MILK UDDERS, part 30 (Patreon)

“Are you there?” Francesco’s distorted voice on the phone brought Bianka out of her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she responded. Now that she had a weight off her shoulders, she was able to let her frustration flow out at the young man. “A threesome, huh? You shameless horndog, you don’t have enough with me or what?”

“I can’t hear–.” The voice was lost for a moment. “–well, but I ge–.” From the other side came fragmented words. “–trying to blame me.”

“If you weren’t such a fucking hornball, you would understand me,” Bianka accused, not caring whether Francesco could hear her voice or not.

“We’re not dating,” the guy said. “Just–.”

Bianka immediately ended the call, frustration and discontent coursing through her. It was becoming increasingly apparent that her relationships with those closest to her were unraveling at an alarming pace—she had only needed a single day to be in a bad way with her mother and her lover. Her phone started ringing at that moment, Francesco calling again, but she decided to ignore it. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend, and that she had no interest in being one either, but on that fateful day she had only wanted that Francesco to choose her and not Melania, that he put aside any lingering desire for the curvy body of her Italian rival and unequivocally stated that the only body he wanted to have on him was Bianka’s. It was a selfish and possessive desire, but crucial for the white-haired, blue-eyed beauty who had found an unknown part of herself at that same point on the border two nights ago.

“It should be an easy choice,” she grunted at the ringing phone. “Always go for the hottest, bustiest woman, and that’s me, you asshole.”

With her head filling with negative thoughts, Bianka took a long and contemptuous look at the stone house where her challenger Melania lived, and finally understood that it wasn’t the right time. She was neither physically nor mentally recovered from that day’s unexpected defeat, and morally, all the events of her life seemed to overtake her. She needed to lick her wounds in the solitude and darkness of her room, at least for one night, and then, with the first light of dawn, she would decide how to get her revenge—against Emilia, if her mother required it, but especially against Melania. In an ecosystem as small as Brenner’s, it was obvious that her opportunity against Melania would come, even if she didn’t look for it.

Chapter 6

Delivery Guarantee

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the fields of swaying grass, although vast clouds loomed over the impressive mountains in the background. That Wednesday the weather forecast had announced that a few light drizzles would welcome September, but that it would be during the weekend that a storm would almost certainly arrive in the valleys. Slightly sweating in the passenger seat of the milk truck that Madrefiglia Latteo had just acquired, Melania couldn’t wait for the weather to cool down, even if the source of her almost eternal hot flush had nothing to do with the ambient temperature.

Somehow, the soft rumble of the engine was the perfect soothing backdrop for the brunette’s thoughts. After failing her mother on the day of the cattle fair, Melania knew how crucial that day was for the dairy farm, since her mother had closed several substantial deals with a few local businesses, and now she, accompanied by a Portuguese driver whose name she had forgotten, was on her way to deliver the first orders. But it wasn’t only the company they had both set up that was at stake, but also a now strained relationship with her own mother.

Soon, looking beyond the narrow road, the Italian beauty saw her first stop, and one of the most important because of the turnover that was to be handled there: the Hotel Alpin Pflerschtal. Leaning a little further back in her seat, Melania surveyed the three-story building and its immaculate white walls, which reflected the morning light with elegance. The balconies, carefully adorned with red and pink flowers, were a burst of color against the white canvas. Melania knew that the owner, an Italian-Austrian woman called Sofia Gruber as her mother had told her, had been smart enough to make her hotel part of the natural landscape, blending seamlessly with the surrounding beauty.

Despite the picturesque surroundings, Melania could not stop her mind from wandering back to the moment that haunted her. Her heart raced immediately, and her weighty, firm boobs began to throb as she remembered her white-haired, blue-eyed adversary in humiliation behind the abandoned train station north of Brennero. She had defeated Bianka Lautermilch, big breasts against big breasts, and just thinking about it sent electrifying shivers all over her tanned skin, and made her instinctively rub her thighs together. Melania was still buzzing with excitement and joy, the victory making her feel on top of the world, and yet she felt at the same time more vulnerable than ever before. For the first time in her life, she felt in some strange way that she had to protect her bosoms, so at that moment she was wearing a black tank top that was thicker than she usually wore, but also the fullest bra she had ever covered her bust with. That made Melania feel uncomfortably restricted, her DDs limited in a cotton cage that almost seemed to punish them for their triumph, but the Italian woman thought it was what they needed after all the agonizing action in their war against Bianka’s proud breasts. The brunette couldn’t forget all the milk that her glands had been dripping for the past two days, and even today, she had the sensation that that awkward, embarrassing experience could happen again at any moment.

