fascination and apprehension, never sure if it would be her turn next. Her fingers slid between her thighs and found warm slick wetness bedewing her cleft. And when her turn had come she had responded with the same helpless arousal she was feeling now.
Obediently the plough girl spread her legs and pushed her rear out towards him, opening her buttocks and her red-slashed, thickly haired pubic pouch. He clasped her hips firmly and drove his pizzle between her cunt lips. The girl’s face screwed up as he entered her, grunted about her muzzle bit, then relaxed into a faraway expression as she resigned herself to the rough pleasure of his thrusts. The other plough girls looked round at her with mild interest and a couple sniggered behind their muzzles, but otherwise they appeared content to take the opportunity to rest a little longer from their labours.
Yes, she really was back in Underland, Alice thought as she crouched behind her bush and her fingers worked busily in her own cleft. Here it was the normal way of things for animals to use girlings for their pleasure. Evidently, however, she was less jaded than the plough girls. Had she always been potentially so easily turned on or did being back in Underland heighten her responses?
The brunette impaled on the boar’s pizzle was making little quavering noises now. The muscles in her thighs stood out as she braced herself against his thrusts, which sent shivers through her body and set her breasts jiggling. With a growling grunt the boar came, pumping his essence into the girl, who in turn thrust her hips desperately back onto him again and again, trying to bring herself off before he withdrew from her. Suddenly she squeaked in delight and shuddered, her eyes rolling and knees bowing weakly. She had made it.
Pulling his glistening rod from the clinging embrace of her cleft, the boar let the girl sink to the ground. Grasping her ponytail and pulling her lolling head backwards, he used a fistful of hair to wipe clean his pizzle. Releasing her to slump onto her face, the boar took another drink from his canteen, then picked up his whip.
The leather flicked across the teams’ shoulders and they scrambled to their feet with a clink of chains, even the still trembling and glassy-eyed brunette. ‘Last couple of furrows. Put your backs into it!’ their master commanded. Taking up the strain, the eight girlings, one with sperm beginning to trickle down the inside of her thighs, set the plough blade slicing through the earth once more.
Feeling frustrated, Alice removed sticky fingers from her cleft and watched the team move off to the left. It had been over too quickly for her to come and now there was no more time for self-indulgence.
Picking up her bundle she made her way along the belt of trees in the other direction until she reached the corner of the field. Here she found the lane was of well-compacted gravel but looked little used. Of course, there would no through traffic this close to the edge, Alice thought. The further she got along it before anybody saw her the better she would blend in. She set off.
Despite her load, Alice soon felt the calm of the perfect day overtake her. Along the hedgerows butterflies flitted between violets, foxgloves, startling red poppies and cow parsley that dotted the picturesquely lush verges. The sweet musk of blackberries filled her nostrils. She picked a handful of the rich dark fruits from a tangle of heavy canes that spilled onto the lane and gulped them down with delight. There was nothing like walking naked in the open, as she had discovered on her first trip to Underland, and feeling the warm air caressing her body. It was one of the bonuses of being a girling and made her feel vitally alive.
After half a mile Alice reached the outskirts of the village. She smiled when she saw that its name, displayed on a signpost, was ‘Uffish’. That was one of the nonsense words from the Looking Glass story, so it was not surprising to see
Obediently the plough girl spread her legs and pushed her rear out towards him, opening her buttocks and her red-slashed, thickly haired pubic pouch. He clasped her hips firmly and drove his pizzle between her cunt lips. The girl’s face screwed up as he entered her, grunted about her muzzle bit, then relaxed into a faraway expression as she resigned herself to the rough pleasure of his thrusts. The other plough girls looked round at her with mild interest and a couple sniggered behind their muzzles, but otherwise they appeared content to take the opportunity to rest a little longer from their labours.
Yes, she really was back in Underland, Alice thought as she crouched behind her bush and her fingers worked busily in her own cleft. Here it was the normal way of things for animals to use girlings for their pleasure. Evidently, however, she was less jaded than the plough girls. Had she always been potentially so easily turned on or did being back in Underland heighten her responses?
The brunette impaled on the boar’s pizzle was making little quavering noises now. The muscles in her thighs stood out as she braced herself against his thrusts, which sent shivers through her body and set her breasts jiggling. With a growling grunt the boar came, pumping his essence into the girl, who in turn thrust her hips desperately back onto him again and again, trying to bring herself off before he withdrew from her. Suddenly she squeaked in delight and shuddered, her eyes rolling and knees bowing weakly. She had made it.
Pulling his glistening rod from the clinging embrace of her cleft, the boar let the girl sink to the ground. Grasping her ponytail and pulling her lolling head backwards, he used a fistful of hair to wipe clean his pizzle. Releasing her to slump onto her face, the boar took another drink from his canteen, then picked up his whip.
The leather flicked across the teams’ shoulders and they scrambled to their feet with a clink of chains, even the still trembling and glassy-eyed brunette. ‘Last couple of furrows. Put your backs into it!’ their master commanded. Taking up the strain, the eight girlings, one with sperm beginning to trickle down the inside of her thighs, set the plough blade slicing through the earth once more.
Feeling frustrated, Alice removed sticky fingers from her cleft and watched the team move off to the left. It had been over too quickly for her to come and now there was no more time for self-indulgence.
Picking up her bundle she made her way along the belt of trees in the other direction until she reached the corner of the field. Here she found the lane was of well-compacted gravel but looked little used. Of course, there would no through traffic this close to the edge, Alice thought. The further she got along it before anybody saw her the better she would blend in. She set off.
Despite her load, Alice soon felt the calm of the perfect day overtake her. Along the hedgerows butterflies flitted between violets, foxgloves, startling red poppies and cow parsley that dotted the picturesquely lush verges. The sweet musk of blackberries filled her nostrils. She picked a handful of the rich dark fruits from a tangle of heavy canes that spilled onto the lane and gulped them down with delight. There was nothing like walking naked in the open, as she had discovered on her first trip to Underland, and feeling the warm air caressing her body. It was one of the bonuses of being a girling and made her feel vitally alive.
After half a mile Alice reached the outskirts of the village. She smiled when she saw that its name, displayed on a signpost, was ‘Uffish’. That was one of the nonsense words from the Looking Glass story, so it was not surprising to see
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