The Muse

As a mature woman over 50, I have put substantial energy into trying to lactate again for my husband. Its origins are primal and feeds my nurturing soul. I derive intense pleasure from being nursed and suckled yet, I confess a desire to nurse from a lactating woman. To taste her milk for my pleasure and then to please her in return.

Something magical happens to the mindset of women over 50. Perhaps it's the combination of life wisdom and experience with the hard cold reality that there is more in your rear-view mirror than in front of you. The proverbial life is short, better get on with it, get busy living or get busy dying mantra. Or maybe it's simply I have less fucks to give.

Turning 50 was an epiphany and began a cycle of sexual experimentation. With thanks and gratitude to a supportive husband he encouraged me to try every fantasy that ever passed through my brain. Some things stuck, like adult nursing. And also, my fondness for women. Perhaps it was a long-resurrected desire sparked by an intense make out and fingering session in middle-school with the girl next door. And while I've been blessed with a smattering of female experiences, I have yet to experience this one scenario.

When I lie awake at night consumed with menopausal insomnia, I play the scenario over in my mind on a continuous loop. I wonder how to approach it, how to find it and ultimately how it will feel to latch onto a full breast. My pussy throbs with want and lusty butterflies tickle my tummy.

It's a long shot. A lightning strike. Probably right in line with winning the lottery. Or the proverbial unicorn. But I think about it all the same. Women are amazing, lovely creatures. I find myself drawn to women with soft edges. With roundness. Full hips and breasts with soft tummies. Women who ooze with sexuality and sensuality but are oblivious to both. Women who embrace pleasure, seek it out and give it to themselves and others with abandon.

She is a muse.

A beautiful, ripe, luscious woman. Her breasts drip with sweet liquid and her body is a treasure map to be explored. Methodically and with intention. Her mothering is not something I crave, but her divine femininity is something I long to taste. Her lips. Her tongue. Her breasts. Her milk. Her pussy. I dream of indulging in all that she offers me, savoring her in courses like an elegantly prepared meal. She is not to be gobbled up hastily but enjoyed in perpetuity. Each delectable part of her is tasted and consumed. I am satisfied but insatiable.

As a mother she has maturity, but her body has not been ravaged by mother nature. She is shapely, curvy and firm. Sensuality oozes from her pores. I imagine straddling her naked body in my bed on crisp white sheets, sunlight streaming through the window. Her face is youthful with the tiniest of crinkles starting to form around her eyes. Her hair smells fresh and of botanical shampoo. I run my fingers through her hair. It feels silky to the touch. She is intoxicatingly lovely. I touch her cheek. Her lips. I trace her pout with my index finger, and she parts her lips slightly, soft breath on my fingertips.

I want to pounce and devour her. I am famished. Starving to have all of her at once but I reprimand myself mentally to slow and savor. I tell her to close her eyes; to settle into the sensation of being delicately ravished by a woman with 25 years on her. I trace her collarbone with my fingers. And then with my tongue. I pepper her with butterfly kisses paying close attention to her breathing; touch my tongue to her lips and pull her lower lip in a playful nibble. She tastes vaguely of strawberry lip-gloss. Or is it cherry ChapStick? I guess the song was right.

Her mouth opens and accepts my kiss. Time stops and I fall into her warm, sweet mouth for seconds? Or is it minutes? I lose track. Butterflies race around my belly. My hands trace the swell of her ripe breasts. They are full and firm. My pussy twitches in anticipation of her lusciousness. She is both foreign and familiar. I am gobsmacked. My hands want to feel her everywhere.

I stare at her breasts and study their shape. I know they are full but not engorged. The skin is creamy. Faint tan lines outline a triangle bikini top. A few freckles dot her chest. Her nipples are erect and gently elongated; she is positively inviting. I cannot take my eyes from her body. She is stunning. I am envious of her husband's ability to touch and taste this beautiful creature every day.

I am almost fearful to take that perfect nipple into my mouth. I remember nursing well, its pains and twinges. I fear causing discomfort when it is only pleasure I wish to give. She senses it and pulls me in, arching up her back. I latch on instinctively rolling her nipple gently on my tongue before settling into a gentle sucking motion that I am instinctively familiar with as a receiver. She is warm and the foreign feeling evaporates like dust.

The first drops of her sweetness hit the back of my tongue. I know in mere moments she will feel that prickly aching almost painful sensation of let down and her milk will flood my mouth. I gently caress her breast and take long deliberate pulls in anticipation of the deluge yet to come. I am entranced, aroused and utterly intoxicated by her generosity.

When the first spray hits the back of my mouth the swallowing is instinctive. Shockingly so. An extraordinarily different sensation than swallowing a mouthful of thick cum that requires a deliberate swallow. It is as natural as taking in oxygen. My body is on high alert. Every nerve is rapid firing pleasure and I feel it pinging through me every nerve on high alert. I feel my clit throbbing and it hasn't been touched. The arousal is remarkable.

