Minotaur

There’s not a whole lot to Beregost town. It’s small, it serves as a mere locale in-between the actual cities of note in the province, and while its rustic, provincial location is certainly pretty and rife with farming land, the town just seems to drain the ambition out of the locals. There is no need to be more than a farmer, a shepherd, a guardsman, a tanner, a miller, or innkeeper and wait staff at the three local watering holes, and good luck ever breaking into the merchant hall for any career beyond basic local work your mother and her mother before her has ever done.

       At least, Alicia thought, until miss Fleur settled in.

       Few traders ever think of staying in Beregost beyond what is necessary. But the raven-haired, buxom woman that chose to start a business as a baker in this poor provincial town was the start of something peculiar. Nevermind the whole ‘big city outsider deciding to start a business,’ the woman was like a catalyst. Not to Beregost, mind, though at least master Hardimann got more clientele at the inn staying over, if only to enjoy the calm of Beregost proper and the fresh new breads and pastries miss Fleur made. But to Alicia, miss Fleur was a veritable storm of change.

       Most girls her age tend to look up at the neighbour’s farmer son, and from fast childhood friends may come lasting families. Or a faithful romp in the barn and not pulling out timely leading to forced, but lasting families. Or maybe fancy the guardsman.

       Alicia, however, has only eyes for the fair and big-boned baker woman.

       Over the decade or so that miss Fleur has become a staple to Beregost’s town life, enchanting the local populace with the most pungent and fluffy loafs of bread and the sweetest sweet rolls made with dairy and fresh vanilla from way up high in Baldur’s Gate. And while initially the woman was met with some suspicion and some gossip and rumour mongering, no young, strapping son or hard-working family man was tempted by her comely self (if anything, she was always so very kind to brush aside such advances herself). And over the decade, miss Fleur aged gracefully. She possesses a casual sense of grace belying her size and her outsider’s upbringing, having blended in quite easily with the daily going-ons in Beregost. Her dark hair hides not a single streak of gray, and though plump and on the heavy side, she bore to the daily kneading and mixing and baking so well that she must hide a bit of muscle under her skin.

       And Alicia, lean, wiry, brown-haired eldest daughter at fourteen summers to a father and mother with three more younger daughters, is absolutely smitten by the jovial, friendly, stunningly gorgeous woman. Every child loves her sweet rolls, obviously. But few children grow up to love the baker. Especially not a girl.

       Her dad always did say her head’s up in the clouds. That she’s too curious for her own good. But at least she works well in the fields when she isn’t clambering about. To where, gods only know. And Alicia does intend to keep it that way. After all, she doubts she’d be in anyone’s good graces if they knew she’s keen on staying out of sight, watching and peeking from up high or afar. She’s gotten quite a few good looks at the daily lives of some of the people, happily keeping their little secrets to herself. No need to bother Ronald about how she knows he peeks in on his mother in the afternoon. Or that she knows Annabelle keeps a diary hidden under her bed, writing in a language not even Alicia can decipher with those keen cat-like eyes in the evenings. Or that she knows miss Fleur is an honest-to-goodness magician, tools whizzing and rolling about in her morning work, or pails of water lifting over her naked body for her baths.

       Alicia, for all her curiosity, is very content in keeping those little observations to herself, making sure she’s never spotted, or leaving not a scrap of her daily dress in her attempts to flee. Oh, if only anyone’d know. If only miss Fleur knows just how much she enjoys watching the raven-haired woman.

       But for all her curiosity, not a single Beregost local knows where miss Fleur heads off to every week, out of town. Well, they have hunches, sure, but most of the produce miss Fleur gets is local. From the grains, to the wheats, to the very vanilla, is all bought locally from the farmers or the tradesmen at the merchant’s halls. But every week, every Ninethsday or Tenthsday or so, miss Fleur preps a cart, heads out, and leaves Beregost proper. Not a guard that cares, not a soul that knows where-to.

       Alicia counts the day off towards the planned leave, knowing full well she will leave town. Leave her parents, her siblings, her safety behind. But the curiosity is her very driving force. She knows exactly when miss Fleur sets out to bed. When she gets up, of course, is another matter. But Alicia could easily squirrel away underneath the cart the woman uses for travel. Which, admittedly, has been without horse for as long as anyone can remember when it’s set besides the bakery shop, except when she heads out. So Alicia keeps the watch, up high in the branches of the apple tree besides the bakery, sleeping only barely – not that that’s been much a problem, the girl’s always been a light sleeper. It’s only when she hears not the crowing of the town’s many roosters, but a heavy thud of wood on wood that she does stir, and notices just what the Ninethsday means to miss Fleur.

