Eight Maids A-Milking Read online

  Title Page

  EIGHT MAIDS A-MILKING

  A short lactation story set in the mysterious east

  By

  Kitti Bernetti

  Publisher Information

  Eight Maids a-Milking

  Published in 2013 by House of Erotica

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com

  An imprint of Andrews UK Limited

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Copyright © Kitti Bernetti 2013

  The right of Kitti Bernetti to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Eight Maids a-Milking

  ‘My Lord, the Sultan’s troops are closing in on us, Let me fall on my sword for being a damn fool and leading you to this godforsaken ravine. What was I thinking?’

  Lord Spencer Goldtop knew they were done for. He looked kindly on his aide de camp, slapping the man’s shoulder. A cloud of desert dust choked them both.

  ‘Nonsense. You are a good and faithful servant Corporal Crest. The moment we look death in the eye is not the time for recriminations. He held himself erect.’ Let us stand together and defend the King’s name against the Sultan or die nobly in the process.’

  Suddenly twenty Arab stallions rounded the white tipped rocks of the ravine and Lord Goldtop was blinded, the guns of the Sultan’s men glinting in the sun. Bravely pointing his own inadequate rifle, Lord Goldtop was instantly floored by a crack to his skull which crashed him into dark oblivion. The lowdown desert dogs had crept up behind him.

  Now was his moment to die.

  When Lord Goldtop opened his lids, he swore he was in heaven. The air was laden with sweet frangipani. A soft breeze came from outside the palatial room he found himself in. It cleansed the baking heat. Soft cushions had replaced hard stones and a girl with eyes the shade of sapphires peered at him above a silk veil. Her enigmatic smile held a hunger he had never detected in a woman before. The Rihmoon girls with their piercing azure pupils, coal black eyelashes and come-hither looks had endangered his honour before now. Despite his thumping head, he had to be strong. Many a time he had pulled his gaze from their swaying hips, their magical eastern allure, their coffee-hued skin.

  He forced himself to remember his intended, Sophie - pale, modestly dressed, reed-thin as she waited for him back in the Home Counties. He shifted to cross his legs over a traitorous swelling in his loins.

  ‘Do not move,’ the maiden’s voice came sweet as tamarind from voluptuous pink lips. She sponged his forehead and it instantly beaded with sweat. This darned heat, her hillocks of ample breasts pressed against him, her heady perfume made him forget himself. He shot up to a standing position. Two muscle-bound guards dashed forward, unsheaved their swords and pulled him back. He struggled like a captured animal.

  ‘I demand to see my Corporal, you swine. Where is he?’

  A voice smooth as chocolate boomed behind Lord Goldtop, ‘Quiet!’ The Sultan of Rihmoon swept forward, arms crossed, white robes gleaming. ‘Why should a Lord fear for a mere footsoldier? I will never understand you English.’

  ‘Tell your brigands to unhand me.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ laughed the Sultan. ‘You stink of desert sweat Englishman, Now we shall have a little fun.’ His smile darkened to a frown. ‘Take him to the baths.’

  Biceps straining against the guards, Lord Goldtop’s six foot frame was dragged into a room with a round sumptuous bathing pool. It reminded him of a scene in one of those talkies emerging from Hollywood. A den of vice of which Lord Goldtop heartily disapproved. Pristine white marble columns, steps down, a fountain tinkling at one end. From a balcony trailed waxy jasmine blossoms infusing the steam with their exotic scent.

  Were they going to drown him? Were they going to slice off his head and roar with laughter as his blood reddened the water?

  ‘Throw him in,’ boomed the Sultan.

  Lord Goldtop was unceremoniously hurled into the perfumed water as the Sultan took a seat on a throne at the side of the pool. Admittedly the water was warm, sweet and welcome after days in the desert. There was an air of expectancy, a rustling behind some silver curtains and even a girlish giggle. Lord Goldtop tensed muscles hardened by years in the saddle, water swirled round his thighs. His manhood proud, even at rest, lay lengthy against his leg.

