Milk and Honey

Miranda was a special case. Tall and slender with long straight brown hair that fell in a rather conservative braid the ended well below her waist. Her features were not unattractive, but might have been described as a bit too severe. She was also not lacking in ambition being the youngest Vice Dean of the history department at her University. She had her sights set of great things. So much so that other facets of her life had taken a back seat. Things like dating, and the self-indulgence most American women practiced in seeking the fleeting ephemera of personal pleasure seemed trivial to her when compared to the power of heading a big department at a top-flight University. Who knew? Maybe even someday aspiring to the presidency of such an establishment. The rest could wait.

This project. This one could be a significant step forward for her. Although she had already invested a lot of the University's time and money into gaining access, she was assured that the records were all there. That preserved in the moldy archives of the Monastery were the transcripts of the trials of 132 women convicted of witchcraft in the late 10^th century. That was why she had arrive in this particularly rural corner of Wales.

The cottage they had found her was quaint. Set away from the village, it had plenty of privacy. This part of Wales alternated between thick forest and open meadows and glades which dotted the rugged hillsides and mountain ravines. History had largely bypassed this part of the country. That is, it had until now.

She'd been there for a couple of days, still getting things organized, when she heard a knock on the door. Standing there with a basket was a woman. She was about ten years Miranda's senior by all appearances. Wavelets of dirty blonde hair that framed her pleasant if somewhat pastoral face. A simple dress with a sweater draped over it. Much like what Miranda had seen in town. Fashion didn't count for much here, not that it bothered her any.

Miranda opened the door and invited her unexpected guest inside. The woman introduced herself as Deena as she looked around the cottage with a simple practical naiveté.

"Welcome to the village, dear. We don't get many guests here, so we like to roll out the red carpet for those that we do get, so to speak." She said in a friendly tone.

Miranda like her right off the bat. The woman was excruciatingly simple, both in her garb and in her demeanor. All but one thing. Around her wrist she wore a bracelet that appeared to be wound out of gold and silver wire in which was set a single deep amber stone, surrounded by an even number of milky translucent stones of approximately the same size.

Miranda found that her eyes were drawn to it over and over again as the two women conversed. Finally, Deena appeared to notice, and removed the bracelet, offering it to Miranda.

"Take it, dear." She said. "I make 'em as sort of a hobby."

Miranda didn't know how to respond, finding that Deena had removed the bangle and slipped it onto Miranda's hand. She was quite honored by the stranger's generosity and quietly gave the woman a nod of gracious acceptance.

Later that night, as she slipped beneath the covers of her bed she contemplated removing the bracelet, but for some reason decided that she like having it on. She turned out the light and fell asleep. Tomorrow work would begin in earnest.

Her sleep was punctuated by strange dreams, in which she wandered a forest populated by various animals, all of which spoke to her guiding her to a cottage deep in the woods where she was surprised to find Deena tending her small herb garden. Then she'd wake up. The dream repeated several times.

Nonetheless Miranda rose refreshed in the morning other than a slight tenderness in her breasts which she noticed during her morning shower. She had heard of some women who would experience such tenderness before or during their period. It had never happened to her before, but peoples body's change over time, and she was getting close to that time of the month so she didn't give it much thought.

At least she didn't give it much thought at first, but several days later she noticed that she was having difficulty fastening her bra. Miranda looked at herself in the mirror. She had always been slender, with small breasts, but there was no mistaking that her figure was filling out up top for some reason. She probably should have been concerned. Instead, she was more fascinated than worried. She kind of liked the way they looked and how sensitive they'd become, and at night she'd find herself massaging them absentmindedly as she lay in bed.

About a week later she'd gone through several sizes of bra as her breasts had blossomed further on an almost daily basis. She liked how they felt in her hands. So much so that she'd ceased to even wonder about the phenomenon. The dreams had continued, always leading her to Deena's cottage, and she wondered if the dream was trying to tell her something.

Work on the project had stalled, but she had always been able to power through because of her will and dedication. She had a plan... and a huge set of knockers. That felt so good. That it was hard to think of anything else but playing with them. It was as if they were hardwired to her clit, and if she tugged on her nipples just so, she'd cum a little bit. It was distracting, but also addictively fun.

At the two week mark was when her milk came in. She awoke from the dream to find she was leaking streams of the white liquid from both breasts. In a panic the next morning, she inquired where Deena lived. Somehow, she felt that the older woman would have an answer.

The cottage was much the same as it had appeared to her in the dream. Deena answered the door and invited her inside. Taking Miranda's hand, she gazed at the bracelet and then at her copious bodice.

"My! Look at you, dearie!" Deena smiled.

"I don't know why this is happening to me. I woke up last night with milk coming out of me. Why is this happening? Can you tell me?" Miranda pleaded, sobbing pitifully.

"Now, now." Deena said soothingly. "Calm down and show your Deena what you're prattling on about."

Miranda shyly undid her blouse, her bra was nearly soaked clean through, and the air felt good. A white droplet formed at the tip of her left nipple and dripped onto the floor.

"I see!" Deena whispered cupping Miranda's breasts in her hands before pulling one to her lips.

