"Just as you say, madam, you'll be the one wearing it!" I told her. Then I marked the shirt with a small cut, so we cut round the hem easier after she had taken in off again. "What about the neck?" I asked.
"I think the best thing," she said, "is to widen the neck as much as possible, say almost to the shoulders, but not too much out of the neckline. The back of the neck could be cut in a scoop to say the level of my shoulder blades. This would mean that the cropping should be less at the back than at the front. So that it doesn't lose too much shape, when it slides off my shoulder."
"You're going to let it virtually fall off, and you profess to be worried about the shape of it?" I laughed.
"If you're going to be like that, you can forget it "virtually" falling off, it bloody well WILL fall off!" Rebecca countered. "Anyway let's get busy with the scissors." We laid the shirt on the table and despite Rebecca's protestations about shaping, we cut the same amount off all the way round the hem. Then we widened the neckline going almost from shoulder seam to shoulder seam. We decided on cutting at least six inches out of the back of the neck. She tried it on. What a success!
If she stood completely still, the shirt stayed on her shoulders. If she wiggled her shoulders a bit, one or other of the side of the top slid down her arm. If she tried just a little bit, she could make it slide off both shoulder at the same time. This looked really sexy, but didn't completely uncover her breasts, just the top of them. However, if she bent over forwards, the shirt fell down, so that a down blouse type of view revealed her breasts in all their glory. "Right." She said, "That will do. You go and distress it somewhat with your two rocks idea, whilst I decide what to wear with it."
I went over to the pond and found what I was looking for. Two large rocks, one relatively, but not completely smooth, the other a flinty rock with a few sharp edges. I moistened the rocks and the shirt with water from the pond and set to work. The shirt snagged almost immediately, so concentrated on that spot. Very soon a small hole appeared on the cotton. I did this in several places all over the shirt until it began to look a bit ragged. Some holes I made bigger than others. One of the slightly bigger ones was where I estimated the side of Rebecca's left breast would be. Then I deliberately frayed all the cut edges so it didn't appear that they were new cuts.
I returned to the caravan with the damp shirt in my hand. "You've wet it!" Rebecca complained.
"I had to do that to get the stones to wear it through rather than just rip it to shreds." I explained, "Here try it on."
She pulled on the shirt," Oh, it feels cold!" she moaned. Then she inspected herself in the mirror. "Terry, It's brilliant! Look, you see the side of my breast through that hole." I noticed too that she had trimmed her pubic hair to a thin landing strip. I smiled and nodded at the new style. "I couldn't shave it properly, I need you to help me another time." She told me.
"So you can." I tried to sound surprised and examined the hole. She washed the shirt out again and wrung it out really hard, which helped with the aging of the fabric too. We had lunch before relaxing for an hour, then set off for the farm across the fields. Rebecca had chosen to wear her denim miniskirt with the shirt and I thought she looked fabulous. Even in her wellington boots. We had both worn the wellies, because we knew that we would be going into the milking parlour, which was always wet, and across the holding pen which was always messy when the cows had been through.
Bruce was not in the yard when we arrived. We noticed that Hayley's car was not there, so we went to the farmhouse. The protocol at this farm, (along with, I suspect most others, is that Wellies were left by the front door. No-one went into the house with them on. We found Bruce in the kitchen completing some animal movement certificates, all part of the bureaucracy of running a farm these days.
Bruce was surprised to see us. "You're very welcome, but you're too early, it will be at least an hour before I even get the cows into the holding pen." He said, eyeing Rebecca's mode of dress.
She reacted well to his scrutiny. "Oh sorry about my tatty clothes, I just threw them on because Terry wanted to take a few photographs of me in the hay barn, if that's all right."
"Yes sure go ahead." Bruce said, "You both know how to conduct yourselves with regard to the animals. I will be out to join you when I've finished this paperwork."
"Where's Hayley?" I asked.
"She's gone out on a trip to Bishops Castle with the farmer wives group." He told us. "They are having a meal out so they won't be back till quite late."
"What are you doing for a meal tonight?" Rebecca asked.
"I'll find something in the freezer," Bruce told her. "I'll be all right.
"I'm not having that!" Rebecca snorted. "I'll cook something for you here and that's final!"
Bruce laughed. "Well that's me told." He said.
Rebecca and I went across to the hayloft where, she lay and rolled about on the bales of hay, while I took some photographs of her in various stages of undress. In the end she was completely nude and playing with herself. "If you carry on like that, I'm going to have to come over there and give you a good seeing to!" I told her.
She shook her finger at me. "Not this afternoon, I want to be well charged up for when Bruce comes over." Then we heard the sound of gates being opened and the cows calling. "I think we'd better get down there." She added.
She quickly got dressed again (it didn't take long) and headed down to the milking parlour. "Are you still going to show me how to do it?" Rebecca asked Bruce.
"Yes," he said, "but not here as I will use the milking machine. In the other barn there are some calves which we need to feed, so I will keep some milk back, but there is also a cow over there who we can milk by hand just to show you how it is done." We found the cow, who seemed to be quite quiet and used to Bruce's hand. He sat down on the stool and showed her how to sit and how to use her fingers to extract the milk. He turned to Rebecca, "Now you have go."
She sat on the stool, legs well apart, to brace herself in case the cow kicked out. She put her head against the loin of the cow so she could feel if the cow was going to kick. Her short skirt had ridden right up and her bare pussy could easily be seen. I was busy taking photographs as when she leant forward the shirt slipped off her shoulders and almost completely revealed her tits. I got some good shots of that. Unfortunately her technique was not right and she wasn't getting any milk.
