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Eve Oveden
by Eve Adorer
Synopsis:- Answering the call of necessity, Eve Oveden doubles her efforts....
Eve Oveden
by Eve Adorer
She looked down at her feet in a daydream, but as if in shame.
First assumption was pulchritude with attitude: so pretty and so seemingly petulant. She stood on the station platform adorning the dawn, delivering girl: Darwinian development’s definitive destiny.
The simmering eyes glowed glimmering green. The petal-pink lips pouted proudly. Her adorable freckles delighted a face as white as a haunted ghost’s. Her abundant abandon of radiant red hair, a cornucopia of cupidic curls, tumbled its magnificence down to her trim ankles.
In the pretty fingers of her right hand she attractively distractedly twiddled a cute curl next her passionate mouth, as if she wished the curl straight as no one else would, nor she ever unbend its very nature could.
If cloud nine houses the angels, she was five-seven of number-nine-heaven.
Though she wore them as if she were more at home without them, she inspired her clothing with delectation.
Her mint-green all-encasing, all-embracing, almost industrial-strength rubber bikini top, bulged boldly, with her bountiful bosom’s divinely divided deep-cleaved twin poundage encased and controlled.
Her midriff, with inverted navel, depicted her fitness and the fulsomeness of her flowing curves.
She wore six-inch-heeled mint-green leather clog-mules with cork soles.
Her nettle-green nylon stockings displayed the darker rings of their tops caressing Thor’s thighs. The two tails of her mint-green rubber suspenders, showing below her skirt’s hem, were regimentally straight at the outsides of her upper legs. There they hauled her stocking tops up, as if they were miscreants caught in an attempt to escape the law, and imprisoned them tightly in golden clasps.
The belt of her suspenders hugged her hips where they commenced yielding to her middle’s concavity. This was high above the waistband of her skirt; for that was the current height of fashion.
The mint-green rubber skirt clung to the rotund firmness of her derriere’s domes, delighting with the enticement its minisculity minded to hide, the known yet unknown mystery that was inside its inside. Was she a curly girly or did she shave it? Was it scenting her knickers or wore she them not? Was it kissing a lucky crotch, or flagrantly fragranting the air with its magnificent musk?
As the radiant redhead awaited her train, she twiddled one curl distracted in thought, working her lovely right leg slowly back and forth over and again as she leaned her left into its shoe: a wet-dream in a daydream. And oh my longing she would lift her dimpled chin and notice me!
“Wot yer wavin’ yer leg like dat for den darlin’? ‘As it got an itch?”
“If yer wanna rub it to ease yer itch sweet’art, don’t let us stop yer.....as long as we can watch eh!”
“Den agen, wiv dat flaming gorgeous ‘air what you got, mebe it’s on fire eh. So shall us get the hextinguisher ready darlin’, soas to be sure it won’t burn an ‘ole in yer knickers?!”
The three girls in denim dungarees urged their cheeky chief spokesgirl on. They had been as regular on the platform as the angel was new. I knew they were headed for Camford, where their artisan’s skills were repairing the aging stonework of the university’s more ancient colleges, including St Annalisa’s where my wife once lectured.
The three looked conspiratorially at me, and I longed I were not so cowardly, and could stop their bating of the beauty. But I compensated myself as I watched the angel blush, by telling myself her tormentors meant no harm, as was indeed so.
“You takin’ it for a ride den darlin’?”
“Dontcha fink dat, instead of sittin’ on it, yer’d be better off takin’ it for a run so as to keep it workin’? I mean, we’d none of us wannit to ‘eal up now would we eh’?” the second builder contributed.
“Nah: she’s takin’ it on an ‘oliday ain’t she”, the third builder chimed in, as if she knew something the others didn’t. “’Spect it needs an ‘oliday. Bet she can’t keep her ‘ands off of it. Lucky bitch; her can ‘ave a feel of it whenever she wants!”
The angel looked up, her face suffused sweet rosé, her soft green eyes stinging with tears of embarrassment teetering to topple. Her sweet look devastated her teasers.
“Sorry darlin’, but you is such a fuckin’ gorgeous babe, ain’t yer?”
........................
The ankle-length flowing gloriously glowing hair, had been shorter back then: back when Eve Oveden and I had been at our all-girls school together.
Most of us lived-in at school. Eve was a day-pupil, and came and went daily from her Aunt Serina’s home in the nearby village.
Even when she was only fourteen, she had been such a big girl. We other girls had been so jealous of her early development, or rather, developments.
Memory probably tells me false now. But my recall is that she had needed a bra by when we were still struggling to grow breasts that would even challenge to compare with the size of her nipples.
It’s probably become exaggerated, but my recall says that when we had both been fifteen, she was over-straining the strength of under-wired 38D cups while my breasts would almost only have needed a couple of thimbles to contain them.
My friends and I were jealous because all the older girls were after Eve, or, rather, after it. We never got a look in, let alone a finger. Nor had they as it happened. Though it was not for want of trying, even the head girl never got a hand in Eve’s knickers.
“No please; please give them back!” she had squeal-whispered.
She was sweet. We all loved her. Eve could have been proud and aloof, but in fact was kind and gentle. Later on we discovered that we could trust her in spite of what we knew was going on.
We nudged one another that day. We knew Eve was in one of the shower cubicles. I don’t know what came over me. We nudged each other, my best friend Ravinia and me.
Eve had been working-out, as she did pre-schoolday each morning. Ravinia and I had watched her as we shared the gym, but left early and had already showered and re-dressed.
We all wore the uniform of steel-grey skirt and white shirt, plus the horrible bottle-green school-standard knickers. Eve was in the showers and her uniform en prise in the changing room.
I was not beyond mischief back then, nor a little bit of enterprise.
Ravinia put me up to it. But, truth told I needed little persuading.
We hid. The neighbouring laundry room was empty: empty of people that is; though stacked with sweaty clothing awaiting the wash-girls arriving for duty.
We went in there and pressed over each other, hardly daring to draw breath, as we leaned on the counter and peeped through the gap between the serving-hatch doors, narrowly opened inwards by me.
Wrapped in a towelling dressing gown robe, Eve came out of the shower in full view of us. Both Ravinia and I tried not to giggle and give our game away.
