Tamara's Apprenticeship - Day 02

"Mmm, yeah, milk me," Bessie purred, "Go on. Until...?"

Come on Tam. What? Until you've produced the required quota of milk? Sexy.

"Until you're, um... moaning and... mooing, and begging for more milking you horny heifer!"

Bessie's body shook. She hid her face against her shoulder and it looked as if she might be trying to suppress another laugh, but then she broke into a soft groan of appreciation as Tamara wrung another long spray of milk from her boob.

"Ohhh yeah!" Bessie lowed, "Now do both of them. Use two hands like a pro."

Tamara grabbed another bucket and slung it under Bessie's as yet unmilked other breast. She noticed a tiny bead of white had already formed at the end of the nipple. She leaned forward on the stool and took both of them in her hands and gave them a long, scrunching squeeze, hearing the sound of an air horn go off in her head as she did so.

Tamara felt warm streams of milk flowing out from between the fingers of both hands. "Like that?" she asked.

"Mmmoooooooh!" Bessie's mouth opened wide to release a slow, rumbling groan. Just as Tamara raised her head to look up, she saw a single drop of saliva fall from Bessie's lips. It landed with a firm spat against Tamara's forehead.

"Oh shit," Bessie gasped, wiping her mouth on her shoulder, "I'm so sorry. That's so embarrassing!"

Tamara gawped. Between her legs, she felt herself slowly begin to pulse with excitement against the hard seat of the stool. She was pleasuring a girl with her touch. Something she hadn't done for months, perhaps a year. Not counting herself, obviously.

"Oh. No problem," Tamara mumbled.

"I just get a bit too turned on sometimes," Bessie grinned, "When it's really good."

"It's good?" Tamara asked, delighted.

"You're a natural. You just made me come."

"I did?"

"Yeah," Bessie giggled, "That always gets the milk flowing."

"You lactate when you orgasm?"

"Of course. Haven't you seen those Japanese cartoons?"

"No," Tamara lied. She had seen those Japanese cartoons. Many times.

"You know...," Bessie fluttered her eyelids at Tamara, "We could, um, go for a slightly different approach. To really step up production. If you feel up to it."

***

Tamara groaned as she buried her mouth between the sopping wet folds in front of her. A furry softness brushed at her cheeks as she rubbed her lips vigorously up and down, coating them in hot moisture.

"Ohhh fuck yeahhh!" Bessie purred, "Feels sooo good!"

Tamara nodded. It certainly did feel good to get her face nice and clean with a warm cloth.

Right after eating Bessie out for over an hour while her implausibly large breasts filled bucket after bucket with jets of orgasm-induced milk.

Tamara dabbed her cheeks and looked around to survey the results of her and Bessie's hard work. Every last milk churn was full, as were the two buckets still positioned side by side on the floor.

Bessie was slumped seated against the wall, her face aglow with a dreamy smile of total sexual satiety. She finished mopping the sweat from her forehead, then nodded at the brimming buckets beside her, "Great teamwork. We've even gone over quota. Miss Millie will take those down to the ice cream store later."

"Ice cream store?" asked Tamara.

"New place in town. I've become their main supplier."

Something then occurred to Tamara that she realized probably should have occurred to her earlier. She thought back to the very rich cream tea that she had shared with Miss Millie the previous afternoon, and the curious, comforting sensation she had experienced while drinking it. "So, um, it's for drinking then?"

Bessie looked at her quizzically, then laughed, "Of course. What did you think? That Miss Millie bathes in it to keep herself looking young or something?"

"Right, no, of course," Tamara shook her head, feeling foolish.

"Would you like some? It's really good when it's fresh."

Tamara was feeling quite thirsty. Milking time had turned out to be harder work than she had imagined. The mid-morning sun was fully risen and the summer heat had started to seep into the cowshed. She stepped over to the nearest of the two buckets and knelt. Her own cream-tinted reflection looked back up at her from the still surface of the milk.

"No no. I mean fresh fresh," Bessie patted her hands on her thighs.

Oh wow. Do I dare? Come on Tam, when are you going to get this chance again?

Well, probably most mornings if you get the job.

"Uh, right. Thanks," Tamara shuffled over to where Bessie was sitting and laid her head carefully in the other girl's lap, "Like this?"

"Exactly," said Bessie. She took hold of one of her own titanic breasts and with a heave lifted it up to slap it down on Tamara's face. She aimed the nipple at Tamara's mouth.