"Come here let me show you." Bruce said and as he pulled on her shoulder, she fell backwards off the stool, her legs splayed out and one of her breasts out of her top. She didn't move for a while.
Bruce was looking and smiling. "Do you like what you see?" Rebecca asked him.
"You know damn well I do!" He said laughing, "But if you're going to learn, you've got to do like this." One stroke with his hand and milk spurted into the bucket. "And for those people who don't concentrate, we do this!" He bent up the cows teat and squirted two long streams of milk at Rebecca. His aim was good. The first one caught right on her pussy, the other caught her on the tits and face.
"It's warm!" she cried, but did not move. Bruce turned the teat up again and dowsed her in milk for a second time. "I like it!" she giggled.
"That may be so, but we can't waste any more milk giving you a shower. "You can come down to the parlour and see how we do it nowadays.
We trooped out into the yard, where I caught Rebecca's arm. "I think that went better than you dared hope didn't it?"
" I loved it!" She exclaimed. "Especially when he was spraying me with warm milk!"
"Piss is warm too." I said.
"Then I might be tempted to try it sometime!" She said hugging my arm.
"Will you do something else for me before we go home?"
"What's that?"
"Pose naked with the cows in the field." I asked her.
"Is that all? Of course I will." She replied.
We arrived at the milking parlour, where the milker stands in a pit about three feet deep so he is at a convenient height to apply the milking machine clusters. Bruce wore a rubber apron and latex gloves. The cows all have an electronic ear tag and there is a reader which identifies which cow is which and delivers the appropriate amount of pellets of food. Most parlours have music playing as the milking is taking place to relax the cows as they settle down and give more milk more quickly.
Bruce also demonstrated how alert you have to be when milking. The three of us were standing in the pit, suddenly he pulled me to one side and in a second or two one of the cows produced a long stream of piss into the pit. He did not warn Rebecca and she got it all down her back, soaking her shirt, skirt and legs. "OH!" she gasped. "You buggers! You knew that was going to happen didn't you?"
I am afraid Bruce and I just stood laughing.
"You rotten sods!" she moaned, but saw the funny side of it.
"You're just lucky it wasn't shit!" Bruce called out still laughing.
"You know I think that would have been better!" I said. "I've heard of mud wrestling, but cow shit wrestling would be something new!"
"Don't get any ideas about that!" Rebecca said. " I might be tempted in custard or jelly, but you can count cow shit as being definitely off the menu."
I filed this information away in my memory for future use. As Bruce suggested she go over to the house to have a shower.
Nothing more of note happened , as together Bruce and I cleaned up the parlour, scraped the yard and put the cows out to grass. As we entered the house the delicious smell of something cooking wafted past our nostrils. "Just in time!" Rebecca called out. "Dinner is served." She had done us proud and produced a really super meal. Basic good fare but perfectly cooked. "Get washed and sit down I'll bring it into the dining room." The dining room? Most farm meals were eaten in the kitchen. The dining room was kept for high day and holidays. Bruce and I sat down and in strode Rebecca wearing only a short bathrobe, carrying a tray with three plates on it. "Like what you see?" She asked.
"Are you talking about the meal or yourself?" I asked.
"I'm open to compliments in any quarter." She replied.
"Well my dear." Bruce put on a yokel voice. "I think both look good enough to eat!"
With that we all burst out laughing. As the meal progressed, Rebecca carelessly let the robe slip open more and more. Nobody said anything about it, but we all knew what was going on. Rebecca had found some wine in the house, opened it and poured us each a glass. "What are you going to do with yours?" Bruce asked her. "Drink it or pour it over yourself?" He clearly hadn't forgotten the story about what happened in the pub a couple of nights before.
She raised her glass, peered at him over the top the rim and asked. "What would you like me to do with it?"
"What do you think?" he asked. "I think you're a sexy bitch, and you know very well what Terry and I want.
"In that case then." She said as she stood up. "Cheers!" She raised her glass ain tipped it slowly over her head, soaking her hair and staining the robe red where it still covered her body. The wine ran over her breasts dripped off her prominent nipples, down her belly and legs, coating her bare feet too. "Now if you don't mind I'll have another glassful, but drink it this time."
After the meal, we just sat talking, and suddenly Bruce piped up. "How do you know Margaret Phillips?"
Rebecca gulped on her wine, (we'd opened a second bottle). "OH! We met her yesterday in Welshpool."
"Well," he said "According to Emlyn down the road you got to know her pretty in a short time, seeing as what you two were doing. Stay the night did she?" There was an awkward moment as Rebecca looked embarrassed and eventually admitted that she did. "Hmm, I thought so as her car was there all night." Bruce added.
"God!" Rebecca exclaimed, "You don't miss much that goes on round here do you?"
Bruce shook his head. "Can't afford to. We all look out for strange vehicles and unknown people in the district. Years ago one farmer lost a load of pregnant ewes. Sheep rustling you see? Another one had a quad bike stolen a few months ago. So you see there are lots of eyes and ears on the look out.
After that we loaded the dishwasher and decided to go back to the caravan, as we had a "date" with Margaret in the Market Tavern. Rebecca wore the stained bath robe back to the van and carried her top and skirt. After all they might come in handy again.
We quickly changed and set out for the village, arriving at the pub about ten minutes later than we had planned. Margaret was already there. "Don't order any drinks, I would like you to come with me to a party in Oswestry."
"We're not dressed for a party." I protested.
She looked at me "You'll do." as I had on some chinos and a reasonable shirt. She looked at Rebecca, "I have just the thing for you at my place. Come on, follow me." Somewhat in a daze we allowed ourselves to be propelled out of the pub and back to the car. "Follow me to Welshpool and then we'll take a taxi to Oswestry." She said.
