Perfectly round, superbly heavy, her breast burgeoned out from his squeezing fingers. He sought out the nipple with his fingertips. Now was the time reluctantly to pull his head out from between her legs. He must see those breasts. As he raised his head, one of the biggest, brownest aureoles he could ever imagine filled his sight. A giver of life, a suckler of men, a fecund, weighty melon which, as he gently compressed it, oozed sweet life-giving milk. A tiny squirt spurted out across his face and onto his lips. He brought his tongue out to taste it. Like nothing else on earth it was sweeter than angel’s honey. As he teased the white liquid on his tongue, their eyes met and he saw her nostrils flare. She was offering cupped breasts to him. Squeezing them frantically, she wanted him to suck her teats, wanted him to feast on their bounty. She wanted to give as much as he wanted to take.
Next to the pool was a silken divan. He rolled her onto it, hearing her breasts slap against her side as she landed. The massive mounds pooled and spread, two delectable dishes for him to devour. He looked into her eyes, saw her smile as he manipulated one globed jug in his hand. Her oil-slicked skin slipped deliciously in his fingers, the nipple hardened again, he brought his lips down onto it and...
Sucked.
And sucked, and sucked, hard and fast and long until her candied milk shot into the back of his throat. As he gulped and drank, it overflowed bubbling down over her generous mounds. Fired up in the way he had imagined in so many dreams, he felt her wriggle and bob beneath him. Wantonly she spread her legs, easing herself desperately towards his giant cock. Looking up, he saw a smile of satisfaction engulf her as he drank and slurped at her milky bounty. Her breasts were oiled with her own sweet slippery whiteness. His hands were slicked with her milk. He ran one hand slowly across her tummy, down her waist and between her legs, covering her in her own milky fluid. His hand rested on her secret waiting pinkness. All was moist delight there, ready for him to seek out her clit with his thumb and forefinger. He found her nub and stirred, whisking first slowly then faster. All the while he sucked and slurped at her gargantuan titty.
He’d be the gentleman, work her to a frenzy and let her puss juices cover his hands before he let his cock loose on her. Satisfaction was always increased by waiting, by being patient. He’d quaffed the first breast dry, could feel it draining. Time to work on the second. But she was there before him, holding it up for him, pleading with him with her eyes to drink of her again. This time though, feeling her cunny tighten over his fingers, he realised she was near to orgasm. He wanted to come with her, feel that explosion while all the while working on her other tit. She thrust it at him, squeezed it into his mouth. Desperately forced his head down upon it. He took it gleefully. Never had he felt so totally and utterly ready to fuck like a stallion. He steered his cock to her sopping entrance and drove into her.
She squealed, her hands grasped the side of the divan, her breast pumped the milky nectar into his mouth, little drips of it squirted from his lips and spilt over her massive globes as he pounded his member in and out, in and out, up and down, up and down. They were thumping the divan now in their animal lust, he was suffocating in the mounds of her breasts, sucking as hard as he could, gasping for breath as he feasted on her distended nipple. Drank her dry. His balls slapped against her thighs, she raised her knees until her feet were wrapped in ecstasy around him. He felt her rise, tasted the last drips of her breast milk pour sweetly into him. He felt her buck against his cock, her clit peak against his rubbing finger until in one immense burst of mutual energy, they both yelled into the echoing room, their cries bouncing off the white marble. He came into her. They reached orgasm together one jumping, writhing, copulating mass of seething, satiating lust. His balls pumped like a steam train, pounded to a conclusion, emptied him until his member collapsed spent, against her thighs. His head lay soft on her breast.
Lord Goldtop was exhausted. His mind blown, his body shot to hell, but satisfied. Completely and utterly... Then he noticed Rhianna. The queen of queens, number one wife. She had not had her turn. She got up from where she lay and he noticed a tiny mark on her silk harem pants. Could it possibly be that his antics with Messalina had excited Rhianna so much she had creamed just watching them? Inwardly, he groaned. He could not possibly rise again, his dick was as limp as a landed fish. The Sultan’s wives would kill him with exhaustion at this rate.