  ‘Rhianna!’ the Sultan clapped his hands and a woman of mature years, at the height of her feminine powers sashayed in from behind the curtain. She too wore a flimsy veil which did little to hide the smile of appraisal on her carmine lips. The veil lay like a wisp of air over the most massive breasts Lord Goldtop had ever seen. Domed, like the very hills of the kingdom of Rihmoon they forced themselves into his view. They glowed with oil of myrrh. Ropes of luscious dark hair wound down her back. She wore harem pants sitting lazily on rounded hips, emphasising their swing as she toured round the pool.... observing, appraising. Her eyes never left him. Lord Goldtop couldn’t help it, but as she stared, yes, stared brazenly at his sleeping member, it began to waken. Under her unabashed scrutiny, it twitched to attention. This was a disgrace, never had a woman observed him like a piece of meat on a tray. It was unseemly, indecent. HIs hands shot over the uncontrollable swelling.

  ‘Uncover yourself.’ The woman purred.

  ‘What, how dare you?’

  ‘I dare very easily. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘No, I......’ But then light began to dawn on Lord Goldtop as the woman came closer, standing at the edge of the pool in front of him, an insolence in her stance. ‘Yes, I have seen your eyes,’ very beautiful eyes, like windows on the soul , ‘in countless paintings around the Sultanate. You are the Sultan’s number one wife are you not?’

  ‘That is right, which gives me considerable power over ... everyone. Including you. Outside I may be meek and mild but here in the innermost sanctum of the Sultan’s harem, I rule.’

  Lord Goldtop’s eyes widened. The ladies of the harem were never seen in the flesh, no man apart from the eunuch guards were allowed in. Any male with his potency intact who breached these hallowed walls would face certain execution. He was doomed. But why had they not killed him instantly? Why had he been brought here of all places? He swallowed. Hard.

  ‘Will he do?’ Asked the Sultan, beady-eyed, licking his lips.

  ‘He will do very well.’ The corners of Rhianna’s mouth curved upwards.

  ‘Who shall be first?’ The Sultan twirled his moustache.

  Rhianna’s eyes narrowed. There was desire there, desperation, but there was also control. She didn’t answer, she was weighing things up.

  The Sultan eased back on his throne, like a man waiting for a performance to begin. He shifted and adjusted his crotch. ‘Well, my love, there are eight of you. He looks strong as a stallion and potent as a lion but even the finest steed can tire if driven too hard. Who is most in need? And who, in your experienced opinion could restart his fire even when he has been ridden to exhaustion? I know of only one woman up to that job.’ The Sultan winked knowingly at her.

  She sat on the edge of the pool and dangled shapely ankles in. Rings on her toes glistened under the water. An ext
ravagant emerald in her navel caught the sunlight streaming through the opening to the garden.

  But Lord Goldtop was mesmerised by those mountainous breasts. If he was to die, and he was sure his moment had come, his last wish would be to bury himself in those mounds. To feel them close over his ears, to flick over those breasts with his tongue, to see her throw her head back and .... He shook the thoughts out of his head. His cock was rock hard. What sacrilege, what sorcery was this that had him forgetting himself? Of course he had never seen a real woman’s breasts unclothed before. He had imagined them in his dreams, in his lonely military bed.

  ‘I shall go last.’ Announced Rhianna decidedly. ‘You will observe each of us perform the acts my husband?’

  ‘Most certainly.’ Announced the Sultan, his voice a low growl. ‘Even though I cannot perform my husbandly duties at this time, it is my duty to be present to ensure my wives reach satisfaction. Afterwards, once he has served his purpose, I must ensure the blonde-haired one.’ He nodded pleasantly to Lord Goldtop, ‘is executed.’

  Lord Goldtop felt his heart sink to the floor. Some ritual was about to be performed and he was central to it. Lord Goldtop had the feeling the Sultan was enjoying this, on all sorts of levels. ‘Give him wine,’ ordered the Sultan. ‘A condemned man should not be left thirsty.’

  A guard stepped into the water and thrust a gold bejewelled goblet at Lord Goldtop who drank the sweet syrupy liquid. Then he whispered, ‘tell me guard, why can the Sultan not perform his husbandly duties?’