       The baker woman has set out to gather large wooden churns, for butter and milk, Alicia remembered, gathering them up, one after another, from the baker shop to the cart. Even though she only stands five foot tall, she carries them in her arms with very little effort, balancing them easily into the (still horseless!) cart one after the other. Alicia watches, gauges her chances, and slinks under the cart, keeping herself still and out of sight while she watches miss Fleur move in and out of her bakery. She must’ve gone back and forth at least a dozen times, if not more, by the time she finally stops, huffing and puffing at the tail end of the cart. She eyes the woman’s legs, the way her simple baker’s frock sways a little under the hemline, the simple wooden shoes underneath, until miss Fleur sets out to the front of the cart. Alicia makes herself small, daring not to breathe out loud. With words not meant for her ears, miss Fleur’s voice rings out with a sense of power Alicia has not heard in any one person. Barely seconds after that, the air around the cart seems –wrong– for the lack of a better term, until there is, with little else of fanfare, a heady scent of earthiness.

       Sure enough, from her vantage point, Alicia can see two more sets of legs stand before the cart, a worriless nicker leaving the suddenly-there horse. Miss Fleur gently tuts to the beast, before she hoists herself atop the cart with a little effort, seating herself behind the summoned horse. Reigns and restraints are already in place, apparently, because a wordless click of the reigns soon had the cart in motion, leaving Alicia almost behind if it wasn’t for her quick thinking to grab hold of the back of the cart and hoist herself up as well. In the din of the initial ride, Alicia hides herself under a jute blanket, keeping quiet as a mouse while the town steadily would wake up following the roosters’ crows at last.

       There’s very little to go by where they’re going, obviously. She can’t just up and leap out of the cart, following on foot. At the least, she could lift the jute out of the way to look at the fading view of Beregost’s southern palisades, the way the low stone walls along the road make way for simpler wooden posts and actual hedges, and the fading farmers’ houses. Miss Fleur cheerfully greeted the early birds already at their fields, wishing her a good journey and until a few days again as they are wont to. And every time, Alicia hides under the blanket to make sure she’s not spotted in passing even once.

       The travel is boring, obviously, but at least miss Fleur’s pretty chipper about herself, humming a few atonal bars to herself (and allowing Alicia to learn the good woman, for all her charms, probably is not a good singer). The cart makes a turn somewhere to the left, northbound if the position of the sun is any indication. And for another few hours, the travel continues on, bumpy and uneasily. Alicia even has to push back against some of the churns lest she’d buck one over herself.

       One thing she does notice, blanket or no, is the way things grow darker. Peeking around, she notices the tall, low-hanging whip-like branches of willows and the vibrant greens of white oak and green ash alike. She’s never been to this neck of the eastern woodlands before, but she knows as any child just what kind of trees make up the Wood of Many Teeth. And here she finds herself, a stowaway, aboard the baker’s cart, who just rides along with not a worry to her head, and a peaceful song whistling past her lips (something she at least can do, Alicia learns: carry a tune). The dark of the woods with only so much sunlight filtering through the thick canopy does little to diminish miss Fleur’s good spirits; if anything, she seems all the more cheerful for it. Alicia worriedly hides herself under the blanket again, keeping herself out of sight and mind for however long is necessary.

       That is, until the cart slows on down down some winding little path, and stops at last where there is some light again. Miss Fleur sets off from the cart, dismissing the horse with a word. Just as quickly as she had shaped the beast, scent, mass, presence and all, so quickly did it go, with only a pop of air rushing to fill the vacuum the horse left behind. She pulls from the back of the cart a large beam, Alicia staying deathly still, hearing how she sets to block the wheels of the cart underneath with a beam. Two of the churns are lifted under the woman’s arms and hoisted out, and she takes off, up and away from the cart.

       Alicia at last dares to peek out of hiding, checking her surroundings. The cart has been parked in front of a rather quaint looking patch of fruits and vegetables set in the rich soil the Wood of Many Teeth apparently has. The girl slowly pushes herself free from under the blanket, peering out to witness the bounty of the earth that who-ever lives out here has seeded and planted. Plump pumpkins, tomato plants, stretches with the purple and white flowers peeking from the dull green plants that will be growing potatoes under the soil, under the watchful gaze of a mannequin made from farming tools and thick branches, wearing rain-worn clothes. Old man Crusher would be green with envy if he were to ever see this field! Alicia slowly slinks out of the cart, her feet touching down on a trod path of earth. There is a bit of a clearing that allows this quaint garden to spread out from the woods just ahead. As she turns about to further check her surroundings, she sees a simple wooden wall stretching as high as a barn up against a stone surface and wall, painted white, though a little worn. The path towards a large door in the wooden wall framed by windows on either side of it goes left and right, following the curve of the hill, with all manner of stones easily as big as her head dot the sides of the path.

