Granville and the Milk Woman (don't go where they invite)

Granville and the Milk Woman (don't go where they invite) Granville and the Milk Woman (don't go where they invite)

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Granville and Arkwright finally get it on with Milk Woman and Nurse respectively. For one of them it will be an experience they will remember the rest of their lives.

Summary

Granville and Arkwright finally get it on with Milk Woman and Nurse respectively. For one of them it will be an experience they will remember the rest of their lives.

Content

Submitted: March 17, 2016

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Content

Submitted: March 17, 2016

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Granville and the Milk Woman

(Don’t go where they invite)

 

“Ger-Granville, fetch yer cloth, and when you’ve done that lock up, I’m off over the road for a ber,ber,bit of supper and maybe, ber,bask in the fireside glow of a state registered ber,ber, bosom – very bare, I hope.”

Yay, thought Granville, after locking the last of the six locks and bolts, unknowingly rubbing his hands in a suspiciously Arkwright manner. Freedom! can a young Hungarian ask for anything more, an early finish (8.00, instead of 9.00) and a lie in on Sunday morning (7.00) and I’ve got the Milk Woman to entertain until at least 10.30…I wonder if she’ll do more than kiss me and give me a pot of yoghurt? This after she kissed him full and hard on the lips – and catching the two milk bottles he dropped in surprise. her parting words this morning still thrilled him.

“I’ll see you tonight,” adding with a seductive smile, ” and I’ll bring me own yoghurt.” Kissing him on the astounded nose, “A young executive should be able to get really creative with a pot of yoghurt.” Further adding as she pulled away in the electric milk cart, “Or he’s not worthy of the title.”

He set the ambience, tuned the radio to BBC Radio Leeds, smooth sounds for Saturday nights. He didn’t need to dim the lights, just turn off the main light, leaving just the two wall lights, the bulbs in them were dim enough due to Arkwright’s meanness.

The next task was to put stuff on both of the armchairs, this left only the sofa, an old but comfy two seater, just perfect for milk women and executives. He heard the knock at the back door…I’ll show her who’s worthy of the ter,ter,title, shit, I’m starting to think like Arkwright now.

Opening the door, he saw nothing but his salvation, no woolly hat, jeans or thick shapeless Parka now, but a vision of recently divorced, Northern Dairy’s loveliness, her short dark hair, freed from the woolly hat, no Parka to cover a trim but curvy figure, clad in a shortish pale yellow and orange striped dress, under a leather coat of the same length. High heels and the sheer stockings she had bought that very morning – at considerable discount, he hadn’t minded making up the balance, (Arkwright gave discount to nobody) because, stockings meant…suspenders.

She had a handbag on one arm, the other behind her back. With a big grin and a ‘ta-da’ she produced a large pot of plain yoghurt.

“I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to put that…and not the fridge, nothing worse than too cold yoghurt, brings me out in goose bumps…all over.” She walked past his amazed face, saying “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Come…” he faltered, realising she was already into the kitchen and heading into the back room.

“I intend to.” She added in a cryptic manner.

He scurried after her, she twisted out of her coat in one sinuous movement throwing it over one the box of canned peaches sitting on the armchair, rummaged in her handbag, pulled out a bottle of Martini Bianco, patting a round bottom.

” Asda price, I’m not paying your prices… you can supply the lemonade.”

He tried and failed to act executively, “cool doll, excellent, erm vintage, erm, choice, erm…I’ll get the lemonade erm...?” well what do you call recently divorced milk women

She smiled ’that’ smile and saved him from himself hinting,” Barbara; I’ll get the lemonade Barbara.”

“I’ll get the lemonade,” he savoured the name. “Barbara.” as he walked into the shop in a dream, to select lemonade.

A voice followed him, “None of that Tizer or Irn Bru either…R Whites Lemonade.”

He pulled one from under the counter and automatically put his hand in his pocket, he took the 50p over to the till, then stopped, he had a feeling that tonight of all nights he was going to need all of his fingers and put it on the flat of the till under the keys until tomorrow.

He sashayed back through the door into to the room in what he thought of as the manner of very posh wine waiters holding the neck of the bottle lightly between finger and thumb supported by the palm of his other hand.

He got as far as, “Shall I pour Madam’s Lemonade…? Which turned into “Chuffin ‘eck, you’ve taken all your clothes off.” Well except for suspenders and stockings, indeed she had.

“Of course I am, I don’t want t’get yoghurt on me new dress, hurry up and shut that door, there’s a terrible draught. Then come over here and help me eat this yoghurt.” Starting to put blobs of white creamy yoghurt on her firm recently divorced, milk women’s breasts and nipples, which were as hard as the silver tops on the bottles she delivered.

“In fact, I think you’d better slip out of your clothes too, it’ll be bugger to get out of all that nylon, as well, I wouldn’t want to make extra work for you come washing day.”

 

On crossing the road, Arkwright knocked on the door which opened to reveal…Grocers’ Heaven. (Grocers’ with compulsory misplaced grocers’ apostrophe) Albeit the NHS version.

There stood nurse Gwladys Emmanuel in all her flame haired state registered glory…His face fell, she was still in uniform.

“What’s up, you haven’t got to go out on a ker,ker,call ‘ave you?” Then he looked again, his keen grocers’ eye spotting the lack of white apron, an abundance of straining bosom due to an apparent lack of corsetry.

“Come in y’daft lump,” grabbing him by the arm, “and quiet, I don’t want to wake me mother, there’s no need to give the neighbours too much to talk about either.”

