Excerpt: The Dairy Maid's Decision

Chapter 1 Bras, Bras Everywhere, and Not A One That Fits

Lara wandered between the racks of lingerie, growing despondent about finding the F cup bras she needed so desperately. The nicest department store in Pennington was her last hope; they’d take her cash. Buying on-line only worked for people who had enough stability to own credit cards.

If she didn’t have these huge breasts, she’d have an easier time finding work, but every job she’d been able to get in the last two years ended because no one was willing to let her have enough time to take care of her breasts. She had to pump every few hours, or else she’d be in pain and leak.

Oh, Lara had tried to stop pumping, hoping her breasts would dry up now that she wasn’t nursing her son. Every single time, she’d hurt so much she had to pump, and of course, the more she pumped the more milk she produced. The more milk in her breasts, the more she needed to pump. She was so fucked.

Training the Dairy Maids

"Training the Dairy Maids" by Lacy Tate on Ganxy

The Dairy Maid and the Deputy

"The Dairy Maid and the Deputy" by Lacy Tate on Ganxy

The Dairy Maid's Dilemma

"The Dairy Maid's Dilemma" by Lacy Tate on Ganxy

Dairy Maid

"Dairy Maid" by Lacy Tate on Ganxy

Excerpt from Training the Dairy Maids

Jordyn smoothed her hands down her bountiful breasts, pressing her white peasant shirt with its useful elastic neckline and her new pale-blue checked skirt. “I can’t believe we started lactating so soon!” She’d abandoned the red skirt of the dry dairy maid back in the farm house: the blue told everyone she could produce small quantities of milk.

Heidi cupped her melon-sized breasts, hefting them. She had to work hard—they were huge. “Only four days since we got here!”  She too wore light blue, but Heidi planned to be in the dark blue of the top producers before long.

Here was the Manley Dairy, where the dairy maids treated the guests to warm drinks of the freshest milk possible. Straight from producer to consumer, and Heidi and Jordyn just set a record for beginning to lactate. Their friend Ginny surely wouldn’t be far behind, but the new dairy maids had a month’s probation because so many new girls needed all that time to begin. Ginny was still upstairs at the farmhouse getting pumped and diddled into making milk.

They’d done everything they could do for Ginny, who lay on the bed with her knees spread wide and the collectors pulling at her enormous breasts with their still-dry nipples. When that girl got her milk, she was going to get a lot of milk, but she hadn’t gotten it yet.

Elspeth, the head dairy maid, had lubed up a fresh vibrator for Ginny and shooed them out. “You have two and a half hours before you have to report to Dirk for training. Go get some sun, girls, but don’t—” She winked slowly. “—go to the glade in the hickory grove.”

Excerpt from The Dairy Maid and the Deputy

Jordyn flicked the key fob of the Ford Explorer, anxious to pull out of this parking lot, this city, this nasty collection of people. She hadn’t been into Pennington for a couple of months, not since she’d come to live at the Manley Dairy.

It was a great job: she had the best job ever, being a hostess and a dairy maid. Damn few people could do what she did, making her guests as happy as she made them. She slammed the SUV into gear. Her guests were happy, well fed, and anxious to come back, and the population of Pennington could just bite her. Yeah, to do all that her tits had to be swollen huge, to give ounce after ounce, mouthful after mouthful, of human milk. They didn’t have to stare like she was some freak, just because she had a twenty-four inch waist and wore a G-cup.

Damn them all for whispering and pointing. Rotten people. Next time she had to come into town, she’d style her wheat-colored hair into wavy blonde pigtails and wear some Daisy Duke shorts with a rip across the ass, instead of this denim skirt that covered more than half of her thighs, and a T-shirt that would stretch across her tits like plastic wrap, instead of this entirely modest peasant shirt that fit nicely even around her extraordinary bust. If they wanted to roll their eyes at her like she was some slut, she’d give them something to talk about, the scum!

Excerpt from The Dairy Maid's Dilemma

Mindy came dancing into the dairy maids’ common room, her arms crossed under her huge breasts. “Look! I made the top ranks!” Sure enough, her gingham skirt was dark blue checks. Only a few of Manley Dairy’s dairy maids could produce enough milk to qualify for that color. Nine ounces plus per breast every six hours was a lot of milk, but the men who came to the dairy or had milk shipped out to them needed, or wanted, every drop.

“Just in time for the next group of guests tomorrow!” She twirled, making her skirt flair out and revealing that she wasn’t wearing any panties.

