Bad Penny (25 page)

Sometimes a long gap without seeing someone makes it difficult to re-establish the intimacy that one had before. Amber had a very simple way of getting round this. As I bent to put my cases on the floor, she pushed me down over the bed. An instant later, she had straddled my back and was pulling my skirt up. All I could do was laugh, giggling helplessly as she exposed my seat. Of course, my panties had to come down, and I made a plainly fake show of protest as she peeled them off my bum.

The spanking was great, applied with all her skill until my bottom was warm and throbbing and I was feeling as submissive towards her and as aroused by her as I ever had. I knew what would come next, her favourite way of reaching orgasm. This consisted of sitting on my face and having me tongue her bottom-hole while she frigged herself. It felt both naughty and servile to have my tongue back up her bottom where it belonged, and I actually came before she did, with my legs apart and my panties stretched taut between my knees where she had left them. After that, we went to bed, and stayed there until morning, rising only to fetch a plate of sandwiches at some time in the early hours of the morning.

In the morning, it was as if I had never been away, except that we had plenty of news for each other and were even more tactile together than usual. The thing that particularly excited her was not one of her own fantastic erotic creations, but something that Michael and Ginny Scott had come up with. They were the couple who had introduced us, and I was fond of both of them, but particularly Ginny. She was big and blonde, and had the most magnificent chest, really the very opposite of me in looks. Sexually she was playful and liberated and enjoyed many of the same things that I did. He was tall, dark and cool, and one of the few men I felt really comfortable in front of.

Amber refused to tell me what they were up to, but hinted that it was unusual even by her standards and promised that we would drive over on the following day. I was shut in a cupboard while she called Ginny, and then taken out into the paddock for a much-needed session of pony-girl play.

She was no more informative the next day, but kept teasing me and then spanked me to shut me up, which I felt was really unfair. Of course, that's just the sort of treatment that's best for me, and it put me on a nice plateau of excitement as we drove down to Wiltshire and Ginny and Michael's cottage in Broadheath.

The thing about Ginny Scott was that she was one of those rare people who manage to reach full adulthood without having the playful, carefree side of their sexualities eroded in any way. Most people either find themselves forced to conform by their jobs or are too scared of rejection to really let themselves go. Ginny was lucky. Not only was she gorgeous but, as the daughter of a wealthy farmer, she had never really had to worry about what other people thought. The only elements of sexual repression in her life had been her school and her tyrannical elder brother. Both of these factors only seemed to have served to make her naughty as well as liberated. She had also known Amber since their school days, which must certainly have made a difference.

She greeted both Amber and me with hugs and kisses, Michael with his normal cool poise and friendly, knowing smile. The word voluptuous might have been coined for Ginny and, since I had last seen her, she had filled out even more. She was wearing a loose white blouse, tied between her breasts to leave her midriff bare. The button of her trousers was also undone, so that the whole of her soft, sweetly rounded tummy was showing. She had no bra on under her blouse, which meant that her big, pillow-like breasts were clearly outlined, with her nipples showing through and making little humps in the cotton. Her trousers were black corduroy, and so full of well-fleshed bottom, thigh and pussy that I found myself licking suddenly dry lips. I've always preferred girls to be fairly tall and well endowed, but Ginny was something else.

‘Haven't you been exercising her properly?' Amber asked Michael as she cast an appraising glance over the magnificence of Ginny's figure.

‘Every weekend, just about,' Michael replied. ‘She runs as well as ever, although I haven't raced her for a while. No, the extra flesh has more than a little to do with our new game.'

‘Oh yes?' I queried, wondering what sort of sexual depravity involved deliberately fattening a girl up.

When he said he'd been exercising her, he was referring to having her as his pony-girl, rather than having sex with her, which I'm sure he did more than just at weekends. Leastways, if I'd been him, I'd have wanted her every five minutes.

‘Hm, interesting,' Amber commented, taking a pinch of Ginny's bottom between her fingers. ‘Still, I take it you'll beat her for it, anyway?'

