Milking a Traffic Jam

Haley slammed on the brakes with a gasp. She instinctively reached a protective arm across me in the passenger seat. My head jerked up from the book I was reading, certain I'd see a cliffs edge or an imminent collision. But we'd simply come to a jarring halt for a traffic jam. The cars ahead of us extended in a long-- and much too stationary-- line.

"Jeez, I thought we were going to crash." I sighed.

"Sorry, it's a habit." Haley replied. She readjusted her seatbelt, which had pulled the neck of her shirt down sharply. I caught a generous glimpse of the top of her breasts before she fixed the neckline. The summer sun gleamed off her supple flesh and cast enticing shadows as well, practically burning the moment into my mind. I said something out of embarrassment.

"Learned it from mom, I bet? She's always doing that to keep her purse in the seat. Even if she's just stopping at a light."

Haley glanced at me. "I'm surprised I did it then. You aren't nearly as precious as my purse."

I looked out my window and gave a sarcastic laugh.

"I think it's just something parents do." She continued. "Whenever my little J is in the front seat, I do that. Mom probably over-generalized from us to her most important possessions."

"I guess that makes sense." I said, not really expecting the thorough response. I was focused on the winding road ahead; Packed with cars and trucks; And the fact that none of us were moving.

"What's with this traffic? We're basically in the middle of a highway."

Haley checked the GPS. "This says Clenmore is about a mile ahead." She groaned. "This always happens on Sundays. I think its because everyone needs to come through this tiny town to get back into the city suburbs for work on Monday."

I nodded, didn't say anything back. I picked my book up off the car floor which had landed open, face down. A few of the pages had gotten creased and dirty. Haley noticed.

"Oh, sorry about your book, bro."

"It's alright, It was a dirty book beforehand, too."

She smirked and shook her head. We sat in silence for a while, lurching forward in a slow rhythm as the jam miserably proceeded. The progress felt insignificant, and it nagged at my mind so I couldn't focus on reading. (Traffic is the primary reason I, personally, can't have nice things.)

Bored, I began to roll my window up and down to the beat in my head. I was going at it for quite a while, too.

Suddenly it stopped working while all the way up. I clicked it a few more times before turning to my sister and expressing confusion.

"If you act like a child, I'll treat you like one." She said.

It took me a moment to figure out. "You turned the child lock on."

Haley didn't respond, but her coy smile gave her away.

"Fine, I wanted it like this, anyway." I said.

I put my chin in my hand and elbow on the door, as pouting younger brothers tend to do. Another couple silent seconds later and my window slid down the entire way, but my buttons were useless when I tried to stop it.

"Oh my God!" I groaned with annoyance.

"I wanted some fresh air. And like I said, babies get bottles!"

I wasn't that upset. It was just typical sibling rivalry. I just shook my head and continued my stoic surveillance of this particular section of roadside.

With all the cars hardly moving, the sounds of the green mountains around us poured through the window. Soft leaves rustling, the occasional chirp of birds.

And abruptly, the wail of a child coming from behind our car. Someone nearby was having a rough first family road trip.

"Oh, shit."

"What is it?" I asked, watching a bird hop along the wood's edge amongst milkthistle and wild grasses.

"Um, don't look." My sister said hastily.

The sound of a seatbelt coming unbuckled.

I, of course, looked. Haley was out of her seat, leaning over the center console, rummaging through the backseat baggage. Her attention was preoccupied by the search while I stared.

Her chest was only a few inches from my face, and the way she leaned and jostled her arms caused her breasts to tremble beneath her shape-hugging V-neck. This on its own would have been a great sight to behold.

However, in addition to this, two dark, wet blotches had appeared on her shirt. It was none other than her milk, bursting forth from large, lip-ready nipples after a subconscious reaction to the sound of a baby's need.

These milk stains revealed the exact location of her nipples, and the wetness clung to them, creating notable dimples across the taut, curves of her heavy chest. Even for the split-seconds of beholding this vision, I saw the wetness extending, the milk apparently pumping so quickly that rivulets slid down the inside of her shirt, leaving scandalous dark streaks.

I wanted nothing more than to grab the hem of her shirt and lift it up, fighting it over her sodden bosom to unleash more than just my pent up desire for my older sister.

