Love Potion #9

I started the car; the engine was a little on the loud side when it first fired up. The bench seats rumbled. Molly was grinning, and she put her hand on the seat to feel the vibration. I put it in gear, and we were off.

A few miles down the road, she turned to me and said, "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

"What? Driving?"

"No—that I wet nurse."

I took a second, and then shook my head. "I don't think it bothers me. I mean, it's kind of a new idea, that a girl like you could do something like that. But it doesn't bother me, no. Should it?"

"No, no way," she said. "It's just that—you're like me, you're from out of town, so I was afraid maybe you weren't sure what to think and stuff. Or maybe you don't like the idea. Like, I use my boobs for children, but then I really like it when you play with them, too. For me, they're different; those are two different things. But maybe you don't like it that I use them for both, you know?"

"I guess I just don't see how it's the same."

"Exactly," she said. "Exactly. It's not the same. Breastfeeding a baby isn't sexual, obviously. But, well, when I was, um—when we were together the other night, that definitely was, uh, you know, kind of a little bit sexual."

"Yeah," I smiled. After a second: "I was thinking about it. Here's how I see it. You might use your hands to pick up a baby. And maybe sometime we might hold hands, right? And it's not the same thing. Same hands but different thing."

"Yeah, that's pretty much it. I'm glad you see it like that."

She was quiet for a minute after that, but I didn't worry; I was pretty sure it was the talk about being sexual that might have made her feel slightly uncomfortable. This was all very new for both of us.

It really didn't bother me that she nursed babies, by the way. I wasn't just saying that. My experience feeding from Molly had no connection to the fact that she breastfed children. I mean, I was an adult. We did it to feel close, and because it felt good and it was fun. I didn't need the food. I just wanted it.

"Your job is out here somewhere, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah, about 10 miles outside of Bakerton. It's off No Hand Road. I love the road names here. What the fuck is 'No Hand Road' about?"

Molly was shaking her head, giggling. "Yeah, I have no idea. Some dude was missing a hand or something?"

"Poor dude."

I'd never been all the way to Bakerton before, but it was about the size I expected: larger than Watley but still just a remote country town. There were lots of Ford F-150s and Dodge Rams and scores of cowboy hats and throngs of women in long, conservative dresses.

I parked and jumped out of the Chevelle so I could open the door for Molly, which she seemed to appreciate: "Such a gentleman."

"Yeah, when you meet my mom, please tell her that."

"I will!"

There was a short line. Molly ordered a pralines-and-cream cone, double scoop, and I got chocolate with peanut butter, also double scoop. We decided to go back to my car to eat—more private that way.

We sat together, eating our cones, not saying a lot, at least for a minute. I looked over in her direction, and could not help but glance at her chest; the swells in the front of her dress had noticeable bumps on them—bumps the size of thick, hard nipples. That kept my eyes fixed on her boobs for longer than I would have intended.

I heard Molly giggle; she was looking at me. "I guess I can't hide that I've been excited to see you."

"I'm sorry—I mean I'm sorry for staring."

She was smiling sweetly. "It's OK. It's a compliment. Right?"

"Definitely a compliment. And—I, uh, just so you know, I like you for more than just, you know, your boobs."

"Oh, I know that," she said, still smiling. "Hey, can I taste your cone?"

My chocolate and peanut butter got a solid lick, and she was definitely teasing me with her tongue.

"Here, you have to taste mine." She put her cone in front of my mouth, and I licked it—delicious. I told her so.

"I know you can't help thinking about me," Molly said. "You've had my love potion."

"Huh?"

"My love potion. Love Potion #9. That's what we call it."

I laughed. "When did you give me that?"

Molly looked directly at me and said, "When I gave you my breastmilk."

That made me pause for a second. "Oh. So it's a love potion?"

"That's what they say," she smiled. "Have you been thinking about me? I know you have."

I nodded, sheepishly.

"There ya go," she said. "My love potion, doing its job. Better not have any more, or you're really gonna be messed up." She giggled for a second. "I've been thinking about you, too. So—where you wanna go when we're done? 'cause I have an idea."

And then we were on the move. Molly didn't tell me where we were going, just gave me turn-by-turn directions like a human Waze. Soon enough, though, it was obvious: I was turning into the entrance of a remote regional park. It was empty as far as I could tell.

