MILK UDDERS, part 29

Both daughter’s and mother’s cheeks reddened, but more so Bianka’s because of the implications of her outburst. The awkward silence that followed between them, fortunately, only lasted five, six seconds.

“I’ve never been a closed-minded mother who complained about your low-cut necklines or tight-fitting clothes, was I?” Sarah replied. “As if you haven’t heard me joke a thousand times about how God gave you those boobs to show off, Bianka. So don’t play that card on me now.”

“I don’t believe in God,” Bianka exhaled as a last, futile attempt to disarm Sarah’s logic. She was verbally cornered, for no one knew her better than her own mother, so all she could do was glance down at Schnee, the big female dog looking up with her tongue out.

“Quit fooling around and start talking.” Her mother cocked her head to one side. “What’s up with you? Is it about Francesco? You know that guy always struck me as a pervert who wants nothing more than…”

“Mutti!” Bianka interrupted, her eyes locking seriously with her mother’s, her cheeks flushing redder as she remembered the nightmare she had just had. “He’s not that important, he’s just a fling. And I’m fine.”

“If you say so…” her mother said unconvincingly, running her hand through her hair. It was then that Bianka noticed that she had some deep redness on her left cheek. Her mother was as fair-skinned as herself, so Bianka knew that both of them sometimes got a little sunburned, but that was not a widespread blush—and there were finger marks.

“Is that…?” Bianka said. Then, she remembered the argument Melania’s mother had had with her when she ran away from the tent, and her brain made the connection. “Mutti, did Emilia slap you?”

“I slapped her harder,” Sarah responded concisely as her whole face turned crimson.

Bianka stood there, her steel-blue eyes wide with disbelief. Her mother had always been the picture of decorum and responsibility, and the mere idea of her getting into a physical altercation with someone was almost unthinkable. But, as Bianka tried to process the situation, a chilling realization swept over her: she had also been a peaceful, quiet and kind person, but all that had changed radically since she met Melania. Now she was getting into fights, she was anxious all day long, and she even argued with her mother.

“How quickly life can change,” Bianka muttered under her breath, letting her thoughts out as she stroked Schnee’s head.

“That’s right, daughter, that’s fucking right…” her mother sighed before turning around and going to the bathroom, shaking her head in denial. “I’m fine, by the way,” she said before closing the door behind her.

Suddenly feeling totally suffocated inside her own home, Bianka knew she had to get out of there to clear her cluttered mind. Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone and, as soon as she stepped out into the fresh air, a late daylight breeze seemed to offer her a momentary respite from the emotional turmoil her daily existence had become. Outside, the group of men that her mother had hired were unloading cows and merchandise from a truck. Bianka immediately noticed their brazen stares—certainly, the male attention stoked the awakened fire of her ego, but for some reason she now needed only solitude. She was acutely aware that she had betrayed her mother’s trust by leaving her alone at the bustling fair, a situation that she knew could be incredibly stressful, but she believed that what hurt her mother the most was that her daughter wasn’t with her when Emilia was around.

She needed me by her side when she faced her rival. Instead, I needed to be alone with mine, the white-haired milkmaid meditated. Maybe we are not as alike as I thought.

Leaving the workers behind and walking aimlessly with the sun dropping over the horizon behind her, Bianka realized that things weren’t quite like that. Slapping, kicking and hair pulling were not classy, but it was a way of settling disagreements between women that scandalized because of its violence, but not because of how it was fought. However, the manner in which she and Melania had been feuding would be a scandal if it got out, and would cause deep embarrassment to their mothers, family, friends and themselves. Knowing men, Bianka had no doubt that many of them would find it sexy to see two busty beauties going at each other large breasts to large breasts—she knew Francesco would get the biggest boner just by mentioning it to him—but that didn’t mean that the reputation she had built up over the years in the Pass would be immediately and irretrievably destroyed. Whatever it took, she had to keep her big chest affairs with her dark-haired nemesis a secret, but that was perfectly compatible with taking action on her mother’s problems.

“If her slutty daughter is with Francesco, Emilia may be at home alone,” Bianka whispered to herself, her frustration and pent-up rage pushing her into a reckless plan. “If she thinks she can slap my mother and nothing will happen, she’s very wrong.”