Eve towelled her exposed extremities and then reached first for the uniform white knee-socks, which she rolled up to put in turn over her pretty feet, and then unfurl slowly up her heavenly calves. Although it was not allowed, and we were supposed to turn the tops over, she wore her socks like the rest of we older girls, leaving them unfolded-over, and thus covering to just above her knees.
Shy as she was, even though she had no reason to know she was not alone in the gym’s outer rooms, Eve looked around before she disrobed. But when she removed her towelling gown, my eyes could not stop themselves roaming over and over her lovely body.
Eve had had her back to Ravinia and me at first, but had then turned briefly, and I saw it smiling, and I was absolutely astonished, till I realised.
I knew, of course I knew, that I had curls around mine. I had never seen a nude one before: not on a girl my own age that is. I had, as of then, been very innocent, and not realised that some girls shave theirs.
I was astonished and looked at Ravinia, to see if she shared my surprise. But Ravinia pretended it was nothing she hadn’t seen before, and so I fell in with that, scared to show my naivety.
But when Eve bent over to round up her breasts and cup them in her bra, it flashed between her thighs, and both Ravinia and I let out a gasp that we feared Eve must surely have heard.
But Eve was too distracted. She was looking for them. She was sure she had put some on before she had made the half-hour walk to school. But what could possibly have happened to them now?
She busied herself donning her white blouse and her pleated grey skirt, tying her school tie the while, then putting her feet into her slip-on flatty-shoes, as her mind raced and she began to doubt she had worn any.
Her training shorts and sweated-up tee, joined her trainers and towel in her holdall, while her sweet face still showed she was thinking over whether she had remembered to put some on.
Then, as if she had forgotten it all along, Eve had removed her shower-cap, and the glory of her golden curls slow-motioned erotically to her shoulders, and then her shoulder-blades, and then down her back to her bottom, bouncing and flouncing, with Eve shaking them casually into compliance with draping in unison down to the back of her knees, as she buttoned the cuffs of her blouse as if the totally tantalising titian torrent was of no significance.
Later, as she sat nervously in class, I had passed a note to tell all the other girls that it was bare, because I had Eve’s knickers, and that it was a dollar a sniff.
There were thirty girls in our class. With one flash of Eve’s knickers behind the teacher’s back, to show I was telling no lie, I made twenty-eight one-dollar promises in an instant.
I was of course first to scent the passion-du-femme with which it had blessed Eve’s knickers’ crotch. Mine was free. But, before I would pass the knickers on, I had insisted that even my thief-in-partnership, Ravinia, promise to pay for the pleasure.
When she realised I had hold of her knickers, Eve had blushed scarlet.
“No please; please give them back!” she had squeal-whispered, blushing beautifully as she watched the pleasure with which her most feminine aroma, its musk-poisson, was being enjoyed by her classmates.
Our teacher, Miss Strickland, turned in an instant at Eve’s whisper.
Fortunately, Magdalena Fortesque had the knickers well hidden at that point.
Or at least she thought she did. But Miss Strickland demonstrated that she was not known as ‘old hawkeyes’ for no reason.
“Let me see exactly what it is that you are holding under your desk Fortesque”, the crone-like middle-aged spinster croaked in her high-pitched voice.
“Come on girl. Don’t try to play games with me!”
Magdalena had no choice other than to show the bottle-green knickers, turned inside-out as they were, the better to smell where it had nestled.
“My goodness me: what disgusting things you girls get up to! To whom do those soiled pantaloons belong? Come on! Either one of you tells me, or you will all be made to stand up and prove you have your draws on!
“Please Miss. They’re mine Miss”, Eve had confessed, and we blessed her for her sacrifice in covering for us.
“Eve Oveden! I am surprised at you girl! You are the brightest pupil in the school, let alone this class....yet you apparently think it funny to sit in class with no underwear on, passing your bloomers around as if to prove you have taken the dare? And I see that money is changing hands. So, you not only took the dare, but you also intend to profit by it Oveden.”
“What shame this brings on you and your family”.
Miss Strickland now lifted the lid of her desk, and took out a calendar with which we were all familiar, for we were all named on it at regular intervals.
........................
Miss Strickland’s favourite punishment was to have girls caned in mid-period. She had had all us living-in-pupils tell her our cycles, and, even if nature was more flexible about the margins, she issued out our ration of sanitary towels in strict accordance with her desk calendar: her ‘Periodic Table’ as she called it. Even though Eve was a day-pupil, her name and the cycle of her bleeds had still been entered up by Miss Strickland.
The behaviour of the headmistress was not that predictable though. And the next I saw of the gorgeous Eve, she was clinging closer than a vine, staring adoringly into the headmistress’ eyes as they walked about the town.
We never saw her in class again.
It seemed as though Eve had not been caned. She had been sent to the headmistress for punishment, and ended up in her bed instead. After that, the only time we saw her, was when we glimpsed her about some domestic duty around the garden at the side of the school: the garden of the home she shared with the head.
Though she had become the headmistress’ mistress, Eve was too lovely to take advantage. The scope she had for telling tales about us, to get revenge for my stealing her knickers that day, was obviously immense. But the only pillow-talk she indulged, appears to have consisted solely of her orgasmic screams.
Thanks to her intimacy with the head, she also missed the end of school appointments.
I did too, but then I had matriculated. I had passed the entrance examination with flying colours and was headed for Camford University.
Eve, having not studied since she was fifteen and become the headmistress’ chosen bed companion; a perk allowed in the head’s terms of employment; could not possibly have gone on to college. But she also missed the sad sight of the other girls who had failed matric, being lined up and told of their future as if they were being insulted.
“Bitch; bitch; pony; bitch; pony; oinkgirl; pony; bitch...” the headmistress and Miss Strickland numbered them off. Half my class, half Miss Strickland’s class, were condemned to being trained into the roles that had long been decided for them if the failed matriculation; failed to make the list for a university place.
