Devon Cream

by Aishling Morgan

  They did this in secret, to which she agreed, although her change of heart had in no way altered her devotion to Jervis. For a month, the girls took every opportunity to squeeze and fondle her breasts, until at last they began to take on weight and finally come into milk. The process also involved a great deal of teasing about the small size of her breasts and much groping of her body and smacking of her bottom.

  If Jervis noticed a reduction in his wife’s arrogance, he gave no sign of it, but continued much as before, amusing himself with her and the other girls when, where and how the mood took him. The milking also continued to operate as before, with the routine now working in full detail.

  The exception to this was Octavia, who the colonel insisted should be milked at Erme Head and not Kerslake. Jervis objected at first, but Octavia explained to him that so far the extent of his involvement with the actual details of the milking had not been revealed. As the colonel was unlikely to accept Jervis having used his intended to indulge his sexual peccadilloes, Jervis was forced to accept.

  The colonel was content to allow the commercial process to continue. Indeed, he was keen. The war had disillusioned him with the army and becoming involved with the milking process allowed him the opportunity to retire. His approval was muted, and he insisted on the most rigorous privacy and stringent rules of propriety. Nevertheless, after each session of milking, he would thrash Octavia’s bottom and mount her from the rear.

  Despite her devotion to the colonel, Octavia would often indulge herself with Polly and the other girls when she visited Kerslake. Occasionally, she would even suck Jervis’s cock, a treat that she found it impossible to deny herself. More rarely, and only when discretion could be assured, she would join in a new and yet more profitable scheme. This involved taking part in milk cabarets that Jervis had begun to organise for his London friends. One such was organised for a day late in August, shortly after Genevieve had been brought into milk. The colonel was in London on business and so Octavia was to join in, while she and the other girls had arranged a surprise for Jervis.

  Squire Jervis Maray stood on the front steps of Kerslake Manor with a satisfied grin on his handsome features. A Rolls-Royce had just drawn up, and Eliza Grant was holding its door while an elderly and obviously wealthy gentleman climbed out. This was Sir Oswald Cranstone-Vine, a prominent financier and yet more prominent roué. He was just one of forty-four guests who were due to watch the evening’s entertainment, a cabaret at once so rude and so unusual that he had been able to charge ten guineas a head without demure.

  ‘Evening, Maray, fine maid,’ Sir Oswald greeted him after taking a pinch at Eliza’s bottom.

  Jervis nodded at the compliment. Certainly Eliza looked impressive, although the manner of her dress was making her blush with each new guest who arrived. For one thing, her large breasts were bare, and thrust out above a tightly laced corset of crimson satin and black lace. The corset supported her stockings, which were black, while the only thing that covered her most intimate details was a pair of elaborately frilly drawers, also in crimson and black and so short as to leave a good deal of her ample bottom spilling from the sides. High heels and a coquettish little hat completed the ensemble, which was repeated in the uniforms of the other girls. Polly alone had protested at the humiliating uniform, complaining that it made her feel like a Parisian tart. Jervis had laughed and asked her where she thought he had got the idea for the uniform.

  Eliza gave Sir Oswald’s back a resentful look and briefly rubbed her bottom, then turned to where a handsome sports model was pulling into the carriage sweep. Jervis ushered his guest through the main door of the manor to where Becky stood in an outfit identical to that of her sisters, save for a trim of garish blue rather than crimson. She curtseyed as Sir Oswald approached and offered him a glass of Champagne from the tray which was attached to her wrists with delicate chains. He accepted the glass, then noticed the chains and reached out to tweak a nipple. Becky started and nearly dropped the tray, drawing an amused chuckle both from Sir Oswald and Jervis.

  Turning back to the outside, Jervis saw that the newcomer was Charles Truscott, an old friend and one of the few men he admitted as an equal in debauchery. Stepping down to the ground, he walked briskly over to the car with his hand extended and greeted his friend.

  ‘Jervis, old boy,’ Charles responded, with his eyes firmly on Eliza’s chest. ‘Good to see you. And who is this?’

  ‘One of my maids, Eliza,’ Jervis responded easily.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Charles addressed Eliza, then turned back to Jervis. ‘Damned fine paps. She one of your milkers?’

