Saturday, 20 October 2018

Her Beautiful Leaking Little Tits

Breastfeeding. Tis a wonderful thing.

Now as a man, I realise that saying such a thing might see me mistaken for a perve and a creep. Hell, it's pretty hard for a guy to espouse any praise for the natural act of a woman feeding an infant by the boob, as the natural assumption is that most guys can't separate their base sexual feelings from an appreciation of what is, very much, a natural and beautiful act.

Not that I'm saying I'm not a perve and a creep. I am those things, very much so.

I can't help it. I've been a fan of the boob for as far back as my muzzy memory stretches. I love boobs. I'm a boob man. A tit fan. And frankly, though I'm not at all proud to declare it, I'll default to stealing a glimpse of some boob even if there does happen to be a baby hanging off the end of it.

I know. I'm terrible. I'm ascribing a sexual objectivity to what is, first and foremost, an organ designed for and devoted to the rearing of young ones. I ought to be ashamed of myself – and I am, quite genuinely.

Unless I work really hard at it, I will often find myself, out of pure base instinct, whipping my head around at the merest glimpse of a breast bared in public – a breast bared not for my benefit, nor anyone else's benefit, aside of course from providing nourishment to the woman's offspring. I swear I have a radar for bared breasts. I see them beyond the corners of my eye, even if the poor woman is sitting directly behind me. Somehow, I know that a boob is out, and I find myself gawking at it before I can think to stop myself.


It has been a problem plaguing my entire adulthood, and for a long time I struggled to overcome the issue. At first I tried to overcompensate. If ever I should offend my own growing feminist sensibilities by ogling a breastfeeding woman in my company, I would make every effort to not look at her again – not at her boob, or even at any other part of her. She became invisible to me, like she was not even there. Which, on reflection, was of course simply dumb. I'd be unintentionally ostracising her from my conversation or attention, appearing to punish her for daring to feed her child in public. It was the last thing I wanted to do, of course, and yet there I was doing it.

Then there was the time I was in conversation with a new mother, who was also a good friend, when she casually popped out a boob and started feeding her baby right there, right in front of me. What did I do? Did I make it weird? But of course I fucking did – never in my life had I ever held such a fixed lock on eye contact with a person such as I did during the remainder of that conversation. I was so determined to not look at her boob, so determined to prove to myself, and perhaps to her too, that I could be better than a slobbering perve, that I once again made things weird and uncomfortable by tractor-beaming my gaze deep into her eyes, drilling with my irises into the very depths of her psyche and her soul. She looked uncomfortable, but I was dumb and stubborn and lacked the preparation or imagination to behave any better. Can't say I'm too proud of how I handled that one.

That was back in my youth, though. With time and practice, in more recent experiences of a similar boobs-out nature, I could brow-beat myself into performing a passing impression of a normal human being. In between all of these near-miss breastfeeding shenanigans, I also somehow managed to find myself a real nice lady who saw something in me worth sticking around for, and we went and made ourselves our own little squalling piece of progeny. 

As part of that process, my missus – she has a name, her name is Shelly – joined a Mother's Group, a bit of a support and social network comprised of other new mums in our local area. And boy, if you were ever inclined to find a situation where bare boobs and breastfeeding abounded, go and find yourself a Mother's Group to hang around.

I came prepared. Fathers weren't verboten from the Mother's Group – just as it was for the ladies, for the lads it was also an ideal chance to make some new mates and remonstrate on the many joys of new fatherhood (sarcasm only mostly intended). Beyond a chance to hang out with new mates, in attending these Mother's Groups I knew there was only too great a certainty that one of these newly-met ladies would whip out a boob and stuff it into a bubba's gob. And I was determined not to be weird about it.

Come the day and time, and lo and behold, of course it was the hottest of all the other mums who first went and bared a breast. Her name is Heather, and just to add to the fun of everything, her hubby Chris was the bloke I'd best hit it off with and considered the closest of my new buddies.

So when I found myself watching Heather undoing her blouse and fixing to pull out the boob, I looked away. As one would do, if one had control of one's faculties and wasn't a horrible revolting perve. Happily, Heather's boobs weren't enormous – her baby's head, once in position, covered her up quite safely, to the extent that once she had her bub in place I felt free and safe to continue to regard Heather as per normal. I could safely look to her when she spoke, and I would look away when there was no other real reason to continue looking at her, just as I would if she didn't have a boob hanging free and easy out of her shirt. I was doing well, I thought to myself.

And as the coup de grace, the finishing touch to my efforts to pass myself off as something other than a vile and reprehensible turd of a person, I even chipped in to the conversation a couple of times when she spoke while she fed – fixing her easily in the eye, smiling lightly and normally, even cracking a joke at one point and making her laugh. All while she had a lovely, perky, really very nice boob out there in the open.

And it was nice. It felt natural and easy. I felt like I'd finally trumped my base villainy, like I perhaps might finally be considered a regular human being in the grand scheme of things. Not that it was entirely easy and natural for me, I still had to check myself as boobs came and went, I'd still have to work to present a normal façade during future meetings of mothers and baring of boobs. But to have come away from that initial challenge, without having caught a glimpse of my mate's wife's breast – either accidentally or intentionally – it felt good.