She directed me past the Welcome Center sign (and the small, empty Welcome Center) and into a secluded grove of white cedars.

"Park there," she directed. And I did.

"What song was that?" she asked as I killed the engine.

I had been humming loudly. "Oh, that's a song I used to do with my band. It's called 'Lullabye'."

It was hot, so I kept my window rolled down, and she did the same. There was no one around to hear us talking. The sun was still up, barely, and I could hear crickets quietly starting to chirp.

"It's pretty. Sing it."

It was a nice enough song, simple, easy to sing. It was one of my better ones. I sang it.

"You wrote that one, too?" she asked when I finished.

I nodded.

Molly grabbed me by the shirt, yanked me over to her side, and kissed me, hard. Her tongue forced its way into my mouth to meet mine. Her arms wrapped around me and held me. It was kind of overwhelming.

"That was so beautiful," she whispered when we came up for air. "You really wrote that?"

I nodded again. "Yeah."

"Your voice is so amazing." She kissed me again; she tasted like pralines. Afterward, she snuggled herself against me and purred.

"I'm glad I met you, Rob Dawson."

We stayed like that for a couple minutes, just snuggling. Everything felt good and right. The sun was finally down. I turned on the dome lights so we could see.

Then, she said, "Let's go in the back seat."

Before I could say or do anything, Molly had taken off her glasses and was crawling over the seat to get in the back. I followed her; she was already sitting with a pillow in her lap when I arrived. It wasn't a purse she'd brought with her. It was a small decorative pillow.

"Lay down," she ordered, patting the pillow.

She waited until I got situated, head on the pillow, facing her chest. Then, magic: Molly pulled open a hidden panel on the front of her dress to reveal an off-white bra cup. Her fingers played with a clasp at the top of the cup, and then she was able to pull it down and bare her breast.

I breathed, in lust.

Her areola was already puffing up. As I lay there watching, her nipple swelled and hardened more. I was so turned on.

"Here," she whispered, and she cupped the plump breast and held it out for me.

I snuggled up, and she helped, wrapping her other arm behind my back, pulling me close. Everything felt hot: the bench seat was warm, the air was hot, her body was hot.

My lips brushed the fat knot of her nipple, and I opened wide to take it in along with her entire areola. I sealed my mouth on her and suckled, making wet sounds as I worked.

She let out a long, audible sigh. Hearing it made me happy.

And then her milk came. It was new all over again: sweet and satisfying and delicious. I gulped it down and started feeding voraciously.

"God, I missed how this feels," she whispered. I felt Molly lean down to kiss the top of my head. Then her fingers played with my hair, while her other hand was still holding her breast to my lips, soft and warm. "I feel it deep in my belly; you keep giving me these contractions. They feel so good. And I feel tugs, too, somewhere else. Someplace else kinda good."

(Later—months later—she told me that she'd meant that she felt tugging on her clitoris, just from my mouth on her nipple. "It's like there's this direct connection between them," she said.)

She purred again. I just kept suckling; I had it down to an easy science by that point.

Within a few minutes, we'd emptied her breast—or, at least, it was slightly smaller and felt softer now, and her flow seemed lighter. She decided it was time to switch. "I never really get completely empty, but you can tell when it's time to let it rest."

Molly did the same panel magic with the other side of her dress, opened the bra cup, and presented me with her other nipple. I latched on; this breast was firmer, like the other one had been when I'd started.

Her milk was always a delicious revelation—every light spray across my tongue was new and so very tasty. As I was swallowing her, I felt as though she was my entire world, a wonderful feeling.

She was starting to breathe faster, and her chest was heaving slightly. I suckled more intensely, and her breathing got more intense along with it. I wanted to ingest every bit of her essence. I wanted her to feel those contractions she was talking about. I wanted to make her feel good, and after every suckle, I wanted even more of her milk.

We got to the point where I had "emptied" this breast, too; it had gotten smaller and spongier, and the flow had become lighter. She felt that it was time to take a break from nursing.

"That really never happens," she said, still breathing kind of hard. Molly's face was damp with light perspiration, and her hair—tied back with a clip to keep it away from her chest—was a little stringy and unruly now. It was cute.

I was pushing back up to a sitting position. "Really?"

