tagFetishHush, Little Baby

Hush, Little Baby

bySelena_Kitt©

Molly was always losing things—the car keys she locked in the car that ended up stolen, the ATM card she loaned to an ex-boyfriend, the savings she had invested in the bogus mining stock. It took her years to admit they weren't just accidents, acts of God, the world setting itself against her.

She hadn't admitted it after she lost that first wayward child to a car coming a little too fast down a residential street. She hadn't admitted it after Leslie—the one she had tried to atone for her mistakes with—gone at the age of fifteen for three years before surfacing again with a newborn.

She had spent years believing in bad luck, that these things just happened to her. Now she found herself crying alone in her bed and listening to the sound of her granddaughter in her crib—never crying, this one, just singing to herself, playing with her fingers until someone thought to come get her—and wondering how her own little girl could possibly have made such a mess of her life.

Like mother, like daughter.

She knew the baby was expecting her mother. Leslie was usually up nursing her by now, singing that song, the one Molly had always sung to all of her babies, even the lost one. Molly hummed it to herself, remembering the words, "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird..."

Leslie's words last night crowded into her head. "He loves me—he's the only person who has ever loved me!"

How can she believe that?

She had tried to love Leslie, but she understood more than ever—young mothers often make selfish choices. Going out to bars, meeting men and drinking had all once taken precedence over Molly's own child. She knew that now. It didn't matter that she'd been clean and sober and alone these last eight years. Leslie remembered the mother who slept on the couch until noon and forgot to get her up for school. That was the mother she thought didn't love her.

Molly got up, knowing she would have to call in to work and figure out how to feed this motherless child. Raising a baby by herself at forty-two couldn't be much different than raising one alone at twenty-two.

Looking around, she saw that the room was just a nursery now—Leslie's clothes, the suitcase she had come with three months ago, everything else that belonged to her—all gone. Except the baby.

When Leslie showed up on her doorstep just after Jessica's birth, swearing she wasn't going to stay long, she just didn't have anywhere else, Molly's heart soared. This little girl, now nestled under her chin, was a second chance.

Things seemed perfect then, waking up to a house filled with people-noise again, rushing home from the restaurant with dinner for them in styrofoam containers. She remembered longing all the way home to hold this soft, warm baby, to let Grandma Molly's necklace dangle in front of her tiny outstretched hands, to nuzzle her neck and make her laugh.

Never mind that Leslie spewed hatred at Molly at every turn. Never mind that Leslie swore that this was the last place on earth she wanted to be. Never mind that most nights, Leslie left the baby in her crib to go out on a date, using Molly as a built-in babysitter. Really, she didn't mind.

This was her second chance—a chance to show Leslie that she was loved. Never mind that Leslie rejected her again and again. Instead, Molly just poured as much love as she could into her little granddaughter.

The baby's hunger got the best of her and she began to make small mewling sounds, rooting with her rosebud mouth for a nipple. Molly didn't want to be this baby's mother—she wanted to be Leslie's mother, and she wanted Leslie back, to mother her own baby. Jessica belonged to her mother, just as Leslie would always be hers, wherever she was on this bright summer morning.

Molly headed toward the kitchen to see if there was any stored breast milk in the freezer. Leslie pumped her milk so she could go out on with her friends or on dates. Molly, concerned about the concentrated efforts of the baby in her arms to find food, found a plastic bag with stored milk and removed it with one hand, balancing Jessie on her shoulder with the other.

It was only when she closed the freezer and started for the sink that she saw the note flutter down to the floor. It hadn't been there yesterday, before or after their argument, and when she peered down at it, she saw that it was written in Leslie's large, girlish scrawl.

"Maybe Mommy's coming home soon, Jess," Molly said under her breath, not believing it even as she carefully bent to retrieve the note.

It was from Leslie, and it contained news that she didn't think she could ever come to terms with. She didn't know if Leslie would ever come to terms it, either, even twenty years down the road. Did anyone ever come to terms with the choices they made when they were young? She wondered.

"Poor Jessie," Molly whispered as the baby cried, protesting the plastic nipple.

Molly rocked and rocked, wondering if the world of hurt she lived in would ever end.

*****

Leslie stood under the hot shower, her breasts heavy and aching, a steady stream of thin, whitish milk running down her belly with the water, uselessly circling the drain. Her tears mixed with it, too, as she leaned her forehead on the tile, sobbing for everything she had left behind.

"Les?" It was Ali's voice from behind the bathroom door.

