Only Mother's Milk

copyright 2002 axel the swede

Jamar slammed the door to the room he had once shared with his brother. He leaned against the wall, his heart racing. His first day home, and already it had started, he thought. One look at his mother, breastfeeding his new sister, had been enough to bring all the powerful feelings back.

He was home to work for the summer in San Diego. The University of Michigan seemed very far away. But, his visions of Brigid Carlson were not dulled by distance. They were so real.

He closed his eyes and let his head bump back against the wall. The arousal he had endured, through stolen glances at Brigid as she breastfed her newborn son, would continue. But now, his summer torture would be at the hands of his own mother. He wondered what offense he had committed against the fates. Why did he long to touch what could not be touched, to taste such forbidden nectar?

Soft knocking on the door brought him back to the moment. “Jamar, you are upset, my son. Please open the door. Talk to me.”

He turned and grasped the doorknob. He willed his body to relax, to assume a calm exterior. Jamar cherished his mother, Amita. She had always been his buffer between him and the father who ruled his sons, and his house, with an iron will.

Jamar looked into his mother’s dark eyes. Like so many thousands of times before, he was taken with her beauty. She was just a bit shorter than Jamar’s five foot, ten inch height. Her dark hair, falling in gentle curls to frame her soft features, had yet to see a trace of gray. Her body, under the loose wraps of her golden colored sari, was the epitome of the female form.

“Here, I made you tea. Sit and drink. Calm yourself. When you are ready, come up to my chambers. We can sit and talk. The light there, this time of the afternoon, is so peaceful.”

He took the delicate cup from his mother’s hand. “I am calm now, mother. I will follow you.”

They made their way through the hall to the stairs. Jamar fell back a few steps to allow his mother to lead the way. As they climbed, he couldn’t help but take in the beautiful flow of her movements. The sari is such an amazing garment, he thought. Wrapped loosely on a mature woman, her physical charms were hinted and teased at, rather than brazenly displayed.

They stepped into the three room suite that took up almost all of the upstairs portion of the house. The first room had a long couch and two comfortable chairs arranged around a low table. Three narrow windows, extending almost floor to ceiling, were covered by dark red drapes. Sun shining from the west gave the room a muted, rosy hue.

“Are we alone, mother?”

She turned to him and motioned toward one of the soft chairs. “Your father has your brother at his new store. We will not see them until late, I think. And, little Niru is sleeping.”

Jamar sat, careful not to spill his tea. “My new sister is a beautiful child. She seems to be a happy little one.”

Amita sat gracefully in the other chair and smiled. “She is a joy to me. I know you were surprised when I told you I was with child again. With you and your brother grown, you must have wondered what we were thinking.”

Jamar nodded. “I confess, Jagdish and I engaged in some speculation.”

They laughed together, breaking the tension that had built up between them. Their conversation flowed after that. Jamar brought his mother up to date on his experiences at school. Amita shared family news from the months just passed. A half hour flew by as mother and son renewed their shared love and mutual respect.

Amita poured tea for both of them. Her manner turned serious. “My son, I sense a sadness in you. What is troubling you?”

Jamar picked up his cup, hesitating as he tried to gather his thoughts. “You know me well, mother. I am not sure I can share my troubles.”

“I saw the look on your face when you saw little Niru suckling my breast. I saw your pain. Can it be feelings of jealousy are filling your heart?”

Jamar shook his head. “No, no, mother. Seeing you and Niru is such a beautiful thing. I love my little sister. She will always have my affection and a big brother to help her any way I can.”

“What then, my son? Why did that sight cause you such pain?”

He knew his only option was the complete truth. His mother would see right through any attempt at subterfuge. She would conclude that he was indeed, jealous. And that would trouble her every time they were together.

Jamar sighed and stared down into his cup. “I fear I have been bewitched, mother. A woman, totally unavailable to me, has captured my thoughts in ways I never believed possible.”

“This woman, she rejects you because of our race?”

“No, mother, nothing like that. She is married and has a child just a month older than Niru.”

“How could a woman in such a position bewitch you? I don’t understand.”

Jamar leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “I must tell you the whole story, mother. I pray you can help me. I need your wisdom.”