Tamara opened her lips and wrapped them tentatively around the warm, crinkly skin of Bessie's teat. The tug of her first cautious suck rippled up over the wobbly flesh of the breast above her.

"That's it. Gently," Bessie gasped. She put one hand on Tamara's bare stomach and slowly slid it downwards beneath the waistband of her underpants.

Tamara murmured questioningly. Then the first mouthful of warm, creamy milk washed down her throat. The same nostalgic, comforting feeling flooded her body, but this time accompanied by the tender pressure of Bessie's hand between her legs.

"Shh, just relax," Bessie shushed her, "You really milked me good. Now I want to do something for you in return."

Tamara gave a smothered squeak of sexual abandon as she felt Bessie's fingers push her slowly open. She closed her eyes and focused on gulping down the milk while Bessie's slow strokes rubbed delightfully at the hot itch that had built up just inside her over the course of the last hour.

"She said you might be a keeper," Bessie mumbled drowsily, "I sure hope she keeps you."

Tamara turned her head suddenly. A mouthful of boob popped free of her lips with a wet smack. "She said that?"

Bessie winced, "Oof, careful."

"Oh, sorry."

"Yeah, she said that. She said..." Bessie giggled, "She said you're really cute."

"Really?" Tamara's thighs clenched a little tighter around Bessie's hand.

"Well, not exactly those words. She has a kind of different way of talking. I can't remember," Bessie pursed her lips in a stern pout and put on an admirably good imitation of Miss Millie's accent, "Young Tamara, a most delightful girl. Awfully bright. Verrry prrromising."

Tamara gasped. Her legs tensed up and she felt a sudden hot, rushing climax explode inside her. She lay there in Bessie's lap, the weight of a giant breast slumped across her face, as her orgasm slowly ebbed away in little throbs.

When a moment later Tamara nosed aside Bessie's titflesh, she looked up and saw Bessie's eyelids drooping.

"Mmm," Bessie mumbled drowsily, her lower lip moist with a glisten of drool, "Sorry. Milking time kind of takes it out of me, so to speak. Gonna have to... um... nod off."

Tamara rolled carefully off Bessie's lap. She sat up and looked around. She heard the tinny clatter of claws on the stone floor, turned and saw Malkin the cat sidle up to one of the buckets of milk and dip his face into it, lapping at the scurfy cream that had formed at the surface.

Tamara reached up and scratched the back of his head. "So," she whispered, mindful of an incipient bovine snore from behind her, "What's my next...?"

Tamara's voice trailed off as she took her first step towards the doorway and saw something lying on the floor. A superhero t-shirt. Her superhero t-shirt, now a bundle of ragged strips of cotton, as if someone had carefully shredded it with a knife.

Or claws.

"Why you little..." Tamara took a hold of Malkin's face and looked him in the eye, then turned him to face the ripped up t-shirt on the floor, "Did you do this?"

He looked back at her with an expression of blank animal innocence.

Oh well. Just a cat. My fault for leaving it there I suppose.

Tamara set him down on the floor and retrieved her t-shirt. Ruined. She left it hanging from the door handle.

She had wondered about the instruction in Miss Millie's note, that had said Malkin would show her to her next task after milking time. How was he going to show her? Might it even have been a joke? Still, there wasn't much else she could do but follow as he scampered out of the doorway.

They made their way back up the gentle incline of the garden towards the house. Malkin's brisk trot seemed to have a purpose to it. He paused once or twice to look over his shoulder at Tamara but otherwise headed straight for the kitchen doors without dawdling.

Just like the front door, the glass doors to the kitchen were unlocked. Tamara stepped inside and Malkin darted in between her ankles. The kitchen was as she remembered it from the previous day. There was a clutter of pots and utensils hanging from racks and stacked in towers on the worktops. And on the main workbench was the remains of the herbal preparation she had made for Miss Millie's wound.

Tamara looked down at Malkin, who was looking up at her. "I should tidy the kitchen?" she asked.

Malkin looked away. He made a tiny movement that might almost have been a shake of his furry head. He turned and padded over to the wide fireplace in the far wall. Beside the fireplace was a soot-stained pan and brush. Malkin looked Tamara in the eye and set his paw down on the handle of the brush.

***

I'm on my knees scrubbing out Miss Millie's cavernous hot hole. Heh.

Tamara entertained herself with the various permutations of innuendo that her latest task presented, while she scraped and swept, clearing a heap of soot and ash out of the fireplace. Each shovelful she dumped into a tall pitcher, which was now almost full.