"Coming!" she called, turning off the water.

She heard him getting ready and smiled. The suit she had chosen for him was a deep, charcoal gray, not quite as dark as his eyes. She used a big, white bath towel to dry off, just patting her tender breasts. Wrapping her hair in the towel, she turned and straightened her dress on the hanger.

He wanted her to wear white—and so it was white, a knee-length, satin and lace combination that made her feel dizzy just looking at it. She couldn't believe she was going to stand beside him wearing it.

"Hurry up," he called, knocking on the door again. "I have to use the bathroom, too."

The sight of her long, auburn hair as she whipped off the towel gave her a twinge—her body remembered the soft red fuzz covering her baby's head, and just the thought sent tiny rivulets of milk flowing down over her belly. Leslie bit her lip and stood on the towel, using the hair dryer to drown out the noise in her head.

"I have to go!" The door opened and Ali came in, stepping around her nude form toward the toilet. He was wearing just his boxer-briefs. "Sorry, couldn't wait."

"What time is it?" she asked, turning off the hair dryer and watching him shake off the last few drops.

"We still have a couple hours before we have to be there," he said, edging her out of the way with his hip and washing his hands. He looked at her reflection in the mirror, his eyes on her breasts. "Are you still leaking?"

"I can't help it," she said, putting her palms over her nipples. There was just no stopping the aching flow.

"I'm sorry," he said, putting his arms around her from behind, his hands over hers, cupping her breasts. "We will have so many more children. I promise you."

She nodded, closing her eyes and feeling his body pressing into hers, but she didn't believe it. Jessica was going to be okay—her mother would care for the baby, probably much better than she had ever cared for Leslie, if these last few months were any indication. Certainly better than she could care for Jessie herself.

Besides, Ali was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

"I just—you're sure that your parents couldn't ever accept—?"

"Leslie!" He put his dark head down on her shoulder. "We've been over this a hundred times. They would disown me. It's bad enough that you're not Muslim and we're getting married in a court house!"

"I know." She turned in his arms, putting her head on his chest.

"You know what happened to my brother," he said, rocking gently. "A child out of wedlock, one that didn't even belong to me? My parents would never speak to me again... and who would care for them, then?"

"I know, I know," she whispered, closing her eyes against it.

"I thought you were sure?" he asked, lifting her chin to look at her. "That this is what you wanted?"

"I am." She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. "It is."

This was her sacrifice, and she had agreed to make it for him—for them. For a life, a future together.

"They're so heavy," Ali remarked, his hands moving over her breasts, his eyes bright.

Leslie winced. "I know. I'm afraid I'm going to leak all over my dress, even with nursing pads."

He looked at her, aghast. "Do they hurt?"

She nodded. "It's just because they're so full. I wish I'd thought to bring my pump."

"Maybe I can help?" He was smiling, watching the sticky-sweet milk beading on her fat, pink nipples. He touched one with his thumb, spreading the thin liquid over her areola.

"How?" she asked, shivering at his touch. His hands were magic, and she could never resist them.

"It's not like I haven't done it before," he said with a smile, steering her over to the toilet and sitting her down on the lid.

She smiled, giving him a bemused look. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he said, kneeling between her bare thighs, he lifted one of her heavy breasts in his hand.

She had started fairly small-chested, but her breasts had grown two sizes when she was pregnant, and yet another size when her milk came in. She hadn't nursed the baby in almost twenty-four hours, and her pale skin was now taut, full to bursting with fluid.

"Oh, god," she whispered when he put his mouth over her nipple, beginning to suck.

She gasped, watching white droplets pooling at the tip her other nipple as he brought her milk to the surface. The tell-tale tingling sensation in her chest told her that she was really beginning to flow. He was swallowing, faster and faster, his eyes on hers.

Putting her hand in his hair, she watched his mouth work against her breast. He was sucking hard, making little groaning noises in his throat. The pressure was subsiding already, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"That feels so good," she murmured, wiggling on the seat. Her pussy was getting wet, watching his mouth pursed around her nipple.

He lifted his head, licking his lips, and she could see how shiny his mouth was from her milk. She leaned in and kissed him, always startled by how sweet and light the taste was.

"I should do this one, too," he murmured, licking at the fat, pink bud on the other side before latching onto her and beginning to suck. Leslie moaned, reaching for his hand and pressing it between her legs.

