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“Oh my…”
Stelle must have jumped ten feet in the air. If nothing else, she dropped the shameful bottle held between her hands, and her fingers drew away from herself as if she’d been burnt.
“I can explain,” Rushes from her mouth, even though she definitely can’t.
How does she even begin to explain this — Her nursing upon milk stored for an incoming child, all whilst touching herself? Her face runs hotter than it’s ever felt, though the dark hue will surely be far from unfamiliar to Kafka of all people.
“Is that the baby’s milk?” A kind, soothing voice asks. Nothing in Kafka’s voice ever betrays judgment, but Stelle still cowers like a dog with a tail between its legs.
“Maybe…” Is all Stelle can come up with. She can’t bear to look up at Kafka in this moment, but she also can’t bear to look down at the scene she’d created in her panic. She opts to stare at an empty wall instead, pretending as though the pristine surface is something riveting.
“I must say, I never expected for you to be into such things…” Audible steps come closer, the high heels upon Kafka’s usual boots echoing loud against hardwood floors. “But, you don’t need to be ashamed. I’m hurt that you’d keep something like this from me.”
It’s only now that Stelle allows herself to glance upward, meeting Kafka’s eyes. She doesn’t wear her contacts, and yet, her gaze still reveals no secrets. Her smile is as welcoming as ever, and nothing about her demeanor offers any upset feelings, despite her claims to being hurt.
“If you want Mommy’s milk, you don’t have to settle for it in a bottle,” Kafka corners in. Her words scorch Stelle’s cheeks unbelievably hotter, but she doesn’t have it in her to offer anything in protest. In fact, she’s left to watch in a distant trance of sorts as Kafka proceeds, leaning over her mortified form upon the bed.
The older woman quickly sheds herself of a newly snatched coat, lifting off her chest’s harness just after. She buttons down a white shirt, revealing to Stelle the black maternity bra she’s been fancying most. It’s less fancy than her usual choices, but it’s still made of a lace that has Stelle’s mouth watering. But, what captures her attention much further is the way even this new bra seems to barely contain Kafka’s breasts at this point in her pregnancy.
Kafka’s chest has always been remarkable and generous, offering to the world far more than Stelle’s flatter tits have ever even considered. And yet, already marvelous tits found a way to become all the more impressive. Stelle can’t help but stare, her once ashamed member lifting right back to life.
Without thinking, her hands rise and she starts to paw at her wife’s breasts. She touches over them with an eager sense of wonder and a cock that threatens to leak over. When her mind catches up enough to recognize her actions as embarrassing, she looks up to Kafka only to find her looking with nothing but amusement. Stelle chooses to take this as a green flag from her wife, as she’s not certain she could have stopped herself regardless.
She squeezes her hands over Kafka’s breasts very lightly, careful to be sensitive to a constantly changing body. She finds the once soft bosoms to have grown far firmer… Fuller. She squeezes even softer the second time, until she ends up fully groping and massaging over Kafka’s tits.
“Are you having fun there?” Kafka’s voice speaks, drawing Stelle from a daze. It should be embarrassing, and it is, but not enough to inspire her to detract her hands.
“Yes… Do you feel okay?” She asks. She can’t help but always be concerned for her wife. Like a service dog consistently concerned with their owner’s wellbeing.
“I’m fine. I think I’m gonna need a new bra…” Kafka notes, as if she’s only just now realized just how much she’s grown. “But that can be dealt with later. You know, my earlier offer was an honest one.”
As Kafka’s hands reach over her own breasts, Stelle is polite enough to recognize it means it’s time for her own hands to come off. She mourns the loss for a moment, but then her wife’s lifting black lace right over her head.
Like this, breasts enlarged from pregnancy are all the more easy to appreciate. With overwhelming weight, there’s a more natural sag, and stretch marks decorate the sides. Areolas have grown so much wider, the darker tone stretching right over the mass of Kafka’s tits. Large, heaping breasts made to feed… The sight is beyond simply enticing.
"I had plans to pump as soon as I got home…” Kafka interrupts Stelle’s amazement. “But with such an eager puppy hoping to be fed, I don't see why I'd waste my efforts."
Stelle has to wipe drool that threatens to drip from her lips. She feels embarrassed all over again. "But… The baby-"
"-Will have plenty to eat by the time she comes," Kafka finishes. She smiles. "Now, drink up, darling. They do hurt, you know?”
Only a very firm willpower keeps Stelle from diving right in upon such explicit request. Still, she holds herself back, looking into Kafka's eyes. She needs a second confirmation before she proceeds to lose her mind.