But then Rhianna clapped her hands and called out, ‘musicians, play.’ A troupe of black curly-headed men arrived and started to blow on pipes that emitted lilting eastern tunes. Then she turned and clicked her fingers, ‘food immediately.’ Like smoke being blown into the room, a cloud of flunkies arrived with a cornucopia of fruit and vegetables piled in a centrepiece so huge it took two men to carry it. Golden platters of meat followed, dishes of turkish delight, plates of sweetmeats. All were laid before Lord Goldtop as the other wives emerged from behind the silver curtain and started to feed him. He wanted to sleep, needed to rest. But, as he tasted the luscious dishes and was fed by the superb variety of lusty women hungry-eyed parading before him he felt revived. When they had all eaten they gathered around him on mounds of cushions and the food was cleared away to leave a large open space. Rhianna disappeared behind the silver curtain.
Lord Goldtop frowned as the remaining wives giggled and propped him up on the cushions to a sitting position. They then sat around him. One, a doe-eyed beauty with long curving nails ran them over his chest. Another, petite but with an extraordinarily rounded bottom encased only in a g-string lay with her head on his stomach and teasingly started to fondle his sleeping cock. The musicians took their places at the side of the open space. A hushed silence signalled that some sort of performance was about to begin.
The Sultan, a glint of expectation on his expression, had his throne moved closer for a better look. As Lord Goldtop sat, the musicians struck up a haunting melody. The curtain twitched and out came Rhianna, clad from head to foot in multi-coloured veils sparkled with sequins. She started to dance. He had heard of the legendary dance of the seven veils but never seen it. The first blue veil which covered her from her head to her toes made her seem as if she were travelling on wheels, so smooth did she glide. The dance was slow, she eased the veil over her head and dropped it to the floor. Her eyes were painted with black kohl like deep unfathomable pools. She danced a little faster now. Lord Goldtop found himself fascinated by her breasts underneath the second yellow veil. They bobbed and jiggled, her movements sinuous like a snake’s. She gradually teased off the second yellow veil. He wasn’t sure if it was the sight of those breasts revealed in their tight red bustier, the now faster music or the constant massaging of his prick by the younger girl but he was gradually losing his flaccidness and becoming hard again.
The third veil, orange, Rhianna now pulled suggestively between her legs. Dancing round and round, tossing her head back, he could swear she was mimicking the rise to orgasm. Certainly she was getting pleasure from teasing the fabric between her legs. He sat up and the girl working his prick moved her hand faster. Rhianna was now concentrating on the fourth purple veil, winding it tightly round her waist, knotting it there and pulling it tighter in mock bondage, then round her neck. Lord Goldtop’s prick jerked as she jerked, play acting a woman tied up and ready to be ravished. Finally, the purple veil was thrown to the floor.
She was dancing faster now, whirling round as if in a frenzy, the music gathering pace. As she danced, she finally undid her bustier and let her breasts bounce free. And boy, did they bounce. Tumescent, fecund mounds they seemed to do a separate dance all for him, massive in their loveliness. Rhianna dipped her fingers in oil and covered her mountains, rolling them round in her hands, rubbing and squeezing them as she spun round the room. The girl working his cock saw the hunger grow in his eyes and she now leant down and encased his cock with her lips. He was ram-rod solid as her hot little tongue worked its way around his tip. The fifth green veil, Rhianna was using to squash against
her breasts. All oily, with nipples as brown as dates in the sun, seeing them fettered and squeezed together fired Lord Goldtop so that his breathing became shallow and jagged.
He made to get up, he had to have Rhianna, but the wives held him back. The girl working his cock sucked frantically and he realised that they would only let him go once he was totally ready to fuck Rhianna like a battering ram. The sixth pink veil, Rhianna used in the most extraordinary way, tying it around her bouncing tits as she danced, fettering them and making them squeeze outwards to stare at him like two owl’s eyes. Then, with the music reaching a crescendo, she came and undulated cat like in front of Lord Goldtop. Running her hands up her body she finally settled on those mammoth nipples. With her breasts tied tightly and her fingers pulling frantically at her nipples, she finally emitted perfect double fountains of life giving milk. The milk sprayed over the wives, and spattered across Lord Goldtop’s chest.
