Whole Milk

The more I suckled and nursed and drank, though, the absolutely harder my cock began. It was screaming in its hardness, throbbing with a need unlike anything I had ever felt before. My balls felt as if they were churning cum-production at a rate and volume that might cause them to explode. And my mind was quite wiped of all coherent thought; all I knew was that I had suck. I had to drink. I must, for I must get it all.

The fluid dried up, becoming only a droplet.

"The other one, hurry!" she cried out. She was panting now, as her other full breast was offered and my mouth automatically went to it. I suckled hard, until I was again rewarded with the flood of her milk. I drank deeply, my hands still resting easily at my abdomen, my mouth the only thing working. Sucking and drinking and hearing her moans, her cries, her sounds of absolute pleasure.

I felt a deepening sense of utter addiction. The taste was exotic, delicious, perfection. It seemed to go right through me, to my cock, growing it, making it steely, the cum production churning more than I'd ever felt in my life. Her cries, her moans of pleasure, how her legs twiched under my head, shifting back and forth. God I was so perfectly aroused. I wanted only to satisfy myself, and knowing that my satisfaction would completely fulfill her.

"OH FUCK I'M CUMMING!" she screamed suddenly, and I felt her body's sudden convulsions. Yet more milk came, almost as if spurred by her orgasm, a huge squirt out that I had to greedily gobble do keep in my mouth. It almost made me cough, so much flooded my mouth and throat, but barely I avoided that, then continued to suckle. Her moans continued, though tapered off in intensity after a moment.

"Oh dear god," she moaned, releasing me from her breast. There was no more coming out, and it was my opinion, being up close to those breasts, that they both looked a little deflated - though still large. Both nipples remained hard, and huge, slightly elongated from the passage of her milk.

"Mmmm, Bryan, you savored that meal. Few have made me come while drinking from me." She stroked her hand over my chest. I found that I could not really move my hands. In fact, I could not move at all, but I was so drunk from imbibing her gift of milk, that my brain took solace in being unable to move. I looked up at her, and had no words. I could only marvel at her, perhaps like a babe gazing at its life-giving mother in the wake of a meal.

"You'll discover my milk has a few...effects," she said softly, her hand now undoing the buttons of my top. "As you might have already discovered, you are paralyzed. That won't last too long, sensation will return to your limbs soon enough," she said. "But," she continued as she unbuttoned the last button of my shirt, her hands moving along bare skin to my nipples, "you might find that a lot of your nerve endings in your body are curiously dulled. Except," she suddenly chuckled, "those in your cock. Those are excited to levels I doubt you've ever experienced. So when I sink down upon you, my hot, tight pussy enveloping your cock, you will surely almost lose your capacity for anything as your mind and body will be consumed by the pleasure coming from your penis."

She said all of this a matter-of-factly. I was not in the slightest bit upset to hear it. My brain was so fogged already that...none of it mattered. Not really. I was in her care, under her protection. What could really go wrong?

"You'll be most susceptible to suggestion as well." She slid my head to the side, and then adjusted me on the couch, so that my knees dangled over the one arm, and my head was positioned just about in the middle of the couch. She then stood, and I could only follow with my eyes, as she shrugged out of her top, and reached behind her to unzip her skirt. That fell away, revealing not boring pantyhose, but luxurious stockings, a garter holding them up, and skimpy panties covering her sex. She smiled, and wiggled her way out of the panties, having put them on over the garter straps. I saw a small patch of pubic hair, and the aroma of her sex wafted to my nose. Not that I thought that I could get more aroused...but inhaling her scent did exactly that.

She got onto the couch, kneeling, facing away from me. I rolled my eyes back to see the big expanse of her ass, and the winking pink hole nestled between the cheeks. "In fact," she said next, "I suggest to you that you'll take great pleasure in eating my ass. It's something that I do dearly love, and you'll be that good boy and do that for me, right?"

Not that I could talk. I was able to blink fast several times, hoping to convey a non-verbal way of me screaming YES YES YES! She leaned back and I found my tongue working properly, and explored that hole with a passion never before matched. Once, in college, my girlfriend and I were both pretty drunk while fooling around, and I had been going down on her, and on my own, ate her ass. She had cum awfully hard from that, and while I had enjoyed it, when going down on her sober, the thought never really passed my mind to do that again. Nor had my girlfriend suggested it.

