Facets of Love Ch. 04

Yeah. The woman who paid Robert to not date me and, for the last nine months, called him the "Redneck from Hell", was now his biggest fan. That just goes to show how having a grandchild will soften a woman's view of life.

-

Robert was excused from going to Oklas in September but, to my dismay, he had to spend the second week of October in what he called "the vast wasteland of incompetence". I secretly hoped that, once Robbie was born, Dad and Uncle James would figure out a way to keep Robert home. Dad's passing put a nix on that idea and, even though Robert and I had discussed him finding a different job if they still insisted he make his monthly sojourn out west, with Dad gone, that option was no longer available to us. According to Uncle James, "there is no way we can keep the company running without your husband. He is essential to our survival."

So, Robert went to Oklas and, despite trying not to, I could tell he was miserable. His nightly phone calls were nothing but a litany about all the things that went wrong at the factory that day followed by how much he missed me and Robbie. He was especially down on Wednesday night, relating how one of his workers got injured and how the only doctor in town had to be mentally disturbed.

"That's the problem with this town," he said. "Nobody who's worth a shit would purposely move here, so they get all the rejects."

Through his frustration I could also sense his yearning for my love. You don't offer a starving man a single chicken nugget. You don't cure dehydration with a thimble full of water. You don't warm a freezing person with a t-shirt. And, when Robert came home Friday night, I had to welcome him with something besides a kiss on the cheek.

"But what else do I have to offer?" I asked myself.

Not having any ideas, I did what I'd swear I'd never do. I asked Mom.

That's when I first heard the phrase "Nipple Envy".

Mom knew exactly what both Robert and I were going through. Of course she did. She was a sex therapist. She wrote books about it. And, unbeknownst to me, she had been planning for this eventuality for the last four months. Three months taking hormone pills to fake her body into thinking it was pregnant and a month pumping her breasts twice a day to keep her milk flowing. Patiently waiting for the day when I would ask for her help.

"You know Robert loves you," she told me that night. "Hopefully he will eventually get to the point where he loves Robbie nearly as much as he does you. The connection between a mother and her child is established while the baby is still in your womb, but the bond between father and child takes longer to develop and often isn't nearly as strong as it should be. That's the problem with our country today. Too many sperm donors, not enough fathers."

"Are you suggesting that Robert will abandon us?" I asked.

"Most likely not. But, in my line of work, I've seen better men than him leave their families for greener pastures or younger cows."

"There are no better men than Robert."

"I know you feel that way, but let's not tempt fate. If you agree to follow my simple plan, he will never have a reason to stray. What I propose will remove one of the primary impediments to a man bonding with his child and simultaneously strengthen his love for you."

"What could possibly keep Robert from bonding with Robbie?"

"Your boobs."

"Huh?"

"Both of the boys in your life want them. Robbie for nourishment and comfort, Robert for sex. And, since Robbie demands constant attention, you don't have sufficient time or energy to give Robert what he needs, which again is sex."

"That's your plan? You nurse Robbie while I have sex with Robert?"

"It's a time-tested tradition. For centuries women of royalty and privilege used a wet nurse to feed and take care of their offspring. Those lactating nannies essentially raised the children, freeing the mothers to live fuller, more productive lives while simultaneously seeing to their husband's needs."

"But I want to raise Robbie. I want to hear his first word, watch him take his first step, and change his last diaper. In my mind that's the most fulfilling and productive thing a woman can do."

"I couldn't agree more, at least for the first few years of a child's life. I didn't start my career until you were in kindergarten. Regardless, I'll be seeing clients again starting next week. I won't have time to be your nanny and there's no way in hell I'm getting up for a 3:00 am feeding. What I'm suggesting is giving you a couple of hours off every evening. I'll give Robbie his bath, change his diaper, feed him, and put him to bed. While I'm doing that, you convince Robert that he can't live without you."

"How long do you propose we do this?" I asked.

"As long as we need to."

"When should we start?"

"Tonight."