And you know what? It kind of felt like my effort was actually appreciated by Heather. It's hard to say how or why, but on some subtle wavelength it truly felt to me like Heather had recognised in me a fellow of fine quality – like maybe she had issued something of a challenge in baring her breast for those first few moments, a challenge that other men in that situation had failed; perhaps other blokes had gone for the gawping gawk at her bared bosom, or perhaps they had erred on the other side as I used to do in my youth, making such a show of 'look, I'm not looking!' that it became something of a sad spectacle.

From that point on, both Heather and Chris were nothing but effusive with their friendship, both towards me and Shelly my wife. As time went by the mother's group dwindled, some ladies going back to work, others fading away from the meetings due to any number of reasons. Similarly, other couples and groups had formed tighter-knit bonds of their own, eventually to the point where myself, Shelly, Heather and Chris found ourselves only really hanging out with each other.

And that was absolutely fine. Shelly and I did alright for ourselves and we had a nice little house in a good town, and we'd have Chris and Heather over every now and again for a meal and a laugh. But Chris and Heather seemed to be doing even better, with quite a large and very nice place up on a hill with a top view out over the ocean. It had spare bedrooms aplenty, and they kept large reserves of top-notch beer and wine too, which in combination made Saturday nights of boozing on at their house – with our bubs asleep and safely parked upstairs – a regular occurrence.

One such Saturday evening, nearly twelve months into our mutual parenthood, we had just made a start on the fun. The sun had not yet gone down and things were only just kicking on; Heather was giving her little girl her last feed of the night, my Shelly had our little tyke upstairs and was deep into the twenty-minute ritual of settling him down for a sleep, and Chris was down the bottom of the yard taking a business call. I was nursing my first cold beer, though Heather had not yet started drinking, not wanting to spike her baby's milk with alcohol.

Which made it all the more surprising when, on finishing feeding, Heather didn't immediately tuck her breast back into her top. 

I looked. I couldn't help but look, a quick fleeing glimpse.

It was the first time I had truly caught a good look at our Heather. Her breasts weren't large like my Shelly's – think Jennifer Aniston and you've good a good analogue for Heather's breasts and general fine figure, where you need to stretch more to a Salma Hayek to get a better idea of Shelly.

Heather's boob: perky. No natural droop or sag to speak of whatsoever. Fulsome, flush with the swell of breastmilk. Adorned with a prominent nipple, smallish in diameter but tall and proud of the boob; it stood stiff and erect, possibly a result of the rush of a cool summer's ocean breeze upon her damp, exposed skin.

I felt guilty as soon as I looked at her breast, and I quickly looked up to see if Heather had caught me – and of course she had. But there was no reprimand forthcoming. If anything, she looked somewhat triumphant, a twinkle in her eye and a small smile on her lips as though she had achieved exactly what she had hoped to achieve.

Not knowing what to make of that, and silently reproaching myself for failing in such an obvious fashion, I looked out to sea and took a swig of my beer. What else was there to do?

"Shelly's not breastfeeding any more, is she?" Heather asked of me.

"No, she transitioned our bub to formula at six months," I replied – trying not to frown quizzically, being quite sure Heather knew all too well that Shelly was no longer breastfeeding. "Her milk supply didn't seem to be doing the trick anymore."

"It must be nice to be free of having to feed," Heather reckoned, still with a boob out. I knew she was still exposed, seeing enough from the corner of my eye to know she hadn't moved to tuck it back in, without seeing enough to actually still be seeing it.

"Yeah, there's a lot of convenience in formula feeding," I found myself agreeing. "Easier to regulate how much bubba's getting, easier to do the feeding out and about..."

"Guess I've just been lucky. Little Missy usually gets far more milk out of me than she knows what to do with! And breastfeeding in public – well, that's half the thrill."

I found myself gripping my beer quite tightly at the way she said that. There was more than a hint of allure in her voice, and I struggled not to panic. Standing alone with an extremely attractive woman, who had her boob hanging out of her top for no apparent reason – what was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to look?

She must have sensed my predicament. "You are allowed to sneak a peek every now and again, you know," she whispered, conspiratorially.

I stole myself another hesitant glance again, and she practically laughed at me. "You're too much a good boy, Marcus," Heather admonished.

I laughed a little at myself too. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just... I really don't want to be a perve."

"I know," she smiled. "You've been really good from the outset, since the day we met. And I've appreciated it, Marc. We both have, Chris and I. Too often, even in the old Mother's Group, guys take my feeding Little Missy as an invitation to cop an eyeful – it can be quite repugnant."

"Oh I'm sure," I interjected quickly. "And that's the last thing I wanted to do, that's exactly the kind of guy I don't want to be. You and Shelly are such good friends, and Chris is such a top bloke, I just..." Even as I spoke, I couldn't help it, and I found myself stealing another glace at Heather's still-bared boob. 

"Oh jeez," I self-admonished, as I looked to see Heather grinning ever-larger at me and my haplessness. "Heather I'm sorry..."

"Marcus, no offence taken! I'm the one who's flashing you," she said, punctuating her statement with a cheeky poke of the tongue. "Perhaps I'm the one who owes you an apology?"

"No no no no no," I said, realising as I did that I said it too quickly and too vehemently. "I mean... I'm just trying to say... oh man," I finished, giving up and taking a long, settling swig of beer.

Heather was fully laughing now, taking great delight in my discomfort and self-reproach. "Marcus: please. Just take yourself a good long look, okay?"

As the beer settled into my system and had its desired calming effect, I shrugged at myself and did as invited: I turned to Heather and took a good long look at her very nice bared breast.

