Warm and Sweet, Vol. 1 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Milk Me, Please!

  Milk Me More!

  The Milking Affair

  Milk Me, Doctor!

  Taken and Milked

  Kept and Milked

  The Milking Contract

  Breeding Her Gently

  Bred for All

  Her First Rough Exam

  The Power Couple

  Mae's Initiation

  More from the Authors - Amazon

  Warm & Sweet, Vol. 1

  by

  Jolene Avonn

  Ellie Saxx

  Published by Firewalker Press, 2013.

  Publisher’s note: This collection contains twelve works of pure, sensual fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. All characters depicted are over the age of 18.

  First edition, July 2013.

  Copyright 2013 Jolene Avonn.

  Copyright 2013 Ellie Saxx.

  MILK ME, PLEASE!

  Ellie Saxx

  This story begins with me sitting in my parents’ living room late at night, topless, pressing gingerly around my nipples and moaning softly.

  It’s not what you think. Instead of enjoying a quick and private erotic moment, I yearned for relief from the throbbing pain in each massively swollen breast. My three-month-old, Philip, was fast asleep. My breast pump had broken and I was panicking.

  The room was dark except for the red light flashing on the baby monitor. My back ached and the word “engorged” blinked in my head like a neon sign, perfectly in time with my pulse. It’s the term my doctor used when I called for the ninth time complaining that I felt like I my breasts were going to burst.

  “You might be experiencing some engorgement,” she said. “It’s perfectly normal.”

  “What do I do?” I said. “I look like Dolly Parton! I feel like I have heavy water balloons where my breasts should be!”

  “Well, the discomfort should subside when little Philip gets into more of a routine, for one. Until then, you can try out the massage exercises I e-mailed you. Last resort is always to manually express yourself.”

  Manually express yourself.

  What the hell did that mean? Why didn’t she just say: Milk yourself, Abby, it’s the only way.

  So, I pulled out the instruction sheet and pressed the first three fingers of both hands around my large, taut nipples “like the flowers of a petal,” as instructed.

  It helped a little, actually. More than a little. As I pushed and massaged, the sensation of fullness subsided somewhat. I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes. There was a hint of pleasure there, yes, and not just from the ease of tension on my stretched areola.

  What a long road it had been. I got pregnant during my junior year in college. I was stupid: unprotected sex with two guys in the fall semester, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell either of them. I dropped out. I showed up on my mom’s doorstep and she cut me into a million pieces with her words.

  Failure. Worthless. Just what I expected.

  Thanks, Mom. She was the CEO of a big accounting firm. All work, all the time.

  My stepdad Ben was my savior. He took me to all my appointments. He was in the room when Philip was born. He had a knack for getting Philip to fall asleep, a talent for which I revered him.

  And that was it – I was living at home, rubbing my tits in the dark, and feeling sorry for myself. I hadn’t had sex in an eon, and channeled all my energy into daily jogs with Philip in his stroller and my breasts strapped tight under the smallest exercise bra I could fit into. I didn’t feel attractive at all; I assumed everyone stared for all the wrong reasons.

  My chest started to feel warm instead of merely swollen as I let myself consider a little self-pleasure before bed. I massaged each entire breast, first the left, then the right. The warmth spread to a pleasant, hot dampness between my legs. I leaked from my nipples but I didn’t care. It felt good. In a minute I’d squeeze harder, maybe milk myself into an empty cup, out of pure desperation. It hurt so bad and I felt so helpless...

  I just wanted a few minutes of relief before I trudged up to bed. I couldn’t believe how large I’d gotten – I had two comfortable C-cup handfuls before getting pregnant, and now the huge pale orbs were filled to the max. None of my clothes fit. The shirt I’d tossed aside stretched so much when I actually wore it that I probably should have been arrested for indecent exposure.

  I was just sliding a hand down my stomach and under my shorts when I heard a creak near the doorway to the kitchen. I snapped my eyes open.

