The Murder of Sharon Weathers Slut Extraordinaire
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I had not been taking the pill for about six months. Greg and I had decided that after two years of marriage we were ready to bring a baby into our life. Our usual active, satisfying and spontaneous sex life was now more controlled. I had been charting my periods, trying to pinpoint my fertile window. All the literature said the day of ovulation was usually fourteen days before my next period should begin. Since I was as regular as clockwork, we had sex at least once a day, four days before and six days after the appointed day every month.
One thing we didn’t change much was our somewhat kinky sex life. He still would tie me to the bed and use the Hitachi vibrator to tease several orgasms out of me as I jerked and pulled at my tethers, or do me doggie and spank my ass ‘til it burned in pleasure, all before plunging his eight inches into me—always driving me to even more climaxes before depositing his warm, white cream near my cervix. What did change was no more cumming in my mouth or ass—all spunk went in my vag, could not let any of his little swimmers go to waste.
Then, in our seventh month of eager lovemaking, my period didn’t arrive on the established day, nor the next day or the next or the next. This had never happened to me before. It was always twenty-eight days, like clockwork. We tempered our excitement and waited seven days to do a urine test. The two pink lines appeared! Ninety-nine percent chance I was pregnant. My OB/GYN doctor confirmed it during an appointment two weeks later. I was about four weeks pregnant. My estimated due date was eight months away.
Then things started happening fast. The morning sickness was the first change to hit me. Going to work was becoming less fun every day. As the days and weeks wore on, it seemed like a new issue hit me almost daily. I knew that wasn’t true, but sometimes it sure seemed like it. Through it all I never lost my sex drive, or at least I never fully lost it. The doc told me I could do whatever was comfortable, so I did. Greg and I found comfortable ways to ensure we both were at least as fulfilled as before my new condition.
Then in my eighth month something really interesting happened—I began to leak, my boobs that is. I woke one morning and the tee-shirt that I had been sleeping in had two big wet spots on the front, plastering the shirt to my boobs—the boobs that had been C-cups and were now D pushing DD-cups. It looked like a mini wet-tee-shirt contest.
We knew this might happen. It is not uncommon, especially as you get closer to delivery. It was Greg’s initial comment that made me think he’d finally lost it.
“Cool! Let’s squeeze them and see if we can get more out.”
“What? Are you crazy?!”
“No! Listen Babe, I understand your moods and how anxious you are to have the little devil out, but this is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.”
“Hottest? Now I know you’re crazy. Soon I’m going to be a milk cow and these are my udders. Little Charlie will be sucking on them night and day.” Right then is when he gently rubbed the palm of his hand across both my majorly prominent nipples. An electric tingle ran through me. They had always been my “on” buttons—a fact he knew only too well.
He saw the look on my face, the look of pleasure, as his hand went under my shirt and started to lift it. “I see that look. Not only are you as curious as me, you're reveling in the thought of the sensual posibilities. We both know they're craving my attention. Admit it; you want me fondling and kissing your ‘udders’ right now.”
I hated to admit it, but he was right. His touch had turned me on. Part of me wanted to pull his mouth to them and part of me thought it was just too bizarre, maybe even abnormal. Before I could react, his mouth was latched on my right boob, his hands beginning to carefully massage it. The tingling returned and increased in strength.
“Oh fuck Greg, this is... it’s just that... oh yes, fuck yes.” I began moaning and holding him to me. Their sensitivity had only increased throughout my pregnancy. There had been times when I had orgasmed just from him rubbing, caressing and kissing them. Now it was beyond even that sensation.
Relaxing, I let the feelings flow through me. My lust was erasing any lingering negative thoughts. I craved the impending orgasm. I wanted my nipple to be Greg’s sole focus. Soon my fingers found my clit; that sealed it. “OH Baby suck my tit! Drink me in, I’m gonna cum. Yes Baby, YES! NOW! OH FUCK!”
My body shuddered as the orgasm ran through me. Greg detached and looked up at me, his lips a milky white. “Wow Katie Baby, you really got off! Your milk is great stuff!”
He moved to me; we kissed deeply. I had my first faint taste of my sweet milk. Smiling, I thought that maybe this was not such a bad thing after all. Then I managed the awkward maneuver of getting on my knees so I could receive him into my soaking pussy. His cock soon pushed in and began the thrusts I loved so much. Gentle and calm were the watchwords as he drove me to further orgasms, ending with the feeling of his spurting cum and him shouting, “Here it comes Baby! OH fuck ya! I love ya Baby. You’re the best ever!”
There was no further discussion regarding Greg suckling at my breasts. There’s no right or wrong. It’s our life and our pleasure. Baby Charlie had almost exclusive rights for six months with Greg getting a taste on weekends. When it happened, it was always the beginning of our lovemaking.
After six months I started weaning Charlie. Greg began to get more nipple time, much to both our delight. Now, two years out, Charlie has been off tit for a year and Greg has had exclusive access. Our sex life has never been better. Experts say that as long as I keep being stimulated I will continue to produce, possibly for years. We are both enjoying our new found pleasure and looking forward to future years of feeding and sexual fun.
Fawn
- 14.03.2022
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