With the late morning sun blazing in through the windows, the kitchen was slowly heating up. This new job had turned out to be much tougher than Tamara had expected. After her work in the herb garden the previous day, then the intense workout of milking time, and now this, not to mention the cycle ride over each morning, Tamara could feel the burn of her body hurriedly trying to get itself into shape. And it felt surprisingly good.

"My dear girl!"

"Aah!" Tamara straightened up abruptly, and felt a sudden shock of pain as the back of her skull struck the lintel of the fireplace. She spun around, clutching her head and wincing.

"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry! Come here," Miss Millie reached out her arms and clasped Tamara's throbbing head to her chest, "Let me take a look at that."

It was only when she felt the fabric of Miss Millie's long black dress against her bare skin that Tamara realized she was still completely naked but for her underwear. "Oh, no. It's... I'm okay."

The pounding pain in her head was mellowed by a shiver of simple, ticklish pleasure as Miss Millie's long fingers crept carefully over her scalp. With her head held against Miss Millie's bosom, Tamara could feel Miss Millie's rich voice resonating in her chest as she spoke, "Hmm, no bleeding at least. But you'll have a fetching bump back there later on, no doubt."

Miss Millie released her, and Tamara stepped back. She reached hesitantly to cover her chest, then felt rather foolish and let her arms hang by her side, "I'm, uh, sorry. My t-shirt got... I forgot to bring a change of clothes."

"Tamara dear," Miss Millie frowned at her, "I do hope you don't think I've led such a dull existence that I've never seen another pair of tits before."

"Oh, no," Tamara mumbled. The word 'tits' resonated in her ears, in Miss Millie's stern, womanly voice.

"Good. Well, I have to confess I'm rather glad that you are happy to place practicality before formality, Tamara. I also find household chores rather easier to bear in my birthday suit, so to speak. Especially in this hot weather."

Tamara gulped as she watched Miss Millie's fingers scrabble to take hold of a bunch of her dress at either hip.

Oh no. Oh God no. Oh yes. Oh God Yes!

Miss Millie pulled her dress up and over her stomach, then over her chest, then finally over her head, and let it fall from her arms onto the floor. She tossed her long slate gray hair from her face and smiled.

Tamara gulped again. Discreetly. Since she had caught a glimpse of Miss Millie's underwear drawer that morning, Tamara had been idly working her way through various fantasy images of her lovely employer in the back of her mind. But none of those had even come close to the sheer vision of milfhood that now stood before her. She had already seen a little of Miss Millie's figure the previous day, when she had rolled the top of her dress down to let Tamara apply a poultice to the wound on her back. But she hadn't gotten a proper view of that invitingly soft stomach. Nor those imposing, smooth thighs and tanned legs. And definitely not the tiny bulge where the waistband of Miss Millie's skimpy black thong cut into the plush flesh of her hips.

"I'll keep the girls under wraps though," Miss Millie clasped her hands to her bra-clad bust, "Poor old things have rather succumbed to their own weight over the years. Wouldn't want to inflict that sight on you."

Go on Tam, you shameless flirt. Say it. Say 'Oh I wouldn't mind'. You could even lick your lips.

"Uh, okay... right," Tamara half said, half choked.

Chicken.

"The weather is awfully warm, isn't it? Shall we take tea outside today?" Miss Millie did not wait for an answer before spinning around and walking off.

Tamara watched the most glorious pair of broad golden brown buttocks flounce their way out through the garden doors. She realized she was gawping, and promptly shut her mouth, then followed.

A short way round the side of the house there stood two chairs, made of a gnarled, unpainted wood. They had evidently not been moved in some time, since the long grass had grown up around them, and one was half wrapped in ivy. In front of the two chairs was a low table of a similar design. Tamara was a little surprised to see two glasses standing on the table, each already filled with a stack of ice cubes and a shimmering, brownish liquid.

"Sterling work, dear girl, sterling work," Miss Millie called out as she took a seat, sweeping the foliage off her chair. She nodded at one of the glasses in front of her, and took the other in her hand.

Tamara took the other chair and lifted the glass. She put it to her lips. Iced tea. Really good iced tea. "Thanks," she gasped as an intense cool refreshment hit her in the face.

Miss Millie swirled her own tea, the ice chinking against the glass, "Now my dear, do you want to tell me what you think you were doing sweeping out my fireplace?"

"I, oh..." said Tamara, puzzled, "You didn't...? I'm sorry, I thought I was supposed to."