       No sight of miss Fleur, however.

       Curiosity never harmed her before, mind. Alicia takes it upon herself to slowly creep up along the way, checking the wooden structure, the tall white door, the quaintly carved windowsills and shutters on the left and right of each window, and listens keenly.

       Alicia certainly did not expect miss Fleur to be meeting anyone out here. She certainly did not expect the woman’s pleasant, jovial and loud voice to be met with another woman’s deeper voice. And as she stands on tip-toes to try and watch through the window, she certainly did not expect to see a monstrous beast clutching miss Fleur by the arms. She gasps out in a freight, looking at the faintly-lit scene ahead. It takes a while for her eyes to adjust, and part of her is thankful that her freight froze her in place. By the time she can see in the candlelit insides of what looks to be a simple cave-turned-house, she realizes the monstrous beast isn’t so much clutching, as she is embracing. And though the monstrous head of the beast holding miss Fleur is  anything but human, it is almost familiar.

       With broad, forward pointing horns jutting from the sides of her head, and with a thick mop of downcast long hair, the monstrous woman can easily be mistaken for friendly, dopy Highlands cattle. She towers over miss Fleur almost by two feet, ample and thick as the human woman is, but perhaps more accented by muscle than the baker herself. Her arms are thick, tight with muscle, and no doubt responsible for the yard work and much of the clearing that Alicia is in, right now. Alicia can’t rightly tell in the lacking light, but hair must cover almost every inch of exposed skin on the not-human, and goodness, she bears a lot of exposed skin safe for the long brown apron she wears across her front – and little else, if Alicia is right.

       What’s perhaps more shocking, is just how friendly and casual miss Fleur seems to be about the inhuman woman before her, gently clasping the muscular neck of the cow-headed woman until miss Fleur is happily hoisted up against the other in her large hands by the plump rump. Alicia goes light in the head at the next sight, however; the long, red, sloppy bovine tongue casually brushing over miss Fleur’s lips and soon parted mouth in a messy, moist kiss that now revolts the girl.

       Her peeking and prying is interrupted by her need to occasionally relax her ankles and feet, but she’s used to the slight discomfort. The girl watches with growing fascination the ways in which the two women go about to gather up churns in the cave, talking amongst themselves with occasional bouts of laughter ringing well outside the cavern home. Mostly with the going-ons in the along the Coast Way, and what word there was in Amn or Baldur’s Gate. The conversation is missed when Alicia gathers up a churn from the cart outside, and carries it on over towards the window. A much better perch to peek up from, if you ask her! The two women are still going about, talking, talking, as friends might. Talk of the growing vegetables and fruits outside. The news in town. And as the two women gather up some pails and water from deeper within the cave, talk of the business at Beregost.

       “Oh, the usual,” miss Fleur casually chirps back at the great cow-headed woman besides her, setting some pails besides a lumpy looking wooden couch topped with old pillows that just look musty and worn. “I’m starting to feel the years, of course. Might have to take up on an apprentice sometime, even.”

       “You, an apprentice?” the cow-woman says with a low, sonorous voice. “Rosie, Rosie, you’ve never so much as settled with the locals, more among them. An’ it’s not exactly like I can come along with ya either,” she adds with a morose sounding chuckle.

       “I doubt so as well, Mara. But there’s some very promising youths out there. You’d be surprised how many take an interest to the craft.”

       Alicia darts away and out of sight as she notices the way miss Fleur, Rosie Fleur, lets her eyes wander from the minotaur, only daring to peek back up when she hears their voices pick up again. When she does, she sees how miss Fleur has set herself down in the couch. Her dress has been buttoned open across the front, freeing her large, swollen bosom to the naked air. In the poor light of the cavern house, only so much can be seen, but Alicia can already see the sheer weight of her breasts causes them to lightly sag, but still be mostly firm. The other woman approaches miss Fleur gingerly, sitting herself on her haunches, her large hands carefully undoing the woman’s dress. She slips off the lower half of Rosie’s frock, carefully folding it besides herself, and returns her large, animal hands to the human woman’s lower body.