And believe me, when you have seen one of your fellow schoolgirls after she has been trained and forced into the straps that bind her legs to her thighs, with the pads on her hands and knees, bound so she has to crawl naked for her owner on collar and leash...when you have seen one of your former school-friends, bound as a bitch, being serially shagged in the park by Alsatians, while her wealthy owner gossips with her friends as if nothing extraordinary were occurring, as indeed nothing extraordinary is, given the world we now live in, where there are too many girls and too few jobs.... when you have seen such a sight, you are glad you made it to college.
........................
She had not noticed me on the platform. Eve had been too distracted by her tormentors. They, shame faced, sweetly let her step aboard the train in front of them, making exaggerated ‘gentlemen’-like low bows at which she giggled and blushed, pleased at their attention to her femininity.
They had an ulterior motive of course. So did I. So did I for holding back a while before boarding. Our thoughts were as one. Her skirt was so short, we wanted to see if she would flash when she stepped up onto the train.
At the very least we hoped to see signs of whether she was wearing any panties. But we had, of course, all noticed that she had no visible panty-line, and, if our luck was really in, and hers was not, and she wasn’t, she might. The best things in life are free, and we were hoping that it was.
But she knew the builders were watching and why, and both her pretty hands were deployed to anchor her hem, till she was aboard and could turn to give the teasing artisans a lovely blushing smile and blow them a kiss from her sweet palm, as if to say ‘you didn’t really think you were going to get to see it that easily did you?’.
And even though the smile was not from the lips they, we, had wanted to see it from, they wolf-whistled her thighs loudly.
....................
But my luck was in that day. She looked up nervously. She must have been concerned the artisans would follow her to her seat on the train, because they were sniffing after it of course.
Her eyes lit up when I sat opposite her. Her eyes lit up and her face glowed and I fell in love with the ghostly apparition with the curled golden mantle that draped its torrential titian twists to the seat either side of her.
And as I moved into my seat opposite her, I had seen how her skirt was so short that her strong bold round smooth thighs, were bare above her stockings’ tops and way beyond. And I knew, I just knew, that she wore no knickers, and was sitting with it blessing her seat.
“Oh, Dora, how lovely!” she cried and touched my hand in greeting, and I instantly dampened my panties and blushed.
And then it was as if she knew her devastating affect, and she withdrew her soft fingers, and flushed with embarrassment in turn, before turning her burning face into one gorgeous smile.
We were both twenty-five now. Having taken a first at Camford in pure and applied maths, I was in public health, and had been inspecting farms. Today I was headed for Market-Clitton. I had been travelling this way daily for a week now, hotelling in Spindon and taking the train out to the neighbouring villages: finishing my journey by hiring a ponygirl-cab where necessary: all on expenses of course.
“You were always the clever one”, Eve smiled, as if she could read my mind.
“And you are still the beautiful one”, I responded, “Your hair is so gorgeous...!” I continued, as if the hair alone, although it was absolutely stunning, were the only source and substance of Eve Oveden’s outstandingly exceptional beauty.
“Thank you Dora. That’s so lovely of you”, Eve responded.
“You’re terribly pretty yourself you know. I always fancied you dreadfully when we were at school. I could never understand why you and your friend, what was her name...”
“Ravinia?”, I prompted....
“Yes, of course it was...you and Ravinia... I don’t know why you hated me so.”
“We...I never hated you Eve. God no! I was head-over-heels for you...so was every girl in the class, every girl in the school I shouldn’t wonder...you were...you are just so damned gorgeous we... I never thought I had a chance with you”.
“But you... you in particular, Dora... you only had to ask....”, Eve assured me, now it was far too late.
She sat back in her seat, and I looked at the wondrous strength of her thighs: thighs her risen hem hardly troubled to cover. She had not crossed her legs, and so I tried not to think about it scenting her seat, though my eyes longed she would part her knees so that I might just be able to glimpse if it was still shaven.
As if she knew my compulsion, with long slim fingers, and impractically long fingernails, she arranged perfectly the already perfectly arranged top of her right stocking, before checking her side suspender, with her tempting mouth pursed in a sultry moist sulky kiss.
“I’ve been working on my legs in the gym” she then whispered, with a shy sideways look that said she knew I could just not take my eyes off her thighs, and a voice that said ‘please tell me they are pretty’.
“Yes” I said. “I heard those three girls whistling at them when you walked onto this train!”
Eve opened wide her innocent green eyes, and I instantly drowned in the dark pools of her pupils. It was a look that said ‘thank you for the compliment!’.
“Are you still with Miss Cumberbach?” I hurriedly enquired, referring to the headmistress to whom Eve had become a fifteen-year-old lover ten years since.
“No; Lesley and I split up last year. It was a mutual thing, but such a problem. I mean, I wish I had been clever like you and Ravinia. It was too late for me though. I became a housewife for Lesley, and had too much to do to carry on my schooling. Lesley couldn’t afford maids, not on a headmistress’ wage. So I had to do everything about the house and garden. Then, when we split up.... well... I had no career and no chance of one and no income. Thank goodness though that my Aunt Serina was willing to take me on at the farm, where she brought me up since my parents died all those years ago. She had a vacancy for a dairy manager, and that’s been me for most of the last...well...I reckon it must be fourteen months now rather than a year.”
“Of course we’ve had a hard time of it more lately, what with the customer demanding fair trade and free-range. And I’ve had to take a change of position, but I’m still in charge of the herd, even though Aunt Serina now organises the farm and markets the produce and all the things I used to do when I was manager for her.”
“And I have to acknowledge that the yield is up now we’ve gone free-range: there’s nothing like contentment among the herd it seems. The scientists were right. And so were the customers too of course. The customer is always queen they say. Though in our case of course, the first customer is, or was, the supermarkets, and they drive a very hard bargain, what with them being nearly a monopoly outlet.”
“It was their demands and the free-range decision that lost me my management role; the supervisory one Serina has taken on herself once more. I mean it had to happen or else we couldn’t compete on price. But Serina is so clever, and she has come up with a deal to supply the Royal Milton hotel chain direct.”
“It saves on some of the travelling for the herd you see. The individual hotels can provide a stall in their cellar or back yard somewhere, and Serina has come to an agreement over feed for the animals we loan out. And she’s got other marketing ideas too.”
