Devon Cream

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘That’s better, isn’t it, you little slut?’ he sneered. ‘You like it showing, don’t you?’

  Octavia nodded in response. Her whole body was tingling and she could feel the wetness between her legs, also on her nipples, where his rough treatment had started a little milk.

  ‘Now, let’s see about those teats,’ he declared. ‘Come on, thrust them out, girl; I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.’

  Octavia pushed her breasts out and he once more took them in his hands. She winced as he began to knead them, then gasped as both were suddenly squeezed hard and her milk sprayed from the tips. He cursed and she looked down to find his waistcoat spattered with it while both her nipples were wet with the white fluid.

  ‘Dirty little whelp!’ he spat.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t help it,’ Octavia responded.

  ‘You’ve ruined it!’ he said angrily. ‘Stupid girl! This is brocaded silk! Do you have any idea how much a waistcoat like this costs?’

  ‘No, sir. Sorry, sir,’ Octavia spluttered.

  ‘No matter,’ Jervis continued, controlling his temper with an obvious effort. ‘Now, where were we? Ah, yes, a fine pair of bouncers, though not as fat as your friend Polly’s, I’ll warrant. How much do you produce?’

  ‘Just under a quart a day, sir,’ she answered. ‘Polly can manage three pints, on some days.’

  ‘Thus giving us our half-gallon a day with a little over,’ he mused. ‘No, it really is not enough.’

  ‘We do our best, sir,’ she assured him.

  ‘Then your best is not good enough,’ he declared. ‘No, what is needed is extra stimulation.’

  ‘And how would that be done, Mr Jervis?’ she asked.

  ‘A good beating would probably help,’ Jervis drawled. ‘It would bring your blood to the surface. Besides, it’s the best thing for lazy girls, one way or the other: and there is also the matter of my spoiled waistcoat.’

  Octavia recognised the lustful undertones of his voice and stifled a giggle. As Polly had explained, men often went to a great deal of effort to hide their feelings. Jervis was clearly attracted to her, and using the need for more milk and the suggestion that she be beaten to gain a greater intimacy. She had been made to strip; now she was to be beaten. Afterwards, when they had sex, he would be able to let his true feelings show.

  ‘On your knees, then,’ he ordered.

  She obeyed, sinking down on to all fours in the way she and Polly posed for milking, with her bottom high and her breasts swinging free.

  ‘No,’ Jervis snapped. ‘Not like that. Kneel up. Stick your tits out, well out, and your backside. Yes, that’s it. Now pull your back well in and lift your arse off your heels. How do you think I’m going to hit it like that?’

  Octavia knelt as she was ordered, breasts and buttocks thrust out fore and aft. The position was uncomfortable and made her feel even more exposed than the traditional crawling position in which she was used to taking her harder punishments. Looking down at her, Jervis gave a satisfied sneer and returned his cock to his fly. He then walked briskly across the room. In the corner stood an elephant’s foot, from which protruded the handles of assorted canes. She watched as he made his choice, her body trembling hard with anticipation of how it was going to feel to be beaten with such an implement. One by one he drew the canes out and swished them through the air. Most lacked flexibility, which he clearly found displeasing. Only one bent in the way he wanted, a thin rattan that seemed to her more designed for show than practicality. It was this he chose.

  Octavia raised her haunches, offering her bottom for punishment as he started towards her. He responded with a grin of sadistic glee, then reached out and tapped the cane across the crest of her bottom. She braced herself and shut her eyes, awaiting the pain that would come before the beating brought heat to her sex. There was a swish and her bottom seemed to explode in fiery agony. She cried out and bucked, then settled herself slowly back into position. The cane welt was a hot line across her bottom, stinging and throbbing. Jervis laughed.

  Her head swimming with pain, Octavia gritted her teeth, waiting for the wonderful feelings that came only with a good beating: feelings of warmth and openness, feelings of need for the person who had beaten her. The second stroke lashed down, harder than the first, to make her lose control of herself and go down kicking and wriggling on the floor. Again he laughed and, as she tried to resume her position, he put a booted foot into the small of her back and pushed her face down on to the rug. The cane lashed down again and she screamed and kicked her legs apart, only to be pushed back hard on to the floor.

