I’ve been fascinated by the possibility of male lactation for a while now, wondering what it would take if I became a father, for me to breastfeed my child. This fantasy grew out of that but wanting a more adult-adult interaction theme. I’ve no idea how these two managed it, though.
*****
Sandra opened the door to the apartment, abandoned her handbag in the hallway, and shed her jacket on the floor. The shoes, blouse and skirt soon followed it, a trail from the entrance to the drinks cabinet. Work had been far too long and the sooner she lost the uniform of the office, the better. Seniority might mean better pay, but it was still the same long hours and the same people she had to deal with. She reached for the wine bottle and a glass.
She never made it. Two burly hands gripped her wrists and stopped her. She felt his hot breath on her neck and her cheek.
“Honey, just come and sit down,” he said.
She smiled and relaxed, and he let go. She turned and looked into his soft blue eyes.
“You shouldn’t do that, sweetie,” she said, “For a moment, you scared me.”
He held up his hands in retreat, but she put her arms around his waist and pulled him in, kissing him. She felt his hands exploring her back, and wriggled slightly to let him find her bra fastening more easily. As soon as her breasts were free, she worked on his shirt buttons, helping him out of it as he cast aside his tie. He circled his arms around her waist and pulled her to the couch - or maybe she pushed him, they were both so eager it was hard to tell. They collapsed next to each other. He cuddled her close, and her head rested on his broad chest. She kissed him there, and again, tracing a path across his breast as he stroked her hair and her shoulder.
“This is what I need!” she sighed as she reached her goal, sucking his nipple between her lips, teasing it gently with her teeth.
“Yes, dear,” he breathed, and felt the stroke of her tongue and her mouth against his areola. Soon, the almost imperceptible pull of her suction combined with the warm/cold feeling of her saliva on his nipple. She didn’t maintain a constant pressure but tugged on and off, squeezing the nipple gently with each cycle. Her eyes closed and he cradled her head, supporting her with his forearm and stroking her neck with his fingers. The other arm encircled her waist, pulling her in closely.
Gradually, slowly at first, she began to taste it. The precious fluid seeping forth, but more with each inhalation. A slight murmur of pleasure echoed in her throat, and she felt him wrap her more tightly.
Something tingled in his chest and his stomach felt tight, as his body responded to the unusual role they had assigned to it, but all that seemed to matter was that this was his love, here in his arms, and that he was feeding her what she needed. He could see it in her blissful expression that she was drinking, the warm, nourishing milk binding them together in a unique way. His hand wandered to her bosom, gently stroking her smoothly curved orbs as her eyes slowly closed in pleasure.
She supped until all the stresses seemed farther away than the cream-coloured moon that shone through the window. Their eyes met as she looked up at him, and as one they mouthed “I love you.” Each held the other as Phoebe smiled on them.
Her hand drifted to his crotch.
“May I?”
He lay back into the couch, smiling, “Please yourself, honey.”
She undid his belt and flies.
“I want more than just milk,” she murmured, and lowered her head to meet his cock.
[video]
[video]
So, I asked for a reservation on The Hunger Games” at a local library. I’m #144 on the waiting list… good job there’s loads of other books to read in the meantime.
People are saying interesting things and I want to reply to them, but it is too hot and I can’t think clearly enough to make words into sentences that make sense together. Apart from these ones, I hope.
happybdsm: (Via Strange Treats)
Alright, so I don’t have a story for this one, but it just looks so much fun that I thought “what the heck?”
Well, okay - erm… it’s his birthday and the party game is “guess who’s tweaking your nipples?” He doesn’t know it’s the stripper the hired for the party (and obviously, “stripper” here means stripping the target, not stripping herself!)
Or something. Told you I didn’t have a story for it.
[video]
[video]
Indeed.
I have been! Part of what inspired the little fantasy I just blogged…
(via mydarkdirtysecret)
She sees him by the pool. Stretched out in the heat, starting work on his tan, perhaps, or maybe fallen asleep in the drowsy summer.
She shields her eyes as she approaches from behind. He notices only when her thighs straddle him. He starts.
“You need sun lotion,” she says, “A pale boy like you could easily burn.”
He pulls his elbows in as if to rise.
“Leave your hands where they are,” she says, light in tone but the falling cadence implying something heavier.
He pauses, then relaxes, stretching his arms back out in front of him, just as they were when she arrived.
Her hands are soft on his back, his shoulders. He does not look up, but seems content to doze.
She carries on talking as she applies the cream: “If your skin burned, I might want to rip it off,” and her nails scrape his skin as she says these words. She watches him tense, his hands becoming balls again. Her hands becoming those smooth, gentle palms again.
He can feel her smile. His fists remain clenched, but his body relaxes.
“Maybe I’ll do it anyway, if we get hot enough.”
She feels the tension build again, a crescendo before movement.
“You think you have power, but I just let you believe it - right now, all the power is mine,” she murmurs. She feels him ready himself to challenge her claim.
She leans forward, gripping his wrists.
He feels her bosom naked against his back, her thighs cool against his waist, her sweet breath hot against his cheek.
“You think you can lift me, but you won’t,” she says.
He moves, but she holds him. She guides his arms, not fighting him but still choosing where they go, until she can pull them behind his back.
She gathers her discarded bikini top, binds his wrists. He struggles. She holds him, calmly waiting.
“What do you want?” he asks.
She slides her hand behind herself. Grips the one garment he’s wearing.
“This.” He gasps, just a faint intake of breath, but she hears it.
She slides her hand inside his trunks. Grips his buttock.
“This.” He sighs, the same breath reversed, and she feels ever sinew in his body straining and questioning. He thinks - hopes? - there will be more. She holds her breath, letting him wait.
“…”
“… Yes…” he whispers. He’s stopped struggling.
She leans forward, murmuring in his ear again, “I want power, I want you.”
“Yeeesss…”
She rises, slides his trunks down his supple legs. He moves, twisting to try to see.
“Turn over.” she says. He rolls, his hands beneath his back.
“Mine,” she says, holding up the trunks.
Her eyes move down his body.
“Mine,” she says.
For the first time, he smiles.
“Yes, Mistress.”