MILK UDDERS, part 9

It was obvious that an haughty, self-important woman like Melania was going to flaunt how good and expert she was at everything she did, including her job as a milkmaid, but Bianka could read in the Italian’s intense dark gaze that there was something more, something that had not been said—not openly, not clearly—but that hung in the air like a dangling sword threateningly about to fall, something that undeniably made Melania just as nervous as it made her. But, just as almost naturally her rival and she had found themselves pitting their fat breasts against each other, Bianka let herself go to find out what lay beyond the caution and the concern.

“I assure you, girl, that I can milk a cow a lot faster and harder than you can,” she replied with a slightly cracked voice. Then, suddenly, two more words escaped from her mouth: “Any cow.”

Under the bluish light of the night sky, Bianka could see a few beads of sweat glistening on Melania’s forehead and neck, her own bragging delivering some of the defiant energy that she had just received from the brunette.

“Just listen to me, Bianka, and listen to me good,” Melania said. “Anytime you want to compare our milking methods, I will be happy to show you how it is done south of the Alps.” She made a pause of a few seconds. “You white cow.”

The Austrian beauty’s skin crawled as the Italian accompanied the nickname with a cheeky glance at her bountiful bosom, so she herself looked down at Melania’s dense bust to reinforce the strength of her own defiance.

“I’d love to compete with you to see who is the best at milking,” Bianka responded. “Then you would see how much better we squeeze the cow’s udders on this side of the border.” She waited a moment before continuing. “You black cow.”

In front of the white-haired girl, Melania’s body trembled slightly. Bianka’s watchful eye noticed what looked like erections in the center of the brunette’s substantial breasts, but the black fabric of the summer dress and the night veil made it tricky to be sure Melania’s nipples were as hard as her own—the possibility, however, made Bianka nervously lick her plump mouth.

“We can have that competition, if that is what you want,” Melania murmured before biting her lower lip. The small pause quickened Bianka’s heart, her mind starting to saturate with crazy premises about how to decide who milked better. “Isn’t there a cattle fair in Brennero in two days? My mother and I are going to introduce our dairy farm there, so maybe you could stop by and show me your skills…if you’re not afraid of a little public exposure. They say the town gets crowded at the fair, so there will be no shortage of people watching us milk our cows.”

Somehow, that challenge slightly relaxed Bianka. The wild ideas that had begun to penetrate her were swept to the back of her psyche by a surge of rationality, so the Austrian pulled in her own reins to restrain herself.

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “The cattle fair in Brenner,” she emphasized the German name of the town as opposed to Italian Brennero, “is a perfect opportunity to show everyone to continue to trust mine and my mother’s farm, instead of wasting time and money on inexperienced new people.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, white cow,” Melania grunted. “No fucking idea…”

“You black cow,” Bianka confronted. “You’re the one who doesn’t know what she’s getting into. If we…”

The sudden, unexpected screams of the rivals’ mothers and the barking of their dogs interrupted the Austrian milkmaid.

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Choosen by Pizzaline07. Words: 619 words.

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INSPIRATION: DARIA DEREVIANKINA