He followed her down the hall, happy to observe the mesmerising movement of unfettered bottom. They went into the Parlour, standing on the Welsh dresser (of course, what else) stood six, one-pint bottle of Newcastle Brown, two empty, get yourself outside of one of those, she indicated, then pour one for me while I go an sort the supper.

He picked one up and noticed the sticker, bloody Tecso he thought, them and ASDA will be the death of the corner shop.

“Why didn’t you get these from me?” he complained.

“What?  pay your prices.” she said, over the rattle of china from in the kitchen.

“I’d’ve given you a der,der,dis; der,der,dis; der,der,dis…”

“You can’t even say der,der,discount, never mind give one.”

“Happen you’re right, but It’ll all be yours wer,wer,when we are wed my eisteddfod petal.

“Shut up and drink your beer Arkwright.”

“Fer,fine way to sper,speak to a ner,nearly married Grocer.” He mumbled.

A fine smell preceded the entrance of an even finer Bosom, an un corseted Bosom that threatened to take his attention from two hot steaming Steak and Kidney puddings

“Home made these, not from Tesco.”

“And very nice too.” he said, leering at the twin delights of finest Welsh Bosom.

“I’d even shop at Tesco meself, If you could buy that sort of quality there, not many of those to the pound.”

“Shut up and eat your pudding before it gets cold.”

“I’d rather eat them before ther,ther,they get cold.” Nodding at her chest.

“Maybe for dessert added the nurse in an encouraging manner – Eat.”

 

Granville was out of his clothes in double quick time. The Milk Woman took in and impressively large, even in a semi hard state, dick.

“Maybe they’re all right what they say about your Dad.”

“What do they say then?” knowing full well, having heard all the tales.

“They say your dad was a Hungarian Horse man from the steppes, but you won’t need a step will you Granville?”

“Not with you lying down there I won’t…I’ve always thought,” he said pulling himself up to his full height. “That the blood of wandering gypsies ran through my veins.”

“And I can see where it’s all running to,” she said, as his dick got bigger still. “Come and eat your yoghurt.”

He was beyond shyness now, not much point with them both being bollock naked an’ all. He pulled the foreskin back to reveal and Impressive reddy/purple knob-end, he held it up to her.

“Do you like yoghurt on everything??”

She laughed, “Later Granville, me first, you later,” holding out a hand to him. “Come and eat up all your yoghurt before I tell you off.” He lay down next to her, licking and sucking until he had cleaned off all the yoghurt. She put more on, it was a big pot, “Keep sucking.”

He did, until he could stand it no longer, his dick shot load after load of his own yoghurt into and all around her belly button.

“There, there, that’s my boy,” she said, rubbing his head then, pressing it into her breasts, “Get it all out for Barbara, squirt it all over me, I’ve waited months for this.”

Granville could feel himself drifting away on a cloud of ecstasy, it was like he was out of himself with pleasure.

A voice cut through the fog, “Kneel on the floor.” He complied unthinkingly. She swivelled round, placing her legs either side of him.

Granville gorged his eyes on the first actual naked honest to god pussy he had ever seen. He saw a pronounced mound lightly covered with a Vee of fine brown hair, beneath which, a curved slit that glistened with some sort of viscous liquid.

His own personal recently divorced Milk Woman scooted down a little, placed her heels on his shoulders and opened her legs – wide…and It all unfolded before him.

She took a large handful of yoghurt and slapped it on her mound and gaping pussy with a flourish.

“EAT.” she commanded and he obeyed, the yoghurt soon started to disappear. She held his head still. ” It’s bad manners to rush your food.” He tried to lift his head to say sorry, but she pushed him back in to her pussy. “It’s also bad manners to speak with your mouth full too.”

Deep in the back of what was left of Granville’s brain he noted the taste had changed from yoghurt to an earthier taste and there were interesting nooks folds and things now revealed with the disappearing yoghurt, that needed gently and then not so gently sucking and licking.

Soon the yoghurt pot fell unheeded to the floor. The Milk Woman held his haze filled head in a grip of steel, her hips rose again and again to thrust against his still wet and getting wetter, but yoghurt free face.

“Granville, Granville, Granville,” she muttered in time to the thrust of her hips. Then, with a final loud almost scream of “GRANVILLE.” Arched her back until only her shoulders and heels supported her, while trying to pull his mouth and tongue as far into her as she could.

She fell back to the sofa, taking Granville with her but only in the physical sense, he was still lost in the heady world of Milk Woman pussy.

 

 

Nurse and Grocer sat watching the TV in middle aged companionship on the sofa, a glass of after dinner Sherry at each elbow, she, nestled in the crook of his arm, the hand on the end of which was seemingly toying with the top button of her blue nurse’s dress.

She lightly slapped at his hand. ” Stop fiddling with it.”

“What else can I fer,fer,fiddle with then.”

“Just undo it before you snap the thread.”

Never backward in coming forward Arkwright undid it, then tried for another

I wer,wonder how many I can un,der,do? He thought, ay-up, I’m even starting to ster,stutter in me own head now. He did three more before his fingers ran out of targets in reach.

“Ow.” said the Nurse, “ Give over, you’ll pull me head off me shoulders if that arm of yours tries to force those fingers to another button.” then added something Arkwright in his wildest dreams…and he’d had some wild ones with her as the Star… never expected to hear her say this side of a Wedding Certificate.

“ ‘Ere, let me do it.” And she did, she popped the next two in fact. The reaching her left hand across, slid it in and under flipping one big, brown nippled, white skinned, blue veined breast out into the fresh air, repeating the action with right hand and left breast.