  The man peered at him, bushy eyebrows frowning. ‘The Sultan was kicked by his horse. His dagger of love has been sorely bruised. His wives have lain around without a man’s attentions for a week. They have grown restless to the point of madness. You will have your work cut out. Drink, it will power you.’

  Rhianna shooed the guard out the water and lay down on cushions at the side of the pool to watch. ‘I have always wondered about the prowess of a golden haired man. I do not think we will be disappointed.’ And he saw her bite her lip in anticipation. ‘Nayalini,’ Rhianna clicked her fingers and the silver curtain twitched aside. Lord Goldtop girded his loins. There was a positive hum of excitement. The Sultan stroked his beard. From behind the curtain came the girl who had sponged Lord Goldtop’s brow. As she paraded to the side of the pool, she removed the veil which covered her face and breasts. Had any of the officers in the mess asked him, when having their drinking competitions what sort of woman he lusted after, Lord Goldtop would have admitted to being a breast man. And here, certainly were two of the finest he had ever beheld. Strapped tightly into a satin bustier, they were young and ripe, thrust insolently upwards. He stood motionless in the water and his cock felt rigid again.

  ‘Nayalini wash him,’ Rhianna commanded.

  The young girl stepped fully clothed into the water. With a sultry, knowing smile, like a kitten about to sip cream, she soaped her hands. He watched her clothed titties getting wet and couldn’t help but note her nipples harden under the satin.

  The little minx knew what she was up to when she started running her fingers up his thighs and over his buttocks. Under her tender hands he felt all the sweat and sand wiped off his tingling flesh. He tightened the cheeks of his buttocks, but that only spurred her on. Gently she parted them and slipped her soapy hand down his crack. The glorious slipperiness, the warm water, her delicate probing started to make his head swim. He was determined to stand to attention, but when she pushed one of her delicate little fingers curiously into his secret bum hole, the pleasure was divine. His cock jutted towards the ceiling. She was clever enough not to touch his cock, seemed to know that that would ignite him too quickly. Instead she concentrated on his arse, giving him such a fingering he thought he would expire with ecstasy. His heart thumped, his breath caught as she worked away at his most secret fundament. He had heard of things like this at public school but had been too buttoned up to take part in the other boys’ antics. Now he knew what he was missing, he could have kissed her. But that would have been giving in. Wouldn’t it?

  Then, Nayalini came to stand in front of him. More knowing than her years should have allowed, he realised she was enjoying herself too much to worry about him. She was relishing the look in his eyes as he stared at her tits. The nipples now were hard pebbles. He wanted, oh so wanted to see them free. As if she had read his mind, she reached backwards, unfastened the catch and they bounced into life, free of their bounds. He gasped. They were superb, firm, nipples rosy as pomegranates. In one brazen move, she removed her harem pants so she stood naked, then sank to her knees in front of him, her breasts floating tantalisingly, bumping into each other in the water.

  Soaping up her titties, she then proceeded to wash his thighs with them, running their firmness up and down his quads, then over his taut stomach, sending ripples of desire through his belly. By now his cock was like a raft of steel. She looked cheekily at it then brought her fulsome globes to rest either side of it and slapped his cock between them. If she’d applied more pressure he would surely have exploded. But she was a little expert in the art of delay. Her next trick was to run rock hard nipples gorgeously up and over his glans, rippling down the ridge of his cock. Teasing mercilessly. She didn’t care what he suffered. What’s more, he realised, she was only out to satisfy herself, mocking his motionless stand to attention. All the while she must have known he was crumbling inside.

  For now, she stood up smirking, writhed her firm bosom against his chest and slipped her own finger brazenly between her legs. He was shocked to the core, watching it disappear into the dark pubic forest. Did women really touch themselves there? She snaked her hand around his waist. She threw her head back and proceeded to perform the most disgusting act of self-pleasuring in front of him, the dirty little exhibitionist. She neatly avoided touching his burgeoning cock, but it inspired her nonetheless. Every time she tired, she only had to glance at his prick, its end now glistening with pre-cum to fire her to new heights. He was being hideously used, as some kind of toy. Completely in her own world, she opened her labia and frigged herself with total abandon. He heard her pant, saw her spittle glistening in her open mouth, watched the lids of her entrancing eyes flicker and grow heavy.