"No, I never get close to running out, not usually." She grinned and clasped my chin with her hand. "You're a hungry guy. I mean, I did work today, but still."

"I swear I could just keep going forever."

We kissed, deeply. My hand was on one of her legs, under her dress, gently running up and down her shin, covered by a thick white stocking. Our bodies were both sweaty, and it made everything feel even more intense.

"That felt good for me," I told her. "I feel warm now, in my stomach. So, is there something I can maybe do for you?"

She smiled. "Maybe." And then she reached under her dress and within a few seconds, her panties were off, soaked in the crotch. She tossed them onto the front seat. Then, she lay down and put the pillow behind her head. Her legs were bent at the knees, her hem still floating down below her shins.

I crawled down and put my head under her dress; the car's dome light shone through the fabric. The first thing I noticed was a big forest of dark blonde hair between Molly's legs. It was thick and glorious, and it made me unexpectedly happy. I had never seen so much feminine pubic hair in my life; it looked like she had never trimmed or shaved at all. It was a huge, dense bush. I was surprised at how much I liked it. My first thought: she looks like a woman.

The next thing I noticed was her garter belt—she was wearing a full garter, with straps and clips to hold up her stockings. She had undone the clips to get her panties off, and now the straps were just dangling around her thighs.

I popped my head up for a second: "That garter belt is so hot," I said, grinning. "You're really hot."

"Well, I like being 'hot' and everything," she answered, "but that's really just normal, the belt. It's how we dress."

Wow, I was thinking, as I buried my head back under her dress again. Watley was living in the past in a lot of ways.

Anyway: I burrowed in and put my mouth right between her legs; the animal perfume of her vagina was strong, and it excited me. I blew at the pubic hair around her vulva. I heard her sigh, softly. After a little more, I put a finger on one of the lips and stroked it gently; Molly jerked and moaned.

Then, I did it: I spread her vulva and let my tongue slide in, across her inner labia. She howled, loud as hell, and I felt her shiver. I did it again, and again, and finally I stopped teasing and found her clit. It was a tiny little thing, even swollen and erect. I'd read that the clitoris has something like 10,000 nerve endings, thousands more than my penis. It was a super-organ. When those nerve endings were highly concentrated on an extra-tiny clit like Molly's, it just seemed like she would be so amazingly sensitive.

I started licking it.

That made her howl again. I was amazed at how loud she was. My tongue was doing the alphabet on her clit now, tracing A, B, C, and so on. Her hips started gyrating and thrusting obscenely as I did it. I let a finger play around below, trying to find her vagina by feel. It wasn't hard to locate; it was hot as hell and really wet. My finger worked its way a tiny bit inside and wiggled. Meanwhile, my tongue was on the letter K.

By the time I got to X, her hips were grinding forcefully, her moans were near-constant, and I had let a finger drop below her vagina to play with her taint. Wiry strands of pubic hair were poking at my lips and tongue. Her dress had slipped up toward her thighs, but it still covered my head and her hips.

I was hoping she might be near an orgasm, but she didn't leave me to guess: "I'm gonna come," she breathed. "I'm gonna come. I'm—I'm coming!"

Molly shivered and moaned and howled and screeched, and her hips writhed. She was frighteningly loud, almost as if she was in severe pain, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was pleasure that was making her shriek like this, not agony. To hear her, you would think something horrible was happening, instead of something wonderful. When I reminded myself that she was in ecstasy, it made me feel so gratified. I would have to try to get used to the volume.

While she was in the throes of orgasm, I stopped touching her clit; I knew from experience that she would want me to back off and not overstimulate her. Instead, I just listened in wonder and felt her vagina contracting around my finger; it was inspiring how long her orgasm lasted. It felt like forever—it was probably around 30 seconds, but it seemed to just go on and on. I could not conceive of having an orgasm that lasted anywhere near that long, and my mind boggled trying to imagine it. I kept thinking: it's still going?! What could that be like?

Her hips dropped, the moaning waned, and she was panting. "Oh my god, I came so huge," she breathed.

I was beside myself with happiness.

Now was the test: how long would she be oversensitive? I waited a few seconds and then, very carefully, I let my tongue touch her clit again. She jerked slightly but did not object or push me away. I licked, and again there was a twitch but no objection from her. Within a few seconds, I was lightly pumping my finger in her vagina and starting the alphabet with my tongue. I had gotten to M when she cried out again.