The time space continuum sucks me in. My mind is calm but frenetic. I'm savoring this current delicious milky course but anticipating the next. I am remembering perfect meals or experiences I have had over my lifetime. Experiences so perfect that I am delighting in every sensation before it ends and equally anticipating the next time I can have it again. I want the next course. I want another one like this. I feel greedy. I am unapologetic in my hunger.

I purposely save her other breast for the finale, but she is unaware of my pleasure path. She turns her breast in an offering. It pains me to momentarily ignore such ripe perfection as I lay a trail of milky kisses down her belly. It dawns on her what I am hungry for next.

If she revels in such delights, I do not know. If she has had a plethora of girl-on-girl experiences she has not said. If she is bi-curious in this moment, it is enough for me. Whether curiosity or lust or want or simply being in a moment of pure seduction, her body invites me. Her legs silently open in the simplest of invitations. I accept without pause.

Her pussy is smooth. I hover my face over that divine feminine holiness and take in her heady scent. Her lips taut. Her slit pink. The prettiest of rosebuds peeking out between her slit. My fortitude is again challenged. I want to dive into her and taste greedily. Another mental reprimand. Slow and steady wins the race. I remind myself again not to pounce. My willpower is having none of it. A perfect feast is laid before me, and I want to taste it. Devour it. I want to lick the plate clean and ask for more. I prepare for feasting by gently pushing her thighs apart to open up to me. Her anticipation is palpable. I feel the current of electricity between us. A trickle of honey drips from her perfect hole. I cannot stop staring. Looking. Beauty and lust laid out before me. I am in fucking awe of her.

And just like that, my tongue is softly opening her folds to expose her clit. I am full of self-arrogance. I want to give her incredible pleasure. Make her feel incredible sensations. I'm shockingly self-aware that my prowess is stereotypically masculine. I can practically hear the cliches in my head about licking a good pussy. And yet, I feel confident in my ability to please her, to make her body shake and twitch, to make her want and ache. Maybe it's because she's a woman and I'm generally familiar with the geography. Or because I am over 50 with less fucks to give. Her pleasure is my pleasure. That cliché is spot fucking on.

I begin my feast and I do not stop. I lick and suck every petal. I am addicted. Her clit rolls over in my mouth and tongue like a piece of candy. I feel her swell on my tongue. I am cognizant of her sensitivity. I dance around the head of her clit softly, listening to her moans, conscious of her body movements. Her pelvis rocks slowly into my mouth. I know she wants more, or at least she doesn't want me to stop. I touch and taste her juice. Liquid and viscous. She is sweet. She is magic and pixie dust. She is angels wings. I am besotted.

I run my thumb over her aching swollen clit gently rubbing the head. Her moans are a combination of guttural and ethereal. Is there anything as pure as the sound of genuine pleasure? Raw and unfiltered. Juice pours out of my pussy in solidarity.

I alternatively stroke and lick her clit. Her pussy is slippery and wanting. I know it. She knows it. I slip a finger into her and stroke her pussy gently. She opens up more fully and her wetness runs down my hand. I offer another; she accepts with an audible sigh. Her pussy is tight against my fingers, rocking and moaning. I want nothing more than for her to cum on my hands, to twitch and shudder at my touch. I edge her endlessly. Teasing, tasting, finger fucking her in a calculated methodical fashion. I want to take her to the top of the mountain, pull her back down, push her back up until she is dizzy with want and need. I want her to beg for release. I want to give her ecstasy. I want her to want more without having finished what is in front of her. I want her to be as greedy as I am.

Her hips are bucking rhythmically against my hand. Her body is primal and hedonistic. Her only want is that pinnacle of pleasure that I tease and withhold. She is beautiful to watch. Breathless. Her skin flushed from passion; her hair tousled with that freshly finger fucked look. I quietly talk to her. Coaxing out her innermost desires.

"Do you want to cum baby?"

She writhes and moans as I play homage to her clit, rubbing and flicking her swollen head with one hand while I fill her wanting hole with my fingers. Her breathing is so erratic now. I recognize her climax is eminent. I want to selfishly tease her until the ache is unbearable, but I also want to feel her cum all over my hand. Her sweet slippery juice pooling on white sheets. She grinds against me, and I encourage her.

"Cum for me. Let me hear it"

Her pussy grips my fingers as pleasure spreads through her body. Her face contorts with pleasure, and she moans loudly, "Oh god, I'm cumming". It is loud and long. It is pure perfection.

Very gently I remove my dripping fingers from her pussy. Her pussy bright pink. Her clit visibly swollen to three times its size. I gently caress the side of her clit avoiding full on contact. The nerves are too raw and sensitive. She wriggles under my touch. With proper coaxing I could have her again. And again. And again.

My final course is ready for consumption. Her unemptied breasts drips milk and calls to me like a beacon. I gingerly kiss her pretty pussy while she lays spent and breathless. I slowly move my body snuggling into her frame licking her spilled milk from the side of her body before latching on her perfect nipple and savoring my final delicious course.