  ‘My second-best producer, after the redoubtable Polly,’ Jervis answered, ignoring Eliza’s now furious blushes. ‘But you must remember her. She was the first to have her backside smacked at that big party I threw back in ’14.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe,’ Charles said. ‘So many girls, so many parties. No offence to you, my dear, you’re a sight finer than most. I always think Devon girls have such beautiful skin.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Eliza managed.

  ‘You can have her later, if you like,’ Jervis offered, ‘but not until after the cabaret.’

  ‘Of course,’ Charles answered. ‘After all, it wouldn’t do to spoil the show. I’ll have a feel of those paps now, though.’

  Charles gave Eliza’s breasts a squeeze, and leaned forwards to kiss her, leaving her scarlet with blushes. Then, with Charles taking Jervis’s proffered arm, they made for the house.

  ‘I hear you’re married?’ Charles remarked. ‘Some French girl, I believe?’

  ‘Genevieve,’ Jervis replied. ‘She is a delight. Her uncle was the last Vicomte d’Arche: not that titles mean much, over there. Impeccable lineage, radiantly beautiful and quite the dirtiest little trollop I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Does she . . .?’ Charles enquired meaningfully.

  ‘Only with me, old fellow,’ Jervis laughed. ‘And the girls, who’re absolutely in awe of her. She keeps them on a short rein and they love her for it. No, she surrenders to me and me alone. But here’s another of mine; have a glass of Champagne.’

  Charles took a glass from Becky’s tray and ran his eyes over the white expanse of her neck and breasts, then nodded appreciatively. Jervis nodded to her and excused himself to Charles, then turned into the main room in search of Genevieve. She was nowhere to be seen, but Judy was there, in the same condition as Becky, with her breasts bare, forest-green and black underwear leaving little of her body to the imagination and with a tray chained to her wrists.

  ‘Is my wife around?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just organising the cabaret, sir,’ Judy replied. ‘She says not to concern yourself and everything will be ready and regular.’

  ‘Good,’ Jervis answered. ‘Everybody is here, so they may begin when they are ready.’

  ‘Right away, then, sir.’

  ‘Splendid.’

  Jervis sent Judy on her way with a slap on her bottom and returned to the main room. One end of this had been cleared to form a makeshift stage, while a curtain closed it off. Beyond the curtain were three benches, modified to serve as a clysopomp, a whipping frame and a milking machine respectively. Two were positioned to present the girls’ bottoms to the audience, with no detail hidden, while a mirror would reflect their breasts and the expressions on their faces. The third faced forwards, allowing the crowd a prime view of the girl’s face and breasts while she was milked.

  Polly, Judy and May were to perform, with Genevieve overseeing them. The three girls would begin by undressing and go completely naked. Genevieve, by contrast, would be in an ankle-length dress of black leather and long rubber gloves. Once stripped, each girl in turn would be put through the full milking routine. First she would go on the clysopomp, positioned so as to leave her quim and anus on clear view. A hose would be pushed up her bottom and she would be given an enema. When the pressure in her bowels had built to the point where she started to moan and squeal, the hose would be pu
lled out and she would be allowed to expel the enema into a bucket.

  Once hosed down with fresh water, the first girl, who was to be May, would be transferred to the whipping bench while Judy was put on the clysopomp. While Judy’s rectum filled with water May would be beaten with Genevieve’s whalebone cane and an ivory phallus inserted into her vagina to show how wet she had become. Judy would then complete her enema while May remained over the bench with her whipped bottom and penetrated vagina on display to all.

  May would then be moved on to the milking machine while her sister was put over the whipping stool and Polly attached to the clysopomp. Polly would be given her enema and Judy beaten before May was milked. Once finished, May would be released to stand naked to one side, while Judy and Polly were put through the remainder of the process. When all three girls stood naked and beaten, they would have their trays chained to their wrists and be sent into the audience to serve glasses of their own milk. By that stage, the audience were intended to be suitably inflamed and Jervis expected the girls to be put to good use. Meanwhile, Octavia, Eliza, and Becky would have kept the drink flowing and attended to the penes of any men who could not restrain themselves.

