Nursing Mother's Touch

The scent of lavender and baby powder still clung to the air, a lingering reminder of our daughter’s recent arrival. For three weeks, after she was born, we’d simply existed, a new rhythm established in our lives. Sex felt distant, almost forgotten, replaced by the primal instinct of caretaking and the quiet joy of watching her nurse. But the pull of desire never truly vanishes, and I found myself increasingly drawn to my wife, not just as a mother, but as a woman. It wasn't a conscious choice, more like a slow, inevitable shift in my perspective. Seeing her nurture our child sparked a deep respect, a sense of awe for her strength and vulnerability. Yet, beneath that admiration, the old familiar heat simmered, a controlled burn waiting to be unleashed.

We’d always enjoyed the freedom of nudity in our home, but the birth of our daughter had subtly altered our routines. The intimacy we shared felt different now, infused with the responsibility of protecting our family. It wasn’t until two weeks after the doctor gave us the all-clear that we finally succumbed to the temptation. Still, we were cautious, prioritizing our daughter’s needs. But the anticipation hung heavy in the air, a silent promise of what was to come.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting day of diaper changes and feedings, I was lounging in my shorts, watching her prepare for bed. She emerged from the bath, a vision in a satin shirt and skirt, her body glistening with moisture. As she removed her panties and placed them in the laundry basket, a jolt of heat shot through me. The baby, nestled against her side, seemed oblivious to the burgeoning desire in my heart. A primal erection seized me, a testament to the raw power of instinct. It felt both shameful and exhilarating, a potent blend of guilt and lust.

The sight of her vulnerability, her exposed form, ignited a fire within me. I slowly extended my hand, hovering over her backside, a silent invitation. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her head, a playful smile gracing her lips, and said, “Let me finish with the baby.” It was a subtle command, a gentle push towards what I craved. As she turned her attention back to our daughter, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her shirt, I slowly slid my hand playfully inside her satin skirt from below, seeking a deeper connection. Her touch was light, teasing, a prelude to the storm brewing within me. She tilted her head, studying me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. "Let me finish with the baby," she repeated, her voice a low hum of pleasure.

The baby, sensing the shift in energy, let out a contented sigh and drifted off to sleep in the cradle. With a swift movement, I removed my own clothing, shedding the last vestiges of restraint. My wife, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, crawled over me, her body brushing against mine. She pressed her lips to mine, a passionate kiss that sealed the moment. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Please don’t wait, I’m hungry.” I responded with another kiss, a slow, deliberate exploration of her lips, before gently placing her on the bed and leaning down to claim her nipple. “Shall I have my share?” I asked, my voice a low rumble of invitation. Her nod confirmed my suspicions, and I began to suckle, the sweet milk a delicious nectar flowing into my mouth. As I did, she slowly removed her shirt and skirt, revealing her naked form. The sight of her uninhibited beauty sent a wave of heat through my veins.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment, darling,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. She crawled back onto me, her body molding against mine, and kissed my lips once more. "Please don't wait, I'm hungry." I obliged, my hands exploring her curves, while my mouth found its pleasure in her generous breasts. We moved as one, a synchronized dance of lust and intimacy.

As our bodies intertwined, I slowly slid my cock inside her, feeling the warm, yielding welcome of her vaginal canal. Thrusting with deliberate force, I watched as her body writhed in response, a silent symphony of pleasure. Each thrust brought a fresh wave of anticipation, her moans of delight echoing in the room. The post-delivery loosening of her muscles made it incredibly easy, each movement a satisfying release. The scent of her arousal filled the air, intoxicating and overwhelming. Her pleasure deepened as she climaxed, a burst of intense sensation that sent shivers down my spine. She squirted the remaining milk from her breasts, a final offering of pleasure before we moved on to the next stage.

