H and I have been long time naughty friends. We are married but not to each other. We have been lovers on an off but our biggest connection is our shared pregnancy and lactating kink.

H has vivid sexy dreams which she shares with me. This particular story was started by her in point form, which I drafted into the story below, and finalized with H's edits.

We hope you enjoy.

For years I’ve been invisible in my own home. The laundry gets folded, the meals appear, the children get raised, and somehow I became furniture—useful, quiet, expected. My husband barely looks at me anymore. My body, once something men turned for, now just exists to keep the household running. Occasionally, I would catch men looking at me with lust and I realized how much I missed that feeling. I would jump on my husband after those men recognized me for what I was. You were one of those men, but you were different in some way. You let me express my desires to be a real woman and understood me. I had no idea how much stuff I had kept pent up because of shame and how I was raised. So when you—my secret, my fire—whispered that you wanted me completely to yourself for an entire weekend, something inside me cracked open.

You booked the Airbnb in Toronto. A sleek modern loft with floor-to-ceiling windows and a private hot tub on the rooftop terrace. We left Friday night after the kids were asleep at their grandparents’. The drive felt electric; your hand rested high on my thigh the whole way, thumb tracing slow promises.

The moment we stepped inside you had everything ready. Black lace lingerie laid out on the bed like an offering: sheer bra that would hide nothing, matching thong, garter belt, thigh-high stockings. You watched me change with the kind of hunger that made my knees weak. “I’ve waited too long for this,” you said, voice rough.

You couldn’t keep your hands off me. Fingers skimmed lace, tugged straps, cupped me possessively while you directed poses for the camera. Me arched on the bed, ass lifted, looking back over my shoulder. Me on my knees, breasts spilling over the cups. Me straddling a chair backward, thighs spread. Every click of the shutter felt like you were claiming me. I was wet and dripping and wanted more.

When the lingerie finally hit the floor you pushed me onto the sheets and buried your face between my legs. Your tongue was relentless—long, slow drags over my swollen clit, then quick flicks, then sucking hard enough to make my hips buck. I came the first time fast, a sharp cry, thighs clamping your head. You didn’t stop. You added fingers, curled them, stroked that spot inside until I squirted—once, twice, three times—hot gushes soaking your chin, your neck, the sheets. I was shaking, embarrassed and euphoric at the same time. You just grinned up at me, lips glossy, and said, “That’s my good girl.”

We showered together, slick soap and wandering hands, then dressed for dinner. You slipped the vibrating egg inside me before I pulled on the tight burgundy dress and strappy heels. Every time I shifted in the booth your thumb brushed the remote in your pocket. Low buzz during appetizers. Medium while I tried to order wine. High when the waiter asked if everything was okay. I gripped the table edge, bit my lip bloody, thighs trembling, while you sipped your drink like nothing was happening. It was so exciting to cum in public. It was so wrong, but we were far away and even though I am sure several people knew what we were up to, I accepted it because It pleased you. By dessert I was dripping down my thighs, my pussy clenching around the toy, desperate for more.

Back at the loft we barely made it through the door. You fucked me against the wall, no warning, no foreplay. You took me with my dress hiked to my waist, panties shoved aside, hard and deep and fast. Your cock stretched me wide, pounding in with wet slaps, each thrust hitting that deep spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. I clawed at your back, begging for it harder. I relished the act of you using my body and a new level of pleasure washed over me. You grunted as you relentlessly penetrated me, and took me, until you growled and filled my pussy—hot ropes of cum pumping deep, your seed flooding me, coating my walls. I came around you, milking every drop, loving the slick warmth of you claiming me inside.

We collapsed onto the couch and embraced now that our animal lust was sated. I curled up beside you with my head in your lap, your wet cock resting against my cheek as you petted and played with my hair. I drifted into a relaxed state and withdrew into myself to recover after physical intensity of the past few hours. You had done things to me that I had never imagined I would let man do to me. You were speaking to me, but it was like I was under water. I began to realize that much more was in store for me, and that resigned myself to the journey.

I started to reconnect with my body, the relaxing sensations of being petted were joined by new sensations as you caressed my ass. I knew you were ready for round two as I felt your cock begin to grow against my cheek. I became aware of the smell of our sex and for a brief moment I was ashamed that I wanted to rub the wetness on my face and lips. What has come over me? Your movements became more urgent and I knew he wanted me again. I wasn't sure I was ready, and got up from your lap, and stood up. I was unsteady on my feet and you held me for a second. I had got up to go to the bathroom and clean your cum from my body, but now with your hands on my waist, I stopped. I felt pressure on my body as you guided me to sit on you. You had already lined me up for penetration and I slid easily onto your now rock hard cock. It was slower this time. Me riding you reverse, grinding down slow circles, feeling your hands grip my hips as I felt the need to bounce. You reached around to rub my clit, and when I shattered again—squirting over your cock— my cum was running down my legs and I remember the shock of how quickly I came. I was awake now as you flipped me onto my back and drove in missionary, eyes locked on mine. “Take it all,” you murmured, and I did—your cum erupting again, filling my pussy to overflowing, dripping out as you pulled back. I felt the same urge as before, the lust for your cum. Without thinking, I scooped some up with my fingers and licked them clean, tasting us mixed together. I would have never had done this before as I savoured the taste and texture of our passion. I knew you were pleased with my drinking my cum and your semen. I sensed you wanted to experience the same from me.

Before we slept you kissed my forehead and murmured, “Get a good rest. Tomorrow is for you.”

Saturday morning you took me to the private clinic. My stomach fluttered when you said the words: lactation doctor. “I want to drink from you,” you told me in the car. “I paid him to open on a Saturday. We’ll be completely alone. By tomorrow night your breasts will be full for me.”

