Green Bush Erotica Volume 17

The Milk Bar

 

Chapter One

 

AT MY WEDDING more than a few of the guests thought I was pregnant. True, I had put on a few pounds in the previous couple of years, but I’m certain most of those who were convinced I’d been knocked up were staring at my tits. They had grown by two cup sizes and I had put them on display in my wedding down, but demurely. I wasn’t hiding my massive boobs nor was I showing them off, but I was letting everyone know that I was proud of my assets.

Of course there were the ones who thought my husband’s wedding present to me was a set of surgically enhanced breasts. No chance of that. I’m an all-natural girl. No tattoos. No piercings. No fake tits filled with silicone. I never even got my ears pierced as a girl; I was too afraid of the needle so my lobes were bare during the wedding. Even my blond hair is what nature gave me. If you don’t like what you see, fuck off. I’m not here to keep you happy.

True, my breasts weren’t exactly eye-catching once I left my teens. They were good-sized but not huge. Actually, I was pretty happy with them. Not so small that I didn’t have anything to show off if I wanted (which was rare) but neither were they so huge that they were too much of a burden to haul around everywhere and get in the way. I was happy.

Then I met Mike. Michael. My boyfriend and eventual husband. He was fun and a bit goofy, not perfect, of course, but who is. Maybe he’s a little too tall for my lack of stature. I barely top out at five-two and he’s a good foot taller. But the sex was good. Hell, the sex was great. One night we had fucked and were just lying in bed before falling asleep. I was on my side and he was playing with my tits, lightly pinching the nipples, moving the smooth surface of his palm all over them, massaging them, just helping me relax.

“I love your tits,” he told him.

“Mmm-hmm,” I absently agreed.

“Can I suck on your nipples?”

There was no reason for him to ask that. He had often played and sucked on them many times before.

“Sure.”

I was on my right side. He wiggled down a bit, kissed the top of my left breast and took the nipple into his mouth. It felt good. It always did. My breasts weren’t that sensitive to stimulation, but after sex my body was always aquiver with stray sensations. I felt a little thrum run from my boob to my pussy. That felt really nice. Mike didn’t just give a lick and a nibble. He sucked on my nipple in earnest. It didn’t hurt, of course, but he played with it in his mouth. His tongue swirled around my nipple. He sucked in all of my areola then abruptly released it. When his teeth nipped at my little hard nub I shivered with joy. Then he settled down to a steady pattern of suck and release. I pressed my body against his and let my skin slide against his.

There must have been a steady rise of lust in my body that I was unaware of while he was doing this because I was abruptly aware of my urgent need to cum. He hadn’t put hand or cock anywhere near my pussy and I was simply lying there with my hands under my pillow enjoying the moment. I wasn’t even pressing my thighs together in that desperate half-masturbatory pose some women try when their hands are bound and they want to get themselves off.

It just happened. I did nothing to encourage the process. I came. It wasn’t the most powerful orgasm of my life. (That was when I was nineteen and half-drunk in bed with a guy I had met at a college party three hours earlier. He had put his finger up my ass while he was fucking me.) It was the most surprising because I like the buildup to that abrupt release of energy. But when Mike sucked on my nipple, there was none of that. It was an incredibly relaxing orgasm.

“Oh fuck, I just came,” I announced to him.

“What?”

“I came. You made me cum.”

“I didn’t touch you,” he protested which was pretty funny because we were both naked and had recently fucked and he most assuredly had been touching me. He just hadn’t been touching my pussy; one hand was folded between us and the other was resting on my hip.

“I came anyway,” I giggled. “Do it again.”

“What?” he asked clearly confused. That was amusing.

“Make me cum. Suck on my other tit.”

“Ooohhh.” Mike was usually a pretty smart guy but sometimes he needed to be clued in to the obvious. He pushed away the pillow his head had been resting on and snuggled in closer to my other breast, taking the nipple into his mouth, and sucking on me once again.

This time it took a lot longer. I couldn’t figure that out at first, but I solved it eventually. He used the same playing and sucking techniques as the first time and eventually I got my second orgasm. It was much like the first, wonderful and relaxing, not intense like one that originated from my clit.

“That was so good,” I sighed into the top of his head.

Mike laughed at me a bit. “I never would have guessed you were the type of girl who could get off just from having her tits sucked.”

To be truthful, I never would have guessed I was that type of girl either.