I need my girls under control, constricted, now that I can wear a bra again, Melania thought as she looked out of the truck’s window. Even if it’s just for a few more days, before going back to normal.

“We are here,” the driver said as the milk truck rumbled to a halt at the entrance of the hotel. Melania nodded absently and picked up the printed delivery list before opening the door and hopping out. Her fat breasts bounced lightly on her chest, and the brunette couldn’t help but let out a soft, irritated exhale between her full lips. The persistent, distressing hypersensitivity of her titflesh was truly uncomfortable, but it was not a high price for the spoils of war that she had obtained.

“Start unloading the goods,” Melania instructed the worker. “I’ll go in and talk to the owner in the meantime.”

“Excuse me, Miss Tantilatte, but it seems that there is another milk delivery now…” the man began to tell her, but the young beauty was still so distracted that she didn’t hear a word—nor did even she see the truck parked just across the entrance that was pointed out to her. At that moment, in Melania’s head there was only room for the past, the sensations of what had happened three days earlier at the abandoned train station flooding her again and again along with provocative images of clashing boobs and words filled with shared hatred and mutual jealousy. A surge of pride at the thought of the outcome bristled her skin and hardened her nipples, her mouth instantly twisting into a smug half-smirk.

Entering the hotel’s impeccable lobby feeling like if she were the queen bee, Melania looked around: the interior was as welcoming as it appeared from the outside, with elegant yet simple decor that perfectly complemented the white and wood tones of the walls. She had been told in town that the place had saunas, steam baths, pools and massage parlors, so now that she was there it was clear to her that, when she delivered the goods, she would schedule an appointment at something. After all she had been through these past few days, she had certainly earned a little relaxation.

I wonder if they do breast massages, she conjectured, the monotheme of her thoughts preempting any hint of decorum. Not that I need a firming massage, but it can help with this fucking extreme sensitivity and the…uh…milk problem.

“Welcome to Hotel Alpin Pflerschtal, signorina.” A voice snapped her out of her reverie. That was when she noticed the reception desk, with a smiling old man on the other side. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, sorry, hi, I was lost in thought,” the petite Italian girl excused herself. She took a couple of steps forward while letting her charismatic smile light up her face. “I’m Melania Tantilatte, from Motherfiglia Latteo. I’m here to see Miss Gruber for a delivery from our farm.”

“Dairy products?” the receptionist asked.

“That’s right. A worker is unloading them right now,” she replied looking at the delivery list. “Twelve cases of milk bottles, five cases of cheese…”

“Excuse me,” the old man interrupted, his voice uncertain. “I’m not sure, but there may be a little confusion. Why don’t you go to the room on the right? Miss Gruber is there, she will clarify if there has been a mistake.”

“Mistake?” Melania arched a brow, perplexed by the suggestion. “What kind of mistake?”

“Right now we are having a delivery of dairy products,” the receptionist clarified.

“What?” Without understanding what was going on, Melania wasted no more time and headed with determined steps towards the room indicated by the receptionist.

The Italian milkmaid found herself in a hall leading to a storeroom—she could see the shelves attached to the walls loaded with neatly stacked boxes and crates, all labeled, and a small refrigerated section at the back. Just outside the door of the storeroom, two women were talking to each other. The first of these must be Sofia Gruber. Her short dyed brown hair framed a face adorned with delicate lines of expression, and her gray eyes shone with warmth and closeness. In her fifties, she still retained much of her appeal, and Melania had no doubt that she must have broken many hearts in her youth.

It was the other woman, however, who attracted Melania’s immediate full attention, who sent her boiling emotions into a wild whirlwind, even before she was aware of her presence. Bianka Lautermilch, her white-haired, blue-eyed nemesis stood next to the hotel owner, momentarily unaware of her presence—but only for half a second. As if the Austrian girl had a sixth sense, she turned her head toward Melania at once and, as soon as her gaze locked onto the brunette’s, an electrifying wave of female conflict blasted through the air, the residue of the last confrontation immediately flashing Bianka’s deep stare.

***

Words: 1802.