"There now. Doesn't that feel better?" Heather smirked, turning a little as though to let me appreciate it from several angles.

"It's a very nice boob, Heather," I told her, for lack of anything better to say.

She laughed again, and finally reached to put her boob away. "Honestly, Marc, it's fine. I know you work hard to not come across as a perve, and like I said, both Chris and I have always appreciated that about you. But really – for me, anyway – there comes a point where your 'not looking' gets a little frustrating. I mean: everyone sneaks a peek every now and again. They can't help it – I do have nice boobs," she said, as a simple matter of fact.

I nodded along. "Yes you do," I offered.

"I do," she smiled. "And, well, I kinda like showing them off. For me that's a big part of the thrill of breastfeeding: a perfectly good excuse to flash everybody in public. It's fantastic! And then here's you, this really cute and funny guy, you're such a sweet dad and a doting husband, probably one of the most attractive guys I know," she added quietly, which riled me up no end, "and you're steadfastly refusing to sneak a peek, ya shithead!"

"Oh," was all I could say, followed by: "well, all you had to do was ask!"

"Well I have asked," she smiled. "So please, by all means, sneak yourself a peek. Stop teasing me so."

"Okay," I said, trying to piece back together some semblance of a balanced façade – no easy task in the face of such a request, hard on the back of her casual revelation that she found me highly attractive. "Well I'll tell you what. Every time I'm around for feeding time, I'll do my very best to sneak a peek just as the boob comes out, and again just as it's being put away again. It's the very least I can do."

"It's all I can ask," Heather agreed, with another highly cheeky look in her eye.

"So," I said, deciding that since the topic had been aired, there'd be no harm in pursuing it further. "Do you really get a big exhibitionistic thrill out of breastfeeding in public?"

"Oh yes, absolutely," Heather grinned. "It's a bit of a double-edged sword. Like: I don't want drooling leering pervs to be all over me, that's gross. But at the same time, being out there, putting such a personal and private part of myself out for any and all to see – it can be such a thrill. Especially in the company of friends," she added, slipping back into that really alluring tone that did all sorts of wonderful things to my nether regions.

"Wow," was all I could really say to that.

"Do you think that's, like, okay? Am I a bit of a deviant, enjoying flashing my friends and family when I'm only supposed to be feeding my baby girl?" Heather asked of me – challenged me, daring me to declare her a deviant.

Having gathered something of my senses and not one to shy away from a challenge, I formulated a suitable reply. "Oh yeah, you're a total deviant. Deviated ten ways from Sunday," I informed her.

"Is that right?" she laughed, slapping me playfully upside the arm. 

"Absolutely yes, you big old devo. But hey: I get it," I assured her, in more serious tones. "I really do. I'm sure, deep down in all of us, everyone has a bit of that exhibitionistic tendency. A bit of a desire to get one's naughty bits out in gentle company, to flash a good friend or neighbour – to give them a thrill perhaps, and maybe earn a bit of praise. Who among us doesn't get the urge, every now and again, to whip it out and cause a ruckus? I know I do," I decided to add, with a dangerous waggle of the eyebrows.

"Really?" Heather asked of me, grinning hugely. "Well I'm afraid Little Miss needs me to put her to bed," she added, as her armful of toddler finally became far too much an armful to permit any further such conversation. "But hold that thought, hey?"

And with a final wink, she walked away to put her Little Miss to bed, greeting Shelly on her way as my wife finally emerged from the house.

"Where's my wine, shithead?" was Shelly's greeting for me, cheeky and challenging as ever – two among her many qualities that endeared her to me. "And what's with the lump in your pants?" she added, giving it a none-too-subtle squeeze as she bellied her voluptuous form right up into me and kissed me.

I was not one for keeping secrets from my Shelly, so I rehashed as much of my conversation and interaction with Heather as I could pluck from my jumbled senses. 

Shelly laughed several times during the story. "So she finally got you to look at her tit, did she?" she grinned. "It's been bugging her for months, your 'overt gentlemanliness' as she called it."

"What?" I cried. "You knew she was going to do that? Why didn't you warn me?"

"And rob Heather of her fun? Nah, I love her far too much to deprive her of that," Shelly grinned, even as she sipped at the wine I had finally managed to pour for her.

"Great," I grumbled. "Two of them against me."

"Poor baby," said Shelly, completely devoid of any genuine sympathy. "Come on: let's get drunk."

Get drunk we did, the night proceeding easily as Chris prised himself from his phone and Heather re-joined us. Beers were had, wine glasses drained, the sun set on the view and the breeze grew colder, prompting us to take refuge in the large living room. There were two sofas arrayed facing each other, with a small coffee table in between, upon which our empty bottles quickly grew into a crowd.

Just as I found myself thinking back for perhaps the hundredth time on Heather's boob-out antics earlier in the evening, Heather winced with discomfort, rubbing the boobs in question.

"Feeling over-full there, hun?" Chris asked of her.

"Yep," Heather griped. "Little Missy wasn't hungry enough tonight. I'm too damned full of milk!"

"Shoot some over Marc's way," Shelly joked. "He loves him some breastmilk."

"Does he just?" asked Heather, turning her grin on me.

Happily, I had consumed enough brews to be long past any abashment on the topic. "Well, who doesn't?" I returned. "It's yummy. And it comes out of boobs. Win-win," I reckoned.