       Thick fingers caress the plump, pale thighs of the baker, along her rump down and past her knees, and right back up again, caressing the insides of those thick thighs. Rosie sighs out softly, stripping herself further, until she slips the top half of her dress off her chest and most of her shoulders, slowly freeing her arms from the sleeves. She sits back relaxedly, reaching up with her hands to caress the cow-woman’s, Mara’s neck. And for a second time, the minotaur’s tongue comes to meet Rosie’s face, who meets it with the eager touch of her own tongue. This time, however, Alicia does not find herself looking away from the grotesque kiss. She watches, with bated breath, how this gorgeous, plump woman with her long raven locks presses up to kiss the brown-haired inhuman minotaur as not mere friends, but star struck lovers. How the cow-woman’s tongue slowly fills and forces Rosie’s mouth apart, and rolls around in her mouth, and deeper still, probing at her gullet. How the kiss lingers, even as Mara kisses so deep Rosie is struggling to breathe.

       Alicia’s breath hitches in her throat as the two draw back, spittle connecting their lips in a rope that slacks and clings against their own teats between them.

       “I’ve missed you, ya know,” Mara states rather matter-of-factly.

       “As did I, dear,” Rosie returns the gesture after catching her breath, gently stroking along the chin and long snout of her cow-headed friend.

       Mara reaches down a moment with her left arm, out of Alicia’s sight. Rosie slowly undoes the straps of the apron the minotaur wears, causing Alicia’s heart to lift and flutter. She pretty much is a match, if not more so, to the gorgeously buxom magician baker herself. Mara’s teats look larger, and apparently bereft of all body hair, making them stand out all the more from the deep brown of the minotaur’s coat. Between those naked thighs of miss Fleur, Mara sets a large metallic pail, gently caressing the rim of the bucket with a thick digit. Rosie clutches it between her legs, slowly leaning back a bit to settle against the couch. Two firm hands wrap around the pale, large right breast of the woman, while Rosie does the same to Mara’s own.

       The two begin to gently knead into the plump, soft breasts of one another, slow and gentle downwards motions that have them both press their fingers downwards into the fatty tissue of their breasts. There is only pause at the occasional grunt or slight cry from either of them, the touches being interrupted when Mara first takes a few loving, noisy sucking kisses to the baker’s bare breast, and then Rosie to Mara’s own swollen nipple.

       Alicia watches with eyes the size of saucers. Her hands tightly grip the windowsill, her own thighs slowly spreading to the sight of not one, but –two– large, rounded ladies. At the sight of the first spots of milk seeping from the women’s breasts, slowly being edged out of their teats by their tender ministrations, Alicia lets out a faint cry, realisation sinking in. With every slow squirt sounding off into the pail, amidst the soft moans of the two older women, Alicia pieces together just –where– the milk is coming from, if not the local goats and sheep. Her right hand slowly creeps under her own frock, lifting the dress aside, until she finds her almost hairless mound to gently caress.

       By Chauntea, she could not be more elated. This definitely –is– a secret she loved to learn!

       She’s always even eaten from the milk these two are now gathering together!

       Slowly, steadily, Mara and Rosie fill the bucket with their dairy secretions, their low voices humming together in their secret bliss, a love and lust just between the two of them. There is only an occasional pause in the light spritzing and splashing noises when Mara has a taste of her lover’s warm milk, moaning, no – mooing out her appreciation. Rosie, for her part, seems to return that attention all the more, at least explaining away how she maintains that full figure for years on end.

       Alicia’s fingers dip inwards past her rosy vulva, gently spreading her own opening to the cool air, letting her digits sneak and dance across the pinkened curtains just barely peeking past her outer lips, and up along the tiny crease that makes her feel all the better with just a sidelong touch. A soft sigh escapes the girl as she regards with open want the intimacy the two women share with one another. She bites her lower lip and watches on, her fingers pressing inwards in time to the cries coming from the cave home.

       Mara is the first to slowly stop milking her human companion, moaning and lowing occasionally to Rosie’s sucks and kisses, until she draws back from Mara with milk literally dotting her lips. Mara chuckles low as she draws the pail from between the two of them, admiring the weight of its contents before carefully setting it aside from the two of them. Her thick, monstrous fingers clasp around both of Rosie’s nipples, squeezing them, rolling them, making the baker jump a little against the sharp pain. She’s saying something, Alicia can’t hear, but it makes Rosie nod her head excitedly and moan out ‘yes’ with her every low claim. Louder. And louder. And louder still until she howls when the minotaur tugs harshly on those large nipples, pulling them back from the woman’s large breasts.

       Alicia squeaks out to the sight, dipping two fingers at once between her clenching thighs into her small womanhood. Her head goes light again, watching how miss Fleur gets silenced by another sloppy and wet and slimy kiss from the cow-woman, filling her mouth, her throat obscenely. Spittle oozes past their mouths and over their breasts smooshed together. Miss Fleur is positively mewling with her throat full still. Alicia presses her fingers up into the spongy flesh of her vaginal walls, just a ways past the third finger bone. And then, as she feels herself grow deliciously tense, and slack, and tense and slack again, Alicia feels a painful smack against her forehead when she slips off the churn and knocks her head against the sill. The girl hits the ground with a dull thud, and she knows no more.