Instead, I swiftly turned away so she wouldn't see that I saw. She continued to search in vain until a quick honk behind us forced her to sit back down and inch forward the 10 feet that had since been released from the jam. The unnecessary honk was probably from the same car that had the crying kid.

One of those would make me impatient, too, but I still didn't appreciate the way they rushed us. It had stopped my sister's prime positioning.

"Do you, uh, need help with anything?" I asked, suddenly desperate to sound like I was calm and cool (now that I was both hot and bothered).

It must've taken a good bit of courage for Haley to respond, because she took a while. Finally, she said:

"Don't be weird about this, ok?"

"Weird about what?" I asked with bated breath. I'd never had bated breath before, but now I understood the phenomenon entirely.

"You have to promise," she shot back.

Well, I promised. I promised perhaps a bit too quickly, but she finally told me to look away from the window. I knew she was nervous since she was avoiding the words "look at me" by using such roundabout terms.

With her permission, I tried to act like I was just noticing her chest for the first time. The stains were so much larger already. It'd only been moments. I didn't have to fake the look on my face.

"As you know, I'm a mom now," my sister started, her face reddening.

Her speech dribbled from her lips faster and faster, much like the milk from her breasts. "Which means I need to feed a baby. And when I hear a baby, these dumb things think it's time to make some lunch!"

I was gaping at her tits the entire time, even before she gesticulated to them just now. my inner neanderthal had already taken over. I must've grunted some kind of assent, because she kept talking.

"It doesn't matter if it isn't my baby, and I didnt expect to start... cooking... In the middle of this drive, so my pumps are in the back and I can't find them and will you please get them for me!" She finished quickly, never taking her eyes off the road, which needed no attention because we were moving less than two miles per hour. She had a murderous grip on the steering wheel.

I had to handle this situation delicately. A precious, once in a lifetime chance had the potential to unfold right here, today, if only I said and did just the right things to unlock this potential.

So I said "Yup" and got out of the car.

Now, with my head in the back seat, I was elbow-deep in my sister's baggage while fervently wishing I was nose-deep in her front-seat luggage (if you know what I mean).

"Which bag did you say?" I asked, voice cracking (awesome). Every time my sister spoke, she sounded more panicky.

"Try the blue paisley one? No? What about the maroon hardshell? Seriously? Well, check again!"

The entire time I was looking, I was standing and leaning into the backseat, so I had to sidle along to keep up with the car as we crawled towards Clenmore.

I may not be a linguistic virtuoso who took advantage of sexually charged scenarios, but I could still be a conniving little bastard. While searching through the back of the car, I fastidiously rammed any shirts or cardigans I came across underneath the seat. If Haley had to uncover her nipples, I wanted to make sure there was nothing left to cover them with afterward. Luckily it was summer, so there were no sweaters or blankets in the car.

I finally found the breast milk pumps--they were under a spacious lactation bra (yes, within the paisley bag which I'd initially passed over, but can you blame me for not trying to look like a pervert at that moment?) and I got back into the front seat, leaving the back in marked disarray, though conspicuously vacant of breast-coverings.

As I sat down, she reached over and pawed the two suction-cup tipped bottles from my lap, fervently avoiding my gaze.

"Want me to drive so you can, uh, set up?"

"No that's ok I can handle it!"

Ill be the first to admit I was being selfishly motivated at this point-- but if my sister was going to be pumping breast milk in the car, I wanted to have a good view. That meant keeping my sister's hands off a steering wheel so her arms didn't naturally block the view. I had to get a hold of that steering wheel!

"Its not like I just learned to drive!" I argued. "I've been staying between lines on asphalt since I was 16, which has been like... 8 years now!"

"Wow, had to pull out the mental calculator for that one didn't you." Haley said with a small smile. "You're only two years younger than me, I know you can drive, doofus."

I was glad to have put her at ease a small amount. I didnt want her to feel embarrassed. She had no reason to be.

"Come on," I said presumptuously, getting out of the car.

"I can't go outside like this!"

I immediately got back into the car somewhat dispirited.

"Oh. Right."

Damn, that was obvious. She didn't want to get out in a stand-still traffic jam while her breasts leaked milk. I was certainly horny enough to accept the status of "pariah" from such a display. But obviously, Haley wasn't. I suddenly realized where the term "boneheaded" came from.

