For adults only. All characters portrayed in this 10K-word novelette are consenting adults. This is part one in an ongoing red-hot and steamy series. Features: Explicit sexual scenarios, BDSM, male and female willing and naughty slaves, spanking, bisexual filthy action, DP, shower scenes, lactation fantasy, simmering lust and desire, TV and CD maids, hucows, group action, and a lot more! ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ “You see,” Damon said, in a half belch and half voice which didn’t quite come out right, “that woman there, yes, that one,” he continued, pointing, after Finley frowned and held both palms of his hands up and glared at him with questioning eyes, “I bet cougar lady that we saw earlier wouldn’t have that done, would she? She’s much too refined for that!” “Oh I don’t know. Mistress Spank, that dominatrix I told you about, the one I saw often when I was sorting the electrics out in her mansion after she rang me up from my phone number on my website to come out, well, judging by the way she was doing what she was doing with some sort of rubber contraption as she stared at me, I bet she has the same done to her too. They had all these weird adult devices, tubes and milk dripping and everything. With a body as fine as hers in her black leather, I bet Mistress Spank likes a lot of kinky things.” “There are three other dominatrices there too sometimes.” “Andrew, did she ever say anything to you?” Damon asked, becoming increasingly curious the more he mentioned the woman and her place. “What do you mean exactly?” “You know, did she ever proposition you or anything, ask you to touch her, or did she order you to be touched or to dress up in ladies clothing, something like that?” “No, Damon,” he lied, these dominatrices usually do the touching, according to my father’s friend, Dave, who sees one often and he dresses up. I caught him there once. He was in the middle of putting on ladies’ underwear. You should have seen the look on his face when he recognized me.” Damon burst out laughing, as did Finley too. Andrew stared at them, his beer bottle, an inch away from his lips, and motionless. “Never! Mr. Williams? Dave Williams? He’s in his late sixties!” Damon said, coughing and spluttering, a mouthful of fizzing beer splashing against his legs and forearms. “Yep. Hey let me tell you, the older ones are the kinkiest. He told me in a pub a few months ago before then, when we were chatting about women that he goes to see one very regularly and that she dresses in latex, leather, PVC and all sorts and he swore me to secrecy and that I’m not to tell anyone about his little fetish secrets. Spanky Mansions it’s called and the main dominatrix has lived there for years, he told me, and that she used to run a fetish club for about twenty years. “He even described to me,” Andrew continued, leaning in toward them even though nobody outside could hear him anyway as they lived at least ten yards away, “how gorgeous the three live-in hucows are. Now as a lover of milky big boobs myself, I wouldn’t mind doing something with those women if the Mistress ever asks me back to fix any electricity problems!” “Hucow? What on Earth is a hucow?” Damon asked, his face a mix of confusion, lust and drunken lop-sidedness all at the same time. “A hucow, from what Dave told me, is a woman who has milk coming out of her a lot and they usually have massive chests too. A hucow means human cow. Get it? Do you see?” Finley and Damon nodded, their eyes as if in a trance. “Wow, really? Nice,” they said, dragging the words out slowly as their alcohol-filled minds tried to imagine what having their faces between some would be like. As if a hypnotist’s fingers snapped them back to the present moment, they both sat in their chairs and stopped slouching. They glanced at each other.