       By the time Alicia comes to, she is in the dark. At least it means her eyes won’t take long to adjust from the light of-

       Ow.

       Her head is throbbing. Hurting. Her legs are scraped, but that’s the least concern. She squints her eyes closed and tries to get past the throbbing, incessant pain knocking just above her brown and thumping her entire skull.

       Then she feels a cold, moist sensation splash over her head, her neck, her chest.

       Miss Fleur, sitting before Alicia, naked as the day she was born, slowly dapping her forehead and applying much needed cooling and relief to her aching forehead, brushing some of the blood from her eyebrow as well. So that means the mass of warmth, and soft furs against her fingertips and the back of her head must belong to...

       “She’s coming to,” Mara says with a relieved, deep voice.

       “Thank goodness,” Rosie agrees, though she looks more than a little miffed, her face frowning at Alicia as she continues to keep the girl’s head clear from blood until the worst bleeding seems to be stemmed. She rises up on her haunches, absolutely obscuring Alicia’s vision with the most blessed sight of those beautiful full tits almost pressing into her face.  It almost makes the drop worth it. Almost.

       Alicia tries to look away from miss Fleur as she sits back down in front of the prone girl reclining in the minotaur’s lap. It does very little to have her gaze wander, instead, down across the swell of miss Fleur's other, rounded features. From the swell of her thighs and her bottom, to the rotund, plump belly, and the thick, dark curls peeking out from under her belly and down her mound, trimmed but plentiful all the same. Miss Fleur's expression softens, at the least, gently reaching up with her left hand to stroke Alicia’s cheek.

       “There. That ought to keep the wound cold. And you should thank Mara for her steady bedside manner to have you stitched up, young lady.”

       Alicia shudders at the sweet voice speaking up at her. She tries to look up for the minotaur behind her, but only finds herself looking up at the underside of the great cow-woman’s breasts.

       “Um. Th-Thank you, mis-“ Alicia stammers, but is soon silenced by the almost dangerous sounding tone of voice the minotaur manages to produce.

       “Madame,” Mara corrects. “And while you are at it, young lady, you have some explaining to do.”

       Rosie, for her part, stays unperturbed, smiling blissfully up at the glowering minotaur and the shrinking girl in her lap.

       “Just who do ya think you are, creepin’ up in these woods?” Mara speaks, making Alicia shrink away at every rise in her tone. “They’re dangerous to anyone without sword or spell! An’ who do ya think you are, sneakin’ up to anyone’s home to peek in? To watch Rosie and me play with our titties an’ just touch ya’self, huh?”

       Alicia can feel her ears and cheeks and soon her entire face flush with heat. She stammers, but then falls quiet, unable, and unwilling, to deny any of those accusations.

       “I think,” Rosie pipes up after a few moments of awkward silence, “she thinks she is my apprentice.”

       Alicia’s eyes shoot up towards the baker. Mara, for her part, just regards Rosie like she’s barmy. “What?”

       “Well, obviously, she’s come along to help me get my milk,” Rosie states matter-of-factly, keeping up her pleasant smile to the confused girl and the large minotaur (who quickly catches on, what, not having had her head conked in). “Aren’t you, young lady? Alicia, wasn’t it? Robinsdaughter, the wheat farmer?”

       Alicia slowly lets the words sink in, nodding numbly after the woman she’s been crushing hard on for years in her slow approach to womanhood.

       “Well, that should settle it then, Alicia,” Rosie softly rumbles, rising up to sit up with Mara’s left side, the straw poking through the fabric of the make-shift pillows and cushions into her skin. She wraps an arm around the broad, warm, fuzzy back of her minotaur friend and lover, smiling up at the bovine woman.

       Rosie’s nipples and areolas are positively huge, to match her still much swollen and firm breasts. Alicia’s eyes are almost glued to the dark stretches of skin, dotted with little goosebumps all over. Alicia stares openly, and neither Rosie or Mara are unaware. There is a moment of laughter between the two, before Alicia can feel the great, keratin-tipped fingers of the minotaur gently scrape and caress against the backs of her own hands, miss Fleur gently gripping Alicia’s right hand with her own left, letting her nails lightly scrape into the girl’s palm.

       “I’ve seen you before, young lady,” she whispers heatedly into Alicia’s ear. The girl flushes all the brighter. “Go on,” she encourages the young farmer’s daughter. “It’s alright.”