Like too many woman I was never particularly proud of my body, but luckily I never went into that shame spiral of hating it either. I was never too fat or too thin or—worse—never thin enough. I had luckily escaped getting brain damaged by the media into thinking I needed to be starving urchin thin via bulimia or anorexia. My boyfriend’s renewed interest in my breasts because he could use them to make me come made me happy. It was a weird happy because that wasn’t what breasts were for, right?

Still, the attention was nice. The orgasms were nice. He even went out and bought me a very nice bra. Not one of those super-sexy all lace and pushup wires, but a lightly padded full coverage bra in plain white with just a hint of simple flowers worked into the fabric that was so freaking soft I thought I would be able to sleep in it.

“I got the one the saleswoman said was the most comfortable on the lingerie market today,” he proudly announced to me.

That was when I figured he was a boyfriend worth keeping. He wasn’t trying to make me sexier just by dressing me up the way he wanted; he was making me sexier by making me feel more comfortable in the skin and clothes was in.

When you’re young, you don’t tend to think about the consequences of your actions, especially the unintended consequences. When I discovered my little talent of orgasm by nipple suction, I was delighted and had Mike indulge me at every turn. It wasn’t hard to convince him to play with my breasts, we was a man after all. In retrospect I probably should have kept count to see how many orgasms I had via tit and how many by clit. I’m not certain which one would have won, but it would have been interesting to keep track.

There were we in our mid-20s doing the things the young and stupid do—sex, alcohol, parties, work, sex, planning a life, some more sex—and like so many women I put on a little weight. Not much; Mike never said a word to me about my weight because he wasn’t stupid. He could be clueless, but he wasn’t stupid. I didn’t bother looking at the bathroom scale because I didn’t want to go down that ugly path but it eventually got to the point where I was no longer fitting into my favorite bra, the über-comfortable white bra that was my favorite gift from Mike.

One morning I was feeling good—partly because Mike had given me a couple of breast orgasms and a fucking to wake me up—and decided to put it on. After five minutes of struggling to get the fit correct, the cups correctly positioned, and the straps properly aligned I screamed, ripped it from my body, threw it on the bedroom floor and literally stomped on it.

Mike watched this over the top performance in contemplative silence. “Something wrong?”

“I’m too fucking fat to fit into my bra!”

“You’re not fat,” he said trying to suck up to me and calm me down in that tone men use when they know they’re lying to you and you know it so it just irks you even more.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” I screamed. “I’m a fucking whale!”

“I bet you’re the same weight as when we met,” he said calmly. He was probably glad my wrath wasn’t directed at him. Yet.

“Fuck you I am,” I said stomping to the bathroom and pulling the scale out of the bottom of the closet. It was stupid but I wiped off the dust from the top not because I didn’t want to stand on a dirty scale but because I didn’t want the additional weight of the dust to affect the scale’s measurement. I breathed out, stepped on, and waited a long moment as the little computer inside the scale came to a final conclusion.

Mike stood in the bathroom doorway watching me. I’ll point out I was completely naked at the point because my morning routine had been disrupted by my failure to properly place a brassiere on my body and in my frustration I had ripped off my panties—mostly because I didn’t want the half ounce of cotton to up my weight.

When the scale made its final determination I was a whole pound heavier than when I first started dating Michael.

“Fucking hell,” I complained. “Scale must be broken.”

“I don’t think so,” Michael disagreed. “I think if you’ve put on weight, it’s all in your boobs.”

“Ha ha, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Why not.”

“I still think the scale’s wrong.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. And I’ll get you a bra in a bigger size.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“Maybe your breasts are still growing. Maybe you’ve stopping growing up so you need to grow out a little.”

“Ha ha.”

He wasn’t far from the truth. True to his word he bought me a new scale and several new bras all of my choosing. The saleswoman commented that I even though I have been buying one size for the past few years breasts do grow and change. She professionally fitted me—or so she said, maybe she was one of those lipstick lesbians who work in lingerie stores to feel up the pretty girls—and I got bigger bras.

When we were done the new scale confirmed what the old scale had said and Michael happily undressed my torso to suck on my tits. If nothing else his mouth on my nipples calmed me down after a stressful day at work. I could relax, have a little orgasm, have a little sex, and go to sleep. It wasn’t a terrible way to live.

The first indication I had that something was going terribly wrong with me was when I did a half-hearted self breast examination and felt liquid seeping out of my nipples.

I panicked.

Then I calmed down and went to the internet. I knew discharge from nipples could be a sign of breast cancer but I had no other signs of ill health. The discharge was clear to whitish.