It came from dicks. Hard ones. Hard dicks that steal the thoughts from your brain.

While I came to terms with my lust-powered idiocy, my sister was wrestling with her tight shirt and lactating bra; trying and failing to get the pumps inside and pointed properly. She eventually let out seething frustration.

"Close your eyes." She demanded, her stomach plainly visible from beneath her rolled up shirt.

I did so, and used the sound of her shirt slipping up and off the rest of her gorgeous body as food for my imagination.

In my mind, I saw her undo her seatbelt and then sit up. She reached down, crossing her arms and grabbing the front hem of her shirt. She then slipped it up in a smooth, practiced motion, the change from clothed to nude happening almost imperceptibly. Her breasts were softly disturbed by the lithe movement, separating slightly as her arms raised and bouncing with a reserved vigor as her fists brushed her nipples. Even from such small contact they burst forth thin, luscious streams from each breast like sprinklers of God, spattering the hard plastic of the steering wheel.

It wasn't nearly as good as the real thing, even while it unfolded behind my eyelids. I'd never seen Haley's body like that, so I must've gotten a lot of details wrong. First of all, I'd completely forgotten about her bra.

I could hear the soft hum from the battery powered pumps as they sucked on her nipples. I was at the oasis, but only allowed to imagine taking a drink. In that moment, I was Bruno Mars; I was locked out of paradise. There was only one way in: I began to wheedle. She wanted me to shut my eyes? I had plenty of reasons not to.

"You know, it's okay," I said hastily, "I get that it's a natural thing. And you wouldn't be the first woman I've seen pumping milk."

To my surprise, after making such a bold statement I opened my eyes. Haley was laying back, pumps finally in position and forming two massive high-top tents beneath her Hilfiger shirt.This seems like a big mistake, so let me explain myself.

I was furiously trying to create a smooth cover story when I so eloquently spilled the beans that I was a milk-junkie. With all my brain power going to that specific code-red alert, I guess I just lost control of basic bodily features, including my eyelids. I also lost control of my tongue, because I blurted out "I think lactation is beautiful!"

There was silence-- except for the sound of those pumps, which were extracting my sister's life essence. That's what it felt like, anyway. She held them smushed to her chest with one hand--it was her right hand, thank heavens, letting me see the way her body wove its curves down across the seat. Her moles and tan lines were not placed where I'd thought in the short-lived fantasy just a few moments ago. Her body was imperfect in the best way, and in that sense, it sent every bell in my mind ringing.

"You do?" she asked meekly.

"I do." I solemnly swore. "It's like, a culmination of a women's attractiveness to me. A woman who is interested in men uses her beauty to draw him in, and then she uses her body to nourish the child she creates with his seed. To me, its one of the sexiest things a woman can do."

If I had been afraid when Haley had slammed on the brakes, I was terrified now. I shouldn't have been, though. Now it was her turn for hasty remarks.

"My husband thinks its disgusting." She began, which shocked me. "He wants me to leave the room whenever I need to feed Jay. He can barely stand it if I cover up when I cant leave the room. I can't believe I'm saying this, but since I can't shut it off, he also isn't as... interested... in me."

This confession looked like it was a weight off of her chest (no pun intended). I could tell that something inside my sister relinquished fear. She sat up straight, still showing a vindictive anger from the memory, but probably feeling empowered by finally talking about it. She looked directly at me, and was about to say more.

Remember when I'd mentioned that this situation was highly delicate, and only the most perfect responses could bring it to it's most unlikely conclusion? Well, before my sister could use her momentum from baring her soul to change our relationship forever, I said:

"You're leaking, again."

My sister looked down. The pumps had filled up the bottles--the dubiously small bottles--and I guess there was a safety release valve to prevent excessive pressure (which I can only surmise would otherwise create milk-grenades; not healthy for infants in the least), and so concentrated bursts of milk-shot were rhythmically assaulting the inside of her shirt. The force from the spray caused the milk to penetrate the fabric and dribble down the front. If I only leaned over, I'd taste it.