He made a sound in his throat, his eyes on hers as he parted her shaved lips with his fingers, finding the tender swell of her clit and rubbing as he continued to suckle at her breast. She could feel her milk flowing full and thick now, a heavy flow that dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed, and when she looked down, she could see how hard he was through his shorts.

"Yes," she whispered, biting her lip as he nudged her clit with his finger toward its delicious release. Everything felt full to bursting, her swollen pussy, her distended breasts, and she knew that it wouldn't take much more stimulation to bring it all to a shuddering end.

His mouth worked her nipple, sucking hard, swallowing her milk in gulps. She could see his other hand rubbing his cock through his shorts, and the sight pushed her even closer. She could feel him rubbing her clit in fast little circles, her belly beginning to flutter with her impending orgasm, and the added stimulation of him suckling her breasts was too much. "Ali," she whispered. "Make me cum."

He slipped his mouth off her breast, sliding down to her pussy and licking her there while he squeezed each of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, milking what was left in her breasts.

Moaning, she couldn't hold it back any longer, and she came hard, her pussy quivering against his tongue. Her breasts were leaking down his hands as she came, long rivers of thin, white milk running down her belly, making criss-crossing trails that led all the way down between her legs and disappeared between her wet, swollen pussy lips. He lapped up her juices and her milk, making low, happy grunting noises deep in his throat.

"I want to fuck your tits," he murmured, pressing her heavy breasts between them as he pulled her off the toilet and she wrapped herself around him. Easing them to the floor, he laid her back and he straddled her. She yanked his shorts down, grabbing hold of his cock and squeezing.

He groaned as she began sliding the tip of him through the sticky sheen of milk all over her breasts, pressing them together around his cock. He slid through the wetness, up and down the slick crevice she made between them with her hands.

She wiggled underneath him as his stiff length wedged between the generous, wet flesh of her breasts, rocking on top of her, building a faster and faster friction. He reached down and tweaked her nipples, watching milk still beading there as he fucked her breasts. Moving her hands, he pressed and kneaded her flesh around his cock himself now, working it even faster between.

"You like my milk?" she whispered, watching his eyes—even half-closed they were focused on the swell of her breasts. "You like fucking my tits?"

"Yes," he grunted, making a low noise and thrusting hard. She watched his eyes, taken by the look of pleasure on his face, his cock hot, throbbing steel between her breasts as he began to cum. She reached her tongue out to catch some, thick, hot jets spurting over her breasts, her chin, wave after wave merging with the sticky mess of her own milk.

In the moments afterward, as they cleaned each other up, Leslie knew she loved him more than anything in the world. She had made a decision, and she was going to stick by it. There was nothing that made her feel like he made her feel. She stood at the mirror and brushed her hair as he went out to get dressed, seeing her mother's face, and her daughter's, staring back at her.

"I love him," she whispered into the mirror. "I'm sorry."

Even as she said it, her breasts were tingling and filling again with milk.

*****

"Hush little baby, don't say a word..." Molly propped the baby up over her shoulder, pacing the floor, back and forth. She felt like she was wearing the carpet here, she'd walked the day away in this spot.

She sighed, sitting back down on the sofa and reaching for the bottle. The baby screamed louder when it was pressed to her lips, the cries loud and piercing.

"I'm sorry," Molly whispered, wiping her own tears away. "But this is all there is, Jess."

The baby seemed almost to understand, and she took a few swallows, but then started screaming again, her tiny legs kicking the blanket off her feet.

Molly stood and began pacing again, the only thing that seemed to calm Jessie for a few moments. Back and forth, bouncing as she went, singing the song, "Hush little baby, don't say a word..."

"Momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird..." Leslie's shaky voice from the doorway made Molly whirl in shock. Her daughter was standing there, wearing a long white dress, the front of it wet, soaked right through.

"Leslie?" Molly's eyes were wide, but her heart was beating hard with thanksgiving in her breast. "Are you ok?"

"I am now," Leslie said, reaching for her daughter. Molly handed her over and watched as she sat on the sofa, yanking the dress off her shoulder and exposing her breast. The baby had stopped crying the minute she heard her mother's voice, and now she looked up at her with wide, hungry eyes, her mouth rooting around for the nipple she knew was there.

Leslie sobbed as the baby latched on, and Molly sat beside them both, putting her arm around her daughter and rocking. She didn't know what had happened—she just knew that her baby had come home. Her daughter had made the right choice and, for once, something that she had lost had been found again.

Molly's eyes filled with tears as she sang, "Hush little baby, don't say a word..."

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