Ever since returning to work, my life’s been a mess. My pregnancy wasn’t bad, especially because I was expecting everything to go wrong, probably because my family, friends, and doctor couldn’t seem to stop telling me how old I was, how brave I was, or my favorite, that it was a geriatric pregnancy. Quite the contrary, my pregnancy was relatively easy; only occasional morning sickness, no bed rest, and an increased sex drive, that thankfully my husband returned enthusiastically. My milk came in about a month before birth, and we both enjoyed the ways it impacted my body, with my boobs growing 2 cup sizes and the way they would leak when I got turned on was a visual confirmation of how frequently horny I was, and a signal for my husband I was ready to fool around.
Unfortunately, as easy as my pregnancy was, the post partum was as difficult. My body took much longer to recover than my first pregnancy, and the doctor recommended no sex, at first for a month, later extended for 2 more months. Giving blowjobs are great, most who’ve received one from me would say they’re my specialty, but they usually are followed by something that gave me my release. Selfishly, I wanted to get off, and satisfying my husband without getting myself taken care of was getting more and more frustrating.
Then, the baby refused to bottle feed, which meant I could never have a glass of wine or sip of bourbon to relax, and my sleep schedule? Forget it, I couldn’t sleep more than 3 hours without getting woken up by a screaming baby, their older sibling who just wanted Mommy’s attention on them for 5 minutes, or my husband, who was so used to my hyper hormones pre-birth, he wasn’t handling the drastic reduction in sex as well as I hoped, and no amount of oral sex or handjobs while watching old videos of us fucking for hours seemed to fulfill his needs.
It was in this mindset that I went back to work; probably too early, but in truth, looking forward to a little peace and quiet, and not being responsible for doing every little thing for 3 people, every hour of every day. At first, things were great. Everyone was nice, asking questions about the baby, offering to bring meals to make it easier to transition back into the office. Slowly, these gestures dropped off, and I was like every other worker, and no one cared if I only got 2 hours of sleep and my boobs felt like they would burst after a few hours without nursing. I’d try my best to save my milk for my baby, but most days, I’d have to use the office lactation room because the pain got too much, and then I would cry when I poured my milk down the drain because my baby wouldn’t drink out of the bottle. If my husband said ‘who could blame the baby’ one more time, I swear he’ll have to get himself off until I’m finished nursing.
Last Tuesday was non-stop at work. I had scheduled meetings from 10-12 to prep for an afternoon presentation with a client, and was supposed to run home on lunch to nurse. My meeting ran late, so our boss sent the intern Ted to pick up lunch for everyone so we could finish our meeting and prepare for the afternoon meeting with a client. By this point, my tits felt like they were going to explode, and I was grimacing in pain every once in a while. My coworker noticed, asked if everything was alright, and I shook my head no and said I needed to take a quick break.
I left the conference room to go to the lactation room for some relief, when I passed the intern carrying bags of food. My first thought was that now someone was going to eat my salad and I’d be left with greasy food that would make me sick. As the intern walked by, he gave me a weird look, started to say something, then stopped himself and shuffled past me to deliver the food.
I went into the lactation room, which really shouldn’t have florescent lights, and got out my pump. As I went to open my blouse, I noticed that my milk had letdown, and I hadn’t felt it and it soaked through my pads and darkened my shirt. ‘Fucking awesome’, I said as I removed it entirely to dry quicker. I pumped myself, ten minutes for each side, enough to get me through the next meeting, then put my shirt back on. ‘Thank God for quick drying fabric’ I thought to myself. Outside of a slight line (which could have been sweat, if just a few inches lower), no one would notice, hopefully.
When the afternoon meeting with clients was over, I told my boss I was leaving early, missing lunch made my head hurt, and I needed to get home to feed my baby. As I was leaving, I passed Ted in reception and told him I’d see him tomorrow. Ted muttered something inaudible and wouldn’t look at me. As I walked by, I touched his arm and asked if he was OK, and he said ‘Uh,yeah- I’m o-o-o, I’m ok. I’ll s-s-s-see y-y-you t-t-tomorrow’. Ted had always been friendly with me and offered to help any way he could with my baby, even though we hadn’t met before my maternity leave. This was his 1st professional job, and he clearly wanted to make a good impression. Confused, I let go of his arm and started to walk away, when I looked down and saw him adjusting his pants.