‘Of course,' Michael answered.

‘Any more of that and you'll be the one with a smacked bottom, Miss Amber Oakley,' Ginny retorted. ‘I may be more submissive than you, but I'm bigger too, so watch out.'

‘Softer too,' Amber laughed and smacked her friend's bottom.

‘Anyway,' Michael said, interrupting before things got out of hand, ‘we've set it all up in the park, so let's drive up after lunch and we'll show you.'

No one would tell me anything during lunch, and it quickly became plain that Amber only knew some of it. The park was what had once been Ginny's family's estate, but was now a mixture of wood and scrub with a lake at the centre. The only buildings were the ruins of the old house, the stables, a boathouse and a tiny lodge. We had played there often before, and it was a place of which both Amber and I had many fond memories.

It had changed quite a bit since I had last seen it. Michael had finally begun to have the rubble of the old house cleared and explained to us that most of his earnings were going into an attempt to make the place habitable once more. The stables were the only part of the old structure in perfect condition, stalls and so forth set around a cobbled yard. This was where they kept their pony-cart and had set up whatever device they were intending to show us.

Amber and I were told to take a leisurely walk around the park, which we did, hand in hand and talking over old memories. Although it was in fact only just over a year since I had first set foot in the place, it seemed much longer and, by the time we returned to the stables, I was in a very nostalgic mood. I was also quite aroused, having been round a track on which I had been driven as a pony-girl and seen several places that brought back memories of passionate sexual encounters.

Michael was standing outside one of the stable doors, his mouth set in a pleased smile. I could hear a strange noise, mechanical but nothing immediately recognisable. He beckoned us and we approached him.

‘Ladies,' he announced with a polite bow, ‘may I present to you our latest creation – the cow-girl.'

When he said that, I expected Ginny to emerge from the stable in some sort of fancy American Western outfit, all chaps and rawhide thongs. That would have been fun, but a bit of an anticlimax. As it was, when Michael threw back the door, I was left completely speechless.

Ginny was on all fours, stark naked, with her golden curls half-covering her face and with a look that was simultaneously submissive, wanton, shamefaced and aroused. I had seen Ginny drink pee from another girl's pussy before, and she hadn't looked even slightly ashamed of herself. She did now, and I could see why.

She was attached to a milking machine.

In her kneeling position her big, dangling breasts could reasonably have been described as udders, and they had adapted the suction cups to fit her nipples. The thing was on and Ginny's breathing was coming at the same rhythm as its suction, her eyes closing in ecstasy each time it drew at her flesh. Her fat breasts moved oddly as the machine sucked at them, ripples going through the soft flesh in time to the pump. Her nipples were swollen and drawn out into the suction cups, the dark skin visible through the clear plastic. So was something else, a white fluid that squirted from what I couldn't help thinking of as her teats each time the machine sucked – milk.

‘You're milking her!' Amber exclaimed. ‘I knew . . . but . . .'

Whatever they had told her, she obviously hadn't expected the reality, any more than I had. I actually felt weak at the knees. What Ginny was having done to her was so sexy, yet so indecent, that I could only stare. It was obviously putting her in heaven as well, judging from the expression on her face. This was no example of some unfortunate girl being forced into an unspeakable perversion by some twisted male; she was loving every second of it.

The rest of the set-up was pretty good, too. The machine was powered by a small diesel engine and she was in a stall with straw on the ground, conditions no better than a real cow would have been given.

I'd always known Ginny was a dirty bitch, but this really took the prize. True, she obviously was just a little bit ashamed of herself, but from my own experience I knew that that would just make the experience all the finer. Michael, as always, was completely cool.

‘Would you care for a glass?' he asked politely. ‘She's producing well, today; we might get a couple of pints or even more.'

He was right; the milk could be seen running from Ginny's teats and down to a valve of some sort, then along a tube to a bucket. It was squirting in at a good rate and already looked an inch or so deep. I could smell it too, a recognisably milky smell, but not quite the same as cow's milk.