"Can't argue with that logic, mate!" Chris laughed.

"Did you used to let him partake, Shelly? Back when you were feeding?" Heather asked my missus.

"Aw yeah. If he'd been a good boy," Shelly winked. "Poor lad never used to get much out of me though – our little grublet would usually drink me dry, best Marc could ever get was maybe a drop or three."

I shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers," said I.

"And here I am, full enough to hit you from here," said Heather, with another one of those naughty looks on her face.

I had enough of my senses about me to know what to say to that. "I don't believe you," I told her, matter-of-factly. "You couldn't hit me from way over there."

"Careful mate," Chris warned, playfully. "She's a pretty crack shot. She's like Marvel's Hawkeye, except with long-range expressed breastmilk instead of arrows."


"I'll believe it when I see it," I nodded, sagely.

"Well," said Heather, as she began to loosen her top. "I know a challenge when I hear one!"

"You totally fell for his trap, sweetie," Shelly told Heather with a laugh.

"Who says he didn't fall into my trap first?" Heather winked. She had her blouse fully unbuttoned now; no bra involved nor required, her breasts sat free and firm, pert and perky as she pushed her blouse open wide and took to her feet. "Now then. Are you so sure you're safe over there, Marcky boy?"

"That's gotta be a good ten feet for you to clear," I reckoned, eyeing off the distance between Heather's gorgeous bared boobs and myself. "Maybe you can shoot that far – but with any accuracy?"

"I can hit you in the mouth," Heather told me, as a cold hard fact.

"She can, dude," Chris chipped in. "Trust me," he added, with a knowing wink.

By this point I gave not a fuck about whether I was right or wrong. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted a shot of Heather's milk right in the mouth, and I was pretty sure we all knew as much. I shot a quick look to Shelly; she just grinned, all positive signals, so I turned back to Heather.

"Go on," I invited her. "Give me your best—"

And she hit me in the mouth. One hand on her breast, one swift squeeze, and her milky essence shot across the room direct from her nipple and hit me in the mouth with a perfect parabola of high-pressure breastmilk.

It was awesome. Sweeter than it had any right to be, deliciously creamy – very much like the few drops Shelly would treat me with, but so much more in quantity and all the tastier for it.

I boggled, maybe gibbered for a second, before letting my stunned jaw slam shut so as not to lose or waste a precious drop. I drank it down, even as Shelly expressed her amazement and Heather and Chris cheered and high-fived each other, Heather's beautiful breasts swaying ever so gently as she moved in celebration.

"Holy crap!" said Shelly. "That was amazing! Do it again!"

"Open wide!" Heather ordered. I obeyed, and with a hand on her other breast she again jazzed a perfect shot high through the air, landing direct upon my tongue, to yet more cheering from all. Including myself.

"Okay," I allowed. "Okay. A lad can be wrong from time to time."

"You don't look all that sorry to be wrong," Shelly teased.

"No, I'm really not sorry at all," I confessed with a grin.

"Tastes great, eh Marc?" Chris grinned.

"Delicious," I confirmed. "Thanks, Heather."

"No need to thank me – gotta do something with all this milk!" she declared. "Fancy a taste, Shell?" she added, with a wicked spark in her eye.

"Yeah babe, hit me!" cried my wife, and with an equal mix of astonishment and glee I watched as Shelly opened her mouth wide and took a long-range mouthful of Heather's milk, gulping it down and smacking her lips.

"Mmm, yummy," she grinned – and to my continued astonishment, without any ado whatsoever my Shelly pushed her strappy singlet top aside, loosened her bra, popped out a boob of her own, and with a big squeeze she brought a few good drops forth upon her own nipple. She wiped up the droplets with her finger, and tasted of herself, and with a tone so heavy I thought I might tear my own trousers asunder she declared:

"Almost as tasty as my own milk."

"Oh really?" Heather asked, most archly. "Bring some of that good stuff over here. Let's see."

Bring it over she did – Shelly rose, and her large bared breast moved with heavy gentle grace as she strode around the table up to Heather. Heather made to reach up and take a sample with her finger, but Shelly spoke up:

"Don't be silly, girl," she declared, and my Shelly grabbed her by the head and stuffed her boob into Heather's face.

"Mmm!" Heather nearly squealed. Chris and I simply watched agape as our wives were joined, Heather's mouth upon Shelly's boob, as she sucked and suckled and teased out more droplets of milk, much as I had done a hundred times myself.

"Ooh, you are sweeter," Heather had to admit, when Shelly finally let her come up for air. "That pre-milk always tastes like sugar."

"Mmm," was all Shelly seemed able to say for the moment; both the ladies were flushed, hot and bothered by the impromptu closest of contact, and for a moment we all revelled in the enormity of what had just happened.

"Aww man," Chris groaned, to break the silence – echoing my own sentiments, sounding as pained as I felt at the sudden onslaught of diamond-cutting arousal.

"You said it mate," I agreed. "Hope you liked copping an eyeful of Shelly there!"

"Always do, champ. I have seen them before," he informed me. "A gentleman always sneaks a peek, you know," he added, most sternly.

I cringed hard at myself. "Yep, apparently that's the protocol."

They all laughed at me for my self-reprobation. "It's all good, mate," Chris assured me, succinct but meaningfully – letting me know again that my good manners were always appreciated, but also that there were no worries in my newfound familiarity with Heather's breasts.