  Lying in helpless, beaten ecstasy beneath his boot, she began to whimper. The feelings had begun to come, a hot flush that filled her bottom and sex. Her fear of the cane went, leaving desire for more, harder strokes. Spreading her legs and pulling her knees up as best she could, she stuck her bottom up.

  ‘By God, but you don’t see many so eager!’ Jervis swore. ‘Come on, then, you dirty little whore, let’s see how you like this!’

  He lashed the cane down, striking her plum across her cheeks and again making her scream. This time she returned her bottom immediately to its ready position. Jervis responded with another cut, then more as he began to belabour Octavia’s defenceless buttocks in a sadistic frenzy. She screamed and writhed under his boot, but always kept her bottom high and ready and her legs well spread, until finally he hurled the cane aside with a curse. Her bottom was a ball of furious pain, her sex seemed to gape and the muscles of her legs and bottom were clenching and loosening involuntarily. She was wet with sweat and her nipples were hard, with wet patches of spilled milk on the rug beneath them.

  For a long moment Jervis stood, regaining his breath and looking down at Octavia’s well-beaten bottom. She turned her face up, smiled and then rose, adopting the kneeling position in which she hoped to be made to suck his cock. It was what she expected, yet he seemed doubtful, only squeezing the hard rod in his trousers and eyeing her thoughtfully.

  ‘By God, but I’m stiff!’ he suddenly swore. ‘Now I’m going to make you suck me, but no tricks, do you understand?’

  ‘As you please, sir,’ she answered.

  His hands went straight to his fly and he pulled his cock free, already hard, with the tip glossy and red with pressure.

  ‘Come on, you little whore, get it in your mouth!’ Jervis spat.

  Octavia leaned forwards and took the cock in her mouth, allowing the full length to slide deep into her throat. Jervis immediately grabbed her by the hair and began to fuck her mouth. She gagged as the cock was pushed down between her tonsils, but did her best to suck and to use her tongue on the underside of his shaft.

  For a long while he kept it in her mouth, pushing it in and out while he held her by the hair. Octavia found the sucking a delicious addition to the feelings the beating had given her. Her body felt open and receptive, and she knew that if he chose to introduce his penis to her virgin quim, then she would not resist.

  ‘Not your first time, is it?’ he said. ‘I suppose you were sucking farm boys for sixpence as soon as you had tits. What about old Slater? Is this what you do for him?’

  Octavia nodded on her mouthful of penis. Jervis called her a whore again and took a firmer grip in her hair. Again he pushed his cock deep into her throat, only this time holding it there until she began to squirm and tug against his grip.

  ‘Swallow, swallow hard; then I’ll take it out,’ he drawled.

  She obeyed, and felt the muscles of her throat squeeze tight on his cock as she did it. He gave a grunt of animal pleasure and pushed it deeper, making her gag and repeat the motion. Again he grunted, only to pull suddenly back and withdraw from her mouth. She rocked back on her heels, admiring the glossy, saliva-covered cock in front of her face and hoping that he intended more.

  ‘Now the cunt,’ he said with relish. ‘Kneel and stick your arse well up. I’m going to mount you like a dog and grope those fat titties while I fuck you.’

&nb
sp; Octavia knew that Polly would have been shocked at his words, but to her they were a simple statement of intent. He wanted to mount her, which was also what she most wanted in all the world. She turned quickly, sticking her bottom up in a lewd acceptance of what was about to be done to her. At the sight, Jervis grunted and called her a whore again. She had no idea what the word meant, yet it seemed to go with her willingness to share pleasure with him and so was presumably a compliment. Squatting behind her, he put his cock to her vagina and pushed, easing it in with a satisfied grunt. She felt her vagina fill and let her breath out with one long, blissful sigh. For so long she had wondered how a cock would feel inside her, and now she knew. It was beautiful, wonderful, a feeling that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time, a feeling that made her want to get at her clitty and rub it until she came with her hole full of penis.

  Jervis was in a squat over her upturned bottom, his legs bumping her well-thrashed cheeks with each push. Octavia was lost in the ecstasy of her first fuck. Her bottom burned and her nipples throbbed, both sensations adding to the overwhelmingly glorious feeling of having a long cock pushed in and out of her vagina. Knowing that she had to come while he was in her, she settled her chest and face to the ground and reached back to rub herself.