“We’ve... I should really give her the full credit, because it’s been entirely Serina’s thinking and doing...she’s not done more than just the milk before. I mean we sold it to the supermarkets and made a living. Nothing too grand you understand. We couldn’t even afford a ponygirl, except for the working ones of course, and you can’t saddle them: though we had...she has a little two-seater cart, but the herd walks itself up from the station, so we...she doesn’t need to ride out and round them up or anything. Cattle are much more clever than people give credit. But Serina’s decided we’ll do cheese and that, and market it direct. That way we’ll.... she’ll cut out the supermarkets, and go to the famers’ markets held in the villages: even Spindon town’s market is within her thinking and range....”
I watched this stream of breathless-prose, mesmerised by Eve’s mouth and drifted into a dream as I listened to the dream. As her lovely lips kissed out her words, her beauty shone. She knew she had me smitten, and was thus relaxed and openly fully feminine. The charm with which she would occasionally sweep back her curls with her long fingers, fascinated: it was as if she were conducting the orchestra of love. Her fingers would also often emphasise a point by her touching my knee. As she leaned forward to do that, completely unselfconsciously, I just thought of the scented print it could be leaving on her seat as she pressed toward me.
“....so I’ve been on a two-week course, and everything’s fine and dandy, though my nose is still a bit sore, but I’m well over the silly little head-cold I had by now, and now I can contribute my share and it’ll start tomorrow, or rather it better had”, she concluded with a punctuating giggle, but in my dream and admiration of her wonderful presence, I had lost track of what the lead-in for this last point had been.
“So now you’ve done the course, you can do your new job, leading the herd like you said earlier, better?” I ventured, in hope I had picked the right theme.
“Exactly! Or rather, I’ll now be able to take the task up...” she breathed sexily, and then smiled so sweetly, I was as pleased as champagne that I had not upset her by not listening properly.
“And what are you doing these days?” Eve then whispered confidingly, as she innocently enthusiastically lightly touched my knee once more, to point out she was addressing me intimately personally as it were.
“Me? Oh I am so boring, compared with what you’ve been experiencing.... I married Ravinia five years ago...”
“Oh: you two married: how lovely!” Eve breathed, and her adorable face told no lie that she was telling no lie about her sweet sincerity.
“Yes. It’s the one good thing that has ever happened to me. Ravinia’s over in the States lecturing at Vale. I’m just the dowdy stay-at-home housewife now, but I do part time work at the Department of Agriculture. Thanks to Ravinia’s earning power, we’ve got a palatial home in Camford near St Annalisa’s College where Ravinia lectured before she took up an offer from Halvard, and moved on to Vale. I’m just out and about from the office at the mo, hotelling it while I health-check local farms...”
“I’ve got your Aunt’s place on my list to visit”, I added, “At least I think I have.”
I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out my palm-top to find my checklist.
“Is Half-Yard Farm your Aunt’s place? I was never sure where you lived when we were at school... ‘cept I knew you walked all the way in from Market-Clitton of course...”
“That’s Aunt Serina’s place alright, and that’s where I’m heading right now; now I’ve finished my course....” Eve enthused....”..., she then suddenly nodded at the view out the window, a view I soon shared as the train passed the spot she was indicating: “Look there’s our old school”. I wonder if old Strickland is still having the girls spanked when they are on their bleed: the cruel bitch...”
That was the first unkind word I had heard Eve utter, and I wondered if I had been wrong after all, about her being caned over the time I stole her knickers. And the sudden mental picture of her bending over, and touching her toes with her fingertips, while getting six of the best with the cane on her bare bottom, naked other than for the sanitary towel between her legs, made me ooze momentarily.
“.....with me?”, Eve concluded suddenly.
“Sorry” I said..“I’m so sorry, Eve, I lost you for a moment”, I apologised.
“What were you thinking about?” she queried with a shy blush, and I flushed up in turn at the thought that she might know I had been day-dreaming about her being caned by Miss Cumberbach.
“I was asking if you could make my aunt’s place right now. We’ll have to be quick. We’re nearly at the station. Serina’s in Hondon signing the hotel deal; but I can show you around...and we can have a good chat about the old days?”
“It’s a bargain”, I answered.
As I let her go before me, she thanked me sweetly for paying honour to her higher, indeed her highest femininity.
And I watched her blush as we passed the artisans and one of them called out to her:
“Hey now! You look after it darlin’ d’yer hear me? Put some ice on it. That’ll cool it down for yer!”
Then, when one of the builders saw me following and assumed that Eve and I were together, she added under her breath:
“You lucky bitch! Give it the full five fingers for us eh!”
......................
As we stepped off the train, I had never seen a girl blush as wonderfully as the gorgeous Eve was doing. And the fact she had reddened up so readily and so beautifully, made me realise that the crude remarks from the builders had aroused her, and that it was probably wet”.
As the train we had just exited pulled out to journey on:
“Hello Miss Eve! You come to brighten us all up again have you? My, you do look so lovely...” the cheery station-mistress called, as she turned away from counting a row of tall galvanised-steel churns, to eye Eve over.
“D’you know, I’m sure there were a dozen this morning Miss, and there be only eleven now. Still, that be my problem don’t it? We’ll get a full twelve empties out your Aunty’s place this evening some’ow.”
“You on your own today? I ain’t seen a day you wasn’t bossing over them when you was about...Your Aunty took off for Hondon on the early train. You been away?”
“Mornin’ ma’am”, the smiling station-mistress then added, touching the peak of her cap in salute, when she, at last, noticed me and realised that Eve was not in fact alone.
“Wrong time of day for the herd coming back yet”, Eve smiled.
“O’ course it is! Course it is!” the station-mistress responded, “Spect they’ll be loaded on the special this evening as usual. ‘Ere, you’re trusting them a bit, letting them wander out there on their own aren’t you?”
“Free-range?” Eve reminded.
“Oh. I ain’t got no time for them new fangled old-fashioned notions. What if they goes a wandering off? You’ll stand to lose some Miss Eve. Not like when you had them in the sheds all the time... It’s a wonder you can keep account of them now, letting them wander around and mix like that. ‘Taint natural if you asks me....not these days it ain’t...”
“Hey they’ve all been asking ‘bout you down the Dolly Chick. ‘Where’s the gorgeous Miss Eve been this here last fortnight’ they keeps a saying. Fair stops me enjoying my pint of beer it do...”