I got home 30 minutes later and was greeted by my husband asking where I was for lunch, the baby was hungry and wouldn’t take any of the bottles we keep in the fridge for emergencies. Fuck, I knew I forgot something; it slipped my mind once I discovered my leaking problem that afternoon. I apologized, and my husband made the same lame joke for the millionth time. I asked where the little one was, and he said ‘Sleeping; it’s funny how crying non stop for 2 1/2 hours will wear you out’. I apologized and said I needed to pump, my boobs were engorged and painful. He offered his services, but I declined, telling him I wasn’t in the mood.
I went into our study, took out the pump, hooked it up and started the machine. The repetitive sounds soothed me after a long day, and I let my mind wander. I found myself thinking about Ted, and his reaction to me in the hall and at reception. Clearly, he had seen the evidence of my milk leaking at lunch, and based on his reaction at reception when I was leaving, my guess was that he liked what he saw.
Ted was 23, in shape from playing soccer and surfing on the weekends (he had pictures at the beach with his friends at his work station). He graduated college one year ago, while I graduated college over 15 years ago. I never thought someone that young and attractive would find me desirable, especially because my body had not yet bounced back to my pre-pregnancy shape (although I did like my fuller hips, tits, butt). I thought back to his growing erection, and his refusal to meet my eyes. I’d have to talk to him tomorrow, make sure he knows I don’t mind and things aren’t awkward between us.
I continued down this path, and thought of our conversation, and how it would go, and what Ted thought about today’s events. I was surprised by how excited I was getting. I touched my hand inbetween my legs, and felt the heat emanating through my jeans. Picturing Ted at home, shirt off, touching himself at the thought of me, was enough for me to unbutton my pants and stick my finger inside my underwear. I was shocked by how wet I was: normally I have to be physically stimulated to get wet, but tonight, thinking about Ted was more than enough. I pictured him at his place, probably a small apartment with a roommate, retreating to his room to take out his dick, already hard recalling my tits and my touch from this afternoon. I licked two of my fingers, forgetting how wet I was already, and began tracing my lips, circling my hood, and plunging them in and out, matching the pumps on my machine.
I continued to picture Ted, lying down fully naked on his bed, cock in hand, eyes closed, furiously stroking to thoughts of me. I tried to move my hand with his rhythm, but found myself dangerously close to release, and I wanted to make it last as long as possible. I took one of the pumps off, used my hand to squeeze a small stream into my palm, then placed my whole hand on my sex, slowly rubbing, back and forth at first, slowly, then going in circles, even slower, until I felt the wave pull back slightly.
I began to pick up my pace, rubbing much quicker now. I used my other hand to play with my exposed nipple, large circles, then light pinches, and finally, tugging at it as if ripping it off my body would make my vision of a 23 year old stroking his cock become reality, in my room. This thought combined with the tugging caused my milk to start spraying. With my newly lubricated fingers, I began exploring my other hole, while still circling my other palm on my pussy.
Once I began tracing a trail from my ass to my vagina, I felt the wave building again. I licked my fingers, savoring the different flavors and scents, the sweetness of the milk, the pungent smell of my ass, and the musky aroma from my pussy mixed into an indescribable sensation that I wanted to share with Ted, since he was the cause of it. I sprayed more milk in my hand, inserted two fingers into myself, and let my other fingers trace a trail back and forth from my ass to my vagina, increasing pressure along the way. I stopped circling with my palm, and used my other fingers to focus on my clit, now full and demanding my attention.
I started lightly, barely tracing it, not focusing too much, but always returning to my nub. Once I was sure I wouldn’t over stimulate myself, I focused entirely on my clit, rubbing faster and harder until the release I was craving was cresting, and I let myself go while imagining Ted blowing his load on his washboard abs, wondering what his reaction would be to me licking him clean. Content, I removed my hands and moaned happily, realizing I still had one pump going. Looking down, I saw that my breasts were noticeably lop-sided. I wondered if Ted would notice, and promised myself to recreate this one day before work and see for myself.
I was so lost by my fantasy and the noise from the machine, I had failed to hear my husband enter the room, failed to notice his phone recording my session, and failed to notice that when I came, I had moaned Ted’s name.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rr9e4f/return_to_work_flactation
As a cuckold, that story is hot.