Of course. Please tell me everything. I want to help you. Then I will ask you to hear the truth of our situation here. I hope we can help each other and ease our troubled minds.”

“Is it father? Has he done something?”

“Do not jump to conclusions. Let us deal with your situation first. I want to hear about this woman who troubles your mind. I was wrong to mention the situation here so soon. Please tell me your story.”

Jamar nodded and said, “Her name is Brigid Carlson. I tutor her husband, Rick, in two of our classes. We meet at their apartment twice a week. They have just one big room with a kitchen in one corner, a bed in another corner. It’s in an older house, in Ann Arbor.

“While I work with Rick, she is there. She nurses her baby right there in front of us. I confess, watching her quickly became a fascination for me. At other times, those mental images of her breastfeeding have occupied my mind.”

Amita asked, “Does she flaunt her breasts while she does this?”

Jamar considered for a moment. “She is a very open, friendly person. I don’t think she realized the effect she had on me at first.”

“But, later?”

“As time went on, I think, yes, I’m sure she knew very well what she was doing. It became a sort of game between us. She enjoyed teasing me. I’m sure it became a sexual thrill for her.”

Amita busied herself by pouring more tea. “And what of her husband. Did he realize what was going on? Did he fight with you, to defend his wife?”

“He pretended not to notice at first. Then, I think he came to enjoy some kind of thrill out of my watching. He enjoyed the fact that I was seeing his wife’s large breasts in their naked glory. Last week he even told me that, after one of our classes. He said both he and Brigid would miss my visits during the summer.”

Amita shook her head slowly. “I have a hard time understanding that. I believe you, Jamar. But, I don’t understand it. Tell me what exactly went on when you visited their home.”

“I think they waited for me to arrive. When I walked in, Brigid’s breasts were usually straining against whatever she was wearing. Many times I would see where her milk had leaked, and caused dark circles where her nipples pressed again the material.”

“Rick and I sat at their kitchen table. Brigid sat in their big chair. I had only to glance up to see her, not ten feet away. When we got started into the books, she would gather up her son and start his feeding. At first, she would just unbutton her blouse from the bottom. She used those special bras, where each cup could be unfastened. In the past month she changed that. She just took off her top entirely, and wore no bra at all.”

He stopped talking as he saw his Mother’s eyebrows raise. “She sat with her breasts entirely exposed to your eyes?”

“Yes, and I abandoned my attempts at pretending not to watch. I stared openly, right in front of Rick. We didn’t get much done on the coursework. I watched her little boy drain whichever breast she offered him first. It was fascinating to look at the breast he was not feeding from. It swelled and the nipple became red and swollen too. I could see droplets of milk form on the little bumps of her large areolas. A large drop would usually form at the tip of her thick nipple and just hang there, suspended. Brigid would meet my eyes once in a while. Sometimes, she would wink at me. Most times she just smiled.”

“Then she would move her son to her other breast. After that, I would watch as she tensed the muscles in her upper thighs. A look of total contentment would come over her pretty face. Her breathing grew quicker. Then, the color would rise, first on the skin on her bare chest above her breasts. The color would spread up her neck, and into her face. I didn’t realize what that really meant the first few times I saw it. Then it dawned on me, she actually gained her release at those times.”

Amita shifted in her chair. She put her arms under her own swelling breasts and lifted them with her forearms. Jamar leaned forward and crossed his arms, resting forearms near his knees. Describing an encounter with Brigid had caused his cock to grow hard. He tried to hide the tent he had made in the front of his pants from his mother.

Amita said, “There can be no doubt, my son. This woman was using you for her own pleasure. Do I need to ask what effect her wanton behavior had on you?”

Jamar chuckled, grateful for the little break in the tension he was feeling. “I sought out the only remedy at hand.”

Amita laughed first, quickly joined by her son. Jamar wanted to leap up and hug her. Once again she had become his refuge from the things that troubled his mind. For all his pretensions of maturity, he was still his mother’s little boy. Her gentle manner and ability to listen and understand him were the perfect medicine for his ailing mind.

“What were your feelings when you watched, Jamar? What was the depth of your desires then?”

