Taboo

When you’ve been married to a guy for eight years and you’ve had a couple of kids with him, you figure you know that guy pretty well. If, by happy coincidence, the two of you are compatibly perverted-as is the case with Keith and me-eight years is enough time to get to get to know each others’ sexual preferences quite well. We’d discovered a common affinity for bondage and S/M long before we got married, for example, and we kept right on finding new ways to scratch that itch even after having two kids.

Before our vacation last year I would have said that there were no taboos between us, no secret sex fantasies that we wouldn’t share with one another. I would have been wrong.

At the time of our vacation I was in the process of weaning our baby; Keith and I weren’t going to take him (or his older brother) with us. This would have been a problem a couple of months ago, back when my breasts became uncomfortably full after just a few hours away from the baby’s eager little mouth. But now he was down to nursing once a day, and I wasn’t producing much milk. I decided that it would also be safe to leave my loathsome little electric breast pump at home. (Using a breast pump to get milk out is like using a string and doorknob to extract a tooth-it works, but it’s not exactly something you do for fun.)

So we left the pump, but we packed plenty of toys. We filled a small suitcase with wrist and ankle restraints, a couple of ropes, a posture collar, a blindfold, and a nice selection of whips. After all, a good vacation requires the proper gear. We packed our stuff in the car, waved bye-bye to the kids and their grandma, and drove for five hours to get to the hotel where we were staying. I spent most of the first evening hog-tied, collared, and blindfolded, being spanked and fucked silly. A most auspicious beginning.

But by the second evening, I knew I’d made a mistake, breast-wise–my boobs had become uncomfortably engorged with milk. They felt like basketballs and were becoming more painful with every passing hour. I knew from past experience that if I didn’t do something to relieve the pressure I was going to end up with a breast infection, which would be a real vacation killer. Unfortunately, I’d never been good at expressing milk by hand-I needed a baby or a pump, and at that point I had neither.

I told Keith that we had a small problem.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked, concerned.

“No, and anyway we couldn’t get there fast enough.” I told him.

“Well, should I go try to get you a breast pump?”

I didn’t answer him, because I’d already come up with another solution.

“Can you suck on me? I mean, really suck, and empty the milk out?”

Keith didn’t respond, and I felt my cheeks flush. During the periods when I had been breastfeeding, he had kneaded my breasts, he’d licked them, and he’d occasionally gently bitten them or sucked them for a moment. But he had never tried “nursing,” as I was asking him to do now. He just never seemed interested. Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe the idea grossed him out. Maybe the reason he wasn’t answering was that he was sitting there thinking, “Ewww.”

I felt like I’d asked him to help me pee or something.

But finally he said, “Ok, why don’t you lie down on your back and take off your shirt.”

I climbed on the bed and obediently did as he asked, stretching my arms above my head and closing my eyes. I felt like there were two big cantaloupes pressing on my chest. Keith lay down beside me and circled one of my nipples with a wet finger. Immediately it hardened and strained upward, becoming an inviting target just as Mother Nature intended. He leaned over, took it into his warm mouth, and began sucking.

His suck was much different than the baby’s. It was rougher, and I felt his teeth more. I wasn’t sure this was going to work; my breasts were programmed to yield their milk to a small, soft baby mouth. But he kept at it and suddenly I felt the familiar tingling in my breast that signaled that the milk was “letting down,” that the sacs inside were contracting and forcing the milk out to the nipple. I’d been known to shoot an arc of milk to a distance of eight inches when I let down in the shower; I felt myself shooting milk into the back of Keith’s throat now. I tensed up for a moment, worried that I might gag him, but then I felt him swallow and start sucking again.

After a few minutes he developed a rhythm: suck-suck-swallow, suck-suck-swallow. He appeared to be in it for the long haul, so I began to relax and focus on the sensations, not thinking about whether he liked it or he didn’t. Not thinking about whether this was weird or it wasn’t. Just… feeling.

His body was half on top of mine, his head bent to my breast. I became aware that he was getting a hard-on. I felt an electric shock as I realized that he was definitely not turned off. He appeared to be thinking the opposite of “Ewww.” As he sucked, he rubbed his dick against my thigh insistently, and my cunt unexpectedly started throbbing in response.

Keith moved one of his hands from my breast down to my crotch and slipped it inside my panties. I was already getting slick and I swear he must have been able to feel the throbbing with his fingers. Suck-suck-swallow, suck-suck swallow. A hot line ran straight from the nipple he was sucking all the way down to my clit. He put three fingers inside of me and rubbed the heel of his hand against me, making big, slow circles. My hips moved to meet him.

After a few minutes he rolled his body completely on top of mine and switched his mouth to my other breast. I groaned as I let down again-the feeling of release is, in some small way, similar to an orgasm. He finished off that breast quickly, much more quickly than the first. Then he shifted his body upwards to kiss me, and I tasted traces of my own milk, much sweeter than the stuff at the grocery store. I could feel his cock pushing against the center of my panties. He was actually forcing himself partway inside of me, with the thin lace forming only the flimsiest of barriers. The feel of him in me, but not in me, was making me crazy.

I could tell from the way he began to crush my mouth under his and thrust faster against me that he was on the verge of losing control. He yanked my panties aside and pushed inside me, fucking me hard. He was so horny that he came within a minute, but he was courteous enough to keep moving and rubbing until I came, too, about 30 seconds later.

Afterwards, he lay there panting, collapsed on top of me.

“Oh, my,” I said. “Why didn’t we ever do that before?”

“I was too embarrassed to ask,” he answered, sounding slightly sheepish.

I looked up at him, thinking that he was full of surprises. Thinking that even the most open-minded of perverts can have unexpected taboos. Thinking that maybe it was too soon to wean the baby after all.

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