Mother's Mil

SUMMARY: With innocent intentions, Josh offers to help his mother relieve pressure from her swollen breasts after his newborn sister stops drinking from her. See how the two of them deal with the unexpected reactions their bodies have. This is a multi-POV story, switching back and forth between Josh and his mom, Jenni. Note that there are many scenes involving breast milk.

All characters in this story are 18 or older.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: At this point, I don't have any plans to write additional chapters for this story. This one was self-edited. Please excuse any typos I missed! Lastly, don't hesitate to reach out to me. I love hearing from you guys!

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction. Any character resemblances to real life personae are strictly coincidental. It is copyrighted. And copying, re-posting, storing (whether digitally or in print form) or redistribution of this material is prohibited.

[[1 ~ Jenni]]

This may sound funny, but I've always prided myself on the size of my breasts. I'm pretty small in general, not being very tall nor wide. Despite my petite frame, my cup size had been a solid "C" since I was sixteen. However, I've been pregnant twice, and both times my boobs expanded enough that I had to bump my bras one size larger, going from C-cups to D-cups (and one band size bigger, too.) And that boost was really quite meaty on such a small body. I didn't mind, of course. As I said, I liked my boobs. But then something unexpected happened...

Actually, let me give you some back story first. Quickly, mind you. First of all, my name is Jenni. My husband, Jack, died a year ago. It was tragic and horrific and completely ruined my life at first. We had a son together named Josh. It was his eighteenth birthday when it happened, so the loss was especially bad for him. It was bad for both of us. I was devastated the first month after it happened. But then I had a whole different problem to worry about.

You see, I discovered I was pregnant. My husband had knocked me up the day before he died. And I found out a month later when I missed my period. We weren't trying for another baby. It just happened, as these things do.

Josh and I were still trying to cope with everything that had changed in our lives since the accident. One such change was the fact that we grew closer that month. We spent a lot of time with each other. And then I found out I was pregnant. As soon as I told my son, an instantaneous transformation took place with him. He became an adult overnight. One day, he was just a kid. And the next, he became a man. He had been all ready to go to college, but he postponed it. He said he wanted to make sure I was ok. And all that.

And so, for the next eight months, my son stayed home with me. He worked, making money so I didn't have to. I mean, he truly and completely assumed the role my husband had inadvertently left behind. He became the main breadwinner of the family. Of course, the family was just the two of us, until the baby was born. But still. It was endearing. And sweet. And Josh quickly became the love of my life.

Alright. Fast forward a bit. I gave birth to my daughter, Emma. She was the sweetest baby in the universe. Like, super, super sweet. She was way better than her older brother as a baby. He had been so fussy, always needing attention and waking me up multiple times a night. Not so with Emma. Once I put her down for the night, she was out like a light. It was... perfect, honestly.

Meanwhile, my son Josh didn't miss a beat. My daughter was born--his sister--and he just assumed the responsibilities that went with having a newborn in the house. Like, all of them. He continued to make the money to pay the bills. He gave me cash to go shopping. He watched his sister when I needed a break. He did everything that my husband should have been doing. Every time I got ultra-emotional, Josh was there. He consoled me. He held me when I just needed to cry. He massaged me when I just needed to relax. For all intents and purposes, he became... the man of the house.

Which leads me to the crux of my story. Or at least the beginning of the crux. I don't even know what you call that. Is this like a prologue or something? Crap. I should look that up. Whatever. You get the point. Let's fast forward. Husband dead, yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't take that for me being callous. I'm not. It's just that it's been over a year, and because of the new baby, I simply had to push past my grieving. Son took over dad duties. Baby born. Right. Would you get on with it already, lady?

How about we start one month after Emma was born? Yeah? Happy? Good. That's where I'll start.

For the first three weeks after Emma was born, there were absolutely no issues with feeding her. At all. She latched onto my nipples easily. My milk flowed for her. She drank and drank and drank and kept them rather deflated. She seemed happy. I was happy. Life was good.