Jamar didn’t hesitate. “I wanted to go to her. I wanted to drop to my knees and take that swollen red nipple between my lips. I wanted to taste her nectar and drain that plump breast until she begged me to stop. And then I wanted to take her to the bed. I wanted to strip her naked and lay her out with her legs spread. I wanted to bury my root between her legs and just have her. I wouldn’t have even cared if her husband watched. I would have loved her with more power than she had ever seen. I would have poured my seed deep inside her, making a child if that was to be.”

Amita had sat quietly, letting her son give voice to his frustration. She felt the heat that had risen inside her, as she had listened. A solution passed through her mind, not for the first time that afternoon. She stood on trembling knees and looked down at her son.

“Try to calm yourself, Jamar. I must leave you for a minute.”

Jamar nodded. He watched her walk into the next room, the bed chamber she shared with his father. He sat back, aware of the weight that had been lifted from his clouded mind. His sexual tension was still very much there. But, it had become a managable ache. Something to be dealt with later.

He was jolted from his introspection as he heard, “Jamar, come to me, my son.”

Without thinking he stood, arranging his manhood for comfort. He stepped to the doorway and stopped. Amita was on the big bed, laying on her side, her sari loosely covering the curves of her body. “Come and lay with me, Jamar. Let me share my secrets like I shared yours.”

He crossed the short distance, kicking off his shoes as he went. He moved next to her on the soft surface, taking a position on his side. Amita had one arm stretched above her head. Dark silk pillows supported her upper body. Jamar moved close, his face resting at the level of her neck.

She put her hand on the side of his face. “Beautiful Jamar, my first born. I remember the time when you suckled my breasts, like it was yesterday. You drank your fill so slowly. I always felt like my milk was giving you protection you would need out in the world. My milk would make you strong and smart and able to conquer anything you chose to do.”

Jamar stared into his mother’s beautiful dark eyes let her words make him float along on a state of bliss. Her touch was magic, making him forget his months of frustration. She hummed a gentle tune from her childhood in India, before speaking again.

“I will make you forget that wanton little tease back in Ann Arbor. She will pass from your mind like she was never there, and trouble you no more.”

Jamar let his eyes close. He felt her touch leave the side of his face. Then, he heard the soft sound of rustling cloth. His mind filled with hope and anticipation.

He slowly opened his eyes. He looked into his Mother’s eyes. Her look was angelic, with nothing held back. He glanced down. Her soft hand craddled her exposed breast, offering the swollen nipple for his pleasure.

Jamar slowly moved to bring his lips to the dark, firm tip of her engorged breast. When his hot breath touched her exposed offering she moaned, and her body trembled. Jamar let his tongue extend and tease the hard center, tasting and preparing it for his coming feast.

The connection was completed. Jamar’s lips circled her areola and pulled her tender flesh into his mouth. The flow of her milk washed over his tongue as he swallowed greedily. Her nectar warmed him, soothed him, loved him with a power beyond all measure.

Amita put her hand on the back of his head. She pulled him tight, letting her melody begin again. She knew Jamar was hers again, protected from the temptations of hungry women. He was home.

Jamar suckled gently. His manhood rose to rock hardness again, pressure building deep inside his loins. He brought up his hand, to caress the fullness of his Mother’s breast. Her softness was further fuel to his desire.

The electric numbness built to the breaking point. Jamar knew his explosion was at hand. The first spurt inside his pants confirmed it. The next spurt was pure release. Touched only by the confines of his clothes, his orgasm went on and on.

His tension finally eased. The flow of precious milk from his mother’s breast grew less and less. He wanted to shift his position and suckle the other one. But, he knew he should wait for her to make that move.

Her hand returned to the side of his face. Amita pushed him gently away from her empty breast. Jamar let the nipple slip from between his lips, one quick swirl of his tongue taking the final drop of his mother’s nectar.

He looked up into her eyes and said, “I cannot tell you what exquisite pleasure that was for me, my mother. I love you more than life itself.”

Amita put her finger to his lips. “Shush with such talk, Jamar. The pleasure was mine too. Little Niru is a delicate child. She seldom feeds long enough to relieve me of all my milk.”