He nearly came at the sight of it. Thank heaven she was at the last veil, the seventh red veil. This she played between the crack of her generous behind, undulating in front of him, her buttocks trembling, her dance fast and furious. Finally, she threw off the seventh veil. She was now gloriously naked. The music played faster, louder and she landed herself on the cushions in front of him, on all fours. Her stupendous derriere was practically in his face, her pendulous breasts dangled like water filled balloons. Lord Goldtop pushed aside the girl who was sucking his dick. He was good and ready now. He needed to feel Rhianna’s breasts in his hands, needed to bury his rock-hard cock deep inside her. With all the urgency of a dog on heat he took her from behind, driving himself into her dripping cunny, ramming his cock up to the shaft. She let out a long satisfied sigh as he grabbed her tits and squeezed hard, the milk dribbling satisfyingly round his fingers. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he rammed her again and again, hearing her moans come louder and louder. Finally, he could hold himself no more. In one last frantic push, he shot his load into her, emptying himself into her heated little opening, juddering his hips against hers. His last drips overflowed her opening and moistened her thighs.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep and pulled himself out. She rolled onto her back and lay, her deep indigo orbs staring into his. The Sultan who had watched everything open mouthed said, ‘ you have not finished your work. My number one wife has not reached completion. Finish the job and I will spare you your life.’ Lord Goldtop was exhausted, shattered, his knees shaking. But he was nothing if not a gentleman. To leave a lady half catered for, still needing more would surely have been ungallant to the point of dastardliness. His cock was a totally spent force. However he had learnt much during his brief episode at the palace. For King and country he would rally to the call with any trick he could muster to bring this quivering beauty to satisfaction.
With a last supreme effort, Lord Goldtop stood up and peered around for some item to aid him in his task. Even the best of soldiers cannot go into battle without a weapon. He looked in vain. However, the Sultan was nothing if not a resourceful man. With a grin on his dusky face, he reached into a pocket in his flowing robes and brought out a splendidly fashioned teak dildo. Lord Goldtop thankfully grasped it. Rhianna lay spreadeagled before him. He kneeled over her and eased the dildo into her pretty little gash. Moistening it with her juices, he deftly slid it up to her clit and began to whisk. As he did so, he took one magnificent areole into his mouth and sucked for all he was worth. It did the trick. She rode the dildo whilst he played it along her clit and deep into her opening. When Nayalini saw he was exhausted, and with a glint of gratitude in her eye, she did the decent thing and helped him out. Taking Rhianna’s other breast eagerly in her mouth, both she and Lord Goldtop milked Rhianna dry: their insistent sucking, the dildo driving in and out finished her off wonderfully. The next day, he happily agreed to stay on to service the other wives.
That was how Lord Spencer Goldtop became the only man with all his faculties intact to visit the harem of Rihmoon and come out alive. Not only that but Corporal Crest was fully restored to him unharmed, and he was given two fine Arab steeds to steer him away. Through the desert, into the sunset... and finally to freedom.
Lord Goldtop has only ever told one person about his experiences which seem too outlandish to be revealed over a gin and tonic in the Home Counties. But very occasionally, when he and Corporal Crest meet at their club, they go into a huddle in the corner of the lounge. Lord Goldtop tells Corporal Crest the story again and even at ninety-one their loins warm at the thought of all those wonderful wives.
The Captain And The Milkmaid
The sound of Humility Chastaine’s blood pumped in her ears so loudly she swore the sailors standing by her side could hear. It was louder than the mighty waves spattering the deck of the four-masted schooner. The freezing salt spray running down her cheeks cooled the heat in her face. She must NEVER be found out. To be discovered would mean certain humiliation. At the worst they might throw her overboard to perish in the cruel sea. But not before she was ravished to within an inch of her life.
Terror coursed through her veins as she heard the Captain’s voice thundering from the aft deck. ‘Look lively crew, there’s a storm abrewing!’ Captain Blarne saw everything. The crew admired his ability to detect trouble on the ship and squash it immediately. Humility dreaded that he suspected her deception. If he did, she could kiss goodbye to life on this sweet earth.
