Milling
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 6
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 6 - I live in a forest and mill my own wood. My brother comes to help and soon we are doing more than milling on a woodpile
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Daughter
The overnight storm had receded. As I looked out, I could see tendrils of mist rising from the ground and my forest as the sun heated and began drying everything. A good day for milling, I decided.
I put my dungarees on, nothing else, no bra, no knickers, nothing, and yes, my side boobs were very visible, but I was alone and miles from anywhere, and I doubted that the occasional Roe deer that passed would be in the slightest bit interested. Toetectors on, of course, I am not stupid, and I headed off, locking and alarming the house before I left.
I got into the golf cart and headed off down the track to my mill. The air was humid, the damp from the overnight rains, I supposed. As I was driving to the mill, I had a slight change of mind and headed to my land entrance, just to check. As I arrived, there was a large logging lorry unloading trunks.
I had never seen them do it, and I guess I kind of knew how they must do it, but actually seeing it was fascinating. The lorry had around eight trunks on the back, all held in place by tall vertical iron bars. Between the back part and the cab there was a crane. There was a man operating the crane. It had a big grapple on it, and it sort of swooped down and grabbed a log. The crane then lifted the log up, swung it over to my land, and deposited it before returning for the next.
I guess it took him all of seven minutes to empty the lorry, and then he returned the crane to a safe position. Only then did I walk across and greet him. I knew he wouldn’t have wanted me watching from nearby as he was working; they probably had all manner of health and safety rules.
“Hi,” I said, “I am Amelia, this is my land, and thank you for the logs.”
“Hello, Amelia,” he replied, his eyes firmly on my side boobage. “I’m Jim. You’ll like these, Cedar, probably very different from what you have done before. They came from a land clearance by Keighley.”
“Crikey, yes, I mean, no, I haven’t done cedar before. I am surprised the council allowed the trees to be pulled down; I had read that they almost always say no to mature trees being felled for building work.”
“You are right, but the land had some subsidence, and the council, in fact, mandated that they be felled on safety grounds.”
I turned and looked more closely at the trunks. I guessed probably three mature trees, and they were of a very good width. As I turned back, I noticed that Jim was very focused on my chest. As I glanced down I realised that my right boob had escaped my dungarees. I sorted my clothing out; I didn’t say anything. It was my land, and I hadn’t expected to see anyone, so what I wore was up to me. Anyway, it was only a boob.
“Right then, Jim,” I said, “I better get these moved. Thank you again.”
“That’s alright, love; you’ve cheered me up no end. Good luck.” He turned and went back to his cab. I have no doubt that I will have given his mind fuel for the day. Oh well. As he drove off, he tooted his horn, a loud blast that echoed along the road, and then I was all alone again.
I got back into my cart and drove to the mill. I started the skid steer, and as it was sitting there warming up, I went around with the grease gun, getting every nipple treated. One thing I had learnt is that machinery needs grease, and what had surprised me was just how much grease it needed. I seemed to be getting through a box a month. I ought to find a more economical way of buying it.
I trundled the skid steer back to the trunks, and after a little manoeuvring back and forth, I decided that one trunk at a time was the safe way. Two trunks were just a little too heavy for stability. This was my equipment, and it was up to me to look after it. I had no doubt that an employee would take the chance, but not me.
It took me nearly two hours to get the logs back and stacked on some dunnage by my mill. It was then another half an hour, adding Anchorseal to the ends to stop splitting and insect infiltration. The logs would sit there for at least six months before I cut them, giving them a chance to dry out and settle, but I was excited to be able to mill them.
I sat on one of the logs and cracked open my flask of coffee. I was lost in a land of make-believe as I sipped at my coffee and hardly noticed Harry as he walked up. Harry is my new arborist. I had got rid of my original arborists after they had taken liberties that I wasn’t comfortable with. They had seen me be intimate with my dad and had basically blackmailed me into letting them shag me.
I didn’t get rid of them straight away; I let things ride, but an opportunity came and I could use the economic downturn to let them go. The economy of the country didn’t really affect me; I wasn’t a commercial business. I did supply a few people; I did sell some wood on my website, but if I didn’t sell, it didn’t matter. I was financially independent, and my land was simply a way of investing some of my money.
After a few months without the original arborists, I had decided that I needed help with the land, and so I asked a few of the local farmers if they knew of anyone that was into land management that was looking for work. It didn’t need to be an arborist, just someone who would be comfortable working in the forest and helping out with the day-to-day stuff. That is how I found Harry.
He had been working for an estate on the other side of Keithley but had been made redundant when the estate changed hands due to bereavement, and death duties meant that costs had to be cut. We met in the Brown Cow one lunchtime, and I explained how my operation worked.
He explained that his duties at the estate had included forestry and woods management and that he had enjoyed it, but then the death of the old owner had left things in limbo for a while, and eventually he had been let go. It seemed that there were not a lot of positions available for a man with his skill set – not these days.
We talked about salary, what I would expect, how he could meet my needs, and how I could help him expand his knowledge base, and eventually we came to a consensus. He lived only a few miles from me in a small village. There was just him and his wife; his children had fledged, and so all he had been doing recently was developing his vegetable plot at home with his wife.
We agreed on a start date, and soon he was working my land. He spent a lot of his first few weeks moving around the land, marking out trails and marking trees that needed felling. He told me that we needed to order the trees for planting in the next week, as he wanted to get them planted before the frosts arrived, to let them settle over winter, and then for them to wake and grow next spring.
We had sat down together and planned the planting of roughly 1000 trees, giving each the space that they needed to grow and thrive. That still left me plenty of unplanted acreage, but I didn’t want to rush it; there was only so much that the two of us could achieve, and a thousand trees to plant in a few weeks was a limit I was comfortable with.
In preparation he had bush-hogged and disced the area and then run over it with a riddle rake. None of those had been bits of kit that I owned, but he had managed to pick them up second-hand from some of the local estates, and all in all, they had all cost me only a few thousand pounds. The most expensive thing had, surprisingly, been the large roller to go over and flatten everything.
His next advice had been a surprise. “Get a good chest freezer,” he had said, “for the venison.”
“What venison?” I had asked.