Jamar shifted his position and moved higher on the pillows. He wanted to kiss his mother’s full lips and love her in ways he knew was forbidden. He said, “You mentioned before, the situation here. Tell me now what you meant by that.”

She relaxed, letting her head rest fully on her extended arm. “I too have been visited by cruel fates. But, I must admit, I brought it all on myself.”

“Tell me your troubles, mother. I hope I can listen and offer you wisdom.”

Amita looked into his eyes and let a resigned smile cross her lips. “I was fearful as I carried your new sister. I sought out the advice of women my age, in my situation. I went to classes about childbirth. Everyone said I had to bring your father into the actual delivery. That is the modern way here in America. Fathers do what they call coaching, helping with breathing, rubbing the mother’s back through the contractions.”

“Your father did not want to do it. I implored him to reconsider. I admit, I used every argument, some fair, some probably not so fair.”

Jamar felt her pain. “Did he relent? Did he go into the delivery room?”

She nodded and said, “Yes, he did. I fear it was the worst mistake in all the years your father and I have been together. He was shocked by the experience. The hospital people finally just pushed him aside. He just stood and watched, more fear and pain than I had ever seen in him.”

“How is he now, mother?”

Amita cast her eyes down at the pillows. “You father has not touched me, has not shared my bed since that day. My mistake has turned him cold. It is all my fault. Bearing children has always been a burden borne by women. For me to believe that had changed was lunacy. Now I live with the results of my folly.”

“After the birth he insisted I get the operation to prevent another child. I agreed, thinking that would somehow make amends. It had no effect.”

Jamar considered before saying, “Do you think he will change?”

Amita let her fingertips trace along his jawline. “He will not speak of it. Time alone will give me the answer. Either he will return to my bed, or we will grow old without joy.”

Jamar covered her hand with his own. “Is there anything I can do, mother?”

She let his words hang in the intimate space between them. Her mind raced with more questions than answers. Finally, the moment arrived. She leaned closer to her son and whispered, “Touch me, my son. Touch me there and let me feel like a whole woman again.”

Jamar understood her meaning as her words touched his ears. His desire rose like a shooting star. With a trembling hand he reached down between their bodies. His fingers found the cloth of her sari just above her knees. He pulled it up and up farther.

When his touch found the bare skin of her thigh, she rolled more onto her back. Her legs slowly spread as she pulled a deep breath in through her mouth. His touch continued higher and higher. When he touched the swollen softness of her outer lips, she moaned and shifted her hips to meet his fingers.

Jamar felt the wetness of her aroused sex and knew there was no turning back for either of them. He rose on the bed. He quickly moved to a position on his knees, between his mother’s spread legs. He pulled his hand back and quickly opened his pants. After one quick tug his clothes were bunched just above his knees.

His cock was fully erect, the tip swollen the size of a ripe plum. Amita looked down at her son, poised to fill her need. She smiled as she took in the size of his manhood. She called out, “Fill me, my son. You are my young stallion.”

Jamar leaned forward, taking the weight of his upper body on his hands and arms. His rigid member found her entrance. The sweet wet tightness of her pussy pulled him into her after just three eager strokes. He pushed his cock deep and started moving. Each full stroke brought his hard cockhead to the place just inside her swollen lips, then back in with all the power he could deliver.

Amita closed her eyes and let her head turn from side to side. His manly power renewed her spirit and let her revisit sensations she had missed for so long. She pulled aside the last of her sari covering her breast, presenting the untouched fullness of the breast Jamar had not suckled.

Jamar looked down at her nakedness. The breast he had drained lolled soft and pliant, jiggling with each stroke of his cock. The other was swollen plump and full, almost begging for the touch of his lips. Her nipple stood firm and inviting.

He rocked back slightly and gripped his mother’s bare bottom with both hands. Then, he bent forward at his waist, still stroking fully into her pussy. He leaned down and covered her dark nipple with his lips. Her milk filled his mouth as he began sucking greedily.

“Oh, yes, my son. Drink from my breast while you fill me with your manhood. I love it. I love it so much!”

Jamar was in heaven. The combined sensation of burying his root in his mother’s sex and suckling the hot milk from her breast was driving him beyond desire. He was beyond thought, beyond reason, into a place he had never dared dream of.