"Oh my god!" my sister moaned. She yanked her shirt up the rest of the way and placed a hand over her face, mortified. Every few seconds, squirts of milk escaped the release valves on the front of the pumps, splashing the dashboard. The sponge-padded covers of her bra lay across her belly, clasps undone. She shouldn't have moaned, because it did nothing for my ability to think using my real brain. My responses stayed exceptionally stupid. Thirsty, even.

"Um, shoot it into my mouth!" I offered with maximum hard-on.

I think this only worked because my sister has a "Type A" personality. She can't stand messes. Cleanliness and organization take precedence over almost everything else. She barely skipped a beat before turning her breasts towards me. I hunched over, head at lactation-gun level, and attempted to line up the valve-to-mouth shooting range. I was probably cross-eyed. I was definitely pitching a tent.

Some of the milk from one breast got into my mouth while most from the other hit my eye. It had a creamy body, and a sweet aftertaste. I thought I could taste a mild note of light beer, no doubt from the drinks we'd had last night at the rock show. We worked together to try and nail the trajectory, but it didn't seem to be coming together. My nostrils were getting angry about the sexy waterboarding currently underway.

With mild impatience, I moved my sister's hands away, and plucked the cups from her nipples. She gasped loudly. I tossed them onto the floor next to my book. Without the influx of milk going into them, the filled bottles stayed watertight and the already tarnished book begot no more damage (I know you were worried about the book). I then swiftly cupped her breasts, hefting them in each hand.

Before I continue with this heinous retelling, I wanted to say one thing: I may not be a fan of the band Disturbed, but I am 100% "Down With The Thiccness."

"Pull over completely." I said. "Fuck this traffic. I want to help you."

We locked eyes.

"You dont mean..." she started to say.

"I was getting hungry, anyway." I finished.

In fact, the people behind us had already been honking for a while; we'd just been too preoccupied to notice. My sister used the room in front of us to crank the steering wheel and pull of the road, angling the car a bit so that no one could easily see into the side windows.

We made panting and close-quartered scrambles over the console into the backseat, frantically stacking up luggage to form a barricade to block views from the back window and to make room for ourselves. Once we'd made it over, I realized I'd had no reason to hastily hide shirts and bras. My sister pulled off her shirt and tossed it in the front seat. She lay back in nothing but her nursing bra-- a soft pink framework of fabric built by the world's greatest engineers for supporting and offering easy access to thick, dribbling breasts the world over. With the outer cups undone, her nipples poked through the inner cup of the bra's holes, gushing. I made a few passionate but failed attempts at unclasping the thing.

However, my dick reared anyway, impatient for what was to come. My sister was only concerned that her breasts were raining forth and a broken dam tried to stop them. She reached behind herself and released the sodden bra with a click, smirking at my ineffective attempts.

Her round breasts spilled forth, still trickling from their big bubble-gum nipples. She settled onto a mostly-cleared section in the back. I was stunned into inaction at the magnificent sight.

Finally, I shifted onto her lap, and looked up into her eyes again. From here I could smell her fully. It was lilac, a hint of musky sweat, vanilla-bean and desire.

"Is this okay?" I asked, almost choking on her perfume.

"Yes, yes. Just latch on already, I'm dribbling everywhere!"

I had done it. I had used my endless wit and undeniable candor to manipulate this situation to my exact specifications. It was definitely not sheer luck and a mutual affection that we'd both been denying for years. Nor was it a steamy, dominatrix-sub relationship created through formative years of a bossy older sister taking pleasure in her timid brother's adulation.

I knew about "latching on", by the way. In order to fully drink my sister's milk and also to protect her sensitive breasts, I needed to take a large amount of her breast into my mouth, centered on her aereola. Once I'd gotten a large mouthful of her, I had to slide my top lip over my teeth and extend my tongue, creating the latch and hiding the sharp features of my mouth from her tenderness.

Once I did this, A deep feeling of utter calm came over me, and I was able to suck huge mouthfuls of milk. I sighed deeply through my nose while I began to feed, and my sister joined her breathing with mine.There was still milk on my face from our chaotic first attempts.

Her hands caressed my head while we sat in relative silence. Haley let her head fall back. I gently massaged the breast I was suckling from. The window was still open, but the baby had stopped crying. The perfect sound of wind through the trees and a low rumble of idling motors lulled us into fantasy, where an older sister breastfeeding her little brother was nothing but a display of a true and pure love.