But it was that fourth week when something changed. Emma just... stopped drinking my milk. I spent a full day trying to figure out what I had changed in my diet. But I finally concluded that I hadn't changed anything. She just simply stopped wanting my milk. I was forced to start making formula milk. That, she drank with no abandon. Like it was water. Or like it was full of sugar, which it was. In any case, she loved it. But she wouldn't drink from me anymore.

At first, I just sort of shrugged it off. No big deal. The second stage was for me to start to worry. What was wrong with my breast milk? That was my main thought. But not long after that, I started wondering if something was wrong with my daughter? Why didn't she want the natural milk that was there for her? And finally, I accepted it. I read numerous articles about it and decided that it wasn't abnormal. There wasn't anything wrong with her. Or me, for that matter. She just preferred something other than my breast milk. Fine. I get it. No big deal!

Except my breasts were a big deal. And growing. Daily. Christ. After a week of getting no attention whatsoever, they were so full, it was sometimes hard to concentrate. My body was still trying to provide milk for my daughter, but she wasn't draining it from me anymore. I started to look that up online. I found so many articles, it wasn't even funny. But most of them agreed that what I was experiencing was normal, and that the sensation would go away eventually. I guess that meant my body would get to a point where it stopped producing so much milk. Based on what I studied, it seemed that female bodies would attempt to produce exactly how much milk was needed and then some. The "and then some" was for emergencies, just in case. The problem was,

none

of it was being used, including the "and then some".

But fuck! My tits were aching! And huge.

Finally, one night, I was sitting on the couch feeling uncomfortable as usual. My breasts just felt... bloated. My son was there, and we were watching something on tv. I honestly don't even remember what it was. I had put Emma to bed a half hour before, and I was just trying to zone out. My boobs were uncomfortable, but that was normal. I just needed time to relax and not think about my daughter.

My son, perceptive as he was, suddenly said, "Uh, mom? Your breasts are leaking."

My eyes opened wide, and I glanced down at my chest. Shit! My shirt was stained with two big, dark wet spots near each breast. Ah jeez. That was a little embarrassing. I lifted my arms to cover the wet spots and shrugged at my son, my cheeks turning red. "Uh, thanks?" I offered.

He stared at me for a minute and then shrugged too. Then he said casually, "It's not a big deal. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just thought I'd point it out."

"I guess I should change," I said absently, not getting up.

"Why?" Josh asked.

Glancing at him, he was staring at my crossed arms over my chest. "Uh, because it's gross?" I offered. Duh?

He shrugged, looking up at me as he said, "Nah. It's not gross. Besides, if you change, you'll probably just leak on the next shirt, too." As usual, he was being his casual self, lifting my spirits with his calm certainty.

I smiled at him and said, "Ah, you're right." After a few seconds, I sighed and said, "They're just so bloated all the time since Emma won't drink anymore."

"That's normal though, isn't it?" he asked, curious. He was frowning a little, though.

"I guess so," I said. After hesitating a minute, I asked, "It doesn't gross you out?" Slowly lowering my arms, I put my hands in my lap again, trying not to be embarrassed about my wet shirt.

He made a noise with his mouth, rolling his eyes as he said, "C'mon mom. Why would that gross me out? I used to drink the stuff myself." He was grinning. He turned his head, looking away from me and then said softly, "Come to think of it, I'm thirsty."

I couldn't help but laugh while at the same time, my face turned bright red. An image flashed in my mind of my son drinking my milk. But then I realized he was looking toward the kitchen. Oh. He hadn't meant he was thirsty for my breast milk. My face became even more flush. Oh jeez. I looked away.

"Why are you blushing again?" Josh asked and I shook my head, looking anywhere but at him. "Mom?" he asked softly. When I still didn't answer, it clicked. "Oh. Oh! You thought I was making a joke about being thirsty... for those?" he nodded toward my chest.

If my face got any redder, I thought I might pass out from blood loss elsewhere. But I nodded at him and said faintly, "Uh, yeah."

I thought he would laugh, but he didn't. After a few seconds, I glanced at him. He was staring at my chest. At my breasts. At the two ever-growing damp circles. I had never felt so embarrassed around him before. Even when he had walked in on me naked in the bath a few weeks before Emma was born. He spoke softly, "Would it help?"