Miranda could smell cinnamon, cloves, and a mélange of other spices rising from Deena's hair. She could feel the woman's lips close around her engorged nipple, and then she felt herself squirting milk into the older woman's mouth. At first she wanted to beg Deena to stop, but after a few seconds she started to feel a glow that emanated from her breasts down to her pussy which began to convulse in the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced.

After a few minutes Deena switched sides. The orgasms continued, one right after the other, and Miranda leaned into Deena barely able to keep her balance, as her whole body trembled with release. Time ceased to exist. There was only unabated pleasure.

Eventually, Deena drained her boobs. Miranda simultaneously felt relief and gratitude as Deena led her by the hand to the bedroom. Slipping out of her sweater and dress she eased herself onto the bed and spread her thighs wide.

Her labia were big and meaty, framed by a curly bush of dirty blonde and topped with a plump clitoris. Miranda had never been interested in women. Had dated semi seriously only one guy. Had experimented with sex, but honestly had never had much of a libido. Certainly nothing like what had just happened even approached any experience she'd ever had.

"Come on, dearie..." Deena purred. "Milk and Honey. Plenty of both. You gave me milk and now I'm giving you honey."

Miranda knelt, smelling Deena's sex. Drawn ever inward. Feeling tingles in her own girl parts as she buried her face between Deena's thick thighs and feasted on the sticky treasure until Deena begged her to stop.

How many orgasms? How long had they been at this? Miranda couldn't say for sure. But as she drove home, she could say that for the first time in weeks she felt somewhat normal. That was what she needed. She needed to get back to work. Her last progress report to the Dean was overdue by a week, and that was simply not typical of her quality of work.

The clarity lasted a few days and then began to slip away as she felt her breasts beginning to grow full again. In an autoerotic panic she ran to Deena and once again the older woman took her to her bedroom and proceeded to milk her dry, after which Miranda ate Deena's pussy until they were both exhausted.

And then again a couple days after that.

Miranda couldn't concentrate; felt agitated and distracted unless she got relief.

The next time she went to Deena, Deena was not alone. "This is my daughter in law, Maggie, dearie. She's going to be helping out today." Deena explained.

Miranda couldn't fathom why Deena wanted Maggie to help, but couldn't find the words to complain. And in a few minutes time with a woman suckling each of her tits, she was too euphoric to care. Miranda just lost herself to pleasure she was giving and receiving. Nothing else really mattered but the Milk and Honey. How could it get any better, she wondered.

A couple days and she was back, begging at Deena's door. This time Maggie had invited her friend Gwyn, and the two women fed whilst Deena straddled Miranda's face. It was the best.

When Gwyn looked down at her laying on the bed when they were through she said. "My my, but aren't you quite the little cow!" and Miranda realized that's what she was. She gave milk and that gave her pleasure. She ate honey, and that was enough. She was a cow. Moo.

Deena had moved Miranda into her back room. She clearly was not capable of caring for herself any longer. Miranda stopped wearing clothes unless she was instructed to. A steady stream of the village women came and went daily and Miranda served them all with gusto, letting them suckle her ever-flowing breasts, and then grazing on the sweet nectar of their pussies. There were even a couple of lesbian women from the village who would reciprocate, which Miranda dearly loved.

When there were no other women and Deena was not in the mood, Miranda discovered that she could suckle her own breasts and she would spend hours sucking herself through sequential orgasms as she drained her own breasts dry, her clit throbbing with each suck. Moo.

On a day when she had regained a small shadow of her composure. During a quiet moment in the day she asked Deena. "Why?"

Deena explained that 1000 years ago, strangers had come to the village. At the time, the people of the village worshipped the animals of the forest, and the trees. All was in harmony until the strangers came. Then they built the monastery and soon were telling the villagers that the things they worshipped were an affront to God.

But old traditions die hard and it took the trials and deaths of 132 of the village women who were burned at the stake for the sins of practicing witchcraft.

The strangers had thought after all that, that the old ways were gone. But they were wrong. The old ways were better. The land and wells held a remarkable power. And the ancestral practices thrived quietly on. So, when Miranda showed up out of nowhere to dig up the vestiges of that old travesty, clearly something had to be done. Action had to be taken.

"It's the bracelet, dear." Deena explained. "It is imbued with the ancestral cow spirit. And so that spirit is passed on through it to you, and you became the cow."

Miranda looked blankly at the bauble on her wrist.

"Take it off and the spirit will fade and you will go back to the Miranda you once were." Deena continued. "Would you like to take it off, dearie?"

Miranda tried really hard to think. She never took it off. Often it was the only thing she wore, now. Moo. No. She looked pleadingly at Deena. "Mine. Pretty. Happy. Moo. Keep. Moo. Milky Honey please now."

Deena sighed. It wasn't all bad, she thought as she slipped out of her dress. She had thought of telling Miranda about the letter that had come for her. That she'd been fired by the University last month. Had Miranda opted to take the bracelet off, she would have had to eventually revealed that. So, maybe it was better this way. Yes, she thought as Miranda's tongue sought and found her wetness. It was better this way.