Milk At The Movies

We went to the drive-in, like teenagers from another generation. The movie was terrible, the sound cutting out on the radio every few minutes. You gave me a long hungry look, jerking your chin toward the back seat when I finally met your eyes. We abandoned the popcorn and got in the back.

We kissed for awhile, giggling over the circumstances of it all, teased each other about the last time we'd made out in the back of a car. I was wearing a nursing top, but only because it looked good. I didn't have other ideas about tonight. But you reached between the two layers and tugged the bottom one down. I could feel the elastic under my breast, my nipple suddenly poking through the outer layer. I shook my head. Come on. What if someone sees?

I felt your hand tighten on the back of my neck, your fingers sliding up into my hair. Felt the air between us shift. Felt myself start to slip a little.

That's the point. You said. Let them look. Let them be jealous of me and my little milk cow. You stroked a thumb along my nipple to make your point, then slipped your head under my shirt.

I gasp as your finger slips into my pussy. I think about what would happen if someone saw - my dress rucked up around my hips, your finger inside me, your mouth on my breast, milk dripping from my other nipple, staining my shirt. But I can't think about that now. You need me. I shift my hips, angling. You'll settle more once you've come. Once the tension is gone and you can just relax into it. You don't need to worry about a thing. I'm plenty wet and you know it. Ready for you when you need me.

Two fingers. I arch as I feel the stretch, my chest heaving as I take you in. You curl your fingers inside me, insistent, hungry. I want. "Baby," I whisper. "Can I touch?"

You shake your head against my breast, bringing your thumb to my clit. Just holding it there. Not rubbing, not stroking, just letting the pressure build while I lift my hips and try to get more friction. You do your best to pin me down, sucking hard, a bite. I get the message. Mine is not to seek. Just to take what I'm given.

"Please?" I whimper. "I'll make you feel so good. You can keep feeding. Just sit up and let me ride you."

I cup my hand around the back of your head, lift my breast with the other, tease your lips with the nipple.

"That's it." Your hands ride up my back, pull me close as you keep feeding. Suck, suck, swallow. Suck, suck, swallow. Long pulls that go straight to my pussy. I shift you to the other side, you feeling me squeeze you with every suck. I lean in close, my fingers weaving in your hair, massaging the back of your neck.

"Let me touch?" I ask again, breathy and pleading. "Let me come with you, let me make you come? You know you need it. I can feel how tense you are. Just let me take care of both of us. It'll all feel better, I promise."

I lean back against the front seat of the car so I can reach my clit and start rubbing, my breasts jiggling and bouncing as I get into it, grinding into your lap. You paw at me, running your hands over my soft belly, wiping up droplets of milk with your thumb and licking it. At one point, you slip two fingers into my mouth. I tongue the soft space between them, sucking hard, working them over, so close to the edge. I open my mouth, gasping, my words muffled by your fingers on my tongue, but you know what I'm asking. "Please? Please can I come?"

Your permission sends me over the edge, curled over, breathing hard around your fingers. You pull them out and hold me close as you start to come, your hips driving up against me, muffling your shouts into my chest. And then suddenly, softness takes over. We breathe hard, slowing down. You tuck my hair behind my ear. I wipe your fingers on my shirt, bring my fingers up to your mouth. I feel your cock twitch inside me as you taste me on my fingers. You lay me back down, latch on, your hand cupped against my pussy. As your come starts to leak out of me, you bring your hand to my face for me to clean. I sigh, my milk flowing easy now. All the tension leaves you. "That's it, baby boy. It's all for you."

On the way home, you make me keep my breast hanging out of my top, my skirt still hiked up past my hips. It's late. We stop at a red light, and a lone other car pulls up beside us. I look straight ahead, trying to pretend there's no one there. But you tell me, "put your feet up on the dash." I tremble and blush, but I do, skirt protectively down past my knees. You shove it back, fingers on my clit. I wince as the other car honks, the sound of a male voice cheering at you through the open window.