“No they don’t ask any such thing!” Eve blushed, “You’re just teasing me”, she added with a loving smile, “And, since it’s really you that’s itching to know, I’ve been at the veterinarians taking a course, learning how to inoculate and such”, she concluded.
The station mistress smiled. “So the rumours were right then. You is going to head them up proper...”
“Yes: the rumour was right Dorothea...you can tell them down the Dolly Chick that I’m very happy about it too....Management was too big a role for me. Aunt Serina is far better at it, and better off without me messing up the stats for her...” Eve added, as she wiggled ahead of me toward her Aunt’s farm, and we left Market-Clitton Station’s platform behind.
......................
“Dorothea is so lovely, but she’s getting forgetful. She can’t be far off retiring now...” Eve confirmed as we walked out of earshot.
“That’s the road that takes you to our old school” she then pointed out.
“Half-an-hour’s walk each way each day it was for me. Even if there had been a station next to the school I couldn’t have afforded to take the train. Aunt Serina always said that, anyway, walking would ensure I had pretty legs”, she giggled, and I looked again as Eve intended I should, and Aunt Serina had not been wrong.
......................
It was a two-minute stroll to Half-Yard Farm, and, on our arrival, I had to try and hide that I was shocked at what I saw.
I instantly knew, or at least thought I knew, that I was going to have to mark this place down badly for the ministry, and maybe get its licence withdrawn.
Hygiene was top of the list for my assessment. This place was scruffy and run-down, and, as we walked into the main yard, I was already beginning to think I would have to recommend it be closed down, and that the herd of cattle would have to be taken in for sale; or slaughtered if there were no takers.
As if she could read my mind, Eve assured me, with a tone of complete confidence: “We have a gold star from all of them for our cream. All four supermarkets have assessed us. And we passed their other tests at either silver or, in one case, platinum....”
“The sheds you can see right now have been neglected, because we no longer force farm. We’ve still got five in battery cages. But that’s because they have been with us so long, they couldn’t face the free-range. But their produce is kept strictly separate. It’s all consumed on the farm. We’d lose our licence for free-range if we ever let their output into the main product.”
Eve spoke enthusiastically and knowledgeably, as if she were still her aunt’s dairy manager.
“Come into this one”, she beckoned. I followed and, in spite of its outer appearance, I was agreeably surprised at what was inside the shed she led me into.
As Eve turned on the lighting, I was dazzled by the spotlessly clean white tiles that covered floor and walls up to ceiling-height.
“We’ve converted this one completely. The standing cages used to be along the centre with the cattle facing inwards. The old conveyor belt, the type of thing with which you’ll be familiar, was running the feed into the troughs. It was always a problem getting the speed right so that the greedier cattle didn’t starve the ones at the end of the row though..... So we went for individual hopper-feeds in the end....But this shed never got converted to those..”
“Talking of cages, we were always on the humane side, with three-foot-square standers. Our neighbours, the Mourdens, were prosecuted for keeping their cattle in the old two-footers. When their cattle were let out by your ministry people, some of the poor creatures could hardly walk.”
“Over there are the showers. All the cattle go through the shower when they come in from grazing. Rinsers and then hot air dryers next. Then they find their way to their own bays.”
“You don’t half get some squabbling sometimes, when one of them gets forgetful about where to stand. But, now we’ve gone free-range and they get some exercise, rather than standing in the cages 24/7, they’re much more peaceable as a whole.”
“Mind you, the cattle-trains to take them out and about are an expense. Your ministry only subsidises one journey per day. That only pays for them going out or coming back of course. Mind you, we should be glad of the subsidy I know...”
“It’s all mechanical these days. Unfortunately, the hand-milking went out with the ark. That’s why each of them needs to know its own bay, after all, they are none of them quite the same height.”
“When you throw that switch over there, the collection pipe is on constant fluctuation-suction, so it milks each udder, turn-and-turn about throughout the milking session. There’s a two-way valve on the milkers in each of the bays. The cattle know where to stand in relation to the valves. On suction, the draw is powerful enough to hold their teats in, but it’s as well to go around and check the milkers are all on properly: after all, spillage is lost money.”
“The flow on the pipe can be reversed. So after each milking session, when the cattle are sleeping or out grazing again, we can blow boiling water through to clean the pipes and suction valves by scalding them out.”
“The milk collects in the tank outside. We’re still putting it into churns from there at the moment, but we’re hoping to get on the collection-tanker route when we can up production to a level that would justify the economics. We’re only farming two-hundred head at the moment.”
“We’ve still got the old straw-strewn sheds for overnighting the cattle. And there is plenty for them to graze on in there. It smells a bit of course. But the manure they produce by defecating and peeing in the straw there, though not in the quantities it was when they stood on straw in their standing-stalls, still gets custom. In fact the price is up now free-range farming has reduced its availability”.
“This is Aunty’s latest investment” Eve enthused, as she bent over straight legged, to open a locking-bolt at the bottom of a door and, forgetting how short her skirt was, gave me a fleeting glimpse of it in all its pristine smooth-shaven wonder.
In an instant, she realised what she had done, and rose up pulling down her skirt’s hem, with both her pretty hands fluttering like butterflies impaled alive by some cruel lepidopterist.
She was crimson with her embarrassment, and her lovely mouth was open and gasping as she tried to control her hot flushes, till she could manage to speak....
She then whispered, with her lovely eyes cast down in adorable shyness: “I hope you enjoyed that.....”
I longed to take her hand and kiss it. I sensed Eve was expecting as much if not more, and that, if I wanted to feel it she would not stop me. But I was a faithful wife.
“This is Aunty’s latest investment” Eve repeated, with her eyes showing that she was hurt by my not taking her and kissing her as I longed to do, and as she longed I should.
“I’m so sorry Eve”, I whispered.
“That’s alright Dora. I understand. What a lucky girl Ravinia is to have such a wife”, Eve assured me, with her lovely face depicting the absolute sincerity that was her essence.
“It’s all rather boring really....”
“Oh god!... I mean the machine!!” Eve stumbled out, apologising for saying something she thought might have been taken as a comment about myself and Ravinia and our marriage.