  There, in the shadows, was a figure. I recognized the plaid pajama bottoms.

  “Ben? Is that you?” I asked, sitting up and crossing my arms to cover myself.

  He coughed.

  “Uh, yeah, sorry. I was just coming down for a glass of milk. Couldn’t sleep.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “How long were you there?”

  He didn’t say anything. My face flushed. Somehow, I thought he’d know that I was a few moments away from firing up a fantasy in which he figured prominently. More on that in a second.

  “You saw me?” I said.

  Still no answer. Just a shuffling of feet as he moved toward the stairs.

  “Wait!” I said. “It’s okay, Ben. It’s totally natural. I was just so sore. I was doing this massage thing the doctor sent me.”

  He stopped. “Sore?” he said. “Does it really hurt?”

  “God, you don’t even know,” I said.

  Ben walked into the living room. He didn’t have a shirt on. He held a small glass of milk. For a guy in his 40’s, he looked pretty good. He always told me stories about growing up on a farm, and the years spent working the fields gave him a muscular build that would never fade. A broad chest covered with an attractive layer of dark hair, a firm stomach, and powerful-looking arms. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days so the gray-black stubble on his cheeks only added to the appeal.

  You could say I had a thing for Ben. It was hard not to. He’d always intrigued me, from the first time I met him. Back then I chalked it up to a high school girl’s raging hormones and a slight case of daddy issues. Maybe that was still the case now. Whatever it was, I invited him to sit with me in the living room.

  I desperately wanted him to stay. I had a hunch he would. I sometimes caught him looking at me, a longing kind of look, and in my fantasies that always led to something extremely dirty.

  “Sit for a few minutes,” I said, patting the cushion next to me with one hand while containing my breasts with the other. “I could use some company.”

  Ben walked closer and as my eyes adjusted more I could see the quizzical expression on his face. He sat down as far away from me as he could.

  I didn’t make a move to use my shirt for more cover. I was at ease around Ben. After all, he’d seen me in the delivery room. All of me. I relaxed my arms so I could point at the sheet.

  “See,” I said softly, “I have to press all around my nipples, not too firmly, and it eases the pressure. I even get milk sometimes.”

  I swear I could see Ben blush.

  “And that...helps?”

  “A little,” I said. “They’re still really sore, though. I feel like there are gallons in me. I feel...well, sometimes I feel disgusting.”

  “Oh, you’re not disgusting,” Ben said quickly. “I think –”

  He paused and looked away.

  “You think what?” I said.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. “I think you look amazing. You’re a beautiful woman, Abby. Please don’t ever feel disgusting.”

  I smiled at him, and I felt a heat growing in my chest and spreading into my face
. I was always a crazy-fast blusher. He couldn’t see me beaming, but in my mind I illuminated him with my smile.

  “You’re sweet, Ben,” I said. “Thank you.” I leaned back in the couch again and accidentally let out a groan as my breasts weighed down on me and my arms pressed them even harder.

  “Are you okay?” Ben said, alert.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like I said, just sore. Always sore. These things are so big. They tell you that they’ll grow, but they never explain what that feels like.”

  We sat in silence. My chest rose and fell. All I heard was Ben’s soft breathing and the ticking of a clock in the kitchen. I realized I was still smiling. It felt so good to be next to Ben. I hadn’t felt this kind of warmth in a long time, since well before the baby. My ears started to buzz a little, like right before a first kiss.

  Ben adjusted himself on the couch. He was closer now.

  “Is there anything I can do, Abby?” he asked.

  I instantly thought of his warm hands on my breasts and every rational thought flew out the window. The idea of relaxing completely and allowing someone else to massage my discomfort away made me dizzy, and the image of Ben leaning over to alleviate every worry I had in the world, well, let’s just say the dampness between my legs got a little hotter.

  I slid the instructions toward him.

  “Maybe you could do these better,” I said. “I’m aching, Ben.”

