Hi, ISS readers, I am Surya from Hyderabad. I am a new and old reader of this site. If you readers come across any mistakes, please do mail me. Your valuable feedback is needed in my mail inbox. This is my imagination.
I am Surya, a 19-year-old college student, and I see Anjali, a 26-year-old lactating mother to a 1-year-old child. I posted an ad on Locanto about breast pain relief by sucking excess breast milk. Then I got a message from Anjali. We chatted for a few days on Telegram and sent nude pictures to each other.
One day, Anjali’s husband went to another state due to office work for one week. Anjali called me and asked me to stay with her for that week. As the sun dipped below the horizon with her husband’s departure, the tension in the air grew thicker than the sweet scent of Anjali’s arousal.
She greeted me at the door. Her luscious, milk-laden breasts heaved in anticipation beneath her flimsy lingerie. The fabric was straining against the weight of her motherly assets. Her areolae, the size of silver dollars, was a darkened shade of pink. Her nipples were hard and begging for attention the moment our eyes locked. I could feel the electric current of lust coursing through our bodies, a silent yet undeniable invitation.
Anjali’s hand trembled slightly as she unlocked the door, revealing the warm embrace of her dimly lit home, the air thick with the aroma of her desire and the faint scent of her baby’s powder. Then she stepped aside. Her voluptuous figure was casting a seductive shadow against the wall. It was allowing me to enter the sanctum of her private world.
I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on the swollen peaks of her breasts. The milky nectar was threatening to spill over the edges of her lacy confinement. The sound of our breathing grew heavy, each inhale filling our lungs with the promise of forbidden pleasure. Then she bit her lower lip. Her feminine face was flushed with a mix of nerves and excitement, as she led me to the sofa.
The softness of the cushions seemed to mirror the softness of her plump mounds. And as I sat down, the fabric hugged my body, reminding me of her velvety skin. Her hand slid up my thigh. Her touch was feather-light, yet sending a jolt of pure arousal straight to my cock. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment before the storm of passion consumed us. My eyes were never leaving hers as she reached behind her back and slowly unclipped her bra. She was letting the heavyweights of her breasts fall free.
The sight of Anjali’s breasts, heavy with mother’s milk, swaying gently as she approached me was almost too much to bear. Her feminine scent was a heady mix of desire and maternal warmth. It wrapped around me like a sensual blanket, stoking the fire in my groin. She straddled me, her thighs parting like petals around my growing erection. My eyes remained locked with hers as I leaned in, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
With a gentle touch, I cupped her right breast. I was feeling the weight of it, and the warmth of her skin searing into my palm. Then I flicked my tongue against her protruding nipple, causing it to pebble even more under my attention. Then, with a hunger that could no longer be denied, I latched onto her areola. My mouth enveloped her nipple.
The sweetness of her milk filled my mouth. The taste of her nurturing essence was sending waves of erotic energy through my body. She gasped, arching her back as the first spurt of milk shot into my eager mouth. I swallowed greedily. The warm liquid was sliding down my throat as if it were a potion of pure desire.
The feeling was indescribable, the taste unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Her hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, urging me to take more. Her hips were rocking slightly against me in a silent rhythm that echoed the pulsing needed to build between us. As I continued to suckle from her, I could feel her pussy growing wetter. Her body responded to the intimate act as if it were the most erotic dance we had ever shared.
Her breaths grew shallower, her moans deeper, as I switched to her left breast, giving it the same devoted attention. The gentle suckling grew more urgent. Her milk was flowing more freely. The sound of it was mingling with our gasps and moans. The room was alive with the symphony of our passion. Each drop of her milk was a note that played in harmony with our escalating desires. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, and I was the artist eager to explore every inch of it.
Anjali’s pussy was a wet paradise. It was calling out for my cock, which was now a rock-solid testament to my desire for her. She slithered down my body. Her hands were tracing the outline of my abs, sending shivers down my spine. With a sly smile, she freed my erection from the confines of my pants. Her eyes were widening with delight as she took in its full size and girth.
She licked her lips, a clear indication of what she had in mind next. I lay back, watching as she took my cock in her hands. Her fingers were barely able to wrap around it. Then she leaned in. Her hot breath was teasing the tip, before taking the head into her mouth. I groaned. I was feeling her warm wetness enveloping me as she began to suck and lick with a fervor that could only come from a woman with an insatiable appetite for sexual exploration.
Her tongue swirled around my shaft. It was teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the head. This made my toes curl and my body quiver. She was a master of the blowjob. Her experience as a mother was perhaps lending an extra level of skill to her oral ministrations. Cheeks of her hollowed as she took me deeper. Her saliva mixed with my pre-cum to create a slick coating that only made me want to fuck her more.
With a final, lingering kiss to the tip of my cock, she straddled me once again. Her wet pussy hovered just above my manhood. I reached down, aligning myself with her, and with a deep breath. She lowered herself onto me. Then she took me inch by glorious inch until I was fully sheathed inside her.
Her walls clenched around me, welcoming me home. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room as she began to ride me. Her milk-filled breasts were bouncing in time with her movements. The sight was nothing short of pornographic poetry, a visual feast of eroticism that made me feel like I had just entered the gates of sexual heaven.
Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through us both, our hips grinding together in a dance as old as time itself. This was no mere encounter. It was a symphony of bodies. It was a celebration of lust that transcended all boundaries. The tension grew, and our movements became more urgent. I knew we were both close to the climax.
But I didn’t want it to end just yet. I wanted to savor every second of being inside this woman whose very essence was a siren’s song to my desires. And as we continued to fuck, the only thought in my mind was that this week would be one neither of us would ever forget.