“I’ve decided you need some encouragement.” she said half turning to pull his head to its long awaited idea of heaven.

As his hands fingers lips and tongue went exploring she lay back contentedly, gently rubbing his head. She glanced at her wristwatch, won’t be long now she thought.

 

The Milk Woman lay back exhausted, Granville lay forward similarly exhausted but not Idle, even as he drifted off he kept a gentle flicking action going with his tongue at all the newfound attractions laid out before him in their pink glistening glory.

He didn’t notice it, but she did, the time between the licks was getting longer and longer.

Won’t be long now she thought…and it wasn’t.

 

 

Arkwright slowly fell asleep on those twin peaks of Grocer Heaven. Not before time she thought, I didn’t really want to get them out, still it wasn’t that bad a way to pass ten minutes.

She slipped out of his clutches, a thick brown nipple reluctantly falling from his mouth with a slight ‘pop’…’E’s a persistent bugger, you have to give him that she thought as she quickly stuffed her wet, slippy tits back under cover.

She put on her ‘going out’ coat and hat, grabbed keys and handbag, gently closing the front door, she opened up the trusty Morris Minor.

 

 

“Granville, Granville.”

“Yes.” said a dreamy far away voice.

“Get up and get dressed we have to go out.”

He did,” Get dressed, going out.” he whispered.

The Milk Woman stood, picked up a bra then panties to give herself a quick wipe over, then stopped. Pussy first she thought, I don’t want to wipe up Granville’s cum, then wipe me pussy with it…just in case. She cleaned up as best as she could, balled the panties up in the bra, put them in her bag, slipped on dress, shoes and coat.

“Put your coat on Granville, It’s a bit nippy, you could catch your death out there in just a shirt.”

She eventually got them both outside into the entry. Soon the sidelights of a white Morris Minor pulled around the corner. She stuffed the compliant Errand Boy in the back seat and got in with him.

“How is he?”

“Docile.”

“No change there then.”

“Arkwright?”

“Fast asleep good for a few hours,” said the nurse as she drove off, “he put up a bit of a struggle though.”

“About eating the pudding?”

“No, falling asleep, I had to let him get at my tits and suck on them to get him relaxed.”

“That’ll do it every time, babies or full grown grocers.”

“No difference.” said the nurse with a laugh, “babies are less trouble though. How did you get it into Granville?”

“Put it in the Yoghurt, then put the yoghurt in my pussy, he lapped it up good style.”

“I bet he did the greedy begger,” she looked back in the mirror with a grin at the slightly blushing milk woman, “still I bet you enjoyed it.”

The Milk Woman blushed some more. “Best 14p. I ever spent.” she said, as they drove on into the night.

“Did you clean up properly?”

“Yes and I locked the back door from the outside with his own keys and put them in his pocket.”

“Good Girl.” said the nurse with a smile.

After 10 minutes they were out in the country, heading for the Moors. Soon they passed a long high brick wall on their left, arriving at a large wooden gate with a sign saying ‘Fell Top House’.

“You have to give Rene Tattersall credit,” said The Nurse, to nobody in particular. “She fell on her feet here.” then beeping her horn.

A face poked round the wooden gate, then a hand pulled the gate open. They drove in

“You’re the last.” said ‘make your mind up Mavis’, as she shut and locked the gate behind them, then got in the passenger seat.

Granville was led into a barn where 10 women in various stages of undress, not many of whom were ever going to see 50 again and many of which his mind registered as customers, all turned to look at him then went back to undressing. Some were already putting on a black woollen shift.

The Widow Featherstone, however put on a red one as befitted her status. She went over to The Nurse and Milk Woman, who, as they were already minus their under ware due to their early evening exertions, had both put on the black shifts in quick time.

“Right then how’s young Granville? Pliant? How did you get the powder into him?”

“Put the powder in the yoghurt and the yoghurt in my Pussy.”

“He’s still a Virgin?” she snapped.

“If you don’t count tongues then yes, but he did cum all over my belly button.”

“Pah! nothing; if he didn’t put it in it counts for nowt. Get him stripped off and out into the Standing Stones.” Then she went over to the recently divorced star of the show, Young Julie, who was just sliding a white shift over her head

“All set young Julie, got it good and wet? I hear that Granville is bigger than he looks…Right Ladies chop, chop.” she said, “Mrs. Blewett, get them organised before it rains will you.”

“Right you are Delphine.” and she set about chivvying the slow coaches.

Granville watched all this with a distracted air, he was here but he wasn’t. It was like a he was watching a film, seeing things from his eye level, but every third of forth frame as it were, he was looking down at himself.

He was first stripped off, then led into the circle of standing stones, where he was helped, unresistingly to lie down on a flat rock about 3ft high. He could see the stars and clouds scudding across the moon and without too much effort he could also see his dick stood up straight and hard looking for all the world like it was an Apollo space mission aimed at the moon.

I hope Mrs Fer,fer,Featherstone (as he always thought of her after too many years listening to Arkwright) doesn’t see, but then re-thought it, deciding, I don’t care anymore, not me, not a Hungarian errand boy who’s eaten yoghurt from a Milk Woman’s pussy, drifting off into further fond recollection…if you could buy yoghurt that tasted that good you’d make a fortune.

He felt two hand s grip his shoulders then saw the upside down face of Mrs Featherstone bending over him.

