We opened our winery for tasting in late August. Our Pinot Noir Fin de la Nuit was tantalizingly delicious, and when Alicia arrived with her beau Eric, we decided to seduce them with it. My husband Jonathon and I were especially happy as we had the weekend to ourselves. The baby was with Jonathon’s parents, and I’d just stopped breast-feeding. While my breasts were painfully full and heavy, they were also beautifully round and ripe.
Every hour, Jonathon followed me outside behind the winery, among the lush green leaves of the rows, and gently sucked milk from my nipples. It felt so deliciously good, and I felt my clitoris swell against my silk underwear. I breathed deeply and let it flow as he went from one nipple to the other. He loved my womanly body, and slipped his hands under my skirt to hold my buttocks with his large man’s hands as he suckled me. In time, I would lose my milk, but for now, we needed to do this. And I loved it.
Jonathon and I returned to the tasting bar, and I excused myself to freshen up in the ladies room. Alicia stood in front of the mirror, putting a gold chain around her bare neck. Her strapless violet dress revealed cleavage, and her dark areola showed faintly. She struggled with the clasp, so of course I helped. I stood behind her, and we were still the same height. I loved Alicia.
She and I were lovers as teenagers, when we cared for our horses. We slept in the stalls on wool blankets, two country girls with tight jeans and new young bodies. Riding together one day, she sat behind me, her arms around my waist. I tilted my head back to say something, and she kissed my neck. That night, we went further. We explored each other’s bodies, our rosebud nipples just beginning to grow, the slight stretch marks of our hips as they bloomed. We loved to read aloud, especially Anaïs Nin stories from a book. In one story, a young gentleman had visited a farm with two daughters, and at night, used his hands to pleasure them both at the same time, moving his large, sensual lips from one girl’s throat to the next, sucking and licking as he deftly brought them to orgasm. They had cried out and moaned, grasping his hands and plunging his fingers in deep after they had come. Alicia and I lay on our sides, facing one another. With her dominant left hand, she pleasured me, and I reached to her with my right hand. We would retell the story in our girl voices to each other aloud, moaning and crying out as we came together, the slippery moisture of our desire wetting our hands so we could freely slide fingers. We would swell with desire, and come so hard, bucking and crying to each other, “Stop, oh, oh, stop.”
Then, we would use the wooden bucket to wash up, and brush each other’s hair, kissing each other goodnight as our horses slept in their stalls. We shared a special relationship, a summer relationship. Now, I opened the clasp and gently latched it at the front, smiling at her in the mirror. My full breasts skimmed her back, and the tips of my nipples tingled through the light fabric. I lifted her long, black mane up over the chain and let it slide down her bare back. I buried my face in it for a moment and breathed deeply before we squeezed hands and went to join our husbands.
When we went out to join Jonathon and Eric, they had polished off the bottle of Pinot Noir, and were looking curiously at us.
“As it turns out,” said Eric, “I believe we all share a love for horses.” He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back, glancing at Alicia. She must have told him, which was fine. We were all adults, in our early thirties, and everyone knows that young girls often share more than secrets. I had told Jonathon about Alicia as well, and at night he burrowed into my thighs with his face, asking me if Alicia had done better. He clutched my bottom with both hands, pulling my flesh wide apart to open me. Then, he would lick me with his hard tongue, faster and faster in little circles, watch my face through my breasts, watch me squeeze my thighs fast together, begging him to stop, stop, then he whispered, “Did she do this for you?” Jonathon and I were close, and he respected my loves and my life, as I respected his. He meant to arouse me with mentioning her. It was just our way.
When Jonathon and Eric asked us to walk to the stables, Alicia and I agreed. Her strapless violet dress was long, and she wore nothing underneath. I wore a short fringed jean skirt, with a white halter top just covering my breasts, the ties around my neck and sides tickling my back. Jonathon easily lifted my top to suck the milk down, and my breasts were swelled tight. My silk underwear was so wet that I’d taken it off. I was happy to be going to the stable with Alicia, where we’d spent so much time. The vineyard was public, but our stable was private, a place for horses and trysts.
Jonathon swung the heavy door open. We kept an immaculate stable, with quilts on wooden shelves. We placed them on the hay, a summer bed. Jonathon apologized to Eric and Alicia; we needed to express my milk. “Perhaps we can help?” asked Alicia. She hadn’t yet birthed a child. As Jonathon gently sucked my nipples, Alicia watched, and Eric was hard through his linen trousers. Jonathon said, “It’s okay,” and motioned to Eric to gently drink from my milk as well. As they sucked my nipples, Alicia parted my legs, circling my clitoris quickly with two fingers.
We gave in to the warm night. Laughing a “why not?” Eric opened another bottle of Fin de la Nuit, and took a sip from the bottle, turning to kiss the sultry liquid into Alicia’s mouth. She turned to him and pulled him on top of her, lifting her dress. He entered her, glancing over to see me smile. I have never been one to shy from an encounter, nor has Jonathon. It’s who we are. No reason to be shy.
While Eric slide hard into Alicia, Jonathon whispered to me, “Do you want me?” I stared hard at him and said, “I want you so bad. Go slow, so achingly slowly. I want to come with you in me.” My tight, full breasts again ached for his mouth. And just when he gave me all of himself, and I wrapped my heels around his muscular ass, I felt Alicia’s hand in mine. Our men were loving us both, body and soul—and tonight, we were once again country girls of summer, at home in our stable with hay, and water, and the musky smell of horses and love all around us.
About the Author: Valerie D. West’s story “Berry Patch” will soon appear in The Nasiona. Her undergraduate degree is in English (magna cum laude) from University of Oregon, and her graduate degree is in Education. She walks the Camino de Santiago when she can, and is a substitute teacher. Her time living overseas inspired a memoir, which is currently under consideration by a university press. She lives near several wineries. This piece is her first foray into erotica, and made her women friends smile.