The Miller

"Master Millar, you know I am your man. I'm doing my best. But the men aren't happy and they're not listening. They want better conditions, Master. They're talking strike." John Lachey held his hat in his hands and hoped that the Master would give him some kind of concession or offering to take back to his disgruntled mill workers before the threat of strike action became a reality.

But Master Millar did not become a wealthy and powerful man by being soft. As the epitome of the rising middle class, Hamilton Millar had reached his position by being smart, opportunistic and ruthless. He saw good business as being able to identify a need and supply it. Hence, his cotton mill was one of the busiest in the north of England. To this end, it was his practice to find out the needs and desires of those he did business with and then use them to his advantage.

So as his lead man in the mill sat there informing him of the increasing agitation of his workers, Hamilton was considering how best to handle the situation. "Tell the men that you have spoken with me and I have listened." He sat back in his leather bound arm chair, his long, thick fingers tapping the tempo of his thoughts on the side rests. "Tell them that I am working on a range of improvements for them designed to bring some comfort and improvement to their lot. Tell them that the welfare of my workers is important to me. You need to pacify the men, John, until I can work out how best to deal with this."

"Master, the men don't want words no more. They want action. They are talking big, Master, and I have nothing to give them by way of answers. With all due respect, Master, nice words aren't going to matter a fig to them. They want some meat for their meal. They want rest breaks. They want more coin, Master."

Instead of responding to his visitor, Hamilton rang for his head steward. Franklin appeared at the door formally. "Master?"

"Bring my wife here, please," Hamilton ordered.

John Lachey moved uncomfortably in his chair. "Master Millar... it is not necessary... I do not need..."

"Stop." Hamilton's voice was low but carried the authority of a judge's gavel striking the bench. "You are my man. You represent my interests to my workers. In return, I will look after you as promised. As my wife is an extension of me, so too is it her duty to take care of you." As he completed this statement, Vivian Millar entered in a simple green gown, her blond hair piled into a chignon at the nape of her neck, and a jade pendant hanging at the base of her throat by a thin black velvet ribbon.

"My Lord?" She inquired of her husband before her eyes rested on John Lachey, sitting with his cap placed in his lap to hide the stiff response to the woman who had just entered. She smiled warmly and approached him. "So pleased to see you again, Mr Lachey."

"My pet, John is taking care of our interests with the workers, but they are somewhat discontent right now." Hamilton looked at his obedient wife and explained, "I think we need to show John how much his efforts are appreciated, and that we understand his needs."

Vivian nodded compliantly. "Of course, my Lord." She then lifted her skirts and kneeled before the mill's lead man, whose eyes were now arrested by the soft lips of his boss's wife, and the full bosom straining against the low neckline of her gown. He knew that she had given birth recently and that her tits were likely full with milk, and that the body beneath her gown was resplendent with the curves of motherhood. John Lachey's cock throbbed as he watched Vivian Millar remove his hands from his lap and set about undoing the tie of his pants. "Mr Lachey, allow me to show you how important you are to my husband and myself." Without waiting for further permission, Vivian's head dropped into his lap and her warm mouth sank down on his rigid prick. He watched the bobbing head of the talented Mrs Millar as she wrapped her soft pink lips around his shaft and sucked in a way his recently deceased wife never had.

John Lachey had been singled out as lead man in the last twelve months and his monthly visits to his Master's house had always ended in the same way, with his boss's young wife kneeling before him, sucking expertly on his prick whilst his boss looked on approvingly. Unable to withstand her ministrations, Lachey would inevitably cry out with some embarrassment, "I'm sorry!" before shooting his load into the lady's mouth. He would always leave with an uncomfortable sense of having given up something, usually his men's position in negotiations, and was perpetually conflicted about his role. But there was no doubting that he spent the better part of the next week after visiting his boss, reliving the wonderment of having Vivian Millar's pink lips around his shaft and could not, despite the internal conflict, bring himself to refuse the gesture or abdicate his position in the mill.

It was just as well too, because Hamilton Millar was not a man that would have accepted either. "Crisis momentarily averted, my pet." He stroked his wife's hair as she remained on her knees at his feet, as was his requirement of her when they were alone. "Now tell me what you have done about replacing Julia for us." Julia had been his wife's maid with extended domestic duties as required. Hamilton Millar did not run a conventional household, so the roles of his domestic staff were equally unconventional.

"My Lord," Vivian began, pressing her lips into her husband's palm. "We have a young woman coming today. I told you about her, I believe. She was orphaned and has only had one domestic position before."

"Yes, I remember." Hamilton reached down inside his wife's gown and grabbed her nipple, squeezing it until he could feel the warmth of milk leaking onto his fingers. "It was a very short-lived position and you say she does not come with a credible reference?"

His wife sucked the milk off the fingers her husband had slipped into her mouth and smiled her pleasure. "My Lord, it would seem, looking at her general situation, that this young woman might be in somewhat of a desperate situation."

"How fortunate for us, my pet. In light of the disappointment of Julia, I believe I should like the final say on the appointment of this young woman. It would appear Julia had not been fully understanding of the requirements of her position, Vivian, and so I will take it upon myself to ensure that this young woman has no similar misconceptions about the nature of her role."

Vivian smiled up at her husband. "As you wish, my Lord. I am sure she will be grateful for your attention."

Her husband smiled back at her. "And if she is not, she will be made to be." He raised his wife by her elbow. "Come, my pet, you have pleased me this morning. Your tits are bursting. You may seek young Cedric now for some relief."

His wife's eyes shone with delight. "Thank you, my Lord. I am full and somewhat uncomfortable. I will indeed call for Cedric." She kissed his palm again and withdrew from the room.

Hamilton Millar watched his wife back out of the room with a great deal of satisfaction. He had paid her father for her handsomely and she had lived up to his expectations. It wasn't often he was wrong. And when he was, he didn't care, he just shifted the world around him until he was right.