  He studied the sheet, and then looked at me.

  “You’d let me touch you?”

  Of course! my brain screamed.

  “It’s what the doctor suggested,” I said slowly, reasoning as I went. “You’re helping ease my pain. It’s like physical therapy, how therapists touch you. It would really, really help, Ben.”

  I let my arms fall to my sides, and I angled sideways on the couch to lay back almost flat, my head propped on a pillow. My breasts looked like huge orbs in the moonlight. My nipples were so much wider than they’d been before, and darker. Every little breath made me jiggle. I felt shy all of a sudden, and moved to cover myself.

  “Maybe this was a mis – ”

  “Don’t,” Ben said, grabbing my arm and holding it still. “Don’t be shy.”

  His grip was firm. I melted. I let my arms fall to the couch.

  Ben eased on to his knees, right by my side. I could feel the heat rolling off of him in waves. He lifted his hands and tentatively held them right above me, and then dropped them to the couch cushion. His fingers brushed my side and I gasped.

  “Sorry!” he said.

  “No, no,” I said. “It wasn’t bad. Don’t be afraid. Try the first massage, the flower petal one.”

  Ben raised his hands again, and then pressed gently around my nipple with his fingers.

  I moaned, low and long and probably louder than I should have. His fingers were hot. And gentle. I watched his face, his expression intent and serious. Then I closed my eyes. The sensations were almost too much to bear. When he circled around, pressing on opposite sides of my nipple and then moving, then pressing, then moving, it was like all the pressure was slowly fading away. My breasts were so full and soft that his fingers almost disappeared into the tender flesh.

  “My God,” I whispered. I opened my eyes again to watch him work.

  Ben stopped his movements, holding his fingers lightly on the dark areola.

  “Is that okay?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Definitely yes. You can even press a little harder.”

  He moved to the other breast and continued the tender fingertip massage, using just the right amount of pressure. Every time he touched me I felt a jolt from my breast to the back of my head, like there was a tiny highway of nerves connecting the two places. When I closed my eyes, I saw white and red shapes crossing the backs of my eyelids. My legs fell open a little, my dampness quickly turning to wet, wet heat between my legs.

  “Oh, Ben,” I said, more than once.

  His breathing quickened and he moved beyond the instruction sheet recommendations with his caresses. He held one breast at a time, completely engulfing it in his large hands so only my nipple showed, and squeezing gently. It was delightful, and it was torture. I was so full! I wanted so bad for him to squeeze harder. To pull on me. To suck me.

  He moved between each breast at a perfect and agonizing pace. At some point, I rested a hand on his chest, just holding it there and enjoying the additional connection. His chest rose and fell as I stroked the hair on his pecs. It was taking every ounce of control to refrain from pulling him on top of me.

  Ben continued his steady, careful massage. He began to pull gently but firmly on my hardened nipples, never enough to cause pain, but eventually teasing a few drops of milk free. The new slickness seemed to coax him on. He kept asking me if he should stop, and I kept saying No, no, no.

  Finally, Ben paused until I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with what I can only describe as pure lust.

  “Can I taste?” he whispered.

  I nodded, relieved.

  “Milk me,” I whispered back. “Please, Ben. Milk me.”

  Ben bent down and slowly took my left nipple into his mouth. Not just the tip, either. He sucked the entire nipple and tugged back slowly, sucking the whole time. The sensation was amazing. For a second, I thought my body wouldn’t let go, and then I felt the first rush of milk. It’s difficult to describe, this mix of erotic pleasure and physical relief of pressure. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Ben’s hungry, warm lips pulled and pulled, and I arched back against the couch and pushed my breast toward him. He moaned softly and warm milk seeped from his lips as he sucked and tasted and swallowed.

  “Yes, Ben,” I moaned. “Suck it, suck it please, it feels so good.”

