Daddy’s Milk, Just For Him

The rain hammered against the windows of the cabin, a relentless percussion that mirrored the insistent thrumming in my core. Mark was sprawled across the worn leather couch, a mountain of muscle and raw desire, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. We'd been at this for weeks, this bizarre, beautiful, undeniably potent dance of shared intimacy, fueled by the sheer, primal need to connect through the remnants of my milk supply. It wasn’t just about the feeding; it was about the vulnerability, the trust, the complete and utter surrender to the primal urges that both of us felt.

The scent of pine and damp earth mingled with the warm, sweet aroma of my breast milk, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. My nipples were swollen, heavy with the promise of pleasure, and I knew that look in Mark’s eyes – a desperate longing, a hunger that went far beyond the physical. Tonight, I wanted to give him everything.

“You know,” I purred, my voice husky with anticipation, “these breasts are just for you. Every drop, every ounce, exclusively for daddy Mark.” My fingers traced the delicate curve of one of my nipples, teasing him with the thought of the pleasure to come. “They swell and ache just for you, don't they? Pink and tender, just begging to be tasted.”

Mark didn’t speak, just leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. The anticipation was palpable, thick in the air like the scent of rain. He moved with a deliberate grace, sliding off the couch and kneeling before me, his hands reaching for my chest. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through my body, a delicious shiver that started deep within my core and radiated outwards.

As he lifted my t-shirt, revealing the curve of my breasts, I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. The warmth of his skin against my skin, the intoxicating scent of his arousal, the knowledge that I was holding the key to his deepest desires.

“Let’s get started,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the storm.

His lips brushed against my nipple, a gentle exploration that quickly escalated into a frenzied assault. He began to suckle, a slow, rhythmic motion that built in intensity, pulling my nipple taut and stretching my skin. With each suckle, my body responded, my muscles tensing, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The pressure increased, becoming almost unbearable, and I let out a moan of pure pleasure.

As he sucked, his cock began to harden, a tight, throbbing muscle that mirrored my own rising heat. The sight of it, so full and powerful, ignited a fire within me, a burning desire to lose control, to abandon myself to the moment. My pussy started to tingle, becoming increasingly sensitive as his arousal spread throughout my body.

My hands moved instinctively, running through his thick hair, pulling him closer, deepening the connection between us. I felt a surge of dominance, a need to control this overwhelming wave of sensation. “Don’t stop,” I urged, my voice breathless. “Keep going. Let me feel you.”

The sucking intensified, becoming frantic, desperate. My body arched in response, my hips swaying in time with the rhythm of his thrusts. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, but I clung to the edge of ecstasy, pushing myself further, deeper. I moaned with every movement, a primal scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Mark’s cock was now rock hard, throbbing with a violent intensity. The head was a dark, pulsating red, a testament to the sheer force of his arousal. I felt a wave of heat wash over me, spreading from my nipples to my core, threatening to spill over into my pussy. It was close, so close, but I still needed more.

“You’re doing so good,” I gasped, my voice strained. “Don’t stop now.”

Suddenly, he shifted, pulling himself between my legs, his weight pressing down on me. He leaned back, positioning himself perfectly for penetration, his gaze locked on mine. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a delicious torment that made me tremble with anticipation.

“This pussy is just for you, Mark,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire. “Only you can touch it, squeeze it, kiss it, and lick it.”

His lips parted in a silent promise, and then he slammed himself into me with a force that sent shivers down my spine. The pain was exquisite, a sharp, burning pleasure that overwhelmed my senses. My body arched in agony, my muscles clenching, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

I screamed, a primal cry of pure pleasure, as he continued to thrust, pushing me closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. The sensation was so intense, so overwhelming, that I felt like I was going to explode.

As I neared climax, a sudden letdown occurred, and a warm trickle of milk erupted from my breasts, splattering across my chest and onto the sheets. Mark paused, momentarily distracted, then resumed his frenzied assault, now driven by an even greater urgency. The influx of milk only intensified my pleasure, driving me further into the throes of ecstasy.

We climaxed simultaneously, a shared release of tension and sensation that left us both panting and breathless. The world seemed to spin around us as we lay there, intertwined, our bodies slick with sweat and milk, our hearts pounding in unison.

Mark gently pulled away, catching his breath, then propped me up so he could finish draining me. We fell back into a deep spooning position, our bodies pressed together, the rain continuing to beat against the windows.

As we drifted off to sleep, I realized that this was more than just a physical encounter. It was a connection, a merging of souls, a shared experience that transcended the boundaries of the body. And as I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Mark's body and the scent of my own milk, I knew that this was just the beginning of our strange, beautiful, and utterly addictive journey.

The next morning, we awoke to a shower sex session, a playful exploration of our bodies while still damp from the previous night's passion. Laughter filled the small cabin as we toyed with each other, clinging to the remnants of the pleasure we had shared.

As I thought about the experience, a wicked grin spread across my face. Writing this story for you all had been a delicious indulgence, a way to tap into the primal desires that simmered beneath the surface of our modern world. And now, I was eager to hear about your own encounters with husbands who dared to explore the unusual pleasure of breastfeeding. Let the sharing begin.

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