I may have created a monster! Maybe the prospect of going without breastmilk for months at a time made my cousin value and savor it even more than she already did. In any case, as soon as I revealed that I had induced myself to lactate so that she would still have access to her favorite snack food, she quickly started indulging in it perhaps even more often than she had back home. About two weeks into our first semester in college together, I had stopped wearing bras altogether. By then, I was breastfeeding Susan at least twice and often three times per day, though not always at predictable times, so it was just more convenient to be perpetually braless. In fact, I’d never known Aunt Liz or Danica to wear bras either, so it wasn’t very surprising when abandoning them turned out to be the best option for me as well. I briefly considered nursing bras, but for me, they seemed only marginally more efficient than normal ones, and my naturally perky boobs didn’t really need the support anyway. Plus, I’d heard that habitual bralessness in youth apparently makes a woman’s mammaries less susceptible to sagging later in life.
Anyway, our very first feeding session took place on the afternoon of our first day in our freshman dorm, and we hadn’t even slept our first night there before Susan partook in a second one. It was past midnight, and I had just dressed for bed in my usual pajamas (a spaghetti-strap top and boxer shorts). My similarly attired cousin approached me just as I was climbing into bed and said, “I’d really like to nurse again before you go to sleep, if that’s alright.”
“Sure!” I replied, genuinely welcoming another opportunity to revel in the newfound pleasures of providing my cousin with nourishment from my own body. The response was barely out of my mouth before she was laying in the twin bed next to me, laying one arm across my abdomen while I pulled the nearest breast free of my top. “Here you go,” I said with a chuckle as she promptly seized my nipple in her mouth and began sucking expertly on it. I then sighed and leaned my head back with a smile, idly stroking my cousin’s hair while she pressed out a steady flow of milk with her lips and jaws. “It’s a good thing this bed is just big enough for the two of us.”
A vaguely affirmative, “Mm,” was all Susan could be bothered to reply while she was apparently too busy gorging herself on the clearly tasty snack secreted by my breast. Her jaw gently massaged its crest as her lips alternated between an airtight latch and an only slightly looser one. This was accompanied by regular and often audible gulps. Occasionally, a gulp would even give way to an immediate sigh of what sounded like satisfaction. I could only smile at her and bask in the warm sensation of breastfeeding my cousin. When I could tell that my first mammary reservoir was nearing total depletion, I quietly drew out the other one, and mere seconds later, Susan very briefly withdrew from one nipple only to let her mouth descend immediately onto the other. In a short while, she had practically emptied that breast as well. Then, she lifted her head and lazily rose, propping herself up on one arm and wiping her mouth with the other. “Thanks, seriously. I was not looking forward to giving that up!”
I giggled lightly at her while she climbed out of my bed and made her way to her own. “You’re such a milk-a-holic!” I teased, pulling my blanket over my legs and torso as I spoke.
“And you’re such an enabler!” she retorted before we both drifted to sleep minutes later.
Classes began just two days later, and much to her chagrin, Susan had one rather early class, which meant that, three days a week, she had to drag herself out of bed at about 8 AM while I could safely sleep in until about 11 AM throughout the week. On the first day, I was awoken by her alarm, which came in the form of her iPhone simultaneously ringing and vibrating against the dresser on which it lay. I barely moved or opened my eyes, but I couldn’t resist grinning when I heard her grumble with envy about how easily she knew I would drift back into a deep slumber.
As it turns out, she avoided having to get up even tandoğan escort earlier by delaying breakfast for after class, with the result that she returned home quite famished. I had just taken a shower and emerged from our bathroom in fresh underwear when my cousin burst into our bedroom. As her backpack slid off her shoulder and onto her bed, her eyes fell on my boobs, which were undoubtedly heavy with milk after a long night of uninterrupted production. I swear, the look of temptation on her face could not have been clearer if she’d literally licked her lips, which I’ve actually seen her do occasionally when gazing at her mom or sister’s fleshy fountains. I rolled my eyes in amusement and intercepted the request that I knew was on the tip of her tongue. “Well, I guess I know what you want for breakfast,” I smirked while unclasping and shedding the bra I had put on mere minutes before.
“You’re the best, cous!” Susan said, visibly relieved as she swiftly stepped towards me, wrapped her arms around my abdomen, and captured my left nipple in her mouth. My let-down was instant, and within just a few seconds, the steady ministrations of her lips were drawing out mouthful after mouthful of sweet sustenance. In retrospect, I’m not sure if a milky meal was her plan all along or if it was more of an opportunistic shortcut, but either way, I wasn’t about to complain. I would always welcome the unique feeling of closeness that came with nursing, so I sighed in pleasure and lightly stroked her upper arms while she continued her feast.