I didn't know what to do with myself when Mom temporarily took over. For the last six weeks, every single minute of my day was consumed with either taking care of Robbie or trying to catch up on sleep. I knew what I wanted to do, but he was in Oklas. So, when Mom took Robbie for his bath, I fixed myself a cup of herbal tea and ran myself a hot bath. But before I climbed into the tub I inspected my naked body in the mirror, assessing the damage.

Not too bad. I'm still a few pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, my legs, underarms, and pussy are in desperate need of a razor, and my ass could use some toning, but I don't see any stretch marks and my boobs have never looked better.

Settling into the tub, I washed, shaved, and laid back for a quick moment alone.

"Wake up sweety, it's time for bed."

I jerked awake to feel Mom caressing my arm. I wasn't sure how long I napped, but my cup of tea and the bath water were both cold and I was shivering.

"Where's Robbie," I asked. "Is he alright?"

"He's washed, fed, changed, and in bed."

"Any problems?"

"None that I couldn't handle. He fought me for a couple of minutes, but just like his mother, once he got a taste of my milk, he didn't want to let go."

Mom helped me out of the water and dried me like I was a child, running a soft warm towel over the entirety of my body. She stopped me when I reached for my nighty saying,

"Not yet, we've got one more chore to do before you sleep."

I gave her a questioning look which she answered by hefting one of my milk-engorged breasts in her hand.

"Oh yeah, that," I said. "I guess I need to pump."

"Not necessarily. Come to bed and let's talk this through."

Still a little drowsy, I let Mom lead me to my bed and was surprised when she laid down next to me.

"When Robert comes home Friday night, he's going to want these," Mom said as she stroked the undersides of my breasts. "There's a good chance he doesn't realize it, but he's envious that Robbie gets to suck them, and he doesn't. That's one of the prime impediments to him properly bonding with his son."

"Okay, I guess that makes sense. But why wouldn't I pump them before we make love?"

"Because Robert wants what Robbie's getting."

"He wants my milk?"

"Of course he does. Sucking on a lactating breast is a major turn on for a majority of men."

"What if he doesn't? Suppose he's in the minority and thinks it's gross."

"Trust me sweety. I can guarantee he'll love sucking on these."

That's when my mom took one of my nipples between her thumb and forefinger and the other between her lips.

"Uh, Mom. Is that necessary?"

"I'm afraid it is my dear. Unless I'm mistaken, you haven't had sex for the last six weeks. What used to be your primary erogenous zone has turned into a utilitarian faucet. A faucet that turns on your milk but not your libido. We need to change that, preferably before Robert returns. I know this seems strange," she said as she continued to tweak my other nip with her fingers, "but we need to train your breasts to respond differently to large lips than it does small ones."

"How the hell do we do that?" I asked.

"By reminding them of what is possible."

Up to that night, only one other woman had played with my pussy. Casandra, my college roommate, and I spent a semester experimenting with each other's bodies. At the time, I thought it was a one-time thing. A rite of passage. An unofficial requirement before graduating from college. Something every woman did once before moving on with her life. When I left Auburn, I left that kind of behavior behind me.

Not even in my wildest dreams could I have imagined my mother's hand gently stroking my freshly shaven mons. Her fingers caressing my outer lips felt like the touch of a concert pianist tickling the ivories. My milk let down simultaneous to her parting the first barrier and moving one pair of labia inwards. I moaned as her lips sucked in my nourishment while her thumb danced with my clit.

She was a patient seductress. Taking her time, visiting various parts of my pussy, while devouring my milk. Once my first boob was empty, she transitioned to the other side and, when I felt first one and then two of her fingers enter my inner kingdom, I realized just how intimate she was with the female anatomy. Casandra was a rookie, Mom had her PhD. She played in the patch for a while, letting my juices flow, and then homed in on that magic area of roughness which lay a finger length inside my opening.

I came. So hard, it was embarrassing. Not only did I squirt milk out of both nipples, I also gave Mom a handful of lady cum.

"It's okay Mary. Robert's not the only one who needs love. You deserve it as much as he does, probably more. You realize we can't tell anybody else about what happened tonight but, if you ever need help, you can always come to me for advice. It's what I do."

Instead of going to her own bed after our little tryst, Mom asked if she could spend the night with me.