Her dainty hand flew to her mouth and a look of such apology was on her face.
“I knew that you meant the machine, Eve” I assured her, to calm her.
“Well, it’s just a churn”, Eve added a while later, opening a lid on the waist high device, as she continued to blush scarlet at what she had thought I thought she might have meant.
I had not seen such a device before. I mean I had, but not one with holes at the base of the barrel: holes that would let the fluid, as I thought, simply flow onto the floor. But a government employee, even a part-time one like me, has her pride. And I was not going to show ignorance and risk asking a question that would make me look stupid.
It was made from spotlessly clean stainless-steel. I looked more thoroughly over into the circular-barrel-like main body. Within it was an arrangement of four cleanly scrubbed wooden paddles or blades, fixed to a wheel at the bottom of the barrel.
The paddles looked for all the world like table tennis bats held vertically upright, with their handles mounted firmly onto that stainless-steel wheel at the barrel’s bottom.
The blades of these ‘bats’ were arranged such that four of their edges were aligned toward the centre of the barrel. So, seen from above, in the plan view, the ‘bats’ were aligned such that they would have made an ‘X’, if the inner edges of the upright blades had actually touched.
“The blades are removable for washing: for hygiene?” Eve explained, as she smiled in near giggles at the puzzled look on my face.
Then, as I watched, the blades began to move, as the wheel went 180 degrees one way, before going 180 the other, alternating direction, turn and turn about.
The wheel did the swift 180s, the rigid ‘bats’ therefore followed suit. The speed was quite brisk, but there was a pause too. The wheel did a brisk half-turn one way, paused for an equal time as that half-rotation had taken, and then did the reverse half-rotation after another pause.
“The pause is the clever bit of the design” Eve enthused “It enables advantage to be taken of the natural reverberations the blades obviously cause”, she added, to my complete puzzlement. “We found this design on a consumer survey and recommendations website. It scored 99 out of 100, and topped the list by a mile. Apparently, some models just flick away, with no allowance made for resettling before the next flick....”
I looked over at Eve, who switched the power back off again. And, as I looked further around this device, she explained its accoutrements.
At one side was a wooden block fixed upright at the level of the edge of the barrel and a little beyond. Opposite to that, on the ground, were a couple of wooden wedges, made like two opened bellows, with their pointed ends indicating straight down to the floor.
“Top and toe ends”, Eve smiled.
I was still quite mystified.
“The supporting legs of the barrel part can be adjusted for height. And the mettle strap that goes over the barrel when the lid is open, just click-locks into place on the side opposite its hinge. That is just for holding in place. That strap is very slick and quick”, Eve assured me, as if I understood.
“Bet you’d never guess we had to import it from Japan, unless I told you”, Eve giggled, as she put the lid back over the device once more.
“We tried so hard to support British industry, by buying from home. But the Japanese, and the Chinese come to that, are a billion miles ahead with the modern method of production. The knowledge they have gives them a monopoly for now. We’ve only just caught on to the new way here and over in the USA.”
“This one is the Nonda 573. It’s the newest on the market. The Chinese products are cheaper, but they’re playing catch-up with the Japanese. However, the Chinese make the Hanikia ‘Double-Flick’, the old Nonda 450 under licence, and it is reportedly still proving exceptionally reliable, even if the design is a bit old-hat now.”
“The British kit is stone-age by comparison. Would you believe they’re still making hand-cranked ones for the old method of production?! Though I suppose that may come back into fashion, what with environmental considerations and the cost of power going up. But our...my aunty’s calculations are that its efficiency means that, with this little machine, we’ll be well in profit despite the cost of power. We can use the overnight off-peak cheaper electricity to some extent you see... If this one produces the goods, we...she’ll maybe get a whole bank of them installed...” Eve enthused informatively.
“Well...that’s the grand tour done”, Eve now sighed. “The other sheds are being repaired and converted to the same as this one. Then the herd numbers can be upped.”
“Are you sure there is nothing I can tempt you to?” she then whispered in a tone that told me she was being sweet, and gently teasing me, knowing that, if she had something saucy in mind, which her gorgeous eyes said she did, ‘no’ would be my inevitable answer.
“I need to see the overnighting quarters please Eve”, I reminded her.
“Oh my god! Of course you do!” Eve exclaimed as she swept her gorgeous golden tresses up over one arm, to keep them from trailing on the floor of where we were headed.
“This way Dora, but we’ll both wish we had some boots on, and a clothes peg for our noses. We are overdue mucking the stalls out in there, and the smell is rather ripe to say the least!”
.....................
Eve must have known that I could not take my eyes of her legs. I could tell she knew because, as she strolled ahead of me, she stopped a moment in order to straighten a stocking-suspender that needed absolutely no attention.
I put no blame on her for her continuing attempts to seduce me. She was a driven girl. I knew that its tender beauty was exposed under the minimality of material that apologised for claiming to be her skirt.
She obviously now knew I knew. A considerable part of her loveliness was her drive to be desirable, and one way in which she achieved and maintained her desirability, was by dressing so skimpily and, outside of a beach bikini, never ever wearing panties.
It itself was, of course, very wilful and skilful at girlnipulating her mind. She was so incredibly attractive and so supremely feminine, because it completely ran her life for her.
Eve’s giggles when I was gasping in the ammonia-like stench from the urine-soaked straw gathered inside the unventilated cattle-overnighting shed, bought lovely tears of laughter to her beautiful eyes.
“As you can probably testify, Dora, we try to encourage them to pee and defecate away from their stalls, but some of them are just a bit lazy in that regard, so we have to ensure the straw in here is turned over daily, else we might get an outbreak of acid-rash.”
“We muck out and change the straw completely about once a month or six weeks, it depends. Remembering there are two-hundred head in here, they soil fresh straw pretty darn quickly. But they like us to hang on to it in the winter for the heat it gives off. And Aunty doesn’t mind, because that saves on power bills, and the market for manure goes down at that time of year anyway.”
“If you recall Moorhouse, the tomato people? Come the spring, they can’t get enough of the stuff for their glasshouses.”
“The only other problem a farmer gets with them, is their natural tendency to get a bit frisky with each other. Self-abuse was the problem when they were intensively farmed in the cages; but that was easily cured by binding their upper limbs behind them: I mean they had no use for them anyway.”