  He reached up to hold my breast, squeezing it, milking it, and I felt more liquid now. I was squirting and spraying into his mouth and he was getting more and more excited, I could tell. He leaned up against the couch and I could see his stiffness poking against his pajamas.

  I wrapped my hand in Ben’s hair and held him close, slowly rubbing his head and neck and shoulders as he moaned and sighed against me. He moved between my breasts, milking one and then the other with his hungry mouth, and I felt complete and utter bliss as all the discomfort of my taut nipples changed into a deep, sensual pleasure.

  My panties were soaked and my pussy was hot and alive after months of feeling inadequate, hideous, or unwanted. I felt like I was glowing in the darkness of the living room. I don’t know what I whispered to Ben; it was probably nonsense, or too private to relate, but I held my mouth close to his ear and spoke to him as he sucked me into oblivion.

  Slowly, casually, one of Ben’s hands drifted down my stomach. He ran his fingers back and forth around my navel, then along the waist of my shorts, then slid down more, finally resting his palm just above my pussy and letting the rest of his hand fall lightly on my lips. He stayed on the outside of my shorts, as if direct contact would take us too far into the abyss.

  I rocked my hips against his hand. He held firm, flexing his fingers now and then to push back at me, and pressing his palm against my clit. His mouth was still completely occupied with my breasts. His other hand kneaded and pulled around my nipples and his tongue lavished me with attention.

  My ragged breath quickened. Ben’s mouth and his firm, wide hand between my legs – they sent me over the edge. I tried to hold my hips still but I couldn’t stop rubbing my pussy against his palm. The warmth overwhelmed me. I squeezed my legs shut, trapping his hand, and writhed against him. The orgasm hit me out of the blue. I bit down hard on my forearm to keep from crying out as my pussy spasmed and I tumbled over an incredible waterfall of pleasure. Ben held his mouth hard to my nipple and sucked milk from me as I came. My entire body pulsed, flooded with bliss, every ounce of discomfort vanishing in a rush of my come and milk and Ben’s intensity.

  Ben rode out the storm, cupping his hand against my pussy and mouthing my breasts until my silent convulsions even
tually slowed. Then he looked up at me with his eyes glazed with happy delirium.

  I couldn’t speak. Tears trickled from the corners of my eyes. The power of the moment turned me spellbound and mute.

  “Thank you, Abby,” Ben said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You taste so good. So warm. So...sweet.”

  He leaned back on his haunches in amazement, seemingly oblivious to the stiff erection now very evident.

  I didn’t say a word. When my breathing slowed and I’d regained my senses, I eased my legs off the couch and stood. Ben stayed on his knees. I held his face to my stomach for a moment. I almost fell back to the couch. Having his warm, wet mouth so close to my midsection was a thrill in itself. His sandpapery cheek felt perfect against my belly.

  I pulled him to his feet, and then shoved him down to where I’d just been sitting. I knelt before him. We’d changed places, and it was my turn to pleasure him.

  “I should be thanking you,” I said, reaching forward to trail a finger along Ben’s thigh. “It’s been a long, long time since I’ve felt anything close to that.”

  “It’s been a long time for me –”

  “Shh,” I said. “I know.” I knew that Ben and my mother couldn’t have been intimate very often. She wasn’t the type, and Ben was too sweet to press her. My hand came to rest on his swollen thickness.

  “Now I’ll help you,” I said.

  I pressed my left hand against Ben’s tensed stomach muscles and pushed him back into the couch. With my right hand, I stroked up and down the length of his shaft. He felt rock hard already. Long and thick. His member’s swollen head was wide, and Ben shuddered when I swirled my index finger around it in a lazy circle.

  I guided Ben’s cock toward the opening in his pajama bottoms. It practically jumped free. A wonderful sight: velvety skin in the moonlight, veiny ridges, and a small nest of dark hair around his balls. I wanted desperately to slide my hand down to the base and then take him in my mouth, but I was still trying to rationalize this whole thing.