  ‘By God, but you’re a dirty one!’ Jervis swore as he realised what she was doing. ‘Go, on then, rub your cunt, make it close on my prick!’

  Octavia needed no prompting. She was already rubbing and already could feel the first stirrings of her orgasm. Jervis’s pushes became frantic and his hands dug hard into the flesh of her hips. Grunting, panting and whimpering, she came, and felt her vagina squeeze hard on his cock as it happened. He gave a loud grunt and wrenched himself into her, deep and hard, so that his balls slapped on her quim and fingers.

  ‘I’m going to spend!’ he snarled. ‘Right up your cunt. Yes, oh, that’s it! Now over your arse. I’m going to spend on your whip lines! All over them, you beautiful little whore!’

  As he spoke he rammed his cock deep into her, only to suddenly pull out and empty his load over her upturned bottom. Octavia made a little mewling noise as the hot come landed across her bottom. Her own orgasm was still dying slowly away, leaving her happy and satisfied as Jervis’s third spurt erupted all over her spread behind.

  As Jervis’s sperm splashed out over Octavia’s bottom, Polly was considering a less sexual but perhaps no less intimate engagement. The village was full of full-busted girls. Indeed, small breasts were unusual. Discretion was a much rarer virtue, and Polly had quickly been able to discount most of her friends. One girl, however, seemed ideal. This was Eliza Arrish, one of Polly’s oldest friends and someone to whom confidentiality was second nature, the result of being Mrs Arrish’s eldest daughter. She now lived in a cottage some way down the Kerslake Road, which also meant that she would have sufficient privacy.

  Taking care to be sure that Mrs Arrish was not around, Polly discovered Eliza pegging out washing in the back garden. Eliza was in a full dress of plain blue wool, complete with pinny and mop cap – inexpensive, sensible clothes. Her bust was impressive, and Polly found herself making an instinctive appraisal of her friend’s potential for milk production. It was good, perhaps close to her own.

  Not that persuading Eliza to agree to what she would undoubtedly see as a distinctly rude proposal was going to be easy. Nevertheless, Polly had worked out a plan with great care and was confident of success. Firstly, she had dressed in her finest clothes.

  The money from Squire Maray had enabled her, Octavia and Lias to dress as they pleased. They had been cautious, not wishing to make too ostentatious a display of their wealth, but several trips to Exeter had made a dramatic improvement in their wardrobes. Polly now wore a fashionable two-piece dress, deep red and liberally beaded and embroidered. A broad-brimmed hat matched this, while a white blouse with ruffles at the neck and wrists nicely set off the colour. Beneath she had three petticoats, cambric for cleanliness, flannel for warmth and taffeta to rustle as she walked. Each was flounced and embroidered in matching patterns of leaves and roses. Her corset was of rose-pink silk and to the same pattern, cut to the new S-line but with cups specially designed to make the most of her ample bust. Next to her skin she wore a chemise, silk stockings and panel-backed drawers, again patterned to match her petticoats.

  Eliza’s response to Polly’s appearance was as expected, wide-mouthed surprise and delight tinged with not a little envy. There was also something else, a caution, or curiosity, which brought a brief flush to Polly’s cheeks as it implied that Eliza knew of her relationship with Octavia. She returned Eliza’s greeting, and answered modestly as her friend went into raptures over the quality of the dress and hat. Heartened by Eliza’s open envy for her evident prosperity, Polly told Eliza that she had a proposal to make. Eliza responded with cautious enthusiasm and accepted Polly’s suggestion that they go up to the bedroom.

  ‘We’ve something of a special arrangement with old Squire Maray in Kerslake,’ Polly said carefully as they climbed the stairs, ‘and it earns very nicely.’

  ‘So it must,’ Eliza answered. ‘I’ve heard something of the sort from our Becky. She says old Lias Slater comes over each morning with a little copper churn. Full of milk, she says.’

  ‘It is, Eliza,’ Polly answered, ‘but it’s not any ordinary milk. It’s girl milk, Octavia’s and mine.’

  ‘Girl milk?’

  ‘Girl milk.’

  ‘You’re playing me for a fool, Polly Endicott!’ Eliza laughed. ‘Why, I’ve never heard such a parcel of old crams in my life!’

