Opening the diary once again after a brief nap, Jane’s thoughts wandered as she read over her words. Ah yes, the milking parlour, and Bess, she recalled the day clearly. Her father ate a late breakfast, as he always did after seeing to the milking before sunrise. Jane loved that time of day. She could walk across the farmyard in the early morning and listen to the lowing of contented cows, without being disturbed.
August 12th, 1796
A heavy dew lay on the grass this morning. This particular morning I took a shortcut through the garden, before walking past an old timber-framed threshing barn, a cowshed and finally into the milking parlour. The smell of fresh dung laden the air, as the cows made their way to pasture.
She recalled passing her father’s farmhand and smiling as he carried buckets of milk to the house. The cows were being led out, back towards the pasture where they’d graze carelessly until the evening milking. Jane, even now, couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness as she thought them.
I smiled at the milkmaid on entering the milking parlour. Bess, the older of the two milkmaids was in her twenty second summer. Though it wouldn’t be long before she submitted to marriage, Bess possessed a confidence I envied.
Bess was alone as her partner had left for the kitchen garden, her usual post where she would remain until noon.
Although I had an idea of why she had invited me to her domain, I approached nervously.
“Good morning m’lady,” she bid me, “come closer and look.” Bess motioned to the bucket she’d been milking into that contained a skiff of raw milk.
I leaned in, peering over her shoulder at the creamy white liquid. Bess sensed my excitement for she smiled and took my hand. With her other hand she scooped some of the milk and poured it into my open palm.
She released my hand and cupped her own under my own as I lifted the wetness to my nose. The smell was strong; fresh and sweet.
I smiled, thanking Bess before tasting it, still warm from the teat.
“Are you ready?” she asked as she placed the bucket down and stood up from her stool.
Jane nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Bess dipped her head and kissed me lightly on the mouth. I tasted the milk on her lips and felt a thrill race through me. She took my hand again and led me from the parlour to the loft.
Once ensconced in the hay, Bess leaned in again and kissed me deeply, her hand going to my sex where she rubbed my bundle of nerves of the nub Sarah showed me. Wetting my shift, she caressed me over the final layer of fabric covering me. I was shocked at first, but soon gave to her and enjoyed Bess’s kiss and her ministrations on my body. I could feel that now-familiar heat pooling between my legs and butterflies in my midsection. I moaned against Bess’s soft mouth — I couldn’t help it — and she chuckled softly against mine.
We parted our lips, and Bess laid me back in the piles of hay. She moved up my body until she was straddling my face and lowered herself down. In the dimness, I could just make out her sex. I’d not seen a woman before, not even myself. I was mesmerized by the sight of her.
Lowering herself still, she allowed me to taste her. It was my first taste of another woman, and she tasted delectable, like sweet honey and spice. While she remained there, she produced a short slender club from her frock.
It was cylindrical, with a wooden head, leather shaft, with what appeared to be straw sticking from the other end. Bess began to tease herself with it, then alternating between her sex and pressing it to my lips and into my mouth, until it was wet. She removed the toy, and reaching behind her, pressed into my thighs, and rubbed it over my lower entrance.
Bess dismounted from my face and lowered herself down my body, teasing me with the toy as she did. Settling in between my legs, she hoisted up one of my thighs on her shoulder and grinned impishly before pushing my shift to my waist.
I was now open, before her, and begging for her touch with my eyes. Staring at me as she leaned in, she pressed her supple mouth into me, and allowed her tongue to dart over me. I’d never felt anything as heavenly. My eyes closed and I lay back, letting her control me as my breath grew more ragged.
It was in that moment that Jane heard the same guttural sounds Sarah and Bess had made the day she discovered them, uttered from her own mouth. It was then I understood them, Jane smiled at that memory long ago.
Wetting the slender staff with her mouth, Bess started working the shaft into me. Ever gently she pressed, until an pain inside me burst forth, and cried out. She kept working the rod further still, deeper and deeper, until she fill my depths with it.
Once seated, she worked it out again, but not fully, then increased the tempo of her thrusts with it until I was enraptured with pleasure, the pain, no forgotten. Sweat formed on my brow and my body glistened in anticipation of what, I did not know.
She then withdrew it from me, and hastily bid me to positions myself on my hands and knees, facing away from her. Again, she thrust into me from behind, driving the devilish device deeper into me with each push, though now I readily welcomed it. My legs now parted, I reached back instinctively and pressed my nub with my fingers, moving them a circular motion.
My hips bucked, getting closer and closer to the crescendo of our opus. Bess sensed my closeness through the timbre and tone of my stifled gasps and moans.
She quickly dismounted and threw me over to my back once again. Diving down, she licked my sex, and lapped at my juices. The sensation overwhelmed me as it grew nearer.
Bess then pushed her fingers deep inside me, and rammed me as she had with the rod. My head swam. My breathing shallow, broken, and gasping. Hips and buttocks bouncing as I thrust myself back onto her hand, barely aware of what I was doing.
Turning her fingers inside me, I lowed as if a cow. Curling her fingers inside me, she pressed upward as if beckoning me to come to her. It was too much. I reached a climax, grunting as I did, and covering my mouth with my hand to muffle my ecstasy.
Jane stopped reading to savour the thought of her first la petite mort with Bess. Her skill was remarkable, Jane recalled, and while many more would follow, that first visit, remained clear in her memory.
Afterward, we lay in the hay, holding hands gently as we regained our breath. I could feel the sweat cooling on my skin, and the straw prickling my back. The barn was quiet, and the only light came from the sun filtering through the cracks in the walls.
I looked over at Bess and smiled, tracing lazy circles on her palm with my finger.
“You have amazed me,” Jane whispered to no one, recalling the words as they rolled off her lips that morning. Closing her eyes, Jane watched the scene play out in her mind’s eye once more.
Flushed climbing down from the loft, with a sheen of sweat covering her forehead from the heat. She’d be late for breakfast that morning, but it wasn’t unusual. She thanked Bess for her attention and had kissed her cheek softly, before quickly making her way into the farmyard.
All was calm and peaceful as she crossed. Nothing like the scene minutes before with Bess. The sun had risen fully to reveal a clear blue sky.
Drawing closer to the house, Jane looked back to the parlour and Bess standing there, watching as she went. Bess’ demeanour exuded calmness and peace, as it always did.
Closing her diary, Jane drifted off with images of Bess flickering in the mind’s eye overtaking the memories of her.
The dildo described in this story was inspired by one Kaia Bell wrote about here —
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© Teresa J. Conway, 2021