I lifted my head slowly, staring at him. Two worlds collided in my head. The one world where this was my son, my little boy. He was brilliant and handsome, athletic and could do anything. Truly, anything. I had been in love with him since the day he was born. He had breastfed until he was almost three. Longer than was necessary, but my breasts had just kept producing milk for him. And he had hungrily continued demanding them. He learned to read by the time he was five. And by then, he had long since stopped needing diapers. Ultimately, he excelled at everything.

But the other world was new. I don't know exactly when it started, but that moment, sitting on the couch near my son, was the first time the two worlds had ever been in contest. This other world was one where my son had ceased behaving like my little boy, and started acting like my husband instead. No son would ask a question like Josh had just asked. At least not a grown son.

And so, I found myself considering it. Honestly. Would it help? If my son quenched his thirst on my tits? Sucked them until they deflated and relieved all this pressure? Josh was looking at me intently. How long had I been sitting there in silence? I finally muttered an answer, "I don't know." It seemed best. Why was he still looking at me? That image of him suckling milk from my breast bombarded my thoughts again and I finally looked away.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said finally, in a soft voice. I wasn't uncomfortable. I didn't know what I was feeling, but it wasn't discomfort. I shook my head, staring at the tv. I still had no idea what was even playing. "Sorry mom," my son said after I didn't say anything. He sounded a little... dejected?

I turned toward him and saw that he was staring off at nothing in particular. I stretched out my leg to reach him on the other end of the couch, brushing my toes against his hip. "You're sweet," I said softly.

Josh turned toward me. He stared intently. Then he smiled and said, "Thanks mom."

We went back to watching tv, I guess. At least, we pretended to. I pretended to. My mind was completely elsewhere. My breasts felt like they were throbbing. Absentmindedly, I started massaging one of them. One ached more than the other. Sometimes when I looked at them in the mirror, they appeared lopsided to me. The right one usually seemed bigger. I didn't think much of it. But right then, it was throbbing the most. I wrapped my hand around it, toward the front, and squeezed down just a little. That relieved a tiny bit of the pressure.

"Uh..." Josh's voice almost made me jump. I sometimes took for granted how comfortable I was around him. He had seen me nursing his sister many times. I never bothered trying to hide it from him, and he never seemed to mind. But I don't think I had ever massaged my tit in front of him. I looked his way, and he raised his eyebrows, nodding toward my chest.

Looking down, I let out a little squeal and hastily let go of my breast. The damp spot on my right breast was no longer a spot. My shirt was straight up soaked. Like, literally drenched. Dripping, even. I must have been pushing the milk out by squeezing my tit that way. I didn't have time to be embarrassed before reflex took over. I jumped up from the couch and turned toward the hallway.

Josh's hand closed on my wrist as I tried to walk, and the momentum made me swing around to face him instead. I came to an abrupt halt, staring down at him where he sat on the couch. My son was looking at me intently. Slowly his eyes drifted lower, to my chest. I could literally feel liquid trickling down my skin. My shirt was cold where it clung to my chest. I felt like I had unwittingly entered a wet t-shirt contest. Shivering as I stood there, I watched my son's eyes slide back up and meet mine again. Then another shudder rippled through me. He had a strange look on his face. The best way I could describe it was to say he looked passionately intense. Or intensely passionate. But there was so much compassion coming from him at that moment that my heart actually started racing.

"It might help," he said simply, still holding my hand.

I knew what he was talking about. But I pretended not to. Frowning, I narrowed my eyes, feigning ignorance. "Why are you holding my wrist?" I asked, instead of acknowledging what he had said.

Josh let go of my hand immediately and cleared his throat. Then he said, "Sorry mom. Go ahead... change your shirt."

I stared at him for a long, anxiety-filled moment, considering. What exactly was I considering? You guessed it. Letting my son try what he was hinting at trying. That image flashed in my head again. Only there was way more than just a visual that time. An entire parade of emotions and sensations came with it. Including one sensation that seemed to wriggle its way directly between my... Stop!

I fled.