  The boom of a gong sounded from beyond the curtain and Jervis called for silence. Chatter continued but, as the curtain swung back, the crowd turned their full attention to the stage. May stepped out to the sound of raucous whistles and loud clapping. Like her sisters, she was bare-breasted and wore only underwear, in her case with highlights of a rich, butter yellow. She was also tottering on heels even higher than those of the others. Jervis gave an appreciative nod at the sight, then an arm had curled around his body and a gentle hand squeezed his crotch. As May began her introduction, Jervis turned to find Octavia smiling at him.

  ‘How about me, now,’ she whispered, ‘upstairs, buttered and buggered.’

  ‘After the cabaret!’ Jervis hissed back.

  ‘After the cabaret, they’ll all want us,’ Octavia continued. ‘Now you can have me all to yourself. You see the milking routine every day but, now I’m to be married, you and I so seldom get a chance to dally. Come, think of it: my bottom all greasy with my own butter.’

  ‘Hell, you’re right!’ Jervis swore quietly. ‘Come on then, you little whore, get that fine arse upstairs!’

  Octavia giggled and moved away towards the staircase. Jervis followed, watching her bottom bounce in the tight black frills of her drawers as she climbed in front of him. He caught her on the landing and pulled the drawers roughly apart, drawing a delighted squeak from her. Now with her bare bottom sticking out through the split in her drawers, she skipped quickly away down the passage and into the master bedroom.

  As Jervis came in behind her, he found her in the act of pulling down her drawers and gave her a firm slap that made her trip and sent her sprawling on to the bed. Her bottom went up, giving him a brief flash of the dark fur between her thighs. His cock twitched in his trousers and he put a hand to his fly, eager for the treat he had been offered. A butter dish stood ready by the bed, clearly placed there in advance by Octavia. He chuckled at the sight and pulled his cock from his fly.

  Octavia had settled herself forwards on to the bed, arms crossed beneath her chin and bottom raised high in an open invitation to the use of her anal passage. Jervis climbed on behind her and lifted the butter dish. Removing the lid, he cut a thick wedge and wiped it between her open bottom cheeks, then began to stroke his cock over the view of her rear. The pat settled in Octavia’s anus and slowly began to melt. The tight little hole was pulsing slightly, squeezing the knob of butter so that it rose and fell slowly. He watched it melt, pooling in her hole and running down over her sex.

  With her anal area awash with melted butter and the pat half-sunk into her bottom-hole, she began to ready herself for entry. Relaxing her anus and then tightening it, she allowed the muscle to slowly open, exposing more of the rich pink flesh at the centre with each contraction. Jervis’s cock was rock hard in his hand but he made no effort to mount her, instead nursing it and watching her open her back passage for his use. Finally, instead of rising as her anus shut, the remains of the butter pat disappeared into the hole, which then closed, leaving a little pond of melted butter at the centre of the wet, everted sphincter. Raising himself on to his knees, Jervis presented his cock to Octavia’s bottom. She lifted it and gave a low, purring sound as his thighs touched hers.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she sighed. ‘Bugger me; bugger me nice and slowly. Let me come with your lovely cock up my bottom, then do it up my hole.’

  ‘Consider yourself buggered,’ Jervis drawled and moved his erection down to her anus.

  He pressed his cock to the tight hole and watched the butter squash out. Her sphincter was relaxed and well lubricated, allowing him to force the little hole fully open without difficulty. Still, he took his time, teasing her by dipping his cock head into her butter-sodden anus and then pulling away to leave it a black and gaping hole with a collar of uneven red flesh showing within. She gave a little moan each time he threatened to enter her, then suddenly reached back, grabbed his cock and stuffed the first half of its length up her own bottom. Jervis gasped as her nails dug into his cock, then sighed as her warm bum-flesh closed on it. Suddenly he was in heaven, with his cock well-embedded up Octavia’s bottom and his balls touching the soft flesh of her rear thighs. No longer intending to tease, he took her by the hips and forced the remaining inches of his cock into her rectum. Her knees came apart as he did this and his balls slapped against her quim, then her knuckles, and he knew that she had begun to play with herself.