“Wow!” I giggled at her particularly insistent suckling. “You must’ve been starving!”
Without even the slightest lapse in her latch, she nodded and moaned against my breast, mashing her nose against my areola. I chuckled warmly and let her drink in peace. So for about ten minutes, I just stood there and breastfed my famished cousin, who left me with hardly any milk remaining when she finally detached herself from the nipple opposite the one she’d begun with.
“Damn, I was hungry!” she breathed after she’d released her hold on me.
“Believe me, I could tell.” I retrieved my bra and put it back on. “You full now?”
“Mm-hmm,” she nodded with a contented smile before flopping onto her bed. “You had a pretty good amount built up!”
I beamed with pride that my breasts had successfully sated her appetite and failed to resist bragging a bit. “Well, it takes about 19 ounces per boob for me to start feeling tender.”
“Awesome! I guess those 44D melons of yours aren’t just for show, then, huh?”
“Apparently not,” I agreed. With that, I then proceeded to get dressed and have a hearty breakfast of my own, since it would soon be my turn to go to class.
Several hours passed, and I had just finished a late lunch when Susan came home from her second class of the day with an even later lunch of her own. I had opted for a large sandwich from the on-campus Subway, while my cousin went off-campus for some Chinese food. Despite the sizable helping she’d ordered, which she completely devoured, she apparently still had room for a milky treat.
“Could I have some milk now?” she asked while I was sitting cross-legged on my bed listening to music.
I raised my eyebrows at her and started unbuttoning my shirt. “Really? Of course I’m happy to provide, but how are you still hungry?”
“I’m not really hungry per se.” She knelt on my bed next to me and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I just have a hankering for your milk! Think of it as a kind of dessert.”
“I see,” I chuckled. My shirt now open enough, I lay back and unclasped my front-closure bra, and a second later, Susan was laying next to me and enclosing my right nipple between her lips. I moaned softly at the feeling of her mouth’s thirsty suction, which elicited an immediate burst of warm milk. As was becoming my habit, I stroked her hair throughout the feeding. Meanwhile, my cousin rhythmically kneaded my breast with her jaw and swallowed mouthful after mouthful of sweet alimentation. I let the familiar sensation of bonding and nurturing wash over me, warmed by the tekirdağ escort fact that my body’s provisions were apparently so satisfying and tasty for her. When the time came, she wasted no time in shifting to the left nipple, which granted immediate let-down. “Mmmm,” she purred at the renewed flow that greeted her, which widened the already warm smile on my face. Her lips smacking audibly against my areola, I closed my eyes in contentment and let my music drift into my ears to supplement this deeply pleasant experience. I decided then and there that, when I had children, I would take a page from Aunt Liz’s book with respect to weaning them. At least for any daughters, my milk would remain an option for them as long as they wanted it. Even for any sons I had, I figured that I wouldn’t necessarily cut them off until puberty, when it was likely to start getting awkward (unless maybe they were gay).
“Aah!” Susan sighed softly after having essentially emptied both of my previously full boobs. “I am so glad you decided to start lactating, Delia! There’s just nothing quite like filling your stomach with a loved one’s breastmilk!”
“There’s nothing quite like letting a loved one drink your milk either,” I replied with a smile. “Seriously, though, you don’t really need to bother asking. Unless I explicitly say otherwise, which I doubt will ever happen, you can just assume I’m always ready and willing to breastfeed you. I’m pretty sure I enjoy it just as much as you do.”
“Aw, thanks! Yeah, Mom and Danica have told me the same thing about how good it feels, so I’m glad you like it too.”
I didn’t have to tell her twice. That very night, just before we both went to sleep, Susan joined me in my bed and wordlessly pulled the bust of my top aside so that she could once again seize a nipple in her mouth and snack on a breastful of freshly accumulated milk. As before, I second-naturedly stroked her hair while she drank, smiling at the occasional moan she emitted and letting out a few purrs of my own throughout her indulgence. I grinned at her head gently bobbing against my mammary endowment and had to marvel at how expertly she suckled, her lips pulsing against my areola much like a baby’s. I suppose that was to be expected from someone who’d been doing it continuously since she was an actual infant. For most other people, the habit and the instinctive skill that supports it usually fades away around late toddlerhood, if not sooner. If you don’t use it, you lose it, as they say. Well, Susan never stopped using it, so she was anything but rusty. She was definitely a pro! Of course, in a way, suckling is literally child’s play, and the few times I’d nursed from Aunt Liz or Danica, it wasn’t hard to be effective at it. Still, I could tell that Susan suckled with a subtle efficiency that I likely didn’t have, at least not since my own infancy.