Our breaths intermingled in the steam-filled room. Then Anjali led me by the hand to the bathroom. The urgency of our passion was not allowing us a moment’s rest. She turned on the shower, the hot water cascading over our entwined bodies as we stepped under the spray. Her wet, lactating breasts jiggled with each step. The beads of water were clinging to her succulent flesh like a fine mist of eroticism.
The warmth of the water caressed our skin, making it slick and slippery as we kissed deeply. Our tongues danced together in a carnival of desire. Then she turned around. Her curvaceous ass pressed against my stomach. She bent over slightly and presented her pussy to me. I didn’t waste a second and slid into her from behind. Her wetness enveloped me like a warm, tight glove.
Her moans grew louder as I pumped into her. The sound of our skin slapping against each other was a symphony of carnality. She reached back to grab my ass, pushing me deeper, urging me to fill her. Our bodies moved in unison under the warm, pulsating water, her back arching and her breasts swinging as she climbed higher and higher on the ladder of pleasure.
But the grand finale was yet to come. Withdrawing from her tight embrace, I knelt before her. My mouth watered as I stared at her engorged clit. She gripped the edge of the bathtub, her legs trembling with anticipation. I licked her pussy from bottom to top, savoring her sweetness, her juices mingling with the droplets of water on her skin.
Her moans grew to scream as my tongue danced around her clit. Her legs gave way as she climaxed, her pussy contracting around my mouth. As she rode the waves of pleasure, I stood up, my cock throbbing and demanding release. She looked up at me. Her eyes glazed with ecstasy. Then she took my length into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the head, tasting herself on me.
Her cheeks hollowed as she deep-throated me, her eyes never leaving mine. I could feel my orgasm building. Then with a few final powerful sucks, I released my hot, sticky load into her mouth. She swallowed greedily. She licked me clean with a satisfied smack of her lips. We both were left panting and grinning like two naughty teenagers who had just discovered the art of sexual bliss. The week had just begun. It was clear that it would be one of the most erotically charged and unforgettable of our lives.
As we panted, the aroma of our mingled juices hung in the steamy air of the bathroom, a tantalizing reminder of the carnality we had just shared. Anjali, her skin glistening like a goddess of lust, turned off the shower and took my hand, leading me to the kitchen where the scent of simmering spices filled the air. Our naked bodies, still entwined with each other’s essence, walked with a newfound confidence, a silent declaration of our shared secret.
She busied herself at the stove, her voluptuous ass swaying hypnotically as she stirred a pot of something fragrant. I couldn’t resist the urge to trace the curves of her back with my fingertips. I was feeling the softness of her skin and the slight indentation of her spine. My hand found its way to her waist. Then it went to her full, round buttocks, giving them a gentle squeeze. She giggled but didn’t object, her body language telling me that she was more than receptive to my touch.
Without warning, I leaned in and took her nipple into my mouth, feeling it swell and harden against my tongue. Anjali gasped, dropping the spatula she had been holding, but she didn’t miss a beat, continuing to cook as I pleasured her from behind. The kitchen counter became our playground as I spread her legs and bent her slightly, allowing my cock to slide against her wetness.
She leaned into the counter. Her hands gripped the edge tightly as I began to rub my shaft against her pussy. I was teasing the entrance to her velvety abyss. The kitchen, once a bastion of mundane domesticity, was now a stage for our erotic performance.
Her breath hitched when I finally pushed inside her, my length sliding in effortlessly as if it were meant to be there. She pushed back against me, her body moving in a silent rhythm as I thrust into her from behind.
The sizzle of the frying pan and the clinking of dishes in the sink provided the background score to our lovemaking, a symphony of domestic sensuality. As we fucked, she reached down to cup her breasts, the milk spilling onto the counter, a visual representation of our unbridled passion.
Finally, unable to resist any longer, I reached around her and pinched her clit, eliciting a moan that was music to my ears. She came, her pussy clenching around me like a vise, her juices mixing with the milk that still coated my chest. We stood there, panting and trembling, as she finished cooking our meal, my cock still buried inside her, the warmth of her orgasm radiating through both of us.
When the food was ready, we served it on our bodies, using our fingers to scoop up mouthfuls from the valleys of her breasts and the flat expanse of my abdomen, feeding each other in a display of primal hunger and sexual dominance. Each bite was a declaration of our carnality, the flavors of our desire mingling with the spices of our meal. We were two animals in heat, our inhibitions lost to the thrill of the moment, the kitchen our playground of pleasure.
The week had barely begun, and already it was clear that we were about to embark on a journey of unparalleled sexual exploration, our every waking moment an opportunity for new and exciting adventures.
The soft glow of the TV flickered across Anjali’s living room as we settled onto the couch, the tension between us palpable. She chose “Fifty Shades of Grey,” and as the film began to play, the sexual tension grew thicker than the plotline. We watched, our eyes glued to the screen, as the characters engaged in their kinky escapades.
Anjali’s breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling with the weight of her arousal. I couldn’t help but let my hand drift down to her thigh, tracing the line of her inner thigh, my fingertips brushing against the warm, damp fabric of her panties. She shifted closer, her breath hot against my neck, as I began to mimic the actions of the man on screen. My hand slid under the waistband of her underwear, finding her wetness, her pussy already begging for attention.
Her hand found my cock, which was now rock-hard with desire, and she began to stroke it with a gentle yet firm grip. We continued to watch, our hands exploring each other’s bodies as if we were the characters in the film. Our movements grew more urgent, our breaths more ragged, as the scenes unfolded before us. We were lost in our little world of pleasure, the real and the