"Yeah, all well and good," Heather added. "Except I'm still full of milk and hurting bad! I need a good solid draining."

"You guys got any Kaluah and Vodka?" I asked. "We could get a few glasses, a shot of each per glass, Heather tops them up – White Russians, a la boob!"

Everyone laughed at that. "Sounds like a plan!" Heather declared, and before we knew it we were all sipping at our White Russians.

"Gotta say," Shelly reckoned; during the making of the White Russians, both she and Heather had decided to completely discard their tops, much to everyone's enjoyment. "It's not really fair, how us ladies are giving you boys a show but we're getting nothing in return."

"A show?" I repeated. "What are you hoping to see, Shells?"

"Not enough bare cocks in the room," Heather chipped in. "And I do believe someone was telling me earlier on, there's a little exhibitionistic deviant deep within him?"

"Within all of us, was what I actually said," I corrected her, as I turned to Chris. "Sounds like the ladies wanna see some cock, bro."

"Let's not make them ask twice, eh?" Chris reckoned, already standing to loosen his jeans.

"Here we go," Heather crowed with a grin, as Chris and I raced to whip out our cocks. It was a dead heat; we were both good and hard, what with the pair of bared boobs already in the room and our gullets full of Heather's breastmilk, and the ladies both cheered loudly as they beheld both of our cocks.

"Well well, Chris," my Shelly said appreciatively. "You got yourself some length there, mate!"

And he had indeed. Chris's cock boasted at least an extra inch over myself, as well as a bit extra in terms of thickness. "It does the trick," Chris shrugged modestly.

"Aw now, don't discount Marcus's cock, Shells," Heather admonished. "It's actually quite pretty, isn't it? What with that big old bulging head and the sweeping curve in the shaft," she added, referring to my own oversized bell-end that ballooned out somewhat compared to my shaft, as well as the sickle-type curve of my member in general.

"Thanks Heather," I winked. "Nice to hear someone in the room appreciates a pretty cock."

"Aww baby," Shelly cooed in half-mocking tones. "Did I hurt your cock's feelings? Bring it over here and I'll kiss it better."

I wasn't going to turn down the offer, so I left my trousers on the floor and shuffled on over to Shelly, not really imagining she'd lay her lips on me in company. 

But she surprised me, and surprised us all. With her eyes fixed in mine, knowing full well our good friends were watching every second as I waggled my cock before her face, Shelly laid her hands gently upon my shaft and touched her lips together upon my tip. I saw Heather's jaw lower slightly, and Chris make a face of heavy appreciation as they watched Shelly's lips draw me in slightly to suck upon the end of my cock's head, her tongue sliding out to tease around my glans before grabbing me firmly, drawing me forward, and sucking down on my full length, deep-throating me with ease and showing off mightily before our friends.

"Oh man," Chris almost groaned, very obviously putting himself in my position in his imagination.

"That's hot as fuck, Shells," Heather almost purred. "You look incredible sucking cock."

"I've always thought so," I agreed heartily.

Shelly feigned to look abashed and humble, though I could tell her heart was singing over what had transpired. "Don't let me be the only cock-sucker in the room," she murmured, her hand still on my shaft as she tugged at me gently.

"You heard the lady!" Chris declared, bringing his cock over to within range of Heather's mouth. She grinned mightily, and laying her own hands on her man's beefy member, she opened her mouth wide and took him in.

Shelly and I watched with glee as Heather went to town on her man, sucking him deep and hard, her total lack of ado betraying her own heavy horniness. 

"Damn, girl," Shelly crowed. "If you don't ease off, you won't be the only one in the room shooting white stuff everywhere!"

"You're not wrong," Chris groaned in heavy ecstasy. "Slow down on me babe, I don't want to lose my load in two minutes!"

Heather backed off as requested, looking at Shelly and I – looking particularly, it seemed to me, at me – with heavy-lidded wantonness. "Sorry," she smirked. "I just love the cock."

A movement caught my eye. Heather's boobs were still leaking, a droplet of milk dangling precariously from both of her nipples, and one fell to land on the carpet below her. "Do you still need to let down there, Heather?" I asked of her.

She winced somewhat as she rubbed her boobs again. "I just can't seem to drain them tonight," she reckoned. "Sometimes when I'm all worked up, it seems my boobs work triple-time to stay full of milk."

"Poor girl needs a hand being drained," Shelly said to me, still with my cock in her hand. "You should help her out, don't you think?"

I shot a look of optimistic glee at Shelly, and was met with a rewarding grin of permission.

"Oh yeah," Heather said, with at least as much delight as I felt. "Come get it direct from the boob, baby!" she told me.

I stepped on over and knelt before her, almost forgetting entirely that I was cock-out and proud. Bending down on my way to get face-level with her boobs, I was suddenly stopped – Heather had caught my cock in her hand on the way down, and as I screeched to a shocked halt, she brought her face up to mine and kissed me.

There were a few short seconds of stunned silence in the room. I was kissing her. I was kissing Heather. My cock was in Heather's hand, her lips were on my lips, and before I knew it my tongue had found her tongue and my hands found her small, full, perky boobs with their leaking wet nipples – and we were kissing, hot and heavy and hungry.

"Well," interjected a female voice. "This is all very chummy, isn't it?"

Remembering my wife, I looked up guiltily – only to see that Shelly had similarly trapped Chris's cock in her hand, and waiting only to make sure I was watching, with a wicked grin of her own she moved into Chris's arms and began kissing him.