“But now we’ve...now Aunt Serina has gone free-range there’s a different problem. I mean the cattle that suck the milk from others in the herd. That’s a definite no no. You get an outbreak of that, and production and profits go down the pan in no time. I know the public don’t like the culling, but from the farmer’s viewpoint there really isn’t a choice. After all, the milk doesn’t belong to the cattle.”
“We...Aunty separates the milk-suckers from the herd, and feeds them up from their own udders for twelve-months. There’s still a bit of a market for milk-fed-yearling meat, provided the carcass is lissom.”
There had been a golden giggle in Eve’s soft voice throughout her informative lecture. She was watching my eyes smarting in the stench of the shed, and enjoying teasing me for my determination not to show that which I was totally failing to hide.
“Let’s go outside Dora. You look as if you need the air!” she giggled with her eyes aglow.
..........................
Once outside, I recovered but, from the tears in my eyes, Eve would not have known it.
My tears were now because I knew I had to say goodbye to this adorable creature, or else I was going to fall for her eternity-time.
As I sorted myself out and dabbed by eyes, pretending the stench had still got the better of me’ Eve huskily breathed: “Aunty won’t be back for hours yet.”
Eve understood my tears completely. She had been angling to seduce me. There was no sinfulness in that. It was just her natural way. She was, after all, a girl.
Her ghostly white face with the honey-sweet freckles came close to mine, and I could scent the soft freshness of her glorious hair, and the sweetness of her breath, as her holy eyes stared through to my very soul.
“There’s plenty of time. We can share a shower, and then you can shag me if you want to......”, she whispered, “No one will ever know Dora. I promise I will always be discreet”, she added.
I cast my eyes down and blushed as I dampened my panties.
“What: not even a kiss?” she giggled.
I reached my hand to brush my fingers on her heavenly cheek, and she instantly held me by that wrist, and blessed my hand with the glory of her lovely mouth, by a gentle kiss on its palm.
“Oh well, I need to get down to it before Aunt Serina returns. Can’t be wasting the expense she’s blown to send me for that course in Spindon. She’ll be wanting results, especially since she’s got the hotel deal in the bag....” Eve continued afterwards, with a note of hurt and disappointment in her sweet soft voice.
“May I.....may I see it?” I begged.
Eve blushed crimson, but her pretty hands reached down, and, with some struggle because her rubber skirt clung to her ample buttocks so intimately, she hitched her hem up, and I gazed at it, I gazed at its innocent nudeness, I gazed at it in worshipful wonder.
“You can hold my hand while you look at it, if you like”, she shyly whispered.
I took the sweet hand she proffered, turned it gently over, and kissed its palm with my lips, and she lowered her head with her blushes, and then raised it in pride at her unsurpassable beauty: including the unsurpassable beauty she had between her gorgeous legs.
.........................
The next day at breakfast at the Spindon Royal Milton, I ordered just toast as usual, and began to look at the rear headlines in my newspaper, which I always turned over to look at the sports pages first.
“Would modom wish for special fresh butter with modom’s toast today?” the pretty serving girl asked, to my slight surprise, since there were pre-packed pats of butter in a dish on the table ready to hand.
Before now, I had been quite content with plain toast, not even using the healthy cholesterol-reducing margarine also on offer, superior brand though it was in that excellent hotel chain.
I thought about my diet and my figure. Then I thought about the sinfulness of such an indulgence, and my curiosity got the better of me. What was so ‘fresh’ or, come to that, ‘special’ about what she was offering me I wondered: I mean as compared with that already near to hand?
So: “Yes please” I replied, and the maid clicked her fingers and I turned to see whom she was directing.
And I turned open mouthed with astonishment at seeing Eve Oveden being led toward my table by a shiny stainless-steel ring through her pretty nose.
She was naked but for cloven-hoofed booties in which her stupendous legs were raised as if she were in higher than the highest high heels. Her slim wrists were girlackled helplessly behind her back under the superlative curls of her glorious hair.
She was naked but for those hoof-booties and a pair of very-tight-clinging black rubber knickers, of standard school-issue design, with the elastic particularly tight around the tops of her thighs.
As she undulated in almost an ungulate ruminant’s way to my table, Eve’s massive bare breasts slowly swung in majestic heavenly heaviness and unison. And, as she came closer, I witnessed the tender translucent pinkness of her exquisite nipples, and the blueness of the filigree of gentle veins that the transparency of this wonderful redhead’s soft white complexion displayed in her breasts.
It all fell into place in my mind now. It was not an educational course she had meant when she spoke to me of it on the train. She had become one of the cattle at her own aunt’s farm. She had been on the usual course of injections. Nine-inch long needles through her nipples would have pumped her ducts full of ‘Lactomake’ twice per day for a fortnight, to bring on her milk.
She was reduced to being one of the two-hundred head of cattle her aunt farmed, just like the pretty girls that hang around Spindon town centre all day now, now free-range is the way of farming once more.
They have become a conspicuous but very attractive nuisance at the local MacDonuts, eating junk food and drinking cola and giggling and laughing lovingly as they eye up the other girl customers.
Pretty little creatures in their day-to-day clothes now they are free-range: day-to-day clothes but with the lines of their tee-shirts, or other choice of tops, disturbingly disrupted by the hugely strong conical-cup rubber brassieres they need to wear in order to contain and restrain their very heavy breasts.
Their obviously very generous chests mark them out, along with the steel controlling-rings through the septum of their cute little noses, and the cloven hoof booties on their dainty feet. The erotically musical tinkling sound of their giggles is another sign of them.
In the summer, they sun their legs in the parks, and chase each other at the funfairs. When they are not talking excitedly about their wished for and dreamed of choice of girlfriends, they love to watch the soap operas on TV, and gather at their parents’ homes to do that, so that they can swap notes at MacDonuts afterwards.
They are not shy of showing their knickers either. Often in their giggling chases, one catches sight of the school-issue-style rubber knickers they wear to gather their pee and faeces.
They are taken for granted now they are such a familiar sight. It is not always recognised that, at the end of each day, these girls walk or take the cattle-train back out to their base farm.
