"We shouldn't..." he said, even as his hands betrayed his words.

"You know what, Jeff? We should. I've wanted you for a long time. Have you wanted me?"

"God, yes," he said hungrily.

"Then let's just give in," I begged, hot and needy.

Then he unclasped my bra and picked me up, carrying me to the couch.

Before I knew it, his mouth was on my breast, suckling gently, drinking.

Suck-gulp.

Suck-gulp.

Suck-gulp.

He groaned, the sound vibrating through me like wildfire, turning my clit into a red, hot nub. He nursed gently, suckling and moaning, breaking his latch and whispering to me. "Oh, Marcy, I've always dreamed of this." Then latching on and drinking.

It felt...amazing. Sexual. Glorious. Like a full-wave orgasm that lasted forever, as my own climax built and rushed out of me, a pent-up frustration of six months all coming out of me via breast milk, eagerly lapped up by my stepfather. My love. My Jeff.

He drank, gagging as my supply overflowed with the rush of my orgasm, the milk too much for him to calibrate with his mouth and his swallows. I saw translucent milk spilling out of the corners of his mouth and falling onto my chest. He licked every drop, savoring it, flushed red with passion and arousal, nursing from me until he was sucking me dry, moving between breasts to wring every last drop.

Which he did.

And now it was my turn to milk him!