And I was okay with it. Shelly had been okay with me ogling Heather's boobs. I had been okay with Shelly flashing Heather and Chris, and also okay with Shelly's open appreciation for Chris's rather impressive cock, and now we had all swapped partners and moved in for kisses and gropes. And it was okay. Better than okay. It was awesome, in fact.

"Alright then," I grinned at Heather, and we got back into it.

In kissing Heather, I let it all out. My hidden desires for her, my attraction and appreciation that had been building for a year, since that first time she had pulled out her boob and I had triumphed in not leering or perving – my appreciation of her not only as a gorgeous woman but also a fun, caring and cheeky woman, it all came out in my kiss.

And it was returned. I had never suspected but I knew now that my appreciation was returned and mutual. Heather's mouth moved upon my own, her body rose up to meet mine, and her hands explored my nethers in the manner of a woman finally getting what she had long lusted after. She moaned into my mouth as I gently squeezed her boobs, my fingers encircling her nipples and feeling the free flow cascade out of her breasts and running between my fingers; I paused to lick my digits, tasting of the creamy goodness, and she roughly pushed my head down to achieve my original target.

My lips closed around her nipple and I drew upon it, teasing the nipple with my tongue and pulling instinctively. I was rewarded by a good flow of breastmilk – deliciously primal, gorgeously nourishing, and I moaned heavily even as I heard her gasp with pleasure.

I heard more sounds of heavy pleasure from beside us. I looked to see Shelly and Chris were well into each other; Shelly's jeans and knickers had hit the floor, she was completely nude, and both she and Chris were pawing wildly at each other, Chris's thick fingers playing skilfully within her slit and her hand pumping hard and fast upon his cock. My eyes locked momentarily with Shelly, even as I remained fixed and feeding upon Heather's breast – and it was all good, Shelly and I shared a warm grin of permission and love, and we both kept at it.

Heather had been busy undoing my own shirt, and I worked to remove her shorts, until we both were soon good and totally naked. Much as I wanted to feed upon Heather's milk all day, there were other treats to be sampled – and before she could say anything, I fell lower upon her body and thrust my face into her pussy.

Heather let out a quick strangled cry of "Oh!" as my tongue found her slit. She was soaking wet, and she tasted great – I always loved the taste of a woman's sex, and I appreciated the subtle differences between Heather's new taste and Shelly's, which I knew and loved well.

Speaking of Shelly – seemed she and I were both of the same oral state of mind, because she had fallen to her knees to take Chris's cock in her mouth, sucking its full length in another effortless deep-throat before drawing it out to tongue about the rim of his knob, all the while fixing him in the eye as she so often loves to do with me.

Heather's excitement was building quickly as I tongued circles-of-eight around her budding, twitching clit and broke off to prod and probe as deeply into her depths as possible, finding her flavour stronger and sweeter the deeper I tongued. I looked up along her torso to find both her hands upon her own breasts, squeezing and kneading her breasts to bring ever-more milk to the fore, the glorious liquid running down her stomach and hips and mingling with her light matting of fine short pubic hair and the moisture I was busily working out of her. I could smell the sweet headiness of her milk as it ran ever lower, and soon enough I could taste it mixing in with her glorious juices, making my cock twitch ever harder.

Chris could obviously not take any more of my wife's ministrations, meanwhile – he had pulled his length from her mouth and had lifted her further up to perch on the edge of the couch. He had pussy-eating ambitions of his own, but Shelly was too impatient:

"No," she almost snarled as his head began to bob lower, catching his hair roughly in her fist and bringing his face back up to hers. "Fuck me with that cock now! Don't make me wait for it!"

I always loved Shelly's forthrightness during sex. Never any doubt as to what she wanted or when she wanted it!

Heather's moans and groans were peaking now, morphing into gasps and cries as she watched her husband line the tip of his cock up against my wife's waiting, begging entry. My own cock was straining nearly to bursting point, and Heather's orgasm was pending, obviously waiting on Chris's final thrust before she could achieve release...

And thrust into my wife Chris did, his full length and girth stretching Shelly's cunt wide as he plunged into her, making her cry out in exquisite pleasure.

And in turn, making Heather come hard, her cream running freely and wetly all over my face as she bucked and writhed and tried to escape me, as I worked her harder and mercilessly, pushing her further and further beyond the brink and keeping her going and going until finally, mercifully, I eased back somewhat, I ate her less furiously and let her wind down and out of her tremendous orgasm, even as we both watched Chris fuck my beautiful Shelly good and hard.

"MmmmMMMM!" Heather finally intoned. "Fucking hell Marcus, but you're good at giving head!"

"It's a favourite hobby of mine," I confessed, with a cheeky glint in my eye.

"You are full of hidden talents!" Heather praised, bringing me up to give me a hard, steamy kiss as she lapped about my mouth with her tongue and tasted of her own gushing juices. "Fuck I taste good," she added, looking as wicked as she sounded.

"You taste awesome, Heather," I gladly informed her. "From both the boob and the bush!"

She laughed at that. "How do I compare with Shelly?" she grinned, even as Shelly's pleasure rose and rose from Chris's merciless pounding. "Why ask though, when I can find out for myself?" Heather added, before she turned to our fucking partners.

"Alright you two, take a break for a sec!" she demanded.