The doctor was calm, professional, and kind. He led us to the exam room, motioned to the reclining chair. “Please remove everything from the waist up.” I hesitated only a second—your encouraging nod helped—then peeled off my top and bra. He reclined me slowly, warm hands palpating my breasts with clinical detachment at first. “Healthy tissue. Good responsiveness. We’ll have you producing soon.” I was scared as this strange man handled me. He was not wearing gloves and there was a strange intimacy to the exam. I felt like a slut, and started to feel shame, but the thrill of lactating again and pleasing you convinced me to continue.

He started an IV—some cocktail to jumpstart prolactin and oxytocin—then handed me two small pills. “To relax you. You’re a little tense.” A warm towel came next, draped over both breasts like a blanket. Heat sank deep. My nipples tightened instantly. It was starting to feel aroused, which surprised me as I was exposed to two men, and the space was clinical.

You left to grab lunch while the IV dripped. When you returned I was already feeling strange—fullness, tingling, a faint ache behind my areolas. The doctor explained the routine: double electric pump every two hours, let-down pills, hydration, rest. “Heat helps,” he added. “The hot tub tonight will be perfect.” the doctor pulled the IV and pulled my arms over my head. He patted my arms as if to tell me not to move. I heard the click of his phone as he took several photos of me exposed. I didn't care, I was drifting off to that strange warm space like last night on the couch. I was so connected to my body, its sensations and to the realization that my body was being manipulated to please you. It had been many years since I was as happy and content as I was in that moment in the clinic.

I barely remember coming home. The drugs I took at the clinic had a relaxing effect and I was still in a blissful daze. That night we alternated pumping and soaking naked in the bubbling water. My body was under your control and I trusted you with everything. Frankly, I was in a state of pleasure that I had never experienced. I loved nursing my children. The tenderness of it and the mild sensations of arousal. I was sometimes ashamed and would never admit it to anyone, but here I was given permission to enjoy and embrace the growing arousal. The heat made everything swell—my breasts felt heavier already, skin stretched taut. Between sessions you kissed me slowly, hands cradling the tender weight, thumbs brushing oversensitive nipples until I whimpered. I wanted you inside me. We fucked in the tub—me straddling you, water sloshing as I rode your cock, breasts bouncing. The warmth amplified everything: my pussy gripping you tighter, the ache in my tits syncing with each thrust. You sucked a nipple into your mouth mid-fuck, even though no milk yet, the anticipation making me clench harder. When you came, you pulled out and aimed at my open mouth—thick spurts landing on my tongue, filling it with your salty seed. I swallowed greedily, craving it like you craved my future milk, then begged you to fill my pussy too. You obliged, slamming back in and shooting the last of your load into me, your cum mixing with the hot water as it leaked out.

Sunday morning we returned. Still no milk yet, but the doctor wasn’t worried. “Normal. It usually clicks in the afternoon.” New IV line, more pumping, more waiting. Around lunchtime the tingling sharpened into a deep, liquid pressure. By 3:00 p.m. my breasts were visibly fuller, veins faintly visible under the skin, nipples darker and standing stiff.

When the doctor stepped out you didn’t hesitate. You lowered your mouth to my left breast, latched gently at first, then firmer. The moment your lips sealed and you sucked—God. A bright, electric line of pleasure shot straight from nipple to clit. Milk let down in a sudden warm rush; I felt the channels open, felt the sweet liquid flow into your mouth. You groaned against my skin, the vibration making me gasp. The pulling sensation was exquisite—deep, rhythmic tugging that bordered on orgasmic. Every swallow you took sent another ripple through me. My other breast leaked and white beds of milk rolled down the curve of my tit and onto the floor.

It was addictive—fullness melting into throbbing pleasure, each suck emptying me only to make me ache to be filled again. I reached down, stroking your cock through your pants until you freed it, hard and leaking. “let me stroke you while you drink,” I whispered, The dual sensations wrecked me: your mouth pulling milk from my tits, your cock throbbing in my hand. I loved having a little bit of control as you emptied me and I tended your cock. I came twice like that, squirting on you and wetting your shirt and pants. Suddenly you straddled my chest. “Open,” you commanded. I did, tongue out, and you fed me your cum—pumping your shaft until ropes filled my mouth, overflowing down my chin. I swallowed it all, the creamy texture mirroring my milk, linking us in this perfect exchange.

I was recoverying from my organsim, and I thought you were done with me, but I was wrong. You switched sides. More milk, more of that intoxicating pull. My hips rocked involuntarily; I was soaking wet just from your mouth on me. The release was addictive—fullness melting into throbbing pleasure, each suck emptying me only to make me ache to be filled again. You lifted your head from my breasts, your lips shiny with my milk, eyes dark. “Fuck, you taste perfect.” Then you kissed me so I could taste myself on your tongue, mixed with the faint salt of your earlier load.

We left at 6:00 p.m., my breasts still leaking faintly through the nursing pads, still sensitive from hours of sucking and pumping. In the car you reached over, cupped one gently. “I have that apartment where I stay most weekdays for work,” you said quietly. “I want you to live there with me. Move in. I need this—you, your body, your milk—anytime I want it. Every day. And I’ll give you my seed whenever you crave it, just like this.”

I rested my hand over yours, nipple already tightening under your palm at the thought. My milk for his seed—our perfect, filthy symmetry.

For the first time in years I didn’t feel invisible. I felt alive. I wasn't sure how I would hide it, or if I would even try. I am sure I would be branded a slut for agreeing to all of this. I wasn't sure how long it would last but I didn't care. I was going to see this through and accept the woman I have always been.