But as I licked, circled, teased and pushed against the tight opening, I was loving it. How alien it felt, yet arousing. Perfectly arousing. Her cries and coos, her moans and suddenly jerks of her body fulfilled me, knowing I was giving her pleasure. So I gave more pleasure, faster and harder, deeper and deeper. More cries, more "oh...ohhhhhh...MMMmmmmMMmmooooOOO!" which sounded perfectly musical to me. I ate and ate, and then as before, was rewarded when her body clenched and spasmed hard.

She leaned forward, panting heavily to catch her breath. I found that I was able to now wiggle my fingers and toes a little, and had regained at least some movement in my neck, thus was better able to follow her movements. She slid from the couch, and busied herself removing my pants. She pulled me up fully onto the couch now, and then knelt over top of my body. My hands remained where they had been, though fingers were moving slowly. "And now, my young, lovely, Bryan, you are going to find out the true measure of my milk. You will be dropped into the deepest well of pleasure that you have ever felt. While I am taking your cock, riding you to orgasm after orgasm, you will find it impossibly hard to come. In fact, you won't be able to come. So you will find this constant delightful fucking to be mind-blowing. But you will come, but that will be later. Until then," she said, edging backwards, reaching a hand between her legs to pull my cock into an upright position, "just lie back and enjoy the ride!"

"Oh...oh fuck," she moaned as my cock pressed to soaking wet, searing hot lips. No pussy had felt hotter, tighter, or wetter, and then her lips parted easily and my head began sliding inside. I was lost; she had not lied. Once or twice before, I had used a cord to tie up my cock and balls while masturbating, and the orgasm had been huge and more of a pure relief. My cock had been deadened though, not passing through quite as much sensation. This felt similar in that my cock was tied off and unable to orgasm, but that I was constantly in those last two or three strokes just before cumming. That's what I was in, and there was nothing to do except endure it.

It drove me out of my mind. I was there but not there, lost in sensation. I breathed, I felt her body crashing down on me, and her cries of orgasm after orgasm reached my ears but as if screamed from a long distance off. This wasn't just that I had to cum - I HAD TO CUM. No words satisfied that need, it was all-encompassing, and I was trying in my limited state to force myself into it, but it was not coming.

Each time she came, her pussy clenched on me wildly, and I felt the change in pressure. From tight to extremely tight, if just for a second or two, then a release of that pressure, once or twice an explosion of wetness. But she never stopped, just kept rocking and rocking, cumming and cumming.

Eventually I was rewarded with a new sensation - this one not pleasant. A distant but growing ache in my balls. And it was with that ache that my paralysis broke, and my hands flew up to her breasts, and grabbed and squeezed. She leaned down, pressing herself onto me, her hips moving a last few times, as her last orgasm finally died down. She picked her head up and looked at me, her face sweaty, hair every which way, eyes huge and glassy. Her lipstick was smeared and her face deeply shaded red.

"Are you ready to come for me, Bryan?" she wanted to know.

"YES PLEASE!" I screamed.

"Good." Though my hands could move, I was still mostly paralyzed, and could not stop her as she slid down and nestled herself down between my legs. She looked up at me, as she gripped my wet cock, and she smiled. "Your cum will restore the milk in my breasts, Bryan. So when you come, it's going to be in my mouth, and I promise you that I won't miss a drop." With that, her head dropped.

That big head of hair was all I saw, but what I felt was again, pure perfection. Bliss. I screamed as her tongue worked some kind of magic, making me feel even harder, thicker than ever. She stroked at my base, lifting my balls each time, letting them fall. The jostling of them seemed to release the dam, and all of a sudden my back was arching high up off of the couch and I cut loose with a truly guttural scream.

I had had hard orgasms before. If you would have asked me, that first shot, if it had not gone down her throat, would have splattered on the ceiling it erupted with such force. And then as mind-wiping as it had been to be fucked by her without the ability to move, the orgasm I had destroyed me utterly. I lost count of the powerful blasts after the fifth one. Or was is the sixth? I don't know. It felt like my cock would never stop spurting. Yet I realized on some level that Catherine was moaning and shuddering around my cock, as if every spurt of my seed triggered her to orgasm.

Finally, like cutting off a tap, my orgasm ended. My balls felt deflated. My body was exhausted, sweaty. I felt that I could move my body, but I was far too wrung out to bother. Catherine lifted her head, and her face was as wan and drawn out as mine. She weakly crawled up and shoved herself in between me and the back of the couch, and I managed to turn to face her. She threw a leg over mine, pulling me tight into her, and we adjusted until our arms were entwined comfortably around the other's body.