"Not for sex," she said. "I haven't been sleeping well since your dad died and hope having another person in bed with me might help."

Even if I wanted to, there was no way I could say no. During the very rare times Dad spent the night away from us when I was growing up, I always slept with Mom. She called me her little teddy bear. Something to hold on to when poppa bear was gone. We never did anything inappropriate, she just needed to feel a warm body with a thumping heart next to her before she could fall off to sleep. And to be perfectly honest, so did I.

That's what happened on the night in question. We curled up together and immediately went to sleep. Except this time, we were both stark naked.

When Robbie's sweet cry woke me just before 3:00 am, my milk laden boobs were pressed up against Mom's back and one of my hands was trapped between her thighs. Mom moaned as I gently extricated myself from our tangle, but immediately went back to sleep when Robbie latched on to his early morning snack.

We repeated the same routine Thursday night. Mom bathed and fed Robbie and rocked him to sleep while I showered and enjoyed a few minutes of alone time. The two of us watched a chick flick while sitting together on the couch and then, without any discussion, retired to my bedroom. I'm not sure if it was a side effect of the romantic movie or an unconscious reaction to her hand on my thigh as we sat together but, when her lips finally latched onto my nipple, my pussy was already slightly damp. And when her talented fingers explored my southern border, they were met with a wet and welcoming embrace.

-

Robert Ryan Jones

It was after ten when I returned from Oklas Friday night. As soon as I pulled up to the house, the front door burst open, Mary bounded down the steps, and damn near knocked me over when she jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist.

"Mom and Robbie are already in bed," she told me between kisses. "I know you're tired, but I've got something I think you might want."

"Baby, all I want is you."

"Good, because that's what I'm offering," she said and opened up her blouse to display two luscious, naked breasts that looked like they were about to burst.

I never asked Martha when her plan would start. Never asked when she would begin feeding Robbie at night so I could regain at least partial possession of Mary's marvelous mammaries. Apparently, this was the night.

"Are you sure? Aren't you worried about having enough milk for Robbie?" Yeah, I knew the answer. But I had to ask the question so Mary wouldn't know what Martha and I had been doing behind her back for the last several weeks.

"It's okay," Mary said. "I'll explain when we get upstairs, but we need to do it quick before I turn into an out-of-control milk dispenser."

Not needing to be told twice, I dropped my bag, picked up my wife, and carried her upstairs. Twenty seconds after I kicked our bedroom door closed behind us, I got my first taste of Mary's milk.

When we were done. After I drained both of her glorious boobs, fingered her to her first orgasm, licked her to a second, and slow fucked her to a third. While a million of my little tadpoles unsuccessfully searched Mary's womb for an egg to fertilize, I laid next to my wife and reveled in my good fortune.

I'd forgotten how good sex could be with a woman I truly loved. What we did that night was as close to a religious experience I would ever have. Admittedly, sucking on Martha's boobs, fingering her pussy, and coming in her mouth were far from unpleasant tasks, but they were tasks just the same. Things we did to scratch our itches. What Mary and I did satisfied our souls. Two thoughts came to mind.

I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive and,

Robbie's going to be the healthiest baby on the planet.

Having recovered from all the wonderful things I did to her body, Mary broke the spell by giving me her version of Martha's "Nipple Envy" theory.

True to Martha's word, Mary knew nothing of my involvement in her mother's plan. In Mary's mind, Martha tricking her boobs into lactating was a selfless sacrifice meant only to help Mary get through her first few months of motherhood.

"It is the most perfect gift a woman could give to both her daughter and son-in-law," Mary said. "I know it's a uniquely sensitive subject but, if the opportunity presents, you should find a way to thank Mom for what she's doing for us."

-

I didn't know what to expect the following morning. Now that Martha was taking care of Robbie for a couple of hours each night while Mary and I "renewed our marriage vows", I didn't know what Martha would expect of me.

Would she insist I continue to drain her boobs, finger fuck her to an orgasm, and them receive her gratuitous blow job? Or, now that her plan was in play, would she claim victory, revert to the norm, and cook me breakfast in her nightgown, like she did when Frank was still alive? I was hoping for the latter.