Humility knew if she turned, she would find him observing her from underneath his tricorn hat. She stared resolutely ahead. She had to pee. Like a man. Right now, and make it look good. Up till this moment she had managed to relieve herself in quiet corners, avoid the men and do her business in private. They all thought it was funny, a smooth-skinned boy, too young to shave and too shy to pee in front of them.
But Captain Blarne, of all the men mustn’t find out she was a girl pretending to be a boy. In other circumstances, Humility could have felt herself drawn to the brutality in that face. She had even, one night dreamt of him stealing her from her hammock and dragging her off in those strong arms to his quarters. The dream was so vivid she had smelt the claret on his breath and the tobacco on his gilded coat as he pressed his lips mercilessly down on hers. She quaked to think of him discovering her secret.
The man was hard. His jaw squared like crags on a cliff, eyes deep set and grey blue like the oceans. He bore a permanent scowl. He had witnessed how savage sailors could be on long ocean journeys bereft of the softness of women with their undulating curves and sweetly pouting lips. Men had evil natures when their sap rose and they only had each other to stroke away the frenzy of animal lust. A livid scar blemished Captain Blarne’s left cheek slashing down from his eye to his chin. Rumour had it that a skirmish with pirates had left him with that fine trophy. Captain Blarne had used his knifedge sword to slice his opponent’s arm clean off. Head held high, the Captain wore his scar proudly. It screamed, ‘filthy blackguard, mess with me at your peril’ to any man foolhardy enough to cross him.
Humility had wondered what a man as virile as that did with his own sexual urges on a long crossing. She had never seen him look lustfully at another man in the way that some of the jolly jack tars carried on. Lawks she had been innocent when she joined this ship. Just a country milmaid unversed in the ways of the world. No more though, not after last night.
Usually she was so exhausted when she hit her hammock that she slept like a newborn. But last night, thoughts of the weevil she had crunched in her biscuit had kept her awake. The silence had only been broken by loud snores until she heard the gentle padding of feet passing down the main gangway. Midshipman Fall was a tall athletic man who had taken a liking to the Master’s Mate, a blonde haired lad of around twenty years. As she watched Midshipman Fall approach the lad’s hammock, she was amazed to see him quietly raise the lad’s bedclothes and run his hands over the youth’s thigh. Humility imagined the lad would startle to wakefulness and fall out of his hammo
ck. But no. It soon became apparent that the lad not only welcomed Midshipman Fall’s attentions, but that he had eagerly awaited them. As Midshipman Fall caressed the lad’s thigh with one hand, with the other, he undid the tie on the youth’s trousers. Humility’s eyes were wide under her covers as she watched the magnificent sight of the lad’s sharply jutting cock poking high for the Midshipman’s attentions. Midshipman Fall stared with hungry passion as he reverently took the lad’s cock in his palm. Lustily he rubbed his thumb over the tight purple dome, sending the lad into squirming judders of pleasure. Then, he began to pump the lad’s cock up and down in his strong hand.
Humility heard the lad’s breathing quicken, she saw his hand come out and stroke the front of the Midshipman’s trousers, groping and urgent. As she watched, she felt her own body tense at the sight, and felt her little cunny warm and swell between her legs. The men’s passion had become overwhelming. The lad’s breathing became jagged: quick and urgent as suddenly, she saw a magnificent spray of come squirt skywards and spatter against the wooden timbers. It was clear that Midshipman Fall was only just warming up though. For now, the lad had freed Midshipman Fall’s prick from his trousers. The Midshipman’s member was large, veined and swollen and for a second, the lad, still lying in his hammock looked shocked. Then he smiled, rolled on his side and took the Midshipman’s cock reverentially in both his hands. As if he was praying to the god of erotic lust, the lad’s eyes closed as he enfolded the Midshipman’s cock between his lips. It was clear the lad was no amateur. The Midshipman grasped him by the back of the neck and buried his fingers in the lad’s curly blonde hair while the lad flicked his tongue backwards and forwards playfully over the Midshipman’s shining, protruding globe.
Eight Maids A-Milking Page 2