       Alicia slowly leans over, reaching up with her arms to wrap them under miss Fleur’s, around her round, soft belly. She sink against the right breast with her face, slowly taking in the lingering sweet scent of Rosie’s passion and Mara’s just before. Her nose presses down into the plump teat, grazing along the bumpy texture of the areola until she finds the fat nipple, all stiff and crinkled and dry. Her lips brush along it, and then wrap around the teat, before Alicia sinks her face closer to miss Fleur’s heart. Like a babe, she starts to gingerly suck and nurse. Her forehead aches, but it’s a small concern now. She feels so warm and secure, especially with miss Fleur’s hand moving up across the back of her head, caressing through her moistened hair with the tips of her fingernails, brushing them lightly across her scalp.

       Her reward doesn’t take long to come. The little pores seep and leak and soon fill her mouth with delicious, sweet, fatty milk unlike anything she’s drunk in a very long time. A joyous moan fills the cave before it’s silenced by the swallow from Alicia drinking down her first mouthful of milk, who steadily drinks from the baker. Her body grows hotter. Slicker. Mara can tell. She laughs at the shamelessness of the younger girl.

       The bovine woman leans her head down towards Rosie and Alicia. “I think she might like the job, Rosie, love.”

       Rosie doesn’t answer. Instead, she offers her partially opened mouth to her minotaur lover, who takes charge with another kiss that visibly causes the baker’s throat to swell with the muscular tongue of the minotaur kissing her. Spittle oozes down from their joined mouths across Alicia’s scalp. The sensation is gross, the sight obscene. But Alicia is moaning all the louder for it, grinding her nethers through her dress against Mara’s lap. Her butt hikes up and then finds hard-tipped fingers press against her vulva. She pauses just a moment, before Alicia slowly sinks her hips down against the palm of Mara, allowing the minotaur to dip her fingers into her slick kitty.

       Minutes on end, the kiss, the nursing, the slow and gentle fingering continue. It doesn’t stop until all three women pause to draw breath, with Alicia being the first to dare and speak up.

       “Please,” Alicia says, swallowing again. Both the minotaur and the baker look down with warm, bemused smiles. “Please, m-may I kiss you?”

       Alicia is carefully set between the two older women, who first strip Alicia, and then embrace the smaller, slimmer girl between their plump, full-figured bodies. The girl feels light in the head, and not from a lack of blood or the knock she took. She is surrounded by soft, warm breast flesh, the pale baker’s tits and the great udders of the minotaur. And one after another, the girl is kissed by them. First by miss Fleur, slowly offering her mouth to the girl, taking charge in pecking, sucking on her lips, until they kiss, not as youngsters might in play on the cheek, or a passing smooch. This is a full-on warm kiss, one where breath, and taste, and heat all come together and are shared. Alicia whimpers as she feels miss Fleur’s warm tongue slowly lap under, around, over her tongue. Testingly, the girl follows her example, until their tongues dance around in their joined mouths. Milk can be tasted on both their tongues. And youthful zeal and inexperience is slowly being tempered by her elder’s patience and pacing, until they’re both moaning in each other’s mouths, their hands wandering over each other’s naked bellies and breasts.

       How can Alicia compare, barely fifteen summers, peaches or apples filling her shirt, to the sheer size and warmth and plump handfuls (no, armfuls!) of the girl? But all the same, Alicia’s nipples are brushed, stroked, breasts held and caressed by miss Fleur.

       When their lips part from one another, Alicia is stammering, unsure what to say, what to expect. She’s a mess of emotions and hormones. And as she turns her head and upper body to meet with miss- no, madame Mara, she is absolutely overcome with that twisted pleasure she felt before watching the two with each other. This time, however, it’s not her own fingers teasing her lips, but miss Fleur’s. And this time, she’s right in the centre of things. She reaches up with her arms towards madame Mara’s long face, stroking the soft fur of her chin and cheeks. She’s pretty much staring up at a smiling cow. Yet as madame Mara draws her face closer to the girl’s, she can’t feel the initial revulsion she had watching miss Fleur and her kiss. Instead, as the long, slimy muscle slowly slips from her lips, Alicia leans up to suck on the tongue that spills forth, until she feels it gently part her lips. Alicia opens up her mouth wider, slowly admitting the slimy invader. Her walls clench around miss Fleur’s fingers as madame’s taster fills her mouth. Fills her gullet. She feels her press against her throat. She feels weird. It’s not like throwing up, oddly enough. Especially when Alicia pulls madame closer and then feels her slowly opening her throat wider. She chokes and struggles against Mara, but finds herself going weak in the knees as her throat is filled with warm, pliant flesh, rolling around in her mouth and gullet.