Not that I minded playing with my mother-in-law's magnificent body, but Mary was more than enough woman to satisfy my needs. And, thanks to Martha's "Nipple Envy" solution, Mary and I were back on track. The small amount of pleasure I got from my morning sexcapades with Martha was not worth the risk of Mary finding us out and me losing her forever.

Good news. When I returned from my run that morning, Martha was in the kitchen, in her nearly see through nighty, cooking ham and eggs. I sat at my customary place, the end bar stool which overlooked the kitchen counter, and Martha brought me a cup of coffee.

"Thanks," I said. "For the coffee and also for last night."

"You're welcome," she said with a conspiratory smile. "Can I assume things went well?"

"Yes. Extremely well. It feels good to have our lives back to normal."

Yeah, probably not the right thing to say. While Mary and I were back firing on all cylinders, Martha's life still had a hole in it. But she either didn't connect the dots or wasn't offended. Either way, I'd done my duty and thanked Martha for what she'd done for us.

The two of us ate breakfast together in relative silence, limiting our conversation to the weather and our plans for the day. Mary was upstairs taking a shower and Robbie was in his crib napping.

Hoping to join Mary in the shower, I quickly finished my breakfast, took my last gulp of coffee, and started for the stairs when Martha stopped me.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked.

"Uh... thanks for breakfast?"

"Nice try, but you've got some unfinished chores to do."

"You want me to wash the dishes?"

"No," she said as she slipped out of her nighty, exposing her humongous breasts. "I'll take care of the dishes after you take care of me."

"I thought... you know... once you started feeding Robbie at night, you wouldn't need me for that."

"If you're referring to my boobs, you're right. I plan to pump them in the mornings from now on."

To prove her point, she pulled a battery powered, double headed breast pump out of a cupboard and proceeded to attach a suction cup to each of her nips.

"In most cases, these won't be your concern," she continued while hefting her breasts. "Although I reserve the right to a good titty licking whenever I deem it necessary. But, until I tell you otherwise, your responsibility lies down here."

Sitting on the barstool next to mine, she spread her thighs, and motioned to her already dampened pussy.

"Now get on your knees and show me your best cunnilingus techniques while momma makes some milk."

I almost did it. My instinct was to comply with my mother-in-law's demands. However, something about being told to "get on your knees" grated against my upbringing. If she had asked, "would you be a dear and comfort me with your tongue while I pump out some milk for your son," I'd have probably ended up lapping at Martha's trough of womanhood. But "get on your knees", wasn't going to hack it.

"Why?" I asked. "Your plan was a complete success. I helped get your breasts working, you got to feed Robbie, Mary and I had amazing sex last night. And since she came three times, I obviously don't need any further lessons on how to please my wife. Tell me why we should continue what we were doing and risk Mary walking in on us."

"Because... because I need it," Martha said.

Finally, I thought. She's owning up to what I had always suspected. She missed her husband and is horny as hell.

"Not the sex," she continued. "I need a purpose for being. I need to finish what I started."

Or maybe not. Apparently, her mind isn't able to wrap around the idea that she needs to get laid.

"You think you know all there is to know about pleasing a woman, but I beg to disagree. You've known Mary for less than a year. You've been married for just a few months. By the time Robbie is five or six, she'll have experienced all your bedroom tricks hundreds of times and, believe me, she'll eventually tire of them. By the time Robbie is in high school you'll be married to your job and Mary will be looking for someone new."

"Bull shit. I can't believe she'd leave me for another man."

"That's exactly what half of my clients tell me. The other half say, 'I can't believe he left me for another woman.' I'm not a fortune teller but my professional experience guarantees that one or both of you will eventually tire of the same old bedroom routine and go looking elsewhere."

I wasn't buying an ounce of what she was saying. But let's face it. I was arguing with a naked woman with suction cups attached to her boobs. So, instead of trying to prove her wrong, I took a different tack. I agreed with her.

"Okay. You've got a lot more education and experience on the subject than me," I said. "But you have to appreciate my concern of what would happen if Mary were to find out. If she walked through that door and saw me licking your clit, it would ruin our marriage and your relationship with your daughter."