MILK UDDERS, part 27

Melania’s heart raced as her fists clenched instinctively, her entire sexy body going on red alert at the chance that hostilities between them might resume. For a few seconds, the tension between the milkmaids burned the air as their gazes remained fixed on each other, the Italian aware of how easy it was between Bianka and her that a battle of wills like that could erupt into another physical confrontation. In that moment of suspension, Melania even thought she heard inside her head an echo of her earlier struggle resounding: the fleshy clash of four huge and hard breasts.

However, to the petite brunette’s simultaneous disappointment and relief, the face-off led nowhere. Bianka’s blue gaze wavered, her defiance giving way to a flicker of something else—perhaps uncertainty. The white-haired beauty finally turned away, but not before casting one last disdainful glance over her shoulder, high doses of resentment and defiance lingering in her expression. And then, with a subtle shake of her head, she disappeared around a corner of the abandoned train station, leaving Melania to catch her breath, to gather her thoughts.

All went quickly quiet, with the silence broken only by the gentle whisper of the breeze. But seconds later, a roaring sound disturbed the short peace: the noise of an engine being accelerated furiously. Melania turned her head just in time to see Bianka’s white Renegade appear beyond the old building, before hurtling downhill back to town with too much speed. As the sounds of the departing jeep faded into the distance, Melania’s focus returned to her own body. The adrenaline rush suddenly disappeared, and all the Italian beauty’s muscles collapsed.

“Shit,” she gasped, feeling terribly vulnerable as she dropped to her knees on the grass. Her black shirt clung to her skin with a damp, adhering insistence, the sweat-slicked and milk-stained fabric molding tightly to the beautiful contours of her torso like a physical testimony of the liquid toll paid in battle. The rise and fall of Melania’s breasts made the girl fully aware of the unexpected burden of her soaked shirt.

Experimentally, the brunette grabbed her plump boobs through the shirt, and instantaneously exhaled a long and choked moan. Though still firm, her double-D sized globes now had a certain unusual softness to them, but what had made her whole body shudder was the overstimulation with which her titflesh throbbed after the prolonged punishment she had endured throughout the day. To her surprise, she could still feel drops of milk dripping from the tip of her erect nipples. It was unreal how much liquid non-lactating breasts like hers were producing, but just the thought of it drew a wide, tired smile on her gorgeous tanned face.

“I milked her,” she remembered to herself. Despite the pain and fatigue, despite the chaotic thoughts, a deep satisfaction resonated within her. She had met the challenge of a lifetime audaciously and had overcome it. “I milked that white cow.”

At that moment, Melania felt her crotch throbbing, and the brunette found herself mentally cursing that constant humidity. The illogical sensation disoriented her again, but that time Melania quickly attributed the arousal to the anticipation of her upcoming encounter with Francesco, her enemy’s ‘special friend’. Knowing that she now had a guaranteed carnal access to the young man, her sense of triumph rocketed to the heavens.

“I deserve a good fuck,” Melania concluded, starting to walk the long, downhill road to town, never taking her mind off the hypnotic image of her plump boobs pressed against Bianka’s fat pair.

***

Bianka gripped the steering wheel of her white Renegade with so much irritation and frustration that her knuckles were white. The jeep’s engine roared as she navigated the winding road back to town, her foot pressing down on the gas pedal with an enraged determination. Unwanted tears stung at the corners of her precious blue eyes, blurring her vision before she angrily brushed them away. Physically and mentally, Bianka felt like she was an uncontrolled fire of resentment and humiliation.

Defeatist feelings worsened with every bump in the road, when her defeated breasts bounced painfully under her soaked white shirt and gave Bianka a pang of discomfort but, above all, a bitter reminder. Her once-proud glands felt heavy as ever, swollen with the milk they hadn’t expelled in the bust-to-bust conflict. The abundant trapped liquid seemed to burn almost boiling under her flesh, and Bianka feared that the mere touch of the cloth against her erect, sensitive nipples would be enough to force more of her milk out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the Austrian beauty whispered, cursing that her fat boobs, the very source of her confidence and femininity, now felt like a symbol of vulnerability. After so many threats back and forth between her and Melania, it had been her dark-haired nemesis who had made good on them, as the milk-laden sensation cruelly reminded her.