Two minutes on WebMD and other not so helpful sites convinced me that I had breast cancer, necrotizing fasciitis, syphilis, and the plague.

After another bout of panic I went to some better health sites and figured out that my breasts were simply producing milk.

Usually women lactate because of a rush of hormones during pregnancy and the need of a baby to nurse nearly nonstop for the immediately after birth. I was neither pregnant nor nursing so I was puzzled. Other reasons a woman might lactate? Anxiety, hormone imbalance, pituitary gland tumor, birth control pills, and stimulation of the breasts especially sucking or fondling during sex.

I went through the causes one by one. My anxiety at the moment was sky high, but normally I’m pretty even keeled. I didn’t have any other signs of hormone imbalance; not once in my life have I ever had signs of PMS. I could have a tumor on my pituitary gland, but I’d need an MRI to determine that. I wasn’t taking birth control pills. And then I came to the last possible cause: “stimulation of the breasts especially sucking or fondling during sex”.

I stormed into the living room where Mike was playing some FPS on his Xbox instead of playing with my box (ha ha). I slapped him across the face.

“What the fuck! You just got me killed!” The machine made some weird game over noise and he managed to tear his eyeballs from the screen.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I seethed.

“What did I do now?”

“You made me fucking lactate you sex-crazed maniac!”

Michael stared blankly. “What?

“My.Breasts. Are. Full. Of. Milk,” I explained to him with short, simple words.

“Ohh…” he said with realization and slowly trailed off with a nervous look.

“What?” I demanded from him.

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“I guess I had sort of an idea…”

“What!” I was about to tear his lungs out of his chest. Through his cock.

“Yeah…you’ve tasted a little different the past few weeks.”

“Tasted different?” I was stunned.

“Yeah. I thought maybe you were using a new soap or deodorant. You’ve only got about fifty different ones on the bathroom shelf.”

“Really?”

“Well…yeah. But that wouldn’t explain why I could feel liquid, milk, I guess when I was sucking on your tits.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me!” I screamed.

“Umm…I thought about it. But I didn’t want to upset you or change anything so I didn’t say a word.”

“Uh…huh.”

“And you were enjoying the whole tit play thing. So why upset a good deal. Right?”

“Right,” I said softly and vaguely.

“Are you upset?”

“I’m…confused.”

“Are we going to stop?” he asked. “Because I really like sucking on your nipples.”

The thing of it was I liked him sucking on my nipples. We did it every night at this point and sometimes in the morning depending on when we woke up and how much time we had. And of course he sucked on them during regular sex as well. Regular sex. Ha. Is there such a thing any longer?

Much like the human heart, the human body wants what it wants. I still wanted to have sex with Michael. That was a given. And I still wanted him to suckle my tits. It felt so good. It relaxed me. It made me lusty. It gave me orgasms.

It also made my tits grow. And they kept growing.

I found I didn’t mind it. The amount of milk my breasts was making was small. I never leaked, probably because Mike was draining me every morning and every night. It made my tits bigger, true. But that also got me extra looks from men, which I sort of enjoyed. I filled out some dresses better and I have actual real cleavage to show off, which was fun.

Give a man a sexual oddity and he’ll make a fetish out of it. As soon as he figured out that he was the one who had activated my breasts Michael was on target to become a lactation fetishist. He found recipes that were supposed to help nursing mothers produce more milk. He started buying more beer than before because supposedly beer has an ingredient that facilitates lactation. He even purchased mother’s tea—not that I drank all that much tea or coffee—that would keep my breasts “healthy”.

“Enough,” I finally told him.

“But you don’t want—”

I cut him off. “What I want for my tits is my business. Don’t presume.”

He didn’t argue because he didn’t want to be cut off from my milk. He had already fallen down the rabbit hole of lactation. Men are so easily controlled sometimes. All I had to do was threaten to cut off his milk supply and he’d do anything I asked.

It was kind of cute.

Wisely he didn’t move into the nutritional supplement section of the grocery store. I wasn’t going to start taking blessed thistle or fenugreek tablets because he wanted more breast milk.

While he might not have realized it all of that shit was minimally effective or just a waste of money. We both knew that what really got me started was his mouth on my tits twice a day. Sometimes more. Every night we got in bed together and I offered him my breasts and he suckled. Every morning I would wake up with him attached and removing every drop of my milk. It was the best alarm clock in the world.