  ‘It’s true,’ Polly insisted.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Eliza answered. ‘What would the squire want with girl milk? I know they say he’s a bit queer, but that’s another thing altogether! I’m not sure it’s even decent!’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing improper,’ Polly assured her. ‘He’s under doctor’s orders, he is. He’s on a regime. He’s not allowed cow’s milk, nor even sheep’s.’

  ‘Well, I’m blowed,’ Eliza answered. ‘Oh come on now, Polly Endicott, tell me you’re playing the fool!’

  ‘I’m in earnest,’ Polly answered. ‘I can prove it, if you like.’

  ‘How would that be, then?’

  ‘I can show you.’

  ‘Show me! Why, you are for real!’

  ‘As real as you and me.’

  ‘Our Becky thinks it’s pig’s milk!’ Eliza laughed. ‘If only she knew!’

  Polly sat down on the bed, Eliza settling beside her. At the sound of her friend’s laughter, her task suddenly seemed easy, as if they were once more two girls daring each other to tap Jan Arrish’s cider barrel in defiance of Eliza’s mother.

  ‘As you’ve probably guessed,’ she said boldly, ‘I want to ask you if you’ll do it, too, on account of us needing extra.’

  ‘Well, I . . .’ Eliza began.

  ‘The price is a half-sovereign a quart,’ Polly said quickly.

  Eliza stopped, whatever objection she had intended dying on her lips.

  ‘Don’t go worrying about the fancy bits,’ Polly continued. ‘We know how to do it and we’ll help you all you need.’

  ‘Could I, do you suppose?’ Eliza asked uncertainly.

  ‘As easy as Octavia or I, I dare say,’ Polly answered. ‘It takes a while, but it’s easy enough when all’s said.’

  ‘What’s it like, being in milk?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘Nice, generally,’ Polly answered. ‘It hurts a bit when they’re full, but it’s lovely when the milk comes out. Naughty, but a relief too. The closest thing is when you have a pee, but it’s different, nicer.’

  ‘Might I . . . see them? You said you’d prove it.’

  ‘You may, but you’ll have to help me with my buttons and corset.’

  ‘Yes, I can’t reach all the buttons behind my back, either. I try to buy dresses that fasten down the front.’

  ‘I feel that spoils the line of the bust,’ Polly answered as she turned her back to
Eliza.

  Eliza’s fingers made quick work of the buttons and Polly shrugged her dress down over her shoulders.

  ‘You have lovely skin,’ Eliza remarked as Polly’s bare shoulders came on view. ‘So smooth and white.’

  ‘Plenty of cream, that’s the answer,’ Polly said. ‘Can you get at my laces like that?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eliza answered and began to tug at Polly’s corset laces. ‘This is fancy, and I do like your chemise. That’s ever such pretty lace.’

  ‘It’s Belgian,’ Polly answered, ‘and very select.’

  ‘It must be ever so expensive.’

  ‘It is. Oh, that’s better. I do like a nice tight waist, but it’s always a relief when you’re undone.’

  ‘I know. Turn around, then.’

  Polly giggled as she turned. Her breasts were encased in the rose-pink silk of the corset, and their upper surfaces quivered as she moved. Even to her they seemed huge, and Eliza’s eyes widened perceptibly.

  ‘My, you have grown,’ Eliza stated. ‘I’m sure they weren’t as big as all that when mother had to spank you for . . . well, you know, at the market.’

  ‘It comes of being in milk,’ Polly answered. ‘They’re over two pounds heavier than when we first started, and that’s after milking. That’s one reason I chose you, seeing as you’re so well built yourself.’

  ‘Not like that,’ Eliza said with a touch of awe in her voice. ‘May I see . . . you know, properly?’

  With her corset undone Polly’s breasts were already in danger of spilling out of their cups, and it was a simple matter to loll forward and let them out, then to lift them in her hands so that Eliza could see properly. Her friend gave a quiet giggle and then went silent. She was looking at Polly’s naked breasts, saying nothing but smiling quietly. Polly made no move to put them back, feeling that it would be slightly rude to do so before Eliza had finished admiring them.

  ‘With Octavia,’ Eliza said suddenly, ‘do you still . . .?’

  Polly hesitated, thinking of the public spanking from Eliza’s mother. Yet Eliza’s question showed nothing of prurience or disapproval, but excitement and a hint of conspiracy.