“Lay back and enjoy this Granville, there’s a good lad, you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”

Thinking, if Mr Featherstone had a dick like that she wouldn’t be a Widow either, well not for as long as she had been. But big virile dicks only last so long, but a tidy Parlour, which remained tidy due to lack of a Mr Featherstone being there to mess it up, was a thing to savour for ever.

Granville was out of himself again, looking down on proceedings. He could see Mrs Featherstone stood at his head, with Mrs Ber,ber,Blewett on her left and Mrs Ter,ter,titty,Tattersall on her right at 11 and 1, O’clock as it were. The Milk Woman and Make your mind up Mavis were at 5 and 7 O’clock. Dressed in white at 6 O’clock was jer,jer,jellytot,Julie. He saw her walk forward and step up on to the raised shelf…she stood there hesitantly.

Granville’s eyes were back in his head looking out again.

“Julie.” Admonished Mrs Featherstone sharply. She reached down, grasped the white shift with crossed hands and pulled it over her head. He saw the magnificent bright ginger thatch, tits bigger than they looked with clothes on and pink nipples that hardened in the cold night air.

She wet two fingers and rubbed at her pussy, was still wet and ready, the drink they gave her earlier saw to that. She moved forward, until one foot was either side of Granville’s hips, squatting down, she took his dick in both hands and rubbed it’s glistening precum soaked knob end up and down her lips until the parted with a silent wet sound.

Impaling herself on him with three slow thrusts sank down upon him as far as she could go – “ugh, ugh, UGH.”

She started with a back and forth grinding motion her clit taking the full force. Then she leaned forward kissed Granville gentle on the lips and in a low voice said

“Sorry Granville.”

What’s she sorry for? though Granville, sorry, who’s sorry not me, this is the best night of me life.

“Julie.” warned Mrs Featherstone, “none of that now.” Julie sat back up and increased her pace. She could feel herself starting to cum, her pussy twitching on Granville’s dick, she thrust deeper, she could fell Granville was starting to cum as well and she nodded to Mrs Featherstone.

‘Granville Vision’ went to look-down mode again. How does it do that? he though in one corner of his brain, the small piece that was not totally involved in Jelly tot Julie’s pussy.

He could see Julie writhing and grinding on his dick while one hand pulled and rubbed tits and nipples, the other went to her clit as she and he, started to come. Her head, neck, back, her whole upper body arching as the power of the orgasm wracked her.

His look-down vision saw Mrs Featherstone raise her hands over her head. In them she held a knife, a shiny black wickedly sharp looking thing that looked like it ought to belong in a Mexican museum, not in the hands of a Yorkshire Widow on a Saturday night.

It plunged down.

Ow, thought Granville, that’s got to hurt, as his vision went back to horizontal mode again…I wish it would make it’s mind up he thought, all that jigging about, I can’t see what’s happening.

Back in ‘real-time’ he felt the thud! On his chest, hey give over with that. The pain came at the same time he and Julie did, he kept cumming, Jelly tot Julie with her jiggling jugs kept cumming, she screamed in ecstasy, he screamed in agony. The surrounding Women screamed in triumph.

Mrs Featherstone just grunted at the effort of sawing her way up Granville’s chest, thinking, either Granville’s tougher than he looks or I’m getting too old. Maybe it’s time to pass the mantle over to somebody else, like the Nurse, she’s a big strong woman, she has to be to keep that Arkwright at arm’s length for so long.

She finished sawing and did a bit of fine filleting, putting the knife down she plunged her hands in to his chest and pulled out the bleeding, still beating half Hungarian heart.

Hey, that’s mine, you can’t do that, I need it.

NO, GRANVILLE YOU DON’T NEED IT ANY MORE, THE MILK WOMAN WOULD ONLY BREAK IT ANYWAY.” said a sepulchral voice.

“No she wouldn’t.” pleaded Granville, “honest, she wouldn’t.”

“LOOK ABOUT, DOES SHE CARE? DO ANY OF THEM LOOK IS IF THEY CARE?”

“No,” said a crestfallen Granville, who by now was stood to one side, next to a tall dark hooded figure he could only see when he didn’t look at him. The figure was holding a Scythe in one skeletal hand and the reins of a white horse in the other.

“Not really, not now you mention it.” Watching Mrs Featherstone daubing Jelly tot Julie’s pussy and nipples with his bloody, but by now, still heart to the cheers of the other 11 women.

“Julie; Julie; Julie; Julie.” They chanted, while Julie beamed in pleasure and orgasmic afterglow.

“TIME TO GO.”

“Go?  go where?”

The Scythe flashed and Granville went…like he had a choice

“LETS JUST SAY TO A PLACE I KNOW THAT REALLY IS, OPEN ALL HOURS.”

 

The blaring end of the Match of the Day music woke Arkwright.

By the ‘eck. he thought, I’m sure they per,per,put something in that Newkie Brown.

He looked at the topless nurse next to him as she woke.

“Who won?” she mumbled.

Arkwright eyed up those magnificent State Registered Mammaries.

” Looks like I did…2-0.” He said and started to kiss the big brown nipples with renewed vigour.

“Give over.” she said pushing him away, “get off home, it’s past midnight.”

“Ser,so it is and these have turned into delicious Pumpkins” and he lowered his lips to savour them.

She stood. “Right that’s your lot” pulling her tunic together trying to get a few buttons done up as she chivvied and shushed him down the hall and out the door.

As she locked the door she thought, for a stuttering grocer he really knows how to treat a Welsh Woman’s Bosom. That and Delphine Featherstone retiring.