‘I'd love a glass,' Amber managed. ‘But how did you manage it? She's not pregnant, is she?'

‘No, no,' Michael replied casually as he walked over to their car. ‘We got the idea from an old wives' tale, literally. Do you remember old Mrs Burrell?'

Amber shook her head.

‘No, I don't suppose you would,' he continued. ‘Anyway, she used to be Ginny's nurse, and both her brothers' before that. She's pushing eighty now but, one time when Ginny visited her, she claimed that, when she was little, a local woman had been a professional wet nurse and had been able to start her milk flowing more or less to order. We were a bit sceptical, but did some research and discovered that sufficient massage sometimes causes lactation to start – if the hormonal balance is right, anyway. We both wanted to try, so we borrowed an old machine from her brothers' farm and well, there we are.'

I looked back to Ginny, who was sighing gently as she was milked and looked as if she was about ready to come. It was certainly a wonderful fantasy, and both Michael and Amber were clearly getting a big kick out of just being there while she was attached to the machine. So was I, but, being mainly submissive, I would have preferred to have been in Ginny's place, or by her side, on all lours, naked and with my own little titties being sucked. Of course, I wouldn't have been able to add to the milk, so it wouldn't ever have been quite perfect. On the other hand, a nice, dirty fantasy was beginning to form in my head, one that would let me get the most out of Ginny and Michael's extraordinarily perverse achievement.

First, however, it was only fair to help Ginny to her undoubtedly badly needed climax. I urgently wanted myself dealt with, preferably stripped and humiliated before being allowed to come, but could wait. Like so many dominant roles, for Amber, Michael and I this meant being cool while the submissive got worked up to an unbearable peak. Michael had fetched three glasses from the car, half-pint tumblers eminently suitable for drinking milk out of. I was trembling, but knew better than to show my feelings, instead treating Ginny just as if she were an actual cow and we were three dairy hands sampling her produce.

Michael dipped a glass into the bucket of Ginny-milk and passed it to Amber, then filled one for me and finally himself. My hand was shaking so hard that I nearly spilt it, but I managed to take a gulp, and let it run over my tongue and around my mouth so that I could savour it fully. It was good: rich, yet oddly sharp.

I swallowed my mouthful, watching Amber and Michael drink theirs. Both looked well pleased with themselves and were watching Ginny as they tasted her milk. Despite my own need, I decided to try and humiliate Ginny even more.

‘Have you tried making cheese?' I asked.

‘Not yet,' Michael replied evenly, ‘although I had considered it.'

‘I think it would be a bit like goat's cheese.' Amber suggested.

‘Perhaps,' Michael agreed, ‘or sheep's. We did run up some clotted cream, though. I made her sell it at a stall at Broadheath market, in little tubs. It was very popular, and the experience humiliated her almost as much as actually being milked in the first place.'

‘Beautiful,' I said, unable to hold my poise any longer.

‘Well,' Michael sighed, ‘I suppose I'd better do the honours before she runs dry. She does like to come while her teats are still running. She likes it veterinary style. But I'm not being a very good host, am I? Would either of you like to do it?'

‘Yes, please,' Amber asked, her voice less than entirely calm.

I heard Ginny groan, and turned my attention to her. She had turned her bottom to us and lifted it, giving a pretty display of her plump, wet pussy and the puckered ring of her anus. I was still admiring the view as Amber snapped on a rubber glove and came over. ‘Veterinary style' obviously involved fisting the cow-girl and letting her bring herself off against something hard. The something hard proved to be the main tube of the milking machine, which was not only warm but vibrated.

Having occasionally taken a sneaky moment of pleasure by putting the pump hose against my pussy while I filled my car with petrol, I think I have a fair idea how Ginny felt. Twenty pounds' worth of petrol is never enough to bring me off, but I reckon that if I owned a bigger car I might have made it once or twice.