With determination in her steps, Bianka headed for the Tantilatte’s dairy farm, her firm, braless bosoms swinging under her wide shirt just a bit. The tension inside her was palpable, and her thoughts raced as she considered the impending confrontation with Emilia: she expected only a verbal confrontation, but to her surprise she was more than willing to come to blows to defend her mother.

“Then we’d see if Emilia is as brave with me slapping her in the face,” she mumbled. “And it’s better for her that I want to do it that way, because she certainly wouldn’t stand a chance against me tits against tits.” Bianka stopped in her tracks, her own words echoing in her mind. The fact that she had even entertained the thought of a chest-to-chest clash with Emilia had caught her entirely off guard, but that the depraved idea was directed at none other than the mother of her big-breasted nemesis further perverted the matter. Bianka took a deep breath and shook her head, determined to regain the control of her thoughts, but for a moment she felt overwhelmed. A thin layer of sweat began to cover her even though the temperature was dropping, and her heart began to pound hard.

It was at that moment of anxiety that she realized that she was standing next to the stone cairn that marked the boundary between Austria and Italy. Suddenly, something inexplicable pulled at her, as if an invisible force was urging her to pause, to reconsider her actions. Memories of the most unforgettable night flooded her mind: it had been around that same time, with a sky just as clear, when her life had changed forever. Standing here, at the very border where she had met her antagonist, Bianka recalled the feel of Melania’s breasts pressed firmly against hers for the first time as the two young milkmaids inexperienced but proudly had engaged in an intense standoff that defied all conventions. That night there had been neither conqueror nor conquered, since no one had yielded a single step to the other, so the Austrian girl suddenly found herself wondering if she had the right to cross the border when Melania was not there to defend it.

Restrained by that kind of feminine honor, Bianka bit her thick lower lip as she observed the stone house of the other farm in the distance. It was already light inside, and just in front of the door were parked a truck and a black jeep—the Renegade that Melania had talked about, she guessed. She wondered who had driven it back, and whether the brunette was already home or was in town with Francesco. Suddenly aware of the phone in her hand, she knew she had a chance to find out the truth once and for all—she just wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

Finally summoning her courage, but still with trepidation, Bianka raised her phone to her ear and dialed Francesco’s number. The ring tones seemed to sound slowed, stretched out in the time of anxiety and impatience. By the time the call finally connected, she held her breath, her heart pounding hard under her chest.

“Hi, honey,” Bianka greeted, her voice quivered slightly. “Are you at home?”

“Hey!” Francesco said on the other end of the line. “I’m here, wai–.” The signal was weak, but Bianka felt she should not move from the border to get closer to home, where there was better coverage. For some strange reason, she wanted to see Melania’s house while asking about her.

“Is Melania there?” the white-haired beauty asked bluntly.

“Melania? She–” Some words were lost. “–here.”

“Is she there or not?” Bianka impatiently interrogated again.

“No,” Francesco stated clearly.

“But has she been there before? Have you seen each other? Alone,” she insisted, the last word almost broking her voice.

“You told me–.” The answer came very fragmented. “–come–.” Bianka noticed a certain anger in him. “–a lie.”

“Francesco, I can’t hear you well.” Bianka clenched her jaw, her thick lower lip caught between her teeth as she prepared herself to deal with what was to come. “Just tell me yes or no: have you fucked with her?”

“Wha–.” The call seemed to disconnect for three, four eternal seconds. “–now?”

“Did you fuckwith Melania?” Bianka grew impatient as night began to take over the firmament. In the distance, her rival’s farm started to disappear into the darkness.

“I didn’t see her!” Francesco almost shouted. For a key moment, the connection worked well. “What I wanted was to fuck you both today!”

Bianka was silent at the revelation. Of course she had anticipated Francesco’s male desire for a hot threesome, but what relieved her was that nothing had happened between her lover and her enemy. But the question that immediately came to her mind was why Melania had not shown up at the Francesco’s house after she had threatened to do so.

Maybe she didn’t find the place, Bianka said to herself—after all, Melania had only been living in the area for two days. But there was one other possibility that she had already fantasized about. Or maybe she had deliberately chosen to stay away. Bianka couldn’t help but lick her lips with pleasure at the thought that perhaps the intense breast altercation had left her foe’s proud virtues as vulnerable as her own were. At that moment, few things would give the Austrian girl more pleasure than knowing that Melania was at home, nursing her wounds and washing her milk rather than claiming the sex session she had won.

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Words: 1802.