Most of the dairy maids wore the medium blue of the average producer, a few, like that bitch Rita, wore light blue, meaning they averaged less than five ounces per breast every six hours. But they were still lactating. Amy was the only girl in red gingham, an imposter of a dairy maid, new and still dry. She hadn’t produced any milk at all. Yet. She kept telling herself it was only a matter of time, but three weeks of her month’s probation were already gone. Her breasts had swelled to the point she didn’t recognize herself in the mirror when she’d worn a C-cup before, but no matter how much she pumped, her bottles remained stubbornly empty. Looking like a 5 foot 3 inch Barbie doll was a little consolation.

“Congratulations!” and “How wonderful!” rang through the room. All the other dairy maids jumped up to hug Mindy, an elfin redhead who seemed dwarfed by her breasts. What a great bunch of girls, always ready to encourage each other, and help each other along. Except for Rita, but only one crankybuns in a group this big was nearly miraculous. Mindy and the rest had been kind to Amy, which was how she’d gotten to an F cup, and now it was her turn to give back.

Excerpt from Dairy Maid

The pile of mail on Ginny Harper’s table had been growing, mostly with envelopes bearing pink windows. “Third notice” blared from some of them; “Immediate action required” in red ink decorated others. She’d stopped opening them a while back—she couldn’t do a damned thing about them. Flipping burgers just didn’t pay that much, and she hadn’t been able to get a job as good as her old one since she’d been laid off.

Running out of choices, that’s what she was doing. Maybe a miracle would happen and she’d find a job good enough to get her back on her feet, before she was out on her ass. Ginny’d come home to a notice pinned to her door, demanding back rent on the little apartment that had been home since she came to Pennington.

Ginny sighed. Maybe it was time to swallow her pride and take off her clothing. She didn’t want to be an exotic dancer, although there were plenty of “help wanted” ads for that position. A dozen clubs down by the river were hiring, and maybe she could pick up enough moves that the horny men would stuff her G-string with fives and tens. Don’t kid yourself, girl, you aren’t such a good dancer that they’ll stuff twenties in there. But maybe she could make ends meet.

Goodness knows she had the physical attributes for it. Five foot eight and built cute is what her last boyfriend called her, although how Double-D boobies qualified as cute when they were so damned big mystified Ginny. But they did make her waist look even smaller than the twenty-four inches it measured, and then her hips… Oh, her hips. Starving herself didn’t make them any smaller, although thirty-seven inches weren’t big hips, they just looked big compared to her nipped-in middle, and at least they weren’t big enough to totally balance out her tits. Dolly Parton only younger, Ginny called herself, and she didn’t put the long blonde hair on a wig stand at night, either.

Ginny plopped herself and her newspaper down at the tiny kitchen table. Her braids bounced when she landed on that cushiony bottom. She’d have to wash her hair just to get the smell of French fries out. Man, if she could only find a job that didn’t involve cooking grease.

Spreading the newspaper at least covered up the horrible piles of bills. Maybe she could run away, change her name, start over. Her boyfriend wouldn’t miss her—he’d said no way when she suggested moving in with him, just to save on rent, not to get engaged or anything. He’d sneered about 'why buy the cow when the milk was free?'

“Well, honey-pie, this milk ain’t free no more,” she told the heartless bastard. If that’s how he felt about her, he could date Rosy Palm and her sisters for a while. Except he’d been dating her best friend at the same time as her, something neither of the slime balls had mentioned until things got tough. The little shits deserved each other.

Honestly, no one was going to miss her except the bill collectors.

Skipping past the headlines which would only be bad news anyway, Ginny flipped to the want ads. Maybe all the good jobs were on line, but that meant a trip to the library since her internet was cut off a month ago and she’d sold her computer. She had a quarter for a paper, though, and maybe luck would smile on her today.

Dancer, dancer, driver, driver… Ginny didn’t think her little car would stand up to the wear and tear for long if she had to drive her own vehicle. She skipped past that, hunting—Dairy maid. Huh. She didn’t know a thing about cows, but what else did she have to do? She could spend five seconds to read.

“Dairy Maid—attractive, personable hostesses needed for hands-on dairy operation. Light work, no shoveling. High pay for the right candidates. Room and board included. Call 555-0167.”

No shoveling? Ginny was all for that—desperation for honest, high paying work hadn’t gotten to the cow-poop stage. Room and board? Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she was down to her last few cans of soup and one box of mac and cheese. The notice demanding Pay up or move out! crinkled under the newspaper. She pulled out her phone, her one last luxury, and dialed.

“Manley Dairy, how may I help you?” The deep, masculine voice on the other end sounded manly all right. Ginny would have batted her big blue eyes at the speaker if she’d heard that voice in a bar. But stop it now; this was about a job, not a date.

“Hi, I’m Ginny Harper, and I’m calling about the dairy maid job in the paper…” Oh, damn, she sounded like she was in a bar—her voice had gone way down and smoky-like, in spite of her little scolding.