Me, Head of Coven, fancy that…All in all not the worst Saturday Evening I’ve ever had…My cup runneth over, well they would if I had a bra on, still struggling to button up the reluctant Bosom. She stopped, sod it let them hang out, I’ll be in bed soon enough anyway.

Pity about poor Granville, still Jelly tot Julie will have something to show for it all in 9months.

 

Old Yorkshire song (after Thackeray)

Upon this moon lit night,

Don’t go where they invite

Because the Castleford Ladies Magical Circle

Meets tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ger-Granville, fetch yer cloth, and when you’ve done that lock up, I’m off over the road for a ber,ber,bit of supper and maybe, ber,bask in the fireside glow of a state registered ber,ber, bosom – very bare, I hope.”

Yay, thought Granville, after locking the last of the six locks and bolts, unknowingly rubbing his hands in a suspiciously Arkwright manner. Freedom! can a young Hungarian ask for anything more, an early finish (8.00, instead of 9.00) and a lie in on Sunday morning (7.00) and I’ve got the Milk Woman to entertain until at least 10.30…I wonder if she’ll do more than kiss me and gyoghurt.” Further adding as she pulled away in the electric milk cart, “Or he’s not worthy of the title.”

He set the ambience, tuned the radio to BBC Radio Leeds, smooth sounds for Saturday nights. He didn’t need to dim the lights, just turn off the main light, leaving just the two wall lights, the bulbs in them were dim enough due to Arkwright’s meanness.

The next task was to put stuff on both of the armchairs, this left only the sofa, an old but comfy two seater, just perfect for milk women and executives. He heard the knock at the back door…I’ll show her who’s worthy of the ter,ter,title, shit, I’m starting to think like Arkwright now.

Opening the door, he saw nothing but his salvation, no woolly hat, jeans or thick shapeless Parka now, but a vision of recently divorced, Northern Dairy’s loveliness, her short dark hair, freed from the woolly hat, no Parka to cover a trim but curvy figure, clad in a shortish pale yellow and orange striped dress, under a leather coat of the same length. High heels and the sheer stockings she had bought that very morning – at considerable discount, he hadn’t minded making up the balance, (Arkwright gave discount to nobody) because, stockings meant…suspenders.

She had a handbag on one arm, the other behind her back. With a big grin and a ‘ta-da’ she produced a large pot of plain yoghurt.

“I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to put that…and not the fridge, nothing worse than too cold yoghurt, brings me out in goose bumps…all over.” She walked past his amazed face, saying “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Come…” he faltered, realising she was already into the kitchen and heading into the back room.

“I intend to.” She added in a cryptic manner.

He scurried after her, she twisted out of her coat in one sinuous movement throwing it over one the box of canned peaches sitting on the armchair, rummaged in her handbag, pulled out a bottle of Martini Bianco, patting a round bottom.

” Asda price, I’m not paying your prices… you can supply the lemonade.”

He tried and failed to act executively, “cool doll, excellent, erm vintage, erm, choice, erm…I’ll get the lemonade erm...?” well what do you call recently divorced milk women

She smiled ’that’ smile and saved him from himself hinting,” Barbara; I’ll get the lemonade Barbara.”

“I’ll get the lemonade,” he savoured the name. “Barbara.” as he walked into the shop in a dream, to select lemonade.

A voice followed him, “None of that Tizer or Irn Bru either…R Whites Lemonade.”

He pulled one from under the counter and automatically put his hand in his pocket, he took the 50p over to the till, then stopped, he had a feeling that tonight of all nights he was going to need all of his fingers and put it on the flat of the till under the keys until tomorrow.

He sashayed back through the door into to the room in what he thought of as the manner of very posh wine waiters holding the neck of the bottle lightly between finger and thumb supported by the palm of his other hand.

He got as far as, “Shall I pour Madam’s Lemonade…? Which turned into “Chuffin ‘eck, you’ve taken all your clothes off.” Well except for suspenders and stockings, indeed she had.

“Of course I am, I don’t want t’get yoghurt on me new dress, hurry up and shut that door, there’s a terrible draught. Then come over here and help me eat this yoghurt.” Starting to put blobs of white creamy yoghurt on her firm recently divorced, milk women’s breasts and nipples, which were as hard as the silver tops on the bottles she delivered.

“In fact, I think you’d better slip out of your clothes too, it’ll be bugger to get out of all that nylon, as well, I wouldn’t want to make extra work for you come washing day.”

 

On crossing the road, Arkwright knocked on the door which opened to reveal…Grocers’ Heaven. (Grocers’ with compulsory misplaced grocers’ apostrophe) Albeit the NHS version.

There stood nurse Gwladys Emmanuel in all her flame haired state registered glory…His face fell, she was still in uniform.

“What’s up, you haven’t got to go out on a ker,ker,call ‘ave you?” Then he looked again, his keen grocers’ eye spotting the lack of white apron, an abundance of straining bosom due to an apparent lack of corsetry.

“Come in y’daft lump,” grabbing him by the arm, “and quiet, I don’t want to wake me mother, there’s no need to give the neighbours too much to talk about either.”

He followed her down the hall, happy to observe the mesmerising movement of unfettered bottom. They went into the Parlour, standing on the Welsh dresser (of course, what else) stood six, one-pint bottle of Newcastle Brown, two empty, get yourself outside of one of those, she indicated, then pour one for me while I go an sort the supper.

He picked one up and noticed the sticker, bloody Tecso he thought, them and ASDA will be the death of the corner shop.

“Why didn’t you get these from me?” he complained.

“What?  pay your prices?” she said, over the rattle of china from in the kitchen.

