a little above the nipple line. Again Polly struck, and this time Octavia cried out as the lash caught a nipple.
Her friend’s pain gave Polly pause, but concern was mingled with delight as she watched Octavia’s stung nipple swell and stiffen from the blow. Octavia gave a soft, choking sob, then pushed out her breasts, offering them. Polly brought the lash down again, leaving a third scarlet line across the plump white spheres. The breasts bounced and Octavia cried out once more, a note of pain but with the same extra quality of lust that Polly had heard during innumerable spankings. On the next blow, Polly caught Octavia’s other nipple, leaving both erect and marked by a patch of swollen flesh where the lash had hit.
Four angry red stripes criss-crossed Octavia’s breasts. Their skin had begun to bead with sweat and each nipple showed a trace of milk. Polly swallowed hard, torn between her need to whip Octavia soundly and the equally strong need to cuddle her friend and kiss the smarting breasts. Within the restraining cups of her corset she could feel her own breasts, stiff-nippled and heavy with milk. As she lifted the titty-whip once more, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have Octavia whip her in the same way. It would be good, she was sure – painful, yet bringing the same need to be held and to yield to her persecutor that a bottom-smacking always brought.
Worried that her mounting excitement might show, she gave Lias a quick glance. He made no response, but continued as before, standing with a knowing smirk on his weather-beaten face. His eyes were set unashamedly on Octavia’s naked breasts and his hand was suspiciously deep in one trouser pocket, yet to Polly’s downward glance he returned only a wink, perhaps intended to convey approval at the beating, perhaps complicity. Blushing slightly, she laid another stripe across Octavia’s chest, then a sixth and seventh in quick succession, making the girl yelp and perform a brief dance of pain on her toes.
Abruptly, Polly decided that the whipping was sufficient. Octavia’s breasts were heavily marked, and each had began to dribble milk from straining nipples. Suddenly she felt sorry for what she had done and wondered how much of it had been real anger and how much jealousy. Throwing the switch to the ground, she ran to Octavia and clasped her in her arms, fumbling at her bonds even as they kissed.
Octavia responded with passion, showing neither sorrow nor anger at her condition. The knot slipped open and they were in each other’s arms, kissing, hugging, with Polly whispering apologies and entreaties between kisses. Polly heard Lias chuckle as she moved down to kiss the burning welts she had so recently made. Evidently he was enjoying the show, which brought her at least part way down to earth.
‘Now, you stay there, Lias Slater,’ she said and grabbed Octavia by the wrist.
They ran together, between the apple trees and into the angle where house met barn. The area was small, a sheltered nook of long, soft grass, invisible to casual inspection. Realising Polly’s intent, Octavia giggled and sank down, holding her arms out in welcome. Going down to the soft grass, Polly straddled Octavia’s head, presenting the girl with her bottom. Hastily they pulled up each other’s skirts. Octavia’s was lifted to expose a naked quim, which Polly kissed, then settled her face to. Her lips touched the area around her lover’s clitoris, while her nose was pressed to the damp vagina and her eyes were staring directly at the tight brownish dimple of the anus.
Octavia’s thighs closed around her head, soft and warm. Polly began to lick, applying her tongue to her lover’s quim with a passionate urgency that reflected her own need. As she did so, Octavia worked at her underwear, throwing one petticoat after another up on to Polly’s back. She sighed as the drawers were unbuttoned to expose the full, fat moon of her bottom, then settled herself on to Octavia’s face.
Her position left her bottom high and spread, her thighs held wide by Octavia’s head. It was a lewd position, as lewd as any she had been put in to be punished. Her full cheeks were open, flaunting her quim and anus to the cool air of the orchard. Yet it brought no shame, only a delightful feeling of openness, of yielding, of being unrestrainedly bare for her lover to enjoy. She felt Octavia’s hands move up her thighs, teasing her flesh, then settling on her bottom. Her cheeks were hauled yet wider open, stretching both vagina and anus as if for entry.
She gave a groan deep in her throat and buried her face yet deeper in Octavia’s sex. The girl’s clitoris was a hard bump under her tongue, while her own seemed to burn as it was licked. Octavia’s thighs tensed, locking hard on Polly’s head. Both of them were coming, their bodies locking ever tighter as muscles began to spasm. Octavia’s anus began to pulse and Polly felt her own do the same. With the thought of how obscene her rear view would look, she hit the peak of her orgasm.