“Hellooo, Ginny,” he said, and damn, he sounded like he had meeting-in-the-bar thoughts too. But maybe that’s the way he always sounded.

“I’m Dirk Manley, the owner. Tell me why you’re interested.”

She didn’t want to sound too desperate, but she’d been raised to be honest. “I need something better than a fast-food job, I think I’m attractive (hell, she knew she was attractive!) and personable, and I’m willing to learn new skills and really earn my pay.”

“I do like a hard worker.” Dirk chuckled, and the sound went right to her pussy. “Would you be able to meet for dinner tonight, and we can do a proper job interview? I have a couple of other candidates to interview as well, and perhaps I can answer everyone’s questions at once.”

Dinner! Wow! “Er, what sort of place? I’d like to dress appropriately, sir.” Ginny thought about her clothes right away.

“Lovely attitude, Ginny. I bet you’re a great worker.” Dirk chuckled again.

Maybe I better call him Mr. Manley, just so I don’t go stupid in front of him.”I try hard, sir.” It hadn’t kept her from getting a pink slip at her office job.

“Just something medium, we’ll have dinner at Paul’s Place. See you at seven?” His voice promised more than a job interview.

“Seven it is. See you then.” Oh boy! Ginny loved Paul’s Place! They had the best stuffed jalapenos, and really, everything there was good. She hadn’t been there since she and the heartless dick parted ways.

Ginny ran to the shower, pulling elastics off her braids. She had to get the smell of old burgers out of her hair. She stepped into the spray, loving the feel of the water pulsing on her poor tired back. A handful of strawberry shampoo turned to a head of foam under her busy hands, and the scalp massage felt so good, even if she did have to give it to herself. That was one thing she really missed about her scummy ex—he did give the best back rubs and foot rubs, and well—other rubs. Ginny smoothed a handful of lather down her neck and toward her titties.

It had been so long since anyone had played with her titties. Round and plump, with rosy pink nipples that perked up to the sky, with the sweet soft weight of her breast mostly below. She always thought her upturned nipples were saying Hi! to her lover, and if he bent down to lick Hi! back, she just loved it. Ginny thought about Dirk Manley’s deep voice and stroked lather over her nipples. They started to swell, turning darker pink and showing through the soft white foam.

Rubbing her palms over the pink nubs sent little zips of electricity through her. Funny how titties on your chest could be connected to your clit—Ginny had to fold over with the wonderful feeling that suddenly bloomed in her crotch. If she slipped a hand between her legs, she’d find swelling there too—her clit went stiff, trying to peek out between her lips. Not yet, not yet. Ginny twiddled her nips, pinching one, gasping with the delightful shocks.

She cradled one huge tit in each hand rolling her fingers over the skin, feeling the little bumps inside. Milk glands, she supposed, lots and lots of milk glands. And all there to make milk, which she’d never done. Wonder what that felt like? Could you feel each little gland doing its job? You could sure feel them feeling good.

She pulled at each nipple, first one, then the other, loving the stretch and the pressure. The cows had it good—people at their beck and call whose job was to pull their teats. Did the cows love it? They came when it was milking time, she heard. Maybe came to the barn, not came came. Yeah, how would you know about a cow’s orgasms? But bet they liked someone pulling those giant nipples, making huge gushes of milk come out with each pull. Her nipples weren’t that big—they only stuck out about a half inch when she was horny, like, oh now. She pinched both sides at once, suddenly needing to touch her pussy.

One hand to cradle a giant tit, one hand to spread her pussy lips and dip a finger in. Milk up top, sweet honey below. She dipped a long middle finger inside, feeling the juiciness coat her digit, and then tickled her clit, all hard and sensitive, and feeling like another nipple. Wouldn’t it be funny to give fluid through that?

With quick little rubs, Ginny brought herself to climax, the huge waves crashing through her cunt, making lightning in her clit, and shocks in her hard pink nipples. Oh, a good hard cum! Her cums were always better when she played with her titties. A tiny bit of fluid squirted out of her pussy—she felt it run down her leg after the orgasm faded—it was all the way to her calf before she stopped coming. On shaky legs, she finished washing her hair, washed the bit of rain away, and reached for a towel.

Ginny was never quite sure why she squirted when she came, but it always felt really good. Dumbass ex-boyfriend liked that she could do it, it made him feel all studly, but he didn’t like the liquid itself. Idiot. Ginny put on a lacy pink bra. Wouldn’t it be fun to squirt milk when she came? She adjusted her Double-Ds inside the cups. If she could, and she came like she just did, bet someone could have a nice big drink.

Dairy cows didn’t know how good they had it.

Read the rest: Ginny and her friends get fucked, sucked, and milked for  278 hot pages in print and ebook.