I helped her recover, pumping her breasts and collecting the precious fluid, sharing the sweet reward between us. As she lay beside me, panting with satisfaction, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of tenderness for her, for the incredible woman who had brought us this joy. We held each other close, lost in the afterglow of our shared experience, our bodies intertwined in a silent testament to our love. Finally, exhausted but content, we drifted off to sleep, clinging to each other in the darkness, our bodies a warm haven in the quiet solitude of our home.

The following night, our wife made a strategic move, placing large rubber sheets on the bed to absorb the evidence of our previous encounter. Nude once again, we lay side-by-side, sharing the baby. She began nursing our daughter, and I instinctively reached out to hug her, offering comfort and support. As she finished feeding, she turned her attention back to me, continuing the act of breastfeeding, this time with an even more generous flow. The sensation was exquisite, a primal connection that transcended words. The warmth of her milk coursed through my veins, leaving me feeling invigorated and alive.

As we continued to embrace and nurse our daughter, a strange shift began to occur. The act of breastfeeding seemed to amplify my desire, igniting a deeper connection between us. The sight of her, vulnerable and exposed, fueled my fantasies, while her warm, comforting touch soothed my soul. It was a bizarre but exhilarating experience, a fusion of nurturing and lust that left me both satisfied and restless.

One evening, I returned home to find my wife swimming in the pool, naked, in the cool evening air. The baby slept peacefully in the cradle, oblivious to the passionate encounter that awaited us. She beckoned me over, her eyes sparkling with invitation. "Why are you here so late?" I asked, my voice laced with curiosity. "Just wanted to relax," she replied, her tone playful. Without hesitation, I approached the pool and requested permission to join her after a shower. She swam towards me, her hands reaching out to rest on the pool wall, her breasts exposed to my eager gaze. "Come soon, darling," she whispered, "my breasts are heavy from over milk production, they badly need you to suck them." The thought sent a jolt of heat through my veins, solidifying my resolve.

As I stepped into the bath, I heard the baby crying, a sudden, urgent sound. Upon drying off, I found my wife sitting on the pool wall, holding the baby wrapped in a towel, feeding her. The sight of her naked form in that setting was both shocking and intensely arousing. It was clear that the next stage of our exploration was about to begin. I slowly approached her, sitting beside her and embracing our baby from behind. She confessed that she felt more aroused than usual while feeding the child, a sentiment that only intensified my own feelings.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she pinched my nipple and pressed her breasts, her voice a seductive murmur. "That’s for me," she whispered, her body arching slightly in response to my touch. I slid my hand into her pussy, feeling the warmth and wetness of her vaginal canal, and slowly began to explore her depths, her moans of pleasure filling the air. She requested that I feed on the other side, and I obliged, sharing my love and lust with both her and our precious child. As we continued our passionate encounter, the baby’s stomach filled, and we gently placed her back in her cradle. Without missing a beat, we resumed our erotic wife breast feeding session, lost in a world of pleasure and intimacy.

As I drank from her, she positioned her breasts towards my mouth, squeezing them gently to release the delicious liquid. She told me to lie on her lap and suckle, and I obliged, savoring every drop of her sweet milk. Her one hand caressed my cock, while the other supported my head, drawing me closer to her warmth. I began to suckle slowly, letting the milk flow freely, feeling the pleasure build within me. She climaxed with a sudden shiver, and at that moment, she sprayed all her remaining milk over me, a final, intoxicating offering.

Simultaneously, she made me climax with her soft hands, her touch sending waves of pleasure through my body. When I finished, we both collapsed onto the bed, exhausted but utterly satisfied. The scent of milk and sweat hung in the air, a tangible reminder of our shared experience. From that day forward, wife breast feeding became a cherished ritual, a cornerstone of our intimate lives, a testament to the enduring power of desire and connection. It continued for quite a long time, a beautiful cycle of pleasure and nurturing, until one day when I returned home and found my wife swimming in the pool, naked, just as before. The baby was sleeping soundly in the cradle, unaware of the passionate encounter that awaited us. The memory of those nights, filled with lust, desire, and explicit content, remained etched in my mind, a constant reminder of the incredible woman I had chosen to share my life with.

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