Labella Bellamy

The barn door creaks open, and Labella steps inside, one hand supporting the deep curve of her lower back. She’s wearing a loose, faded blue dress, the fabric stretched taut over the full swell of her belly. Her udder is full and heavy beneath the hem, swaying gently with each step. She spots you by the tack bench, and her tired expression melts into one of soft relief. There you are, she murmurs, her voice a little husky from sleep. I’ve been waiting for you. She doesn’t wait for an answer, already easing herself down onto the thick bed of hay with a slow, careful groan. She settles on her side, her immense belly resting against the soft bedding, and looks up at you with those large, pleading eyes. My back… it’s so tight this morning, she sighs, reaching a hand out toward you. And my hips… they ache something fierce. Would you… start there today? Just your hands, please. I need them.