"I'm-gonna-come—I'm coming again. I'm coming." And then her cries were loud, really loud; she was not holding back. I knew there was no one around—at least, I sure hoped no one was around—but it was still kind of jolting. She was definitely the loudest girl I'd ever been with. This wasn't a bad thing at all (it was exciting!), but her volume was always a surprise. Her first shriek had been so loud that my ears were still ringing.

I let up on her clit and blew on it lightly, hoping it would help her enjoy herself. When I sensed the orgasm waning away, I started licking again. After about two or three letters, she rocketed right back into another one.

That wasn't an assumption; she told me. "Oh, god, I'm coming again. I am coming. Oh, god," and she was sobbing and moaning and then howling and convulsing.

When that one subsided, I tried sucking on her clit. Soon, she moaned that I was making her come yet again. I did this repeatedly through several orgasms before I let her rest. I didn't really want to stop, but it seemed like she needed a break. It had been a few minutes now, and she'd been in a state of orgasm for quite a bit of that time.

My head popped out from under her dress. Molly's face was sweaty and blotchy, and her hair was tousled.

"Oh my god, how do you do that?!" she demanded. "I had no idea I could come like that. I never come like that, not just one after the other. I didn't know I could do that."

I just grinned at her.

"OK, I need a sec," she breathed, her hand up. She was still panting a little, still trembling. "Then I want to do something for you." She sat there for a few moments, just breathing. "I've never had a guy put his mouth down there before. Maybe that's the secret—I like being kissed between my legs."

I liked the way she phrased that: "kissed" between her legs. I kind of liked that way of looking at it.

"OK," Molly was saying, "I'm gonna do something for you now. Ready to try."

The idea that I wasn't going straight back to see how many more times I could make her come—that was a little disappointing. But I was horny as fuck, and I was fairly sure she wasn't going to let me inside her that night. So yeah, I did need to get off, because I was so turned on I felt like I was going out of my mind.

"OK," she said again, sitting up, looking at me devilishly, her pretty face still splotchy and damp. She grabbed my belt buckle and jerked it open. Her hand started rubbing the sizable bulge in my jeans, and she gave me a sly grin as she did that. Then she unzipped me and tugged my pants and underwear down; my cock sprang straight up, huge and fully erect.

"Oh wow," she whispered. "Oh my god, I didn't know they could be this big. Oh my god."

She was stroking it lightly with her fingers, eyes wide. "Is this thing gonna fit inside me someday?!" she grinned, looking up at me. "How?"

Then, before I could figure out how to answer that, she opened her mouth wide and swallowed the head of my cock. It felt warm and velvety-wet. She was bobbing up and down, only able to make it just below the head, but it felt really good, and I knew I wasn't going to last very long. Her fingers wrapped in a ring around my dick, and she moved them up and down with her lips, tightening them as she bobbed, stroking the head and its sensitive ridge. It felt so intensely good.

I closed my eyes; I couldn't see much of what she was doing anymore, because her hair had come unclipped, and it had started falling across her face and blocking my view. Her hair grazed across my upper thighs as she worked, which felt nice.

I groaned—I was not as loud as Molly, but I did sound primal.

A couple of times, she stopped, and I felt her lick the back of my cock's head, and then her tongue tickled the tip, then I felt it slithering across the shaft, and then she'd start sucking again. Faster and faster, hotter and hotter—

"Molly, I'm gonna come." My voice sounded urgent, almost panicky. My eyes were half-open, and I could feel my face screwing up.

She popped her mouth off my cock, managed to get her fist around it, and jacked it hard and fast. Her face was framed by stringy tousles of hair, and she held a look of sheer concentration as she worked. Within a few seconds, I watched myself shooting large gobs into the air. I groaned while it was happening.

"Oh, wow, holy shit," she giggled. "You're like Mount Vesuvius or something."

I was still breathing hard, but I laughed at that. "Yeah, I'm Rob Vesuvius."

"That was wild to see," she said.

"Well, you did that," I said, starting to clean up the gobs with a shop rag. "That's what you made me do." I paused, and then said, "Maybe I could do that inside you sometime."