“I’d’ve given you a der,der,dis; der,der,dis; der,der,dis…”

“You can’t even say der,der,discount, never mind give one.”

“Happen you’re right, but It’ll all be yours wer,wer,when we are wed my eisteddfod petal.

“Shut up and drink your beer Arkwright.”

“Fer,fine way to sper,speak to a ner,nearly married Grocer.” He mumbled.

A fine smell preceded the entrance of an even finer Bosom, an un corseted Bosom that threatened to take his attention from two hot steaming Steak and Kidney puddings

“Home made these, not from Tesco.”

“And very nice too.” he said, leering at the twin delights of finest Welsh Bosom.

“I’d even shop at Tesco meself If you could buy that sort of quality there, not many of those to the pound.”

“Shut up and eat your pudding before it gets cold.”

“I’d rather eat them before ther,ther,they get cold.” Nodding at her chest.

“Maybe for dessert added the nurse in an encouraging manner – Eat.”

 

Granville was out of his clothes in double quick time. The Milk Woman took in and impressively large, even in a semi hard state, dick.

“Maybe they’re all right what they say about your Dad.”

“What do they say then?” knowing full well, having heard all the tales.

“They say your dad was a Hungarian Horse man from the steppes, but you won’t need a step will you Granville?”

“Not with you lying down there I won’t…I’ve always thought,” he said pulling himself up to his full height. “That the blood of wandering gypsies ran through my veins.”

“And I can see where it’s all running to,” she said, as his dick got bigger still. “Come and eat your yoghurt.”

He was beyond shyness now, not much point with them both being bollock naked an’ all. He pulled the foreskin back to reveal and Impressive reddy/purple knob-end, he held it up to her.

“Do you like yoghurt on everything??”

She laughed, “Later Granville, me first, you later,” holding out a hand to him. “Come and eat up all your yoghurt before I tell you off.” He lay down next to her, licking and sucking until he had cleaned off all the yoghurt. She put more on, it was a big pot, “Keep sucking.”

He did, until he could stand it no longer, his dick shot load after load of his own yoghurt into and all around her belly button.

“There, there, that’s my boy,” she said, rubbing his head then, pressing it into her breasts, “Get it all out for Barbara, squirt it all over me, I’ve waited months for this.”

Granville could feel himself drifting away on a cloud of ecstasy, it was like he was out of himself with pleasure.

A voice cut through the fog, “Kneel on the floor.” He complied unthinkingly. She swivelled round, placing her legs either side of him.

Granville gorged his eyes on the first actual naked honest to god pussy he had ever seen. He saw a pronounced mound lightly covered with a Vee of fine brown hair, beneath which, a curved slit that glistened with some sort of viscous liquid.

His own personal recently divorced Milk Woman scooted down a little, placed her heels on his shoulders and opened her legs – wide…and It all unfolded before him.

She took a large handful of yoghurt and slapped it on her mound and gaping pussy with a flourish.

“EAT.” she commanded and he obeyed, the yoghurt soon started to disappear. She held his head still. ” It’s bad manners to rush your food.” He tried to lift his head to say sorry, but she pushed him back in to her pussy. “It’s also bad manners to speak with your mouth full too.”

Deep in the back of what was left of Granville’s brain he noted the taste had changed from yoghurt to an earthier taste and there were interesting nooks folds and things now revealed with the disappearing yoghurt, that needed gently and then not so gently sucking and licking.

Soon the yoghurt pot fell unheeded to the floor. The Milk Woman held his haze filled head in a grip of steel, her hips rose again and again to thrust against his still wet and getting wetter, but yoghurt free face.

“Granville, Granville, Granville,” she muttered in time to the thrust of her hips. Then, with a final loud almost scream of “GRANVILLE.” Arched her back until only her shoulders and heels supported her, while trying to pull his mouth and tongue as far into her as she could.

She fell back to the sofa, taking Granville with her but only in the physical sense, he was still lost in the heady world of Milk Woman pussy.

 

 

Nurse and Grocer sat watching the TV in middle aged companionship on the sofa, a glass of after dinner Sherry at each elbow, she, nestled in the crook of his arm, the hand on the end of which was seemingly toying with the top button of her blue nurse’s dress.

She lightly slapped at his hand. ” Stop fiddling with it.”

“What else can I fer,fer,fiddle with then.”

“Just undo it before you snap the thread.”

Never backward in coming forward Arkwright undid it, then tried for another

I wer,wonder how many I can un,der,do? He thought, ay-up, I’m even starting to ster,stutter in me own head now. He did three more before his fingers ran out of targets in reach.

“Ow.” said the Nurse, “ Give over, you’ll pull me head off me shoulders if that arm of yours tries to force those fingers to another button.” then added something Arkwright in his wildest dreams…and he’d had some wild ones with her as the Star… never expected to hear her say this side of a Wedding Certificate.

“ ‘Ere, let me do it.” And she did, she popped the next two in fact. The reaching her left hand across, slid it in and under flipping one big, brown nippled, white skinned, blue veined breast out into the fresh air, repeating the action with right hand and left breast.

“I’ve decided you need some encouragement.” she said half turning to pull his head to its long awaited idea of heaven.

As his hands fingers lips and tongue went exploring she lay back contentedly, gently rubbing his head. She glanced at her wristwatch, won’t be long now she thought.

 

The Milk Woman lay back exhausted, Granville lay forward similarly exhausted but not Idle, even as he drifted off he kept a gentle flicking action going with his tongue at all the newfound attractions laid out before him in their pink glistening glory.

