Dear Dairy

I can’t stop thinking about the bull, and what he does when he’s put in with a heifer.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

I went into the milking shed again and watched him work. This time I wore a shorter skirt to show off my calves, and I stood so close to him his hair nearly brushed my bodice when he straightened up. He’s still ignoring me.

While I was filling a pail at the pump, I splashed my skirt so it clung to my legs, then I went to the milking shed again. I know he looked at me this time.

I think he did.

I undid the top two buttons of my bodice before I went into the shed. I asked him if I could try milking Daisy. I thought if I sat with my knees apart my skirt would ride up, and maybe he’d notice my thighs, or perhaps he’d stand over me and look down my bodice. But he said no, I couldn’t milk her, I’m too clumsy, I couldn’t draw water without getting soaked.

He’s right. I even get wet when I watch him draw milk.

He touched me!

I asked him again if I could try milking Daisy. I said I’m not clumsy, it was one of the pigs that knocked the pail over, that’s why my skirt was wet. I don’t think he believed me but he let me milk anyway, just for a minute. He stood right beside me and I felt his hand press against my breast when I turned towards him.

He held my hand today.

He let me try milking, so I spread my legs and hitched my skirt up when I sat on the stool, and I asked him to show me what to do. I got him to kneel in front of me and guide my fingers so I made the right movements.

I think he looked up my skirt. I hope he did, I was really cold without drawers on and I don’t want that to be for nothing.

My hands are tired. I had to mend my bodice and sew new buttons on, and wash my skirt.

He let me milk Daisy again, but he stood behind me this time. When I asked for a reminder of how to do it he leaned over me and tore my bodice open. It’s cold in the dairy, so my nipples got stiff and plump, and I welcomed his warm hands on my breasts.

He showed me how to milk by pretending my nipples were Daisy’s teats. I learnt a lot. I have to gently squeeze between finger and thumb, pressing and releasing, and it’s good sometimes to massage the udder to encourage the milk to come down.

Then he showed me what not do do. It’s wrong to maul at the udder, and it’s very bad to slap it. It’s wicked to pinch a teat, or tug hard on it. I’m not sure I understood everything, but I think I’m not supposed to call Daisy a teasing slut.

I don’t know why any of that is wrong. I wonder if he saw how wet the back of my skirt was when I left?

After I did my chores, I thought about his fingers for a long time. Mine are so tired.

It took me ages to scrub my bodice clean tonight.

I asked him if I could get another lesson. He said I should practice on something else before he let me loose on Daisy. He dropped his trousers and showed me his manhood. It looked just like a teat, fat and dangling. I squeezed it gently, the way he taught me. It got plumper and firmer, like my nipples in the cold, but soon it got really hard and jutted out like the bull’s does sometimes. I said it’s not like a teat now. He said it was still a teat and I should suckle on it, then I’d know. I felt his udder, and it was tight and heavy like Daisy’s gets when she’s ready to be milked, so I sucked him. I had to suck for a while before I got any milk out. His is creamy but it isn’t as sweet as Daisy’s. I spilt most of it down my bodice.

I can’t stop thinking about the bull, and what he does when he’s put in with a heifer.

Dear Daisy, please stop staring at me with those sad, judgmental eyes. You’ve done worse. You’ve been mounted in a field with the whole herd watching, you hypocrite! At least I was inside, and there was only you to see us. And I milked you afterwards, didn’t I?

I need more practice, though.

Autistic author of psychological smut and philosophical filth. Usually found hiding behind a book.