"Well, I suppose it needed doing at some point. So thank you. But you were supposed to set the library in order. I had hoped to set you to work on something a bit more stimulating than simple cleaning."

"Oh," Tamara felt a pit of disappointment in her chest, "I'm really sorry. It just seemed like Malkin was telling me to clean the fireplace. He brought me there and everything. I must have misunderstood."

Miss Millie looked around. She sighed, then her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed tight, "No, no, my dear. I'm sure you understood him perfectly. I shall have to give him a good hiding later. Why the little pervert."

"Um... pervert?"

"He saw that delightful pert behind of yours and couldn't resist getting you on your hands and knees, I suspect. Wouldn't be the first time. He made poor Agatha wash cucumbers all afternoon the other day."

Tamara thought back. It had been slightly odd, the way the cat had sat right behind her the entire time she had been at work.

"Oh dear," Tamara laughed, "I see."

Wait. Did Miss Millie just refer to my behind as 'delightful'?

Miss Millie's lips slowly widened into a wry grin, "Brace yourself Tamara my dear, for I am about to make a joke."

Tamara was caught off guard. Miss Millie was about to make a joke? Just as Tamara was preparing to laugh heartily whatever the joke might be, suddenly a thought struck her, a memory of her conversation with Miss Millie in the herb garden the day before. "Oh," Tamara sat up excitedly, "Wait, let me guess. He just really loves ogling pussy?"

An intense wave of gratification flooded through Tamara's body when she saw Miss Millie clap her hands together delightedly and toss her head back to let off a hearty peal of sing-song laughter. "Exactly! Tamara, my dear girl! Delightful!"

Come on Tam, think of a follow up. Quickly. Make her do that beautiful, sexy, orgasmic laugh again. Come on, come on. Something with 'cunt', maybe? Cunty... kitty... Why are there no good puns with 'cunt'?

As abruptly as it had begun, Miss Millie's laughter ceased. She righted her head, and looked at Tamara, "I suppose it was him that led you up to my bedroom as well, was it?"

The incipient throb of excitement that had begun to well up between Tamara's legs during their tantalizingly flirtatious exchange gave way to a sudden nervous chill. She winced. Of course Miss Millie would know. She seemed to know and see everything.

"I... I'm so sorry," Tamara blabbed, "I didn't mean to. I was just... I wanted to change, and I didn't bring any extra clothes. I'm so stupid, I'm sorry."

"And was it only my underwear drawer, or did you take a look at anything else?"

Tamara felt the warmth of a blush pulse into her cheeks as she struggled to hold Miss Millie's cool, searching gaze. However ashamed she was, it felt somehow more shameful to look away. Something about Miss Millie's stare was both reassuring and terrifying. It was a look that commanded honesty, and Tamara knew that if she tried to dissemble, she would immediately and hopelessly give herself away.

"I just caught sight of your desk. That's all. And, um, I saw your birth certificate."

Miss Millie arched one eyebrow, but remained silent.

"Nineteen-seventy-four," Tamara continued.

"Ninetee-" Miss Millie's stern expression twitched with just a splitsecond of confusion, then slowly softened. She sighed, "Right. Yes. Well, if that was all, no harm done. Just stick to your tasks in future."

"Sorry," Tamara repeated.

Miss Millie chuckled, "I am a bit of a relic, I'm afraid."

Go on Tam, this one's an easy one. Please tell me you're not going to chicken out of this one at least.

"You... You look much younger."

Miss Millie looked genuinely and inordinately pleased with what Tamara had assumed was rather an obligatory, throwaway compliment. "Why thank you, my dear. That's kind of you to say."

"It's true," said Tamara.

"Well then it is kind of you to say true things."

Tamara looked down at the drink she was holding. The ice cubes had quickly melted to little fragments in the midday heat. She lifted the glass and drank down several cool gulps.

"Tamara dear girl..." there was a note of earnestness in Miss Millie's voice that made Tamara's heartbeat quicken with trepidation.

"Yes?"

"I see that you are a curious young creature, which is a quality I greatly appreciate, in its right place. And, well, should you choose to continue working for me, there are perhaps aspects of my work that may surprise you."

"I thought you were retired?"

Miss Millie smiled a wry, wistful smile, "I thought so too. But as it turns out, I am needed again. And rather urgently, I'm afraid. Time is somewhat of the essence. I require an apprentice, rather than just a housekeeper. I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest about that in the advertisement."

A sex apprentice? Not now inner-Tam, this is serious.

"An apprentice?"