Bianka slammed on the brakes just before the junction to join the national highway. To her right was the road back to Brenner, to the cattle fair, where she had left her mother behind. Down that road she could also get ahead of Melania and go straight to Francesco’s house. The mere thought of fucking the man the Italian thought now belonged to her made the white-haired woman shudder with vengeful pleasure, but one single glance down at her own bust made her realize that she wasn’t ready for any intimate contact. She was in no mood to see her mother either.

Bianka turned the steering wheel to the left, toward her home, but Melania’s mocking words, triumphant smile traveled with her, haunting her mind. With a frustrated growl, Bianka pressed harder on the accelerator, her jeep racing forward as if trying to outrun the storm of emotions brewing within her. The road ahead was uncertain, and her heart was heavy with the weight of a loss that she had not thought possible. Her gaze flicked then to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her own reflection: she could see the cracks of her ego in her gorgeous face, a raw vulnerability there in the corners of her eyes, in the slight tremble of her lower lip. Immediately, however, a mask of steely determination hid it all, and Bianka’s blue eyes burned.

“Whatever it takes, I’m going to get even with you, black cow,” she spat out, gritting her teeth.

On the nearly half-hour drive back down dirt tracks on a long mountain ascent, Bianka had time to think about a lot of things. Undoubtedly, the latest events were at the forefront of her mind. The crazy sequence of milking duels with Melania in just a few hours had been surreal, a challenge that had gone far beyond the weird, awkward confrontation that the two had had the night they met. The incessant clash of high egos and big breasts defied all common sense, but that was an element that at that stage of the rivalry no longer mattered to Bianka.

What didmatter was how something she thought impossible could have happened: to be humiliated by that smug brunette she hated so much…boobs to boobs. Bianka had to grudgingly admit that Melania knew how to use her hands for milking, and she had proved it with a cow’s udders at the cattle fair, but also with her breasts once they had met alone in the big tent. However, she would never have imagined that the other young woman would have been able to milk breasts as thick and firm as hers with her own bosom. Of course, there had been an earlier sign, when she had lost a few drops of milk after the first breast encounter, but what had happened at the Moncucco station was on a different level in terms of quantity and sensations.

When Bianka managed to shake off some of her pessimism, it didn’t take her long to realize that, in the endurance competition that had been the milking contest, Melania hadn’t won without paying a high cost first. The Austrian beauty remembered how much milk she had forced out of her rival’s fat glands, how much she had made her gasp, grunt and moan, and suddenly the truth slowly dawned on her: her defeat wasn’t about an absolute superiority of Melania’s breasts, but to a single second of weakness on her own part. The duel had been evenly matched, with brief moments of dominance by one or the other, but at the only moment in the entire fight when Bianka was truly overtaken chest to chest, her body and her will had faltered, and she had suddenly found herself unable to resist the urge to spurt milk like there was no tomorrow. Although her thick bosoms in that instant felt somewhat softer and noticeably tender, they still retained their incredible shape, so Bianka thought her downfall had to be due more to an internal struggle than a purely physical one—or so she wanted to believe. With all the milk she still carried in her firm-fleshed jugs, no one could tell her that she had been fully milked.

It wasn’t until she was almost home that Bianka began to realize that it wasn’t only her boobs that were throbbing. There was another sensation, subtle but undeniable, drawing attention between her legs—a certain dampness under her panties. It wasn’t the first time that day that she had experienced such a reaction, but that didn’t mean she liked it or understood it. It was taking her enough hard mental work to deal with the existence of Melania’s big breasts and her milking ability without adding another problem to the equation, so she excused herself by pretending that thinking about Francesco had that effect on her, even though she hadn’t been thinking about him for half an hour.

When Bianka finally got out of her jeep, she found a strange home. Instead of a herd of cows and a jubilant mother, she faced the silence of the mountain. Even Schnee wasn’t around, which didn’t surprise her, given that sometimes the bitch liked to go out exploring at times, never too far. Bianka was the only one on the farm who wasn’t at Brenner, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of uncertainty at what her mother’s reaction would be when she knew she had left. Not that she was alone, with all those men she had hired, but the Austrian beauty still knew that her mother would want her only daughter by her side on such an important day.

“I can’t,” Bianka whispered in an apology that no one could hear. “Not today.”

When Bianka stepped into her stone house, she immediately headed for the bathroom. She struggled to remove her tight shirt, but sweat and milk made it stick to her skin. A low, involuntary moan escaped her full lips as she felt the fabric brush against her erect nipples, but she finally managed to get the shirt off.

***

Words: 1831.