He didn’t notice it, but she did, the time between the licks was getting longer and longer.

Won’t be long now she thought…and it wasn’t.

 

 

Arkwright slowly fell asleep on those twin peaks of Grocer Heaven. Not before time she thought, I didn’t really want to get them out, still it wasn’t that bad a way to pass ten minutes.

She slipped out of his clutches, a thick brown nipple reluctantly falling from his mouth with a slight ‘pop’…’E’s a persistent bugger, you have to give him that she thought as she quickly stuffed her wet, slippy tits back under cover.

She put on her ‘going out’ coat and hat, grabbed keys and handbag, gently closing the front door, she opened up the trusty Morris Minor.

 

 

“Granville, Granville.”

“Yes.” said a dreamy far away voice.

“Get up and get dressed we have to go out.”

He did,” Get dressed, going out.” he whispered.

The Milk Woman stood, picked up a bra then panties to give herself a quick wipe over, then stopped. Pussy first she thought, I don’t want to wipe up Granville’s cum, then wipe me pussy with it…just in case. She cleaned up as best as she could, balled the panties up in the bra, put them in her bag, slipped on dress, shoes and coat.

“Put your coat on Granville, It’s a bit nippy, you could catch your death out there in just a shirt.”

She eventually got them both outside into the entry. Soon the sidelights of a white Morris Minor pulled around the corner. She stuffed the compliant Errand Boy in the back seat and got in with him.

“How is he?”

“Docile.”

“No change there then.”

“Arkwright?”

“Fast asleep good for a few hours,” said the nurse as she drove off, “he put up a bit of a struggle though.”

“About eating the pudding?”

“No, falling asleep, I had to let him get at my tits and suck on them to get him relaxed.”

“That’ll do it every time, babies or full grown grocers.”

“No difference.” said the nurse with a laugh, “babies are less trouble though. How did you get it into Granville?”

“Put it in the Yoghurt, then put the yoghurt in my pussy, he lapped it up good style.”

“I bet he did the greedy begger,” she looked back in the mirror with a grin at the slightly blushing milk woman, “still I bet you enjoyed it.”

The Milk Woman blushed some more. “Best 14p. I ever spent.” she said, as they drove on into the night.

“Did you clean up properly?”

“Yes and I locked the back door from the outside with his own keys and put them in his pocket.”

“Good Girl.” said the nurse with a smile.

After 10 minutes they were out in the country, heading for the Moors. Soon they passed a long high brick wall on their left, arriving at a large wooden gate with a sign saying ‘Fell Top House’.

“You have to give Rene Tattersall credit,” said The Nurse, to nobody in particular. “She fell on her feet here.” then beeping her horn.

A face poked round the wooden gate, then a hand pulled the gate open. They drove in

“You’re the last.” said ‘make your mind up Mavis’, as she shut and locked the gate behind them, then got in the passenger seat.

Granville was led into a barn where 10 women in various stages of undress, not many of whom were ever going to see 50 again and many of which his mind registered as customers, all turned to look at him then went back to undressing. Some were already putting on a black woollen shift.

The Widow Featherstone, however put on a red one as befitted her status. She went over to The Nurse and Milk Woman, who, as they were already minus their under ware due to their early evening exertions, had both put on the black shifts in quick time.

“Right then how’s young Granville? Pliant? How did you get the powder into him?”

“Put the powder in the yoghurt and the yoghurt in my Pussy.”

“He’s still a Virgin?” she snapped.

“If you don’t count tongues then yes, but he did cum all over my belly button.”

“Pah! nothing; if he didn’t put it in it counts for nowt. Get him stripped off and out into the Standing Stones.” Then she went over to the recently divorced star of the show, Young Julie, who was just sliding a white shift over her head

“All set young Julie, got it good and wet? I hear that Granville is bigger than he looks…Right Ladies chop, chop.” she said, “Mrs. Blewett, get them organised before it rains will you.”

“Right you are Delphine.” and she set about chivvying the slow coaches.

Granville watched all this with a distracted air, he was here but he wasn’t. It was like a he was watching a film, seeing things from his eye level, but every third of forth frame as it were, he was looking down at himself.

He was first stripped off, then led into the circle of standing stones, where he was helped, unresistingly to lie down on a flat rock about 3ft high. He could see the stars and clouds scudding across the moon and without too much effort he could also see his dick stood up straight and hard looking for all the world like it was an Apollo space mission aimed at the moon.

I hope Mrs Fer,fer,Featherstone (as he always thought of her after too many years listening to Arkwright) doesn’t see, but then re-thought it, deciding, I don’t care anymore, not me, not a Hungarian errand boy who’s eaten yoghurt from a Milk Woman’s pussy, drifting off into further fond recollection…if you could buy yoghurt that tasted that good you’d make a fortune.

He felt two hand s grip his shoulders then saw the upside down face of Mrs Featherstone bending over him.

“Lay back and enjoy this Granville, there’s a good lad, you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”

Thinking, if Mr Featherstone had a dick like that she wouldn’t be a Widow either, well not for as long as she had been. But big virile dicks only last so long, but a tidy Parlour, which remained tidy due to lack of a Mr Featherstone being there to mess it up, was a thing to savour for ever.

Granville was out of himself again, looking down on proceedings. He could see Mrs Featherstone stood at his head, with Mrs Ber,ber,Blewett on her left and Mrs Ter,ter,titty,Tattersall on her right at 11 and 1, O’clock as it were. The Milk Woman and Make your mind up Mavis were at 5 and 7 O’clock. Dressed in white at 6 O’clock was jer,jer,jellytot,Julie. He saw her walk forward and step up on to the raised shelf…she stood there hesitantly.

