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    Maid for Milking
    Maid for Milking
    Maid for Milking
    Ebook62 pages47 minutes

    Maid for Milking

    By Vanessa de Sade

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    It's 1939.  The Great Depression still ravages the Kansas plains, and young Lizzie Ljunggren has just given birth.  But, fecund and full-breasted – and possessed of the sweetest milk in all the state – it isn't long before Lizzie's in the service of the black-veiled Mistress, owner of a mysterious organisation called The Farm, which lists human milk as one of its many ‘services.’
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHouse of Erotica
    Release dateOct 3, 2014
    ISBN9781783339938
    Maid for Milking
    Author

    Vanessa de Sade

    Vanessa de Sade is a thirty-something full-figure gal who likes to write hot stories about real women exploring the darker regions of their own sexuality. She is the author of several popular novellas plus the collection, Rubyfruit Jungle.

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      Book preview

      Maid for Milking - Vanessa de Sade

      1988.

      Prologue

      Firefly Summer

      It was a summer of hot and searing winds. A summer of lean times and going a-hungry for most folks. A summer of flickering wildfire lighting in the red-and-blue-bruised evening sky, empty Coke bottles clinking against each other in the old tin tub at McIver’s Store, that day’s ice long-since melted. And it was a summer of small radio stations playing Woody Guthrie ballads and Robert Johnson selling his soul to Old Tom Devil down at the crossroads. But it was a summer of sadness too, and, for young Lizzie Ljunggren, it was the summer that both her folks got took with the cholera and she found herself sent to live with her stony-faced Aunt Em.

      And the tragedy is that it could have been a summer like any other. Dull, hard-working, uneventful, and lost in the grime of memory along with all the others, like so many old photographs in a box that you look through one day and say, now when was that? Nineteen thirty-eight or thirty-nine? Except that it was that summer that Lizzie got her first serious attack of hot britches, and a devil got into her and took control.

      And things might even have still worked out okay if it hadn’t even been for the presence of Tom Handley, that cock-sure strut-about farmhand that Em Ljunggren went and hired against her better judgement. Though there were some as said that even the Iron Em liked the way the boy looked, and maybe there was a little bit of hot britches affecting the old wife herself, even though no-one was going to come right out and say it out loud.

      Anyway, that was the incendiary set up that tinder-dry and dusty August. Lizzie was in heat, and Tom was right there on hand to assist with his big cock all nice and obvious under his faded denims, sniffing around her like an old hound dog and ready to make his move at a moment’s notice. And so it wasn’t too long before she was sneaking out to meet him in the hot firefly sunsets, the air alive with the little glowing dots that served as fairy lanterns to her eager imagination and made it easy for her to believe him when he told her that he loved her, down in those warm and fragrant corn rows, far away from the lights of the house and her aunt’s ever-critical tongue.

      And it could all still have passed harmlessly, because Lizzie knew what was what, having been a farm girl all her days, and she knew full well what the consequences would be if she took Tom’s big red-raw doggy dick right up inside her cute little pussy, like he wanted her to. So most nights they just lay and kissed and she let him put his hands inside her dress and stroke and touch, but she finally became lost to good sense that hot and balmy night when he pulled her panties right off and then lifted her skirt up to look at her sleek little cunt, all neat and furry and nestled like a quivering bird in the creamy vee-joint of her thighs. And then he made the clever move of not touching but going down on her, softly kissing and licking her at her tiny blonde minge until it was slippery, then splitting her glossed-down little pussy like it was a fresh Turkish fig, all gleaming and golden on the outside, but red and fiery within, and all wet with sap and begging to be kissed.

      And, freed from the customary restraint of having her panties round her ankles, she just opened her legs for him like Moses parting the Red Sea, her hands in his hair as she pushed her pussy into his face, clit like a sap-slick pecan, bare ass grinding in the rustling ricepaper-dry corn stalks and dirt, begging him to lick right up and down her aching slit and then crying out and whimpering when his tongue-tip neglected her stiff little girl-cock for more than a few seconds.

      And it wasn’t like she hadn’t come before or anything. Her friend Mabel Desmond had been playing with her own pussy for nearly a year before she showed Lizzie how to do it earlier this summer in the hay loft back home, and the two of them had spent a lot of happy hours up there, first of all with just their hands in each other’s britches, then graduating to stripping each other down to

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