"Over there," she said, pointing. A man stood perhaps a hundred yards away, on the far side of the meadow, obviously listening, musket in both hands across his body. I rested my weapon on a tree limb, aimed just above his head and fired.The shot missed, but I saw him duck. Then here he came, through the high grass on a dead run, right at the cloud of gunsmoke. I had plenty of time to pick up the musket at my feet, check its pan, and shoot him down at ten yards. He somersaulted forward, spewing blood from his chest and back. I checked the bodies, found nothing worth taking except the girl's necklace, loaded all three muskets, and we started back."How many were there?" I asked the girl who stumbled along after me, still wearing her huge skirt and holding her torn shift together with one hand and my arm with the other."Six, I think," she gasped, "Maybe five, no six. I'm almost sure."She was right. Two of the militia bunch were left, the man I had hit in the head, who sat with his back. Now these kurtas were specially made to help me feed my baby if required, so they have buttons almost till navel. I was so lost in thought after my kid refused to take my milk that I had complete forgotten to close those buttons, and inevitable happened. When I bent my right breast plopped out. Full 36 very fair breasts with fat slightly elongated nipple were in direct view of the milkman. I was in limbo. Fully paralyzed statue. And milkman was observing my breast intently.Then without any warning, he took his now empty bucket between his two legs moved a bit closer and started milking me. The sound of a jet of my milk from my right breast hitting his empty steel bucket brought me to my senses. I tried to back out but my hips were stopped from moving by the wall behind me. As in haste to wriggle out of his grip, I must have changed my angle which misaligned my butt from the open door. So I tried to stand, but he quickly with his left-hand holds my shoulder and started making.
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