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23 pages

English

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Eight Maids a-MilkingCaptured in the desert, Lord Spencer Goldtop finds himself imprisoned...in the Sultan's harem of delectable wives. But he hasn't suffered the usual fate of any man who sees the wives naked - why wasn't he executed on the spot? It is because the Sultan, temporarily incapacitated, cannot satisfy the desperate ladies. He decides Lord Goldtop must do the job whilst he and the palace eunuchs look on. Manfully, Lord Goldtop performs his duty with the voluptuous bosomy beauties, again and again and again. Along the way he discovers the excitement of milking the frustrated eager maids, developing talents of which he had only dreamed. But in doing so, can Lord Goldtop delight them and the Sultan enough to save his skin? Perfumed with exotic scents, hot with suppressed lust, this tale of voyeurism and oiled breasts will take you straight to the mysterious east without even having to leave your own bed.The Captain and the MilkmaidIt is 1652 and Humility Chastaine is living a dangerous lie. Having escaped her life as a milkmaid, clipped her hair and dressed in boy's clothes she has escaped on a four-masted schooner bound for the New World. Feisty and resourceful, can Humility keep up her deception among a ship-load of men? If they discover her secret she will surely be ravaged senseless. All life is here, and Humility witnesses some serious on board action among the lusty seafarers that both astonishes her and ignites her own passion. Will the cruel Captain Blarne with a scar sliced across his face discover and punish her for her lies? Action and suspense on the high seas leads to a stormy, steamy night of unbridled passion where the milkmaid is more than happy to be milked.

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Erotic literature

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	06 décembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781781662526
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
EIGHT MAIDS A-MILKING
A short lactation story set in the mysterious east
By
Kitti Bernetti