 

Chapter Two

 

MEN LIKE TO see how far they can push anything with sex. Twice a day wasn’t good enough for Mike. Sometimes when we got home from work he’d push me to the bed and suckle me for half an hour while I relaxed and watched television or half-napped.

“How much do you think you’re producing?” he asked me.

I rolled my eyes. Too often the conversation was directed about my breasts. It was tiring.

“I don’t know. Maybe a half cup a day. Does it really matter?”

“Have you heard about those women who produce like two or three cups of milk a day?”

“You spend too much time on fetish websites.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Ever thought about posing for some pictures or videos? There’s money to be made there.”

“No,” I told him flatly.

His smile was thin. “How about taking out an ad to sell your milk?”

I sighed. “Why these questions?”

“I think it’s kinky hot that you lactate.”

I sighed again. “Really? As if I didn’t know.”

“Yes.”

“We don’t need the money. Stop asking stupid questions.”

“Would you let another man nurse from you?” he asked.

That gave me pause.

“Why are you asking that?”

“Because I like talking about your boobs.”

I rolled my eyes; it was an answer I was expecting. “Would I ever? Theoretically yes because right now I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to keep dating you. Realistically right now? No, probably not. Why? Tell me the real reason you’re asking.”

He shrugged and looked away. I could tell he was embarrassed. “I dunno. I think it would be hot to watch you feed another man.”

I gazed at him carefully. “That would get you off?”

“Yeah.”

“What would you do?” I was curious now. We liked to fuck after he nursed from me because we were both turned on by Michael’s sucking. Just the sensation got me going and apparently the whole ritual was enough for him to get hard and ready; but then again it doesn’t exactly take a lot of effort to get a healthy man in his mid-20s hot and horny in the presence of woman’s naked body.

He answered slowly. The words sounded rehearsed. He’d thought a lot about this. “I’d watched him take off your shirt, and then your bra, and then the two of you would lay down on the bed together, he’d suck your tits, he’d get every drop of milk out of you.”

“Okay, that’s what he would do. What would you do during this?”

He shook himself out of his daydream. “I’d watch. I wouldn’t say anything. I’d let it just happen.”

“Uh-huh. And what would you really do?”

Michael half-hung his head. He was playing games with me. “I’d jerk off while he was sucking you.”

“And that would be enough for you?” I asked. “Your new friend would get a nice little feeding and you’d blow your wad and that’s it? Who fucks me afterward? Having your tits played with for an hour get’s a girl’s juices flowing don’t you know?”

“I could get you off,” Mike offered.

“What? With your fingers and mouth?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I need penetration too. I like getting fucked; I need more than just my clit played with.”

“I can use my fingers inside you,” he insisted.

“When there’s a perfectly good cock lying right next to me on the bed?” I asked. “I don’t think so. If he’s going to suck on these tits, he’s going to get the whole package,” I insisted. It was pretty much pure bravado. I had no intention of going out and finding some guy to nurse my boobs, get all the milk, and then fuck me. Sure, I liked a bit of kink and sexy play like any normal person, but I didn’t think I was the type to go searching out another man to fill the role of my boyfriend while my actual boyfriend was right there in the room with me.

“I’m not sure about that…” Michael said.

“Why not,” I countered. “Wouldn’t that get you off too? Don’t lots of men like to see their wives and girlfriends fucked by strangers while they watch?”

He was stunned and rattled his head back and forth. “Yeah. Sure. Some. Not me.”

“Not you,” I repeated for him.

“No, not me.”

“So it’s okay for a stranger to nurse from me, but not have sex with me,” I challenged him.

“Right.”

“Hypocrite. That makes no sense.”

I could tell Michael was getting frustrated and he literally started pulling at his hair on both sides of his head. “I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s just a fantasy that gets me off.”

That was a minor revelation. How often was he jerking off to this little bit of pornographic theater in his head?

“What if it was a girl?” I asked him.

“What?”

“What if I let a girl undress me and nurse?”

If he hadn’t considered that before he was putting on an excellent show in considering the possibilities. “You’d do that?”

“Probably not, but I wanted to ask the question.” I slowly walked away from him, leaving the kitchen where we had staged this little argument about something that was never going to happen and headed toward the bedroom. “I’m pretty worked up right now. And my breasts are heavy. Want to help me out?”

By the time he got to the bedroom I was already topless and resting on my side upon the bed. Mike didn’t need any encouragement to fall upon my tits and suck hard at them.

