The Reluctant Lactating Wife

"Honey, we honestly can't keep doing this anymore."

It was a Monday morning once again in the McCarthy household. John McCarthy was a stockbroker in his mid 30s. With close to a decade of experience in his field, coupled with stellar degrees from one of the top colleges in the country, he was a very successful individual in his profession. Like many successful men, he was also very dominant in his personal relationships, especially with regards to his wife. But therein also lied his uniqueness among other successful men. While his kind usually enjoyed a wide spectrum of female company both emotionally and physically, Mr. McCarthy had only ever been with one woman in his entire life.

They had met each other in middle school. John had asked her out towards the end, and they had been together all the way through high school and college. Shortly after securing a steady job, he had put his name on her, and thus his high school sweetheart had become his Emily McCarthy at the age of 23.

She was currently lying in her husband's embrace with one of her very well-developed breasts clutched in his palms, having been woken up a few moments ago by the wet feeling of suckling on her nipples. Her man was happily drinking the milk she had produced throughout the night. This had become part of their morning routine over the last 2 years.

The two had grown so used to this act of intimacy that oftentimes, the couple would not even fully wake up before getting started. As the first rays of sunlight entered their bedroom, John would start his hunt for his wife's bountiful bosom while still in his sleep, and Emily, despite her reluctance to continue lactating, would find herself leaving her mammaries out of her nightgown for ease of access. It didn't take much from there for his eager mouth to find her willing nipple, and the morning session of adult breastfeeding would mark the start of their day.

John had been nursing from Emily for much longer than their daughter. Thanks to the incredible amount of attention she usually received in the boob department from her husband, her milk had come in at around 6 months into her pregnancy. After getting the good news of successful conception, the couple had decided to tone down their sexual activities lest their mating motions ended up hurting their baby. This meant that sexy activities had gotten reduced to handjobs, fingering, and the occasional oral display of affection. The arrival of Emily's milk opened a completely new, and much-needed, avenue to explore for the two. So by the time of their daughter's arrival, John had already drunk his wife from D cups to full Es.

The nurse assigned to Emily at the hospital was very surprised to see almost matured milk on the very first day of motherhood from a woman who was having her first baby. Not only did the mother have nearly fully matured milk, but she also had a very impressive supply. When asked if she had any disorders with her pituitary gland, Emily had simply smiled and said, "No. I just have another very hungry baby."

Ever since John had tasted the first few droplets of milk while Emily was still pregnant, he has been addicted to the liquid. Not a day has passed after that initial encounter without John taking his fill from her breasts twice a day. From the beginning, every morning he would invariably pin Emily down and drink everything she had produced throughout the night. And every evening, after coming back from work, he would firstly gulp down enough to take the edge of the foremilk off, and once the richer hindmilk started to flow, he would squeeze out copious amounts for his coffee. The rest would also be drunk up afterward, leaving the woman with nothing but empty, floppy breasts.

Emily had complained for the first few weeks after the baby arrived. In the morning, while her husband decisively pulled her milk out of her, she would mumble along the lines of, "You should at least leave some for the baby in the mornings. I feel guilty having to give her formula every morning when I make so much milk. But by the time I can finally get out of bed, I never have anything left for her in my boobs."

"Then pull some out and keep it in the freezer before going to bed at night."

"How about I pump and save over the day and give that to you every morning?"

*suck* *swallow* *suck* *swallow*

"Or I can wake up early and feed the baby before you wake up. How about that?"

"Absolutely not. I want two full boobs in the morning, and I want two full boobs when I get home. No saved-overs, no left-overs. You're my wife, so you will give that to me. No excuses. Now let me drink in peace."

After getting shooed away from being in control of her own breasts in such a fashion for a couple of weeks, Emily had given up. She resorted to adopting several strategically timed pumping sessions in order to save enough milk for her baby and still meet the expectations of her husband. After John's departure for work at around 8 AM in the mornings, she would frantically pump as much as she could in between direct feedings until about 2 PM. Oftentimes, she would subject herself to up to three 20-minute pumping sessions within that 6 hour period.

Knowing that her husband would be home at around 6 PM, she would let her breasts get filled up from 2 PM onwards, 4 hours usually being enough for her to reach moderate fullness. After John's return, she would be taken by him and relieved of her supply, the thinner foremilk sedating his immediate thirst while the richer hindmilk served to cream his evening coffee.

Starting once more from zero, Emily would again submit herself to the pump as much as her breasts could handle in between directly feeding her baby, clocking two more pumping sessions before it was time for sleep at 12.

The next seven hours were her hours of peak production, as the prolactin activity in her system would be the highest while she slept, and it was also the longest period that she went without extraction. She would wake up to completely engorged breasts, a network of blue veins decorating the angry purplish-pink mammary flesh. The foolish globes would work their asses off throughout the night producing a tremendous load of white gold for her offspring to feast on first thing in the morning, not knowing that this bounty was actually meant for her husband.

For the first few weeks, Emily felt slight pangs of guilt as her breasts submitted their freshly produced morning bounty to her grown man while her baby got the pumped-overs from the night before. But her years of subservient conditioning soon helped her internalize the setup as normal. She found herself physically feeling the same urge to make milk for her husband as what she felt for her baby. It stopped being just a sexual thing and became a wifely duty that she expected her body to carry out for her husband. As soon as the right mindset clicked into place, her production shifted into high gear, catching up to the required levels in a mere week's time.

