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.
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