       The kiss won’t end. Alicia won’t let it end. She sees stars and holds on and lets her small tongue lap around madame’s as well as she can, until she’s out like a light.

       When she comes to, her face is slimy. Her throat is slimy. Her shirt and chest are slimy. She’s barely aware of how long she was out, but she knows everything she is sitting on is very, very wet. Mara’s looking concerned beyond measure, while Rosie, miss Fleur, is still jilling her oozing kitty. Mara finally slinks back into the lumpy seating, pulling Alicia into her heavy, pink and hairless breast.

       “Ya greedy little chit,” Mara says incredulously.

       Rosie just laughs. “Looks like she has her first lesson in knowing when to stop.”

       Alicia slowly slinks up against Mara’s body, pressing down with a hand on the heavy teat, causing a thick dollop of milk to ooze from the tip of her nipple before the rest of her breast oozes all around it with warm milk. Her lips seek the minotaur’s, smooching, kissing, sucking, greedy for another taste of breathless passion. Rosie draws her fingers from Alicia’s pussy, breaking into howling laughter, while Mara just sinks back against the teen’s hungry kiss. Not quite getting what she wants, Alicia’s lips slowly slink down along Mara’s jawline, under the musky, thick fur of her armpit, and down towards her left breast, sinking into her leaky tit for her second fill of warm milk filing her belly. Madame gently grips Alicia’s hips, lowing softly against the sucks, the nibbles, the slow nursing of the girl.

       With a bellyful of milk, and two warm bodies glistening with perspiration surrounding her own, Alicia snuggles up between her meisters of the trade. She’s only shaken from her reverie when miss Fleur draws up to gather up some water from a freshwater source deeper in Mara’s home, returning with a pail of fresh, cool water and a large ladle. The three drink together for some much needed refreshment and rehydration, until with but a nod from Rosie, Mara takes off, leaving Alicia in the baker’s arms.

       “How would you like to be a part of my baker’s shop proper, young lady?” the dark-haired woman asks softly to her eager younger charge. “It wasn’t a joke, you know. You are free to take up on the trade with me. And with Mara. All you have to do is say as much.”

       Alicia, still light in the head, just stares up at miss Fleur. “You really would? A-All this? With you, miss Fleur?”

       The baker lets out a soft laugh. “Please, here you may call me Rosie. But I do mean it. It’s not just all this, of course,” she says, smiling broadly and giving a motion between herself and Alicia,  notedly their breasts, puckering her lips in a kiss before she smirks. “It’s work. Hard work. Every day. Every morning. Every afternoon. And every week, a thorough milking. Only the best dairy in the Fleur produce, after all.”

       Mara returns to the two, sitting on her haunches in front of Rosie and Alicia. A small basket is held in her hands, filled to the brim with all manner of plants, and herbs, and extracts. And the heated bovine literally soaking her leaking quim over the lot of them as her honey oozes over the thick hairs standing upright and out from her pubic mound. It makes Alicia quiver, just like the spit, the milk, every drop of liquid from these two.

       “You could even be a part of that, too,” Rosie says, letting the words linger on her breath.

       Alicia shivers, watching how the bovine woman slowly reaches up for a black and green ball of tied herbs, with thick drops of her cloying pussy juices on it. In it. Literally letting the bush brush over her own bush, collecting more moisture and juices on it. Alicia’s mouth slowly opens. Not a word is spoken as Mara takes the mute consent and slowly feeds the girl the herbs, pressing them on her tongue and gently closing her jaw on them.

       “Hold them on your tongue. Don’ swallow the grasses. That’s right. Now chew. Chew. Chew,” Mara softly instructs.

       The bitter of the herbs is balanced out by the tartness and sweetness of madame’s juices, ignoring any potential hairs. She’s just chewing. And chewing. And chewing. Until she can barely feel her tongue. Mara’s rough, almost hooved fingers draw over her throat, and Alicia swallows the mixture of the herbal essence and the woman’s sex down with some difficulty. Mara holds her hand out to Alicia. “An' spit out.”

       For the better part of the evening, the farmer’s daughter spends the time either drinking from her meisters in milking and baking, to sucking and chewing on thick herbs: chewing and swallowing the juices of one, and the almost cud-like grasses of the next. Her head is swimming. Everything went better than she could have positively hoped. Down to sleeping in between the warm bodies of Rosie and Mara.