Chris hit the brakes immediately and obediently, prompting a sound of outrage from Shelly. "Fucking what?" she cried. "I'm so fucking close!"

"I want a taste test," Heather grinned. She shuffled forward on the sofa, cheekily presenting her bared spread legs, pussy and dainty little butthole to my view as Chris withdrew his twitching, gorging cock from my wife's cunt – over Shelly's continuing protests and frustration – and, to all of our delight, Heather grasped her husband's cock and took its full length into her mouth, cleaning and drinking Shelly's pussy juices from Chris's shaft and knob, hungry and greedy.

"Mmm!" Heather intoned again. "Your pussy juices are delicious, Shelly." And as if to lend weight to her praise, she pushed Chris fully out of the way and pushed her face up and between Shelly's still-spread legs.

"Oh," Shelly gasped, clasping Heather's head between her hands as Shelly's mouth fell upon her punched-open love hole. "Oh my God. Oh Shelly!"

Chris and I found ourselves staring shortly at each other. "Well," I said after a beat. "This is awesome!"

"Can't argue with that, mate!" Chris agreed. "Let's rejoin the fray, eh?" And he took up station behind Heather's swaying, inviting arse, slipping his gorging cock quick and easily between her moistened folds and prompting a cry of delight from his wife.

Not wanting to be left out in the cold, I jumped on the couch and shared a long, passionate kiss with my own wife. "Having fun?" I asked of Shelly.

Shelly treated me to a face-splitting smile of sheer, unadulterated bliss. "I love you," she told me. "Thank you for being so awesome."

"I love you too," I told her, meaning every precious word of it.

With some untangling of limbs, Shelly and Heather rearranged themselves such that Shelly was able to suck on my cock while Heather ate her out and Chris pounded Heather's pussy. We made for quite the obscene train, the two ladies slurping noisily in their oral ministrations even while Heather made Shelly build back up to her orgasm and Chris fucked Heather towards another. Heather's pleasure obviously came easier than Shelly's though, for soon she was bucking and crying out, pushing back against her husband's cock as she came again, her face rising up from between Shelly's legs – much to my wife's repeated consternation.

"Aaargh!" Shelly cried, as though in genuine pain. "Dammit woman, I want to come!"

"Better call on your husband's talents then, Miss Shelly," Heather returned cheekily. "For now: I want to sit on my husband's face and watch you eat my juices off his cock."


With only a minor amount of grumbling from Shelly, we arranged ourselves to do just that. Chris lay upon his back, his twitching rod straight like an arrow as Shelly lowered her well-treated pussy down upon his waiting face – and she regarded the both of us with a look of utter sinfulness as she watched my wife go to town upon her own juices slathered over her husband's cock, and further to watch me line up and take Shelly doggy-style.

"Is this where you imagined our evening would take us, Marcky boy?" Heather purred at me.

"Honestly, I was plenty happy with a quick glimpse of your boob," I shrugged. "Everything else has basically been the best cherry on top of the most awesome sundae the world has ever known!"

Heather smirked at that, before lolling back into sheer bliss as Chris ate her out and she watched me fuck Shelly.

"Don't hold back, babe," Shelly implored of me, between mouthfuls of Chris's cock. "I need to come bad."

"I know it, girl," I told her. "You go on and suck that man's cock. I'll have you there in good time."

"Your wife sucks my husband's cock good, doesn't she?" Heather asked of me, grinning hugely at being able to say such a thing.

"She certainly does," I could only agree.

"Look at the bad girl go," Heather purred, even as Shelly's moans began anew. "Chris's cock in one end, and your cock in the other. Such a slut."

"She's a good girl, our Shelly. She deserves nothing less than a long hard ramming from a cock in every hole," I grinned – I knew Shelly secretly loved being denigrated during sex, and I could only assume she must have confided as much in her gal-pal Heather on some previous occasion.

"Mmm yes," Heather groaned, pinching her still-leaking nipples and lolling her eyes at the idea of Shelly being used every which way; a quick squirt of milk needled out from her boobs as she pinched them, spraying along my wife's beautiful bared back and up my sweaty, hairy torso. 

"Look at her go," Heather continued, grinning as she watched me massage her breastmilk into Shelly's back. "Such a good little slut – grinding back against you, eating Chris like there's no tomorrow, sucking and slurping my cunt juices off his long diamond-hard cock..."

It was working. Shelly was nearly beside herself now, her moans growing exponentially in volume and frequency. Shelly's orgasms, while often long and drawn-out affairs, were very often all the bigger and better for the work required – and as I pounded my wife's gorgeous pussy with my own record-setting long rod, as she deep-throated furiously against Chris's mightily impressive stamina, and as she looked up to lock eyes with Heather as she gyrated naked upon her husband's mouth with her beautiful leaking little tits in her hands, the last remnants of Shelly's control wilted away and she came, she came for me, she came before all of us and she came long and hard and loud, leaving off of Chris's cock to roar out her pleasure in the sexiest, fullest-chested bellow I had ever heard from her.

"Yes!" Heather cried, exuberant in finally witnessing her best friend's orgasm. "Oh Shelly, you come so beautifully!"

"Thanks babe," Shelly returned between gasps. She pulled away from me to climb over Chris's prostrate form to squat atop Chris's muscular chest; she enveloped Heather in her arms, and they kissed long and passionately.

Chris and I found ourselves watching our wives getting into each other yet again. "Can't complain about the view, eh Marcus?" Chris reckoned, from his vantage point between our wives bare-naked pelvises.