She inhaled deeply, and her exhale was slow and shuddery. I knew how she felt. She gazed at me, and I matched her gaze.

"Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Oh god yes. Did you like yours?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm," she smiled. She looked down at herself; my eyes dropped to see as well. I was not entirely surprised to see that her breasts looked already like they had inflated a little once again. "In an hour or so," she said as she moved her head, resuming eye contact with me, "they'll be filled up once again, ready to deliver another meal."

"I won't be," I groaned.

"Don't be so sure about that!" she giggled.

"What...are you?" I heard myself asking.

"I am special," she said with a little smile. "Just a woman with large appetites."

"You'll kill me," I said a little raggedly.

"No, I won't do that," she said. "I could," she said. "But I won't."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"Enjoy you," she said honestly enough.

***

That lost weekend of mine. I could never quite remember what had happened. Todd asked me several times what had happened, and I could only look at him, and shake my head with some frustration. No matter how hard I tried, nothing that had happened was in my memory. Like it was wiped clean.

All I could ever tell him was that I awoke in my bed on Monday morning, ready to go to work, feeling both as tired yet refreshed as I had ever felt. I did not get an erection for like two weeks, and had tried twice to masturbate, only to find that my cock never swelled.

Women seemed to flock to me from that moment on. I never had trouble getting laid, and truth be told, once a woman began giving me a blow-job, she seemed unable to take her mouth away from me. I kind of laughed it off, how ever girl I'd been with since that weekend had swallowed and not spit, every time.

In time, I met a woman who excited my mind as well as my body, and we ended up getting married. Our sex life was spicy and pleasurable, and almost always ended with her swallowing my cum. I think I came inside of her body perhaps a half-dozen times at best; she always had to end sex by taking my cum in her mouth. It was like a compulsion with her.

She got sicker and sicker though, throughout the course of our eight year marriage, and finally we had to take her to the hospital. The doctors were unable to ever find anything that was wrong with her - they just said that her body was as if it was worn out completely, and simply gave up. I cried real tears, for I had loved her dearly.

My second wife was with me for five years. One day I awoke to a note, telling me that she was divorcing me. She flat-out ghosted me, filing for divorce from some remote location, never giving away where she was. She was willing to give away all of the joint possessions. She just had to be gone from me, never to come back, never to see me again. I had not loved her as fiercely as I had loved my first wife, but I missed her deeply in the aftermath of her sudden disappearance.

The only thing that ever bothered me about her was that when I met her, she was a plump woman. She was round in the breasts, belly, hips and thighs. When she finally left me, she had dropped to a size six, yet her skin had remained quite taut, showing no signs of stretch marks. She, too, had almost always swallowed my cum to conclude sex.

From time to time, especially in the wake of my second wife's departure, I found myself returning to that lost weekend, wondering what happened. Why had all the women in my life after that weekend had such a deep-seated need to suck down my cum? Why had my first wife died, and my second wife peeled back years of age, returning to be such a skinny, lovely woman - and then ran off without a word? Deep thought and lots of note-taking forced me to conclude that something in that lost weekend was at the root of it all.

Yet I could never remember it. The only time I could come close was in that penultimate moment just before orgasm. Sometimes I'd get a flash of something, of a beautiful creature, of unbridled lust, of insatiable need. But in post-nut clarity, no recall was possible.

I sighed, tossing my pencil down on the notebook. I looked up at the wall. I was in my office, a well-appointed one that I'd used since the start of this damned pandemic. My home was spacious and airy, though well over one hundred years old. I would work in the day, tend to the house, and then almost every night, sit in the room with the fireplace. I'd have a glass of robust red and stare into the dancing fire. When I had a wife, she would sit with me, and often we'd make love right there.

It was a cold night, rainy with the wind blowing steadily and gusting noisily from time to time. So when the knock came at my door, I was quite surprised; I was expecting no one, and who would be out in this weather. I paused by the door, calling "who is it?" through the door.

"You know who it is," came a woman's voice. For some reason, my hands worked to unlock and open the door before my brain had a moment to think better of it. And in that moment, upon gazing at Catherine once more, that lost weekend came tumbling back.

She walked inside. "We made a date, remember?"

I gulped. "Yes."

She took my hand in hers, and walked me into the fireplace room. "We have a lot of catching up to do," she said, unbuttoning her shirt and pulling her bra off. Bringing me to her breast. To suckle. God help me. To suckle...