[[2 ~ Josh]]

The living room felt empty after my mom left. She had just bolted from the room after I embarrassed the hell out of her. I didn't mean to do that. I honestly just wanted to help. I knew she was experiencing a lot of discomfort, and I thought I had a solution. My mom meant the whole world to me. And my little sister. The three of us were a family. And I intended for us to be a strong team. Since my dad died, it was all on me. Funny thing is, it didn't take any great effort for me to decide that. It just felt right. I had cancelled my plans for college and went and found a better job. I worked hard at it. I was the man of this house. And I had certain responsibilities.

And one of those who I was responsible for was mortified right at that moment. Thanks to me.

I stood, already knowing what I would say as I started down the hall. When I got to my mom's bedroom, her door was cracked. I didn't bother knocking. Pushing it open gently, I looked inside but didn't see her on her bed as I had expected. Turning my head to the left, I found her. She was in her bathroom. That door was wide open, and she stood before the mirror with her back to me. Her shirt was off, and in the reflection, I could see her examining her rather plump looking breasts.

Now, my mother is extremely small. She was maybe five foot two. She had an hourglass shape that looked stunning on her. She didn't look particularly fragile. Just... small. Despite being plump, her breasts were stunning. I honestly didn't think I had ever seen breasts as attractive as hers. They were considerably bigger than usual right then, which I normally wouldn't find myself attracted to. But somehow, knowing that they were big because they were literally full of milk made them rather appealing.

My mom's hair was blonde, with natural streaks of silver. It was wavy and hung perfectly on her shoulders. She had a petite face too, and her lips were tiny and thin, which I also found incredibly attractive. All around, she was a hottie. I saw how often she drew stares when we were out together. I never mentioned it, since I didn't really care. But I figured if I wasn't her son, I would give her a second look too.

Of course, there I was looking at her naked chest reflected in a mirror. But it wasn't like I hadn't seen her like that before. Recently, even, what with her breast feeding my little sister up until a few weeks ago. But yeah, I admit, I was taking a moment to admire them.

"Oh!" my mom exclaimed suddenly, noticing me standing there. Her eyes had lifted, and our gazes locked through the mirror. Her arms reflexively came up, covering her nipples. Her breasts were too big and she was too small to hide them completely. The swells made round crescents that extended to either side of her arms.

"Didn't mean to scare you, mom," I said, taking a step closer.

Her face started turning red again. She shook her head, "You didn't... I just, wasn't ready."

I frowned. Ready? Had she expected me to follow her? I glanced at her door, remembering that it had been open a crack. Curious. I looked back toward the mirror. She hadn't moved and she was still staring at me. I decided to take the bold but compassionate approach. I took another slow step forward and said, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable out there." Another step. "I just wanted to offer my help," I continued as I took another step, reaching the bathroom doorway. I was about four feet away from her back. Her bare back. I spoke softer, "I don't really mind, you know."

She stared at me without moving, without turning toward me. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. Her lower lip quivered gently. I probably wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been paying such close attention to the emotions written on her face. She looked anxious. I couldn't read her all the way, though. But she wasn't saying anything, which meant she wasn't telling me to leave. And she wasn't telling me she didn't want my help. My feet started moving, slowly inching me into the bathroom, until I was literally standing right behind her. Reaching out, I took hold of her shoulders and spun her around to face me. She looked up and I could see her lower lip tremble visibly.

My voice came out as a whisper as I looked down into her eyes, "It's ok mom."

Gently, I took hold of her fingers with each hand. Her trembling shifted to her entire body, like she got a sudden chill. I leaned a little closer to her ear and whispered, "Let me do this for you."

I held her hands without moving until she finally whispered tremulously, "Ok."

Pulling her slowly to lead her out of the bathroom, she let her arms loose their hold of her breasts. By the time I guided her to the doorway, her arms were completely outstretched, and her milk-filled melons were fully visible to my eyes, swinging gently as we walked. I swept my gaze over them admiringly. She let me pull her all the way to the bed, and then we stopped. I let go of her arms and they flopped limply to her sides. She had been staring at me the entire time.