There they strip their sweetly sweating young bodies naked in the sluice trough, dropping their heavily soiled rubber knickers there where their contents will be washed out to form slurry for spraying farm fields prior to crop-sowing.
After that, they step up out of the trough, and enter the shower-cum-bidet and are washed clean by the soapy water from above and coming up from the floor.
Rinsing jets follow in the next-room showers. Then they are blow-dried in the last room.
Wiggles and giggles usually follow them, as they stroll very-heavy-chested to their appointed stalls in the dairy shed, where the milkmaid will remove the clips that guard against loss from the nipples through seepage, wipe their nipples with disinfectant, and then attach the nipples to the machine which milks each of their breasts alternately in constant rapid succession.
The girls waiting their turn to be milked, love to groom the hair of the girls who are in the process of being milked.
After milking, their nipples are re-clipped, and they drift, naked, to their overnight shed, where they will watch soap operas on TV or DVD till they fall asleep: contributing to the manure in the sleeping stalls when they need to pee or defecate.
The next morning, they are showered and dried, before being milked again, and before their lovely chatter and giggles fill the outer parlour, as, after being smeared with protective ointment, sun-block plus anti-acid-rash treatment, they put on fresh-washed rubber bras then their clean rubber knickers, then their choice of outer clothing for the day. Finally they don their cloven-hoof booties, and hold each other’s pretty hands, as they walk to the station to be taken out to graze and laze around the town once more.
These are the girls who have failed university entrance qualifications, but were sufficiently well-endowed by loving nature, to make it worth spending 200 dollars on a course of ‘Lactomake’ to bring them into useful production.
And, as the hotel servant pulled on the strap attached to her nose ring to haul Eve over to my table, I heard Eve gasp with pain.
And Eve’s glorious hair draped the floor as she glided toward me, hauled not a little cruelly by the ring in her nose, till her curls fell over her shoulder as she bent over my breakfast table, and her hair draped its wonder before my flared nostrils, and I breathed the sensual scent of her curls, as I ogled the massive breast she was proffering for me to milk.
Eve was dutiful and made no show that she knew me.
And the waitress pulled hard on Eve’s nose ring again to pull her down literally and spiritually, and Eve gasped with the pain and whispered a pleading: “Oh please....!” And I looked at this glorious creature and the wonder of her entirely natural forty-four-inch bosom, with her superb nipples distended by her being filled with milk, and then between her immensely strong thighs, where I could see the mound its supremely delicate beauty was making in her rubber knickers
And I recalled when I had seen it when we had been at school. And I remembered the wonderful passion-du-femme I had scented in her stolen knickers in class at school. And the memory of her bending over at the farm and flashing it, and how I saw that it was still shaven, and that it looked as innocent now as when she had been at school. And I knew that, although I could smell the lovely aroma of her freshly shampooed raging-red hair, where it was concerned, she would only ever tease and taunt me, just as she teased and taunted the builders on the train with it, just as she had purposely ensured I could see she was wearing no panties on the train, and had purposely sat with it bare on the seat to deliberately excite me with the thought of it, and just as she had purposely provocatively flashed it when she had bent over at the farm.... And I was sure that, despite her offer, she never really meant to let me have intercourse with her....
And I now realised fully why Eve had been travelling on the train, and what that strange machine at the farm was.
I was a bit of a clown not to have worked it out before. I am not particularly technically minded, but had heard talk of the existence of such devices, and that the far-east had them when there were none in the Britain as of then. The one at the farm run by Eve’s Aunt Serina, must have been one of very few in the country. Britain was still using hand-cranked machines, to produce the desired end-product from the fluid itself, fluid poured into the barrel that was then briskly rotated. The machine Aunt Serina had acquired was different from that entirely.
Poor Eve!
Poor Eve!
Poor Eve, must have been strapped all night over the churn, with her breasts dangling helplessly in the stainless-steel barrel, so that by the churn constantly paddling her clipped-closed breasts: threshing her breasts that were filled to bursting with her milk, relentlessly flicking each breast, with paddles slapping each breast, twice each way every other second, to batter them back and forth, and forth and back for endless hours upon hours upon hours, the churn would make butter inside her breasts: the churn’s paddles would make Eve’s milk into butter inside her beautiful breasts.
The Nonda 573 churn had been designed to make butter within a girl’s tits: making butter inside the girl, so that this morning, after a night with her breasts being constantly paddled in the girl-churn, poor Eve could have her breast squeezed, and fresh dairy butter would ooze from her nipple onto my toast.
And the waitress pulled hard on Eve’s nose ring again, and Eve gasped with the pain and whispered a pleading: “Oh god please....!”
“If modom would care to squeeze the whoreox’s breast for herself...onto her toast...”, the serving maid prompted, as she held Eve by the leather rein run to, and knotted through the ring in Eve’s nose...
And I looked at the supremely delicate, supremely lovely, almost transparent pink nipple...
And......... “Oh...No! No thank you!” I insisted, “I don’t want to indulge myself with that. Even girl-butter is soooh fattening, and one so has to watch one’s figure these days...” I explained, to justify my change of whim.
But the real justification was evident in the crotch of my panties, for as Eve Oveden was led away by the steel ring she had had forced through the septum of her nose, and I watched her lovely side-dimpled bottom in her rubber knickers swinging, and her beautiful hair trailing its flames of desire’s fires over her ghost-white skin, my panties were wet with the pleasure of getting my own back. Because I was wet with enjoying her suffering, and trying not to show that I was having an orgasm at the hotel’s breakfast table: an orgasm in revenge for Eve never letting me feel it, let alone finger it, let alone kiss it, when I had worshipped her, when I had worshipped it, back ten years since when we had been at school; and because I still did worship it, and she knew I could not feel it, let alone finger it, let alone kiss it, because I was married.
In my twisted mind of the moment, I hated Eve and wanted her to suffer being kept as a whoreox and milked, or having her beautiful milk-filled breasts paddled for endless hours in the girl-churn, because, in my lust-twisted mind, it was Eve Oveden’s fault that I was married and not married. I wanted Eve to suffer her living hell, because I had momentarily determined that it was Eve’s fault that I was not married to Eve.....
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