At that moment, something round and firm touched the gaping hole of her vagina. For an instant, she thought that Octavia was going to finger her, and she thrust her bottom out in response. Only as something slid up her – long, hard and a great deal thicker than any finger – did she realise that Lias had taken advantage of her ecstasy to invade her cunt. But it was too late to protest. Her orgasm was filling her head, her vagina clamping tight on the intruding cock, Octavia’s tongue lapping furiously at her clitoris. As her head spun in pure, dizzy bliss, strong hands took her hips and Lias began to fuck her.
She could do nothing, only keep her bottom high and allow the use of her hole as her orgasm died slowly away. Octavia had come, too, and had slumped beneath her with her thighs wide. Surrendering herself to the rude treatment of her quim, and reasoning that she probably deserved it, Polly slumped down as well, leaving Lias to enjoy her rear entry at his leisure. Presently he pulled out and she felt the coarse wool of his jacket against her bottom. For a moment she was puzzled, and then a rude slurping sound indicated that he had fed his erection into Octavia’s mouth for his orgasm.
4
1905
Erme Head Farm rang with girlish laughter. Within the old grey stone building, six girls sat around the kitchen table in various states of undress. Octavia wore only a fashionable skirt of dove grey and an S-line corset, the laces of which were undone to allow her breasts to spill out at the top. She was laughing and as she did so her breasts wobbled, a display that caused her not the slightest self-consciousness. Opposite her was Polly Endicott, dressed only in loose combinations of such fine gossamer that the contours of her huge breasts were barely concealed. To one side were Eliza and Becky Arrish, both clad only in stockings and voluminous drawers so that their ample chests were quite naked. The two youngest Arrish girls sat opposite, Judy in the same state as her big sisters, little May stark naked.
By the door stood two peck churns, one brimming with milk, one close to half full. This was the evening’s yield of what had become an efficient milking routine, although it was normally conducted in a far more surreptitious fashion. On a typical day, Polly and Octavia would rise at dawn, relieve each other of milk and briefly lick each other to ecstasy. Octavia would then set off across the moor for Kerslake manor, bearing a yoke across her shoulders from which hung churns filled with the results of the evening and morning milkings.
At the manor she would seek out Becky Arrish and take her to the pantry. This was kept scrupulously clean, and in it Becky would strip to her drawers and kneel to be milked by Octavia. Becky’s yield would be added to the churns, which would then be weighed and the milk p
aid for. If old Squire Maray was present, he would inspect Becky’s milking, much to the girl’s embarrassment. Octavia was less easily flustered, and would often allow him relief between her milk-wet breasts in return for a small additional payment. When Jervis was in residence she would serve both, first the old man as ever and then the son in more elaborate style. In response to Polly’s frequent lectures and the occasional application of a stick to her bottom, she took greater care of where Jervis spent his load. On rare occasions, Becky Arrish would become sufficiently excited to forget her sense of propriety and would shyly allow Octavia to lick her quim.
Polly, meanwhile, would have harnessed old Georgie to the wain and set off for Ermecombe. Her first visit would be to the cottage in which Eliza and Judy Arrish lived. The girls were ostensibly employed in the weaving of baskets and similar goods and had to be careful not to flaunt their affluence. They were also sufficiently close to the centre of Ermecombe and their mother’s watchful eye for each to have to keep a careful lookout while the other was milked. Polly would do both in their pantry, squeezing their fat breasts into her churn until she had collected perhaps as much as a half gallon. Often the process would leave the girls bright-eyed and needful, in which case Polly would take them upstairs for the pleasure of her agile tongue.
May Arrish was the hardest to milk, as she still lived with her formidable mother. Nevertheless, she was extremely keen and would always do her best to visit her sisters and have them relieve her of perhaps a pint or a pint and a half. Frequently she was unable to get away, and would be obliged to relieve her own breasts at night and drink the yield.
On her return, Polly would busy herself with the production of cream, butter and the two types of cheeses demanded by the squire. In addition to the girl’s milk products, she also made ordinary cheese from sheep’s milk, the sale of which acted as a cover for her movements.
Lias had died the previous year, a happy man but worn out by the demands of both girls on his cock. With his death, they had abandoned the keeping of pigs and reduced the output of the farm to a minimum. Only Georgie the horse, the sheep, and the chickens remained, with the money from the milk making up for what was lost many times over. Cider was still made, and as always drunk largely on the premises.
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