It felt wonderful. Getting milked after a fight was a perfect release of stress. I could feel my milk flowing out of my nipples and Mike made the right moaning noises letting me know he was getting everything he wanted from me. I pulled at his clothes and helped him undress. In no time at all he was naked and his hard cock was pressing at my thigh. I was still wearing my jeans and even though I was topless I was in complete charge of what was about to happen next.

I was about to tell him I wanted another man to milk me while he watched because that was his fantasy.

I didn’t tell him anything. I let him suckle me. I let my milk flow. When Michael reached for the button on my jeans I swatted his hand away. “When I’m done and empty,” I told him.

He went back to my breasts with an eagerness I hadn’t experienced in some time. I knew what he wanted and he wasn’t going to get it from me all that easily. I relaxed and let him work his magic mouth upon me. It was wonderful. I shivered twice as he tease my nipples and drained my milk. He thought I shivered in the cool air; I actually had little orgasms, but I wasn’t going to tell him that either.

As we approached the end of my milk supply I pushed him away from my tits. “You want to fuck, don’t you?” I asked him.

“Yeah…” his eyes were half-glazed over with lust. His cock was still hard and some precum was leaking from the little slit. It wasn’t possible for him to be hornier.

“I get to be on top,” I told him and unbuttoned my jeans. They were a little tighter than I normally liked. Although I didn’t want to admit it, I had started putting on weight. I knew I was eating more than before because I was producing milk, but I knew I shouldn’t be eating quite as much as I was. Michael didn’t complain as I wiggled out of my jeans and panties at the same time. He liked that little trick.

Getting on top was easy. He grabbed his cock in his fist and aimed it right into my pussy. I’m not a huge pan of being on top; I like to be fucked, but a little change up is nice from time to time. Plus he knew that when I was on top put me in charge. The fucking that night was slow and languorous, the way I liked. I leaned forward periodically and allowed him to suck on my tits, offering first one and then the other. He loved it of course. I let myself get lost in the pleasure of my body, but periodically pulled back from him so he wouldn’t get too self-involved. I didn’t want him to cum too soon.

When his cock got extra hard in my pussy I leaned all the way forward, dragging my tits across his chest, and whispered in his ear, “You really want to see another guy suck on my tits?”

“Yeah…”

“Then you’d better find a guy to make it happen.”

That was all he needed to cum. His spunk flooded my pussy making me hot and sticky inside. And that was all I needed to go over the edge and cum with him.

 

The internet can be a nasty place full of trolls and creeps and people looking pull off some scam. There probably isn’t a more wretched hive of villainy on Earth; still, it can be a nice place if you know where to look.

I told Mike exactly what I was looking for and to only bring me names and profiles of men that fit my criteria. Under 40, not-insane creepy (a hard criteria to screen for), in reasonably good shape, Mike had to meet him first and verify the guy was as advertised and get a real name and ID.

“Married or single?” Mike asked as he was writing down all my restrictions and rules.

“Um.” I hadn’t given that one any thought. If a guy looked to get milk from a woman was already married or in a relationship, wouldn’t he already have convinced his partner to do it for him? Maybe not, or maybe she refused and he decided to step out to the internet for what he needed. At first I couldn’t decide how to answer his question. “Single. I don’t want to break up any marriages.”

He nodded and added the criteria to the list. I expected Mike’s search to take a couple of months at the very least and I was prepared to shoot down any of them that struck me as being the slightest bit off.

To be truthful, the idea of what Michael was proposing excited me. I was always that plain girl in the back of the room. Not really sexy, not really ugly, nothing really special about her and I considered myself kind of lucky to have found Michael. And now here I was with some sort-of superpower—lactation, but every woman can do it—and suddenly I was the center of attention.

Well, the center of attention to a select group.

I actually ventured out onto the internet to see what was out there. I knew there had to be men looking for a woman to nurse from. There are too many men with too many kinks in the world for there not to be more than a few looking. While the number of men in our area looking to hook up for a little milky breast play was low, the overall number was huge. I was dumbfounded and aghast.

“Where are all the women who these men want?” I asked Michael after closing out the web browser I had been using to find those in search of an adult nursing relationship.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t want to play the same game.” He kissed me on top of my head and copped a feel of my milk-heavy breast at the same time. Men with be men. “I’m very lucky,” he told me.

“True,” I agreed.

The search for the right candidate only took three weeks it turned out. Carson was perfect Mike told me after they met. He had met Carson on one of the many forums devoted to lactation appreciation. Then they met in person, without my permission, I pointed out to Michael.