"It's a sight to behold, that's for sure," I reckoned, absent-mindedly palming my cock and working my wife's juices into my member.

"Fucking hell but I'm close," Chris added.

I laughed at that. "I've been wondering how you've been holding up under the onslaught, mate! These ladies have been working that big old horse's cock of yours pretty hard."

Chris laughed at my coarse praise. "And look at you, mate! You must have gained two inches since we've started. You'll put me to shame if you keep that up."

"Yeah, I'm a grower," I confirmed, modestly. "And I gotta say, I'm getting pretty fucking close to blowing my load too."

"Uh oh – the boys need relief," Shelly commented.

"I reckon we'd better finish them off," Heather agreed. "Now Marc, you haven't fucked me yet – and I want you to fuck me good and hard, okay?"

"Fine by me!" I enthused.

"Give her both barrels, babe," Shelly encouraged, with a warm and welcome smile even as she bent over before Chris for her own fucking.

"I reckon you're both in for a hot white load, ladies," I told the girls. 

Heather came up to me and grabbed me for another long, lusty tongue-kiss – and while I'd always enjoyed kissing my Shelly, never before have I ever felt as desired by somebody as Heather was making me feel now.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you," she murmured quietly to me, even as her husband was already pounding into my wife. "You and your dumb stubborn refusal to look at my boobs – you have no idea how much that has teased me!"

"I wish I knew," was all I could say. "I wanted to look at them but I denied myself. I was sure I was doing the right thing."

"Oh, you were doing the right thing," Heather agreed, grinning and biting her lip as she ground her moistened mound against my aching hard-on. "But sometimes, the right thing can be wrong."

We kissed one last time at that, before she shot another heart-stopping grin at me and about-faced to again waggle her pussy at me invitingly. I wasn't going to miss the hint this time – I grabbed her hips, lined us up, and bullied my blunt-ended cock deep and hard into her hot, soft, velety box.

"Ohhhhh yes," she hissed as I did so. "Oh Marc. Oh Marc, you have grown, you're so much bigger..."

I eased us into the fucking, withdrawing my length slow and lingering before sliding home once again, and again, and again. I was fucking Heather. After the better part of a year of hidden and forbidden fantasies, I was finally fucking this beautiful woman with her perky dripping tits. We fucked, my best friend's wife and I, as we watched my best friend pounding mercilessly into my own wife; they were well into the boil, Chris was looking like he was achingly close to the brink, but I knew that he was holding off, forestalling against the release of his load – much as I often did – until our Shelly had again built back up to her own agonisingly high peak.

We fucked on, Chris plunging into Shelly and I into Heather. Heather pulled at her dripping nipples, soaked her fingers in her milk and reached back, finding my mouth and feeding me, allowing me to taste again of her sweetness. I revelled at the closeness this brought. Much as in sampling Shelly's own few drops of milk on occasion, feeding from Heather's beautiful product and gaining sustenance and nourishment from her milk – it fed and reinforced such a wonderful, intimate connection between us. 

Such a beautiful woman, our Heather. How fortunate I was to be able to join with her, fucking her even in celebration of my bond with my own wife, and how happy I was that my improved behaviour towards a breastfeeding woman had somehow brought us all to this point.

Our orgasms were upon us – we all watched each other fucking, dogging before our spouses, fucking each other's partners in front of our own partners, Chris and I plunging our cocks deep hard and unfettered into Shelly and Heather. Shelly was nearly there, Chris had been teetering on the brink forever and a day, Heather was rushing towards yet another orgasm and I – I could feel it, it was coming, it was a big one and it was coming fast.

All as one, we came, we came and we came hard, our cries and bellows and screams intermingling as Chris jolted my Shelly with one last thrust and Shelly grasped Heather's hands and screamed as Heather's pussy constricted and convulsed around my cock as it pumped and it shot and it filled Heather's depths with my hot white essence, and we came and we came and we all came together as one.

Finally and eventually, we descended from our highs, Chris and I nearly collapsed forwards upon our mounts as Heather and Shelly kissed each other yet again, long and lingering and lovingly. We were all spent, sweaty and gasping and done, all in such close proximity that Chris and I were even able to reach out and give each other an exhausted high five – which in any other situation may have seemed trite but here, now, having done what we'd done and shared what we shared, nothing less than a genuine high five would do.

The night didn't end there. We stayed up well into the wee hours of the morning, naked and unabashed; we all fed from Heather's unending supply, our ardours re-stoked and we fucked each other all again, trying out each and every M-to-F and F-to-F permutation that came to mind. And after a few hours' sleep we collected our progeny and went on our way, Shelly and I feeling closer and more in love than ever, safe and secure in the knowledge that we adored and trusted each other enough to share each other with our nearest and dearest, and to love every second of it.

Over the years our relationship remained solid, and our friendship – and love for – Heather and Chris remained solid too. Shelly and I stopped at two children, the old-fashioned pigeon pair, but Heather and Chris have four kids now with a fifth on the way. And we all joke about it – though I suspect there's more than a grain of truth to the accusation – that the main reason Heather keeps cranking out children is to ensure a never-ending supply of breastmilk for all of us.

Can't complain about that at all. And you can be sure: every time she pulls out her boob for a feeding, and every time she puts it away again, I make sure to have a good gander.

A gentleman always sneaks a peek, after all.

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