  Jervis shut his eyes in rapture, concentrating on the warm, fleshy embrace of Octavia’s rectum, on the slippery feeling of the butter around her bottom-hole and on the plump resilient feel of her buttocks pushing against his front. Then, leaning slowly forwards, he slid his hands beneath her torso and took hold of her heavy, dangling breasts. With one fat orb in each hand and his cock half immersed in her back passage, he began to bugger her and milk her simultaneously. His fingers immediately became wet with milk and she started to make short, pig-like grunts in response to what he was doing.

  The position was simply too exquisite to hold for long. Jervis felt his orgasm coming on and rammed his cock deep up Octavia’s back passage, producing a yet more pig-like squeal from her. For an instant he could feel every detail of his cock: the bulbous head, the taut neck, the long, rigid shaft. Then he was coming, pumping semen up Octavia’s bottom as he crushed her breasts in his hand. The peak of his orgasm came with his cock slick in his own hot fluid, and Octavia screaming in response as she too came. Her ring clamped tight on his shaft, squeezing out the last of his come and bringing him to a nearly unbearable second peak as his cock was squeezed again and again in the pulsing tube of her back passage.

  Octavia collapsed beneath him in the middle of her orgasm and they finished themselves off on the bed, both bodies tense with the ecstasy of mutual orgasm. Jervis’s cock felt as if it was being sucked up Octavia’s bottom and, as his own orgasm finished, he found himself unbearably sensitive. With a grunt, he pulled back and his penis emerged from Octavia’s bottom-hole with a sticky pop.

  Exhausted, he rolled over on to his back and for a moment simply lay, staring blankly at the ceiling. Then her lips brushed his cheek and he heard her contented purr from beside him.

  ‘Well, I hope that wasn’t the last,’ he remarked. ‘But if it was, by God, it’s not one I’m going to forget in a hurry.’

  Octavia simply sighed and kissed him again, then, with a single, sinuous movement of her body, she moved down to his crotch and took his cock in her mouth. Jervis looked up in surprise and watched Octavia suck his cock clean. It was half limp, but began to stiffen sluggishly in her mouth.

  ‘Not yet!’ he protested. ‘Let a man relax, damn you!’

  She continued to suck and put a hand to his exposed balls. Jervis lay back, finding the sensation too pleasant to bring to a halt. If she wanted to suck a penis that
had just been up her bottom, and come in it at that, then she was welcome.

  Sounds from downstairs showed that the cabaret was going well and he guessed that all three girls were probably now on the benches. The gong sounded, which was not scheduled, and abruptly Octavia stopped sucking.

  ‘Shall we go and watch the end?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Jervis answered with a sudden pang of misgiving. ‘Are you up to something?’

  ‘No,’ Octavia answered sweetly.

  Jervis answered with a doubtful grunt. Something was not right, he was sure of it, although his guests were clearly having a wonderful time and so it was hard to imagine what could be amiss. Besides, Genevieve was in control of the cabaret and the girls responded to her with even greater meekness and obedience than they showed him. Nevertheless, Octavia’s behaviour seemed suspicious.

  He rose and hastily stuffed his cock and balls back inside his fly. Octavia followed, still struggling to straighten her drawers as they left the bedroom. Downstairs, the crowd had become more raucous than ever, and were clearly enjoying themselves immensely. He pushed into the main room, noting the stage, the three benches and the three naked girls bent across them. May was being milked, the white fluid spurting from her nipples with each squeeze of the rubber sheath. Judy was bottom-up over the whipping stool, her full buttocks decorated with a mesh of scarlet lines and her vagina gaping around the protruding shaft of a phallus. The third girl lay over the clysopomp, hose up her bottom as she filled with water, as it should have been. Only it was not. The girl being given the enema was not the plump, fat-bottomed Polly, but slim, round-bottomed and pert – Genevieve.

  Jervis stood staring in disbelief, unable to accept what he was seeing. Not only was his wife naked and in the process of being given an enema in front of over forty of his friends, but it was being done by Polly, who was holding the hose and stroking Genevieve’s buttocks. He tried to push forwards, but the crowd was too dense and fully focused on the stage. Cursing and blowing, he forced his way between the men in the back row, who turned to him in surprise. One after another he thrust people aside, until finally he burst out to the rope that held the crowd back. Scrambling over, he called out to Polly, ordering her to stop.