Publisher Information
Eight Maids a-Milking
Published in 2013 by House of Erotica
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
An imprint of Andrews UK Limited
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Copyright © Kitti Bernetti 2013
The right of Kitti Bernetti to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Eight Maids a-Milking
‘My Lord, the Sultan’s troops are closing in on us, Let me fall on my sword for being a damn fool and leading you to this godforsaken ravine. What was I thinking?’
Lord Spencer Goldtop knew they were done for. He looked kindly on his aide de camp, slapping the man’s shoulder. A cloud of desert dust choked them both.
‘Nonsense. You are a good and faithful servant Corporal Crest. The moment we look death in the eye is not the time for recriminations. He held himself erect.’ Let us stand together and defend the King’s name against the Sultan or die nobly in the process.’
Suddenly twenty Arab stallions rounded the white tipped rocks of the ravine and Lord Goldtop was blinded, the guns of the Sultan’s men glinting in the sun. Bravely pointing his own inadequate rifle, Lord Goldtop was instantly floored by a crack to his skull which crashed him into dark oblivion. The lowdown desert dogs had crept up behind him.
Now was his moment to die.
When Lord Goldtop opened his lids, he swore he was in heaven. The air was laden with sweet frangipani. A soft breeze came from outside the palatial room he found himself in. It cleansed the baking heat. Soft cushions had replaced hard stones and a girl with eyes the shade of sapphires peered at him above a silk veil. Her enigmatic smile held a hunger he had never detected in a woman before. The Rihmoon girls with their piercing azure pupils, coal black eyelashes and come-hither looks had endangered his honour before now. Despite his thumping head, he had to be strong. Many a time he had pulled his gaze from their swaying hips, their magical eastern allure, their coffee-hued skin.
He forced himself to remember his intended, Sophie - pale, modestly dressed, reed-thin as she waited for him back in the Home Counties. He shifted to cross his legs over a traitorous swelling in his loins.
‘Do not move,’ the maiden’s voice came sweet as tamarind from voluptuous pink lips. She sponged his forehead and it instantly beaded with sweat. This darned heat, her hillocks of ample breasts pressed against him, her heady perfume made him forget himself. He shot up to a standing position. Two muscle-bound guards dashed forward, unsheaved their swords and pulled him back. He struggled like a captured animal.
‘I demand to see my Corporal, you swine. Where is he?’
A voice smooth as chocolate boomed behind Lord Goldtop, ‘Quiet!’ The Sultan of Rihmoon swept forward, arms crossed, white robes gleaming. ‘Why should a Lord fear for a mere footsoldier? I will never understand you English.’
‘Tell your brigands to unhand me.’
‘On the contrary,’ laughed the Sultan. ‘You stink of desert sweat Englishman, Now we shall have a little fun.’ His smile darkened to a frown. ‘Take him to the baths.’
Biceps straining against the guards, Lord Goldtop’s six foot frame was dragged into a room with a round sumptuous bathing pool. It reminded him of a scene in one of those talkies emerging from Hollywood. A den of vice of which Lord Goldtop heartily disapproved. Pristine white marble columns, steps down, a fountain tinkling at one end. From a balcony trailed waxy jasmine blossoms infusing the steam with their exotic scent.
Were they going to drown him? Were they going to slice off his head and roar with laughter as his blood reddened the water?
‘Throw him in,’ boomed the Sultan.
Lord Goldtop was unceremoniously hurled into the perfumed water as the Sultan took a seat on a throne at the side of the pool. Admittedly the water was warm, sweet and welcome after days in the desert. There was an air of expectancy, a rustling behind some silver curtains and even a girlish giggle. Lord Goldtop tensed muscles hardened by years in the saddle, water swirled round his thighs. His manhood proud, even at rest, lay lengthy against his leg.
‘Rhianna!’ the Sultan clapped his hands and a woman of mature years, at the height of her feminine powers sashayed in from behind the curtain. She too wore a flimsy veil which did little to hide the smile of appraisal on her carmine lips. The veil lay like a wisp of air over the most massive breasts Lord Goldtop had ever seen. Domed, like the very hills of the kingdom of Rihmoon they forced themselves into his view. They glowed with oil of myrrh. Ropes of luscious dark hair wound down her back. She wore harem pants sitting lazily on rounded hips, emphasising their swing as she toured round the pool.... observing, appraising. Her eyes never left him. Lord Goldtop couldn’t help it, but as she stared, yes, stared brazenly at his sleeping member, it began to waken. Under her unabashed scrutiny, it twitched to attention. This was a disgrace, never had a woman observed him like a piece of meat on a tray. It was unseemly, indecent. HIs hands shot over the uncontrollable swelling.
‘Uncover yourself.’ The woman purred.
‘What, how dare you?’
‘I dare very easily. Do you know who I am?’
‘No, I......’ But then light began to dawn on Lord Goldtop as the woman came closer, standing at the edge of the pool in front of him, an insolence in her stance. ‘Yes, I have seen your eyes,’ very beautiful eyes, like windows on the soul , ‘in countless paintings around the Sultanate. You are the Sultan’s number one wife are you not?’
‘That is right, which gives me considerable power over ... everyone. Including you. Outside I may be meek and mild but here in the innermost sanctum of the Sultan’s harem, I rule.’
Lord Goldtop’s eyes widened. The ladies of the harem were never seen in the flesh, no man apart from the eunuch guards were allowed in. Any male with his potency intact who breached these hallowed walls would face certain execution. He was doomed. But why had they not killed him instantly? Why had he been brought here of all places? He swallowed. Hard.
‘Will he do?’ Asked the Sultan, beady-eyed, licking his lips.
‘He will do very well.’ The corners of Rhianna’s mouth curved upwards.
‘Who shall be first?’ The Sultan twirled his moustache.
Rhianna’s eyes narrowed. There was desire there, desperation, but there was also control. She didn’t answer, she was weighing things up.
The Sultan eased back on his throne, like a man waiting for a performance to begin. He shifted and adjusted his crotch. ‘Well, my love, there are eight of you. He looks strong as a stallion and potent as a lion but even the finest steed can tire if driven too hard. Who is most in need? And who, in your experienced opinion could restart his fire even when he has been ridden to exhaustion? I know of only one woman up to that job.’ The Sultan winked knowingly at her.
She sat on the edge of the pool and dangled shapely ankles in. Rings on her toes glistened under the water. An extravagant emerald in her navel caught the sunlight streaming through the opening to the garden.
But Lord Goldtop was mesmerised by those mountainous breasts. If he was to die, and he was sure his moment had come, his last wish would be to bury himself in those mounds. To feel them close over his ears, to flick over those breasts with his tongue, to see her throw her head back and .... He shook the thoughts out of his head. His cock was rock hard. What sacrilege, what sorcery was this that had him forgetting himself? Of course he had never seen a real woman’s breasts unclothed before. He had imagined them in his dreams, in his lonely military bed.
‘I shall go last.’ Announced Rhianna decidedly. ‘You will observe each of us perform the acts my husband?’
‘Most certainly.’ Announced the Sultan, his voice a low growl. ‘Even though I cannot perform my husbandly duties at this time, it is my duty to be present to ensure my wives reach satisfaction. Afterwards, once he has served his purpose, I must ensure the blonde-haired one.’ He nodded pleasantly to Lord Goldtop, ‘is executed.