       Of course, that means the next day had to be spent actually milking. Milking with firm, slow strokes, being told when to slow down the pressure, when to continue again. Her arms ache with the exertions, but Rosie does remind her, it’s not just play. It’s work too. All the time, Alicia is still chewing and sucking on herbal packets, only being given pause to drink deep from the minotaur. Though after the first bellyful of milk, she’s instead sent to kneel before the madame’s spread thighs.

       Chauntea, Sune, every god of passion and fertility is thanked by Alicia on her bare knees. Her thanks are offered word for word, syllable for syllable, to the edges of the madame’s lips, and upwards to the swell of her clitoris. Mara gently urges the girl, guiding her with a large, powerful hand to the back of her head. Her encouragement and direction is taken with gusto. Alicia’s tongue finds the mark beneath the swollen bundle of nerves, as thick as her fist and half its size in length, until she’s sucking from the tiny hole beneath that swollen cow pussy and the base of her sensitive pearl. Lowing, mooing, panting out, Mara holds on to Alicia dearly, guiding her with little calls.

       “My clit. Yeah there. Below. N-yeah... Your fingers... there. Yeah... Muh-more. Inside. Deeper. Oh gods press deeper against me. Oh gods! Oh gods!”

       While she’s licking the bitter and tart and the sweet from the minotaur’s cunt, Mara’s juices weep openly over Alicia’s face and chest. The thick tuft of pubic hair above her pubic mound almost brushes across the bandages on and the bare skin of Alicia’s forehead. Alicia’s nose grinds up and down into the cow’s swollen clit, her tongue eking against the seeping urethra. When Mara pulls her hand away from Alicia, she instead holds her thighs down with her hands, not daring to snap her legs together with the girl between them. But she howls out all the same, bellowing like a cow in heat.

       Rosie observes the two over her mixing of the milk and the churning of the first batch of butter, smiling fondly at the two. When Alicia groggily pulls back from Mara, moist with her ejaculate, reeking of cow piss and heat, Rosie slowly approaches the girl, giving her a pleased kiss across the lips. Quickly followed, to the girl’s chagrin, by her next herbal packet.

       “Suck an' chew, don’ swallow it all. Just the juice.”

       How many must that have been? Four, six packets yesterday, already up to six today. Nothing really seems to be different to Alicia, but the changes are slow and steady, and if it weren’t for the headache, she might feel the changes all the better. She won’t appreciate the changes until late in the evening, when she’s full with milk, when she has washed the smell of cow in heat from her body (just barely), and when she settles back between the ladies’ outspread arms. Her arms are sore from the milking, the pushing and kneading. Her jaw aches from the constant chewing, and the pressure she had to apply to madame. Right when she’s about to settle in for some relaxation, however, two warm hands gently knead into her own breasts.

       Breasts. Actual, swollen, turgid teats, certainly handfuls, bigger than mere handfuls, easily filling Mara’s giant palm!

       The farmer’s daughter stares in shock and fascination as the two ladies slowly press and knead and pull at the swollen areolas and nipples of the girl, oddly goosebumped and feeling oh so sensitive. Alicia is squirming back into the couch, ignoring the pricking of the straw. She can’t even find the words to ask what in gods’ name has happened. Then the two ladies slowly lower themselves on the simple couch, kneeling before and besides her. Two sets of warm, moist lips wrap around the teen’s swollen nipples. And suck.

       Alicia’s mouth parts in a low moan, the sensations so new and far more pleasurable. A dull ache that soon gives way to pinpricks of sensation around her puckered, brown teats. And then the delicious sensation, the very first time, of her milk seeping, spilling, oozing from her pores, and being sucked straight from the source.

       She squeals and comes, right then and there, holding on to Mara’s horned head and Rosie’s dark black locks that reach all the way to her shoulders. And the feeling doesn’t just wane. It goes on. One steady nursing suck after another. Stammering and shuddering, Alicia slinks back into the couch, her nails slowly digging into the scalps of the raven-haired baker, and the messy, long brown hairs of her bovine madame. Everything goes white. Everything went better than she could have possibly hoped for.

       On Firstsday morning, well after the crow of the rooster, Alicia wakes groggily in the warm bed of her meister, the baker, twisting and turning against the covers. Her breasts ache, full, swelling with the first morning’s milk. Her fingers run over the slightly crinkled nipples, already imagining the joyful sensation of being nursed from again. She stumbles her way out of the bedroom to the living room, already finding miss Fleur up and at them. Sleepily, she yawns out when she had meant to say ‘good morning,’ and is soon silenced when the heavy baking frock and apron is tossed to her naked self.

       “Better get dressed and get ready, young lady,” miss Fleur says, bright and cheerful as ever. “We’ve got a long day of work ahead. And this time, I have an apprentice to knead all that dough.”