"Are you sure this is okay?" The question is said with tense shoulders and a rough voice.
“Yes, dear,” Kafka says, slow and placating. “Now, why don’t we get on with it already?”
Kafka’s nipples are already hard when Stelle plunges in. She latches right onto her wife’s waiting breast, her lower lip dropping low and wide and spreading spit. It takes a moment before any milk comes out, but with minimal maneuvering, sweet, creamy milk starts to pour into Stelle’s mouth.
The taste is beyond simply delicious; It’s overwhelming and exquisite. The flavor profile is far, far better when it’s received straight from the source… Though, just about anything would be far, far better if it came alongside nuzzling into the soft plush of Kafka’s tits, or the warm comfort of settling into Kafka’s embrace…
Stelle slobbers around Kafka’s tit, moaning as the older woman runs her fingers through silver locks. She cranes her head upward some, just to look her wife in the eye, and she muffles an even louder moan against the stream of milk. Kafka looks down at her with the softest, fondest gaze; Truly, like a mother looking down at her daughter.
If her mouth weren’t so full, Stelle thinks she’d have whined for her ‘Mommy’ right then and there.
Slowly, the hand that doesn’t glide through Stelle’s hair drops down to a bare thigh. Soft, maternal digits creep up from there, and soon enough, there’s a palm groping at Stelle’s cock. She whimpers pathetically, twitching right into her wife’s touch.
“Good girl…” Kafka tells her, beginning to stroke. Her movements are slow, steady and familiar. Teasing, but also comfortable. “Such a good girl for Mommy.”
Just like that, pre-cum starts to leak over. Stelle already knows she won’t be lasting long tonight. Not like this. Truly, she feels like she could cum already, spilling all over her wife… From this angle, ambitious ropes of cum could even paint her tits, or at least her lower stomach.
Kafka chuckles, but the sound isn’t particularly unkind. She does, however, rip her hand from Stelle’s throbbing length, which is very unkind.
“Are you ready to switch over, baby?” Her hand, damp with Stelle’s pre-ejaculate, comes up to grope at her other breast. She jiggles it very softly, as if wanting to taunt Stelle in the least painful way possible.
Stelle almost doesn’t want to let off, even for the brief second it’ll take to swap over… But, she figures she’d better go for it. She pulls off Kafka, lapping at the last drops of milk before drawing back entirely. She almost whines at the loss, when there’s really nothing left for her with this tit. Like she’s a baby that still hungers for more milk.
And she latches onto Kafka’s left side like she’s not just hungering, but fully and entirely starving. This time around, the milk flows even quicker. The consistency is just as sweet, silky and smooth. Stelle’s desires are satisfied in an instant.
Stelle suckles properly with ease now, drawing more and more milk out as she wraps her arms around her wife. Shyly, one hand reaches up to grope at the unattended breast she left behind. She’s gentle though, as she knows Kafka must be feeling tender after having just fed her there.
With no real effort, Stelle’s become a puppy masterfully caught up in a spider’s web. No amount of barking could free her from this, though she had no desire to come off Kafka’s breast only to speak meaningless words anyhow.
Kafka chuckles once more. Now that Stelle’s fully entranced, her hand dips back down. She’s less patient, too, this time around, pumping Stelle’s length well.
The stimulation and pure bliss gets to Stelle quickly. Her muffled whimpers can be heard past Kafka’s breast, but her wife doesn’t let up. Instead, she moves her hand faster and faster yet.
“Cum for Mommy, won’t you, darling? I want my good girl to cum for me… I want my good girl to cum while she drains my breasts…”
It doesn’t take long at all for Stelle to fulfill that request. Mouth full of Mommy’s breast, she climaxes. She soaks Kafka’s tight grip with generous, excitable heapings of cum. Rope after rope, and Kafka continues to pump her cock firmly. It’s like she’s trying to milk Stelle all the same, and Stelle is weak to resist this.
She whines louder and louder, eyes snapping shut as she has what must be the most intense orgasm of her life. If she were inside Kafka now, she thinks this would somehow be enough to impregnate the woman all over again. White splatters over herself and Kafka until her wife finally pulls her hand away.
Only moments later, Stelle sheepishly pops off of her wife’s breast. Sheepish as she is, she does lick her lips. And lick up the excess still dripping from Kafka’s nipple after.
“You really loved that, huh?” Kafka laughs. “I truly would have never suspected… Not that I mind.”
Stelle’s ears burn hot. She finds she has to look away from her wife all over again; Look away from all the blatant evidence of what they’d just done.
“Don’t tease me…”