Granville’s eyes were back in his head looking out again.

“Julie.” Admonished Mrs Featherstone sharply. She reached down, grasped the white shift with crossed hands and pulled it over her head. He saw the magnificent bright ginger thatch, tits bigger than they looked with clothes on and pink nipples that hardened in the cold night air.

She wet two fingers and rubbed at her pussy, was still wet and ready, the drink they gave her earlier saw to that. She moved forward, until one foot was either side of Granville’s hips, squatting down, she took his dick in both hands and rubbed it’s glistening precum soaked knob end up and down her lips until the parted with a silent wet sound.

Impaling herself on him with three slow thrusts sank down upon him as far as she could go – “ugh, ugh, UGH.”

She started with a back and forth grinding motion her clit taking the full force. Then she leaned forward kissed Granville gentle on the lips and in a low voice said

“Sorry Granville.”

What’s she sorry for? though Granville, sorry, who’s sorry not me, this is the best night of me life.

“Julie.” warned Mrs Featherstone, “none of that now.” Julie sat back up and increased her pace. She could feel herself starting to cum, her pussy twitching on Granville’s dick, she thrust deeper, she could fell Granville was starting to cum as well and she nodded to Mrs Featherstone.

‘Granville Vision’ went to look-down mode again. How does it do that? he though in one corner of his brain, the small piece that was not totally involved in Jelly tot Julie’s pussy.

He could see Julie writhing and grinding on his dick while one hand pulled and rubbed tits and nipples, the other went to her clit as she and he, started to come. Her head, neck, back, her whole upper body arching as the power of the orgasm wracked her.

His look-down vision saw Mrs Featherstone raise her hands over her head. In them she held a knife, a shiny black wickedly sharp looking thing that looked like it ought to belong in a Mexican museum, not in the hands of a Yorkshire Widow on a Saturday night.

It plunged down.

Ow, thought Granville, that’s got to hurt, as his vision went back to horizontal mode again…I wish it would make it’s mind up he thought, all that jigging about, I can’t see what’s happening.

Back in ‘real-time’ he felt the thud! On his chest, hey give over with that. The pain came at the same time he and Julie did, he kept cumming, Jelly tot Julie with her jiggling jugs kept cumming, she screamed in ecstasy, he screamed in agony. The surrounding Women screamed in triumph.

Mrs Featherstone just grunted at the effort of sawing her way up Granville’s chest, thinking, either Granville’s tougher than he looks or I’m getting too old. Maybe it’s time to pass the mantle over to somebody else, like the Nurse, she’s a big strong woman, she has to be to keep that Arkwright at arm’s length for so long.

She finished sawing and did a bit of fine filleting, putting the knife down she plunged her hands in to his chest and pulled out the bleeding, still beating half Hungarian heart.

Hey, that’s mine, you can’t do that, I need it.

NO, GRANVILLE YOU DON’T NEED IT ANY MORE, THE MILK WOMAN WOULD ONLY BREAK IT ANYWAY.” said a sepulchral voice.

“No she wouldn’t.” pleaded Granville, “honest, she wouldn’t.”

“LOOK ABOUT, DOES SHE CARE? DO ANY OF THEM LOOK IS IF THEY CARE?”

“No,” said a crestfallen Granville, who by now was stood to one side, next to a tall dark hooded figure he could only see when he didn’t look at him. The figure was holding a Scythe in one skeletal hand and the reins of a white horse in the other.

“Not really, not now you mention it.” Watching Mrs Featherstone daubing Jelly tot Julie’s pussy and nipples with his bloody, but by now, still heart to the cheers of the other 11 women.

“Julie; Julie; Julie; Julie.” They chanted, while Julie beamed in pleasure and orgasmic afterglow.

“TIME TO GO.”

“Go?  go where?”

The Scythe flashed and Granville went…like he had a choice

“LETS JUST SAY TO A PLACE I KNOW THAT REALLY IS, OPEN ALL HOURS.”

 

The blaring end of the Match of the Day music woke Arkwright.

By the ‘eck. he thought, I’m sure they per,per,put something in that Newkie Brown.

He looked at the topless nurse next to him as she woke.

“Who won?” she mumbled.

Arkwright eyed up those magnificent State Registered Mammaries.

” Looks like I did…2-0.” He said and started to kiss the big brown nipples with renewed vigour.

“Give over.” she said pushing him away, “get off home, it’s past midnight.”

“Ser,so it is and these have turned into delicious Pumpkins” and he lowered his lips to savour them.

She stood. “Right that’s your lot” pulling her tunic together trying to get a few buttons done up as she chivvied and shushed him down the hall and out the door.

As she locked the door she thought, for a stuttering grocer he really knows how to treat a Welsh Woman’s Bosom. That and Delphine Featherstone retiring.

Me, Head of Coven, fancy that…All in all not the worst Saturday Evening I’ve ever had…My cup runneth over, well they would if I had a bra on, still struggling to button up the reluctant Bosom. She stopped, sod it let them hang out, I’ll be in bed soon enough anyway.

Pity about poor Granville, still Jelly tot Julie will have something to show for it all in 9months.

 

Old Yorkshire song (after Thackeray)

Upon this moon lit night,

Don’t go where they invite

Because the Castleford Ladies Magical Circle

Meets tonight.

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 E.M. Ockleshaw. All rights reserved.

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