I smiled in amusement at the smack of her lips withdrawing from one nipple only to immediately shift to the other. Like it had done on the previous night, my cousin’s arm lay strewn across my abdomen, and this time, the hand attached to it floated up and briefly cupped my breast before falling back to rest on the bed beside me. A soft purr escaped my lips as Susan’s mouth pumped out swallow after swallow of creamy nourishment until no more could be coaxed out. “Delicious as always!” she said with a final moan as she rose from my bed and made for her own. It was already deeply pleasing to know that my breasts could sate her appetite for mere sustenance, but I’m pretty sure I blushed with heartwarmed pride at such outright confirmation that it satisfied her taste buds as well!
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when, the following morning, my milk-a-holic cousin opted for another milky breakfast even though she didn’t have an early class and therefore slept in just as late as I did. This time, it was she who unclasped my bra as soon as I emerged from the bathroom after my shower, and I couldn’t help but laugh as she wrapped her arms around me and promptly brought her lips to my nipple, suckling as eagerly as always. This is why, long before I stopped tokat escort wearing bras altogether, I at least stopped putting them on immediately after my morning showers. It quickly became clear that there was no point in doing so until after Susan had filled her stomach with a milky breakfast, which she fell into the habit of doing every single morning. So instead of heading for a shower with both a bra and panties in hand, I started bringing only the latter with me into the bathroom and then coming out topless. I think she appreciated that, despite the fact that a bra was only ever a trivial inconvenience for her.
Since starting college, I don’t think a day has gone by when I haven’t at least breastfed Susan for breakfast and for a late night snack, and days on which my breastmilk didn’t also serve as dessert for lunch or dinner were rare. I would never complain, though, because the sublime pleasures of providing her with a form of food from my own body never got old. In fact, on the few days when she skipped her midday feeding entirely, I had to resort to pumping my boobs, because they just got too full during the extended stretch between Susan’s morning and midnight feeding. The yields were usually donated to the milk bank at the local hospital, where it would be used to help premature infants or new mothers whose own lactation was otherwise insufficient. As long as getting it straight from the source was a readily available option, my cousin would always prefer that over drinking it from a bottle or jar, and I could understand that.
Hell, I soon learned that even being in public didn’t discourage Susan if she happened to have one of her cravings. One weekend afternoon, we had just finished some Chick-Fil-A and pizza in the food court of a mall near campus when I noticed her gaze drift to my breasts. At the time, I was wearing one of my tank tops, and if my companion had any instinct for visually gauging mammary engorgement, which honestly wouldn’t have surprised me, I doubt it would’ve been hard for her to estimate that I’d probably accumulated an ample supply. After all, the skin containing it was developing the tension of a very taut waterbed. I gaped at her in amused shock. “Seriously? You want milk here, now?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Well, it’s not like I can control when the mood strikes me! Can you control what food sounds really good to you at any given moment?”
“I suppose not, though I can’t think of anything I’ve ever hankered for quite this regularly.”
“Not even Mom or Danica’s milk?”
“No, but I can’t say I don’t enjoy it enough that it might become a slippery slope if I were to feed from them more often,” I admitted. “In any case, that’d be one slippery slope I couldn’t go down, because unlike you, I wouldn’t have a back-up source to take with me to school.”
“Well, if you ever do make it more of a habit, maybe I could start lactating for you! In the meantime, I wanna suckle!” She whined that last phrase playfully.
I snickered before settling on a lopsided yet sincere smile. “I’d love to oblige you, but where do you propose we do it? In the car? I’m not sure it would be private enough.”
“Mom and Danica sometimes nurse in the restroom,” she replied with a sheepish grin.
“Of course they do,” I chuckled. “That’s actually not a bad idea!”
So within a minute or two, I was standing in a stall of the women’s restroom, facing my cousin in front of the toilet. I locked the door and pulled the bust of my top aside. No sooner was my full breast exposed than Susan enclosed the nipple between her lips and instantly began sucking. My let-down was prompt and generous, and I moaned as my cousin almost instantly established a firm and steady drinking rate, her mouth acting like a warm and fleshy pump against my moist areola. Surrendering to the welcome sensations of closeness that came with breastfeeding, I mused once again at our serendipitous height difference, which made it easy to nurse with both of us standing erect. As usual when feeding from me in an upright position, she wrapped her arms around my abdomen, and I lightly stroked her upper arms while she gulped down my breastmilk with relish. While I stood there and let my cousin suckle hungrily at my breasts, I idly felt her own mammaries pressed against my pelvis and speculated that, when and if she ever did start lactating herself, her production could be quite copious.