“I don’t need your permission to meet people,” he said. “I need your permission to bring them into our bedroom.”

Surprisingly Carson did meet all the criteria I set up and Michael had even procured a copy of Carson’s driver’s license. He was the real deal.

“He’s a nice guy.”

“So what’s he doing cruising the internet looking for women giving up breast milk for horny little boys?”

“It’s a kink he just wants to try.”

“To try?” I asked. I was expecting to get a dirty old man who paid hookers exorbitant amounts of money to play with their boobs.

Mike shrugged. “That’s what he says.”

“Anything goes wrong and he’s out of here so fast…”

“It’ll be fine,” Mike assured me, slowly pulling me down to the bed and pushing off my shirt. I had taken to the custom of stripping off my bra the moment I got home in the evening. My boobs were much happier free and unrestricted. Of course that meant easier access to my chest so Michael took every advantage of that as well.

I didn’t mind.

“I love you, Kath,” he mumbled into my flesh as he nursed from me and slowly pushed me toward orgasm.

“We’ll see if you still love me after Carson fucks me,” I told him and concentrated on the sensations he was sending to my pussy.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I met Carson in our living room, but I hadn’t expected to meet a gorgeous man with blue-gray eyes and a shaved head. He stood a few inches taller than Michael and was lean and lithe. Not to denigrate my future husband, but if we weren’t already in a serious committed relationship I wouldn’t have said no to anything Carson suggested.

“How did you want to do this?” Carson asked me as we chatted in our little place. It was exciting and awkward at the same time. In a few minutes we were going to be partially naked and he was going to be nursing from my heavy tits. After that—hopefully—we’d be completely naked and fucking. Our fifteen minute conversation had made my panties more than just slightly damp.

He was magnanimous in his answer. “Any way you want. You’re in charge.”

Damn right I was in charge. But I still looked at my boyfriend for a bit of support. Michael nodded encouragingly at me. “Okay. All three of us need to go to the bedroom and you two need to follow my orders, right.”

“As you wish,” Carson answered happily.

Michael filled in the unnecessary detail. “He knows if he doesn’t behave himself he won’t be invited back.”

I led the way and shed my shirt as soon as I entered the bedroom. Contrary to my new standards, tonight I was wearing a bra. It wouldn’t be polite or acceptable to go braless in front of company. As Carson and Michael entered the room I perched my ass on the corner of the bed. “Get naked,” I ordered. “I want a little visual treat.”

I wasn’t sure if I this would lead to locker room shyness or a dick measuring competition, but both Michael and Carson started undressing without a word. They didn’t look at each other nor did they say anything, but seeing two men take off their clothes just for me was a heady surge of power to my ego. They paused briefly when they were down to their underwear.

“Everything off,” I clarified.

And so they pulled off their last scrap of dignity. I knew what Michael’s cock looked like. I didn’t even give him a glance. Carson’s though, I lingered on that. He was semi-erect and obviously excited. It wasn’t huge, it was…average. But I wasn’t disappointed. It was getting hard for me and me alone. I half turned on the corner of the bed. “Help me with my bra, Carson?”

After a quick glance at Michael who gave him an encouraging nod, Carson stepped forward. I lifted up my hair and he pulled and then unclasped my bra. It felt good to be free of its restrictions. Michael was trying to fade into the background. His hand was already on his cock, slowly stroking himself. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Both of you kneel in front of me. You’re both going to nurse. One breast apiece at the same time. Get close and chummy.”

They moved slowly, and I couldn’t blame them, but eventually they were down in front of me and while Michael needed no encouragement to put his lips to my nipple, Carson was the one that pulled up short.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

By that point I was positive I needed the both of them right there and right then. I grasped the back of his smooth head and brought it to my breast. That was all he needed. His lips sought out my nipple, latched on, and he suckled like he was born to the task.

I sighed deeply. My milk immediately let down and flowed steadily.

Some women claim to have orgasms while nursing their babies. I certainly had more than my share of orgasms while being nursed by my boyfriend and now my…lover? I had never heard of a women orgasming from using a breast pump, but surely one or two must have, right. To be nursed at double speed on both breasts was pure bliss. I shivered and came with one of my little light orgasms. Then I had a second and a third. I lost count. I couldn’t concentrate beyond the sensations running from my tits to my clit that quickly blossomed into climaxes.

I wasn’t sure when I pushed them away but it was after I had l