In fact, 'catching up to the required levels' was an understatement. Forced to produce enough in 12 hours that can satisfy the needs of a growing baby for a full day, the breasts were effectively conditioned to produce milk twice as fast. But of course, breasts, being brainless globes of flesh, could not produce faster or slower depending on the time of the day. They only had one knob, and once that knob was dialed up for them to work twice as fast, they did so at all times. Consequently, the amount Emily produced solely for John also doubled, bringing great satisfaction for him while adding a whole new set of leaking problems for her.

But that was more than 2 years ago. Their daughter was now a toddler. She had stopped feeding from her mother at around the age of 14 months. It has been more than 8 months since the baby had self-weaned, and although she was not feeding the baby anymore and thus produced less than what she could at her peak, Emily was still very much 'in milk'. The same ritual still continued, the only difference being that John now claimed the bounty before bed for himself as well, in addition to their original evening and morning feedings. That brings us back to the present when Emily is complaining to her husband while getting drained by his mouth first thing in the morning.

"Why not?"

"It's weird! Martha is 2 now. Mrs. Dawkins came to visit the other day and asked why I was still making milk. It was so embarrassing!"

"And what did you tell her?"

"Well, of course, I didn't tell her that I have to feed my husband 3 times a day!"

"Mhm, and?"

"I just said that Mar likes to comfort nurse from time to time."

"That's okay then. That was a believable excuse."

"It was not okay! She looked me dead in the tits and said, 'Honey, you don't look like you comfort nurse.'"

"Nosy bitch."

Emily swatted John on the back of his head and said, "Don't use bad words for others."

"She deserves it."

"She's a good woman."

"What did you say after that?"

"I pretended to admit that Mar still nurses full-time. She then gave me a long lecture about why that's bad. As if I didn't know about breastfeeding. I've made and fed more milk than her whole family combined, and she has 3 sisters."

"Mhm."

"I don't want mhm's from you anymore."

"What do you want then?"

"I want you to think about cutting down slowly and eventually stopping altogether."

"You know that's not going to happen."

"So I'll just keep feeding you until we die?"

"Sounds about right."

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because I can't! Look at me! My boobs are way too big for me right now. My back hurts from carrying two kettlebells on my chest all the time. Lactating adds a whole new ton of chores, and I maintain the house alone! I do it alone, John! My boobs leak and ruin all my clothes. I have to do a mountain of laundry every day because I get milk stains everywhere. I have to eat a lot to keep up the supply, so I can't lose weight. I can't wear cute dresses anymore. I feel like a cow!"

"What's wrong with being a cow?"

"Everything! I want to feel like a normal girl again. I want to feel sexy!"

"But you are sexy! You're the sexiest you've ever been! I love your current body so much more than the stick figures they show on TV. Look at you! You've got huge tits, a big ass, and a plump pussy. Sure, you've gained a couple inches around the waist. But you've gained many more than that above and below! You've bounced back from pregnancy perfectly! You were a very attractive woman before Martha, but now you are an absolute goddess! You have curves for days! But you're not overweight, you're fluffy! And all the fluff is in the right places, baby! Trust me, you have never looked sexier than you do right now!"

"That's only to you. Nobody else thinks that."

"Who else do you need to appear sexy to?"

"Nobody. I didn't mean it like that. I meant that this body type is not what's considered sexy in an objective sense according to social standards."

"Are you the society's wife now?"

"Of course not! What kind of statement is that?"

"Whose wife are you then?"

"I'm your wife."

"Then you need to be sexy according to my standards."

"But what about my standards? I don't feel sexy to myself!"

"What about your standards? Why would your standards apply to yourself? They should apply to me. If you find something about me that you don't like, say it."

"You know that I find you perfect."

"And I find you perfect. We're perfect to each other."

"But-"

"This one's done. Lean over my way. That one is lying all the way on the west coast."

Emily shifted around to make her left breast accessible to John. Her tits were much too big to stay in place when she lied down. It didn't help that she had a tiny ribcage to support them. Pinned down on her back by John's heavy arms and thigh, she had to make an actual effort to bring the undrained breast over to his mouth. This one had started to leak already simply from the release of oxytocin brought on by the suction on the right breast. John caught the dribbling nipple and pulled it in his mouth, forming a perfect latch with practiced ease. With only a couple of pulls, he triggered her letdown reflex yet again, and the woman moaned as she physically felt the milk release from the glands in the depths of her breasts, pool in the ducts underneath her nipples, and subsequently get pulled out by her husband's mouth. She sighed heavily, enjoying the happy hormones coursing through her body.

"See? You like it too."

"Only because I'm so damn full and it feels good to get the relief."

"It's a win-win for both of us."

"It's not! Look!"

Emily grabbed a fistful of the bed sheets and pulled up to show the wet spot her left breast had created while John was busy with the right one in the beginning. Emily continued, "I have to wash this now. I have to wash bed sheets every day because you won't let me wear bras to bed! It's like this with everything! The whole house would be reeking of my milk if I slacked off for a couple of days on cleaning duties!"

"Mmm, I'd like to come back to a house smelling like your milk."

"That'll be disgusting! It'll mean that the lady of the house is a slacker and doesn't clean properly."

"Nonsense. It'll just mean that the lady of the house is a big producer."

"You p-pervert!"

"What?"

"Please let me dry up."

"How about no?"

"Oh God... Why?"