  Lord Goldtop thought he would go mad. He was a man after all. It was as much as he could bare when finally, letting out a little yelp, she came - yeasty juice spilling down her thighs and into the water. Exhausted, she unwound her hand from his waist, strolled off and retired to the side of the pool. Laying nonchalantly, her legs wide apart so that he could see her pinkness, she played with herself. Rhianna, satisfied with the scene clicked her fingers and called out, ‘Messalina, come.’ Lord Goldtop was incandescent with rage. He had been used in the most appalling display of animal lust. His rigid stance had got him nowhere. Apart from suffering frustration so intense his balls ached as if he had been kicked by a full back.

  A beauty more voluptuous than Nayalini appeared. A halo of tumbling dark curls framed her face, her fulsome cheeks pink like camellia petals. She was already getting out of her clothes as she stepped into the water. She had been peeking from behind the curtains, he just knew it. She was rounder than Nayalini, plumper, obviously a seeker of enjoyment in all things: food, pleasures of the flesh. She had the same piercing blue eyes that looked at him as if she were starving and about to begin a banquet.

  Messalina walked around him in the water, her curls snaking over humungous breasts. He was prepared to resist, until he saw a tiny bead of milk emerge from one nipple. It hit him deep inside, somewhere he couldn’t explain. It sparked an animal instinct of lust so bestial, he felt his knees grow weak. He didn’t care if he died now. This would be his moment. He would enjoy watching her one minute more before making his move. His mouth salivated at her fulsome buttocks bobbing up and down as she strode around him in the water, appraising him, summing him up. She might have thought she would have the upper hand like Nayalini. But she
was much mistaken. He watched the flesh of her bottom bounce almost independently like a magnificent chestnut mare. Everything about this sultry, dusky goddess of femininity and fecundity aroused him. Those breasts, so full, so luscious had to be supped. He wanted them at a peak of readiness though. He wanted her wild with lust, just like the milk maidens who had haunted his wettest dreams.

  She stopped before him, expectant. He wasn’t going to give her everything she wanted immediately. He was going to tease her. Never had he felt like this, like women were a musical instrument waiting to be played, to be brought alive. But now he knew they were, and he was the man to do it. He glanced at the Sultan. Instantly he detected a bond with the ruler, mutual respect. Somehow the Sultan knew what he was thinking, call it male intuition or instinct but the two men were on the same wavelength.

  Lord Goldtop sank to his knees in front of her and clutched her thighs. There was a gasp from Rhianna, and from Messalina herself. Did they think he was made of wood? No way was he going to be played with again. He was the master now. He’d damn well show them. His scrotum tightened with desire as he buried his face lustily in Messalina’s thighs. He inhaled the patchouli oil on her skin and caught a whiff of pure, female, lust-juice. As he looked up, he saw moist bubbles glistening on the silky pubes above his head. He ached to taste her. He pushed her over to the side of the pool and roughly sat her down on the cushions at its edge. Then, spreading her caramel-coloured thighs, his nostrils breathed in her animal scent. Like pheromones it drove him crazy. The perfume of a wanton woman, the fragrance of a girl who has watched another frig herself off, the aroma of a frustrated girl who is ready, willing and waiting to be fucked skywards.

  Biting and nibbling his way up her thighs, all the while Lord Goldtop was fired by that tantalising little bead of milk awaiting him. But first he would devour her other sweetness. He eased her cunny lips apart and plunged his mouth onto her clit. It jutted into his mouth. As he salivated, licked and flicked it with his tongue, he felt it harden. He pulled away to look in amazement as her clit reddened, then dipped his head down again and sucked. Her moaning drove him wild. Panting all the while, he filled his senses with the musky odour. He wanted to drink her in and moved beyond her clit down to her puss. It was sopping wet. He lapped and supped at her juices, poked his tongue inside her, felt her push herself harder against his mouth, felt her writhe against him. But he wasn’t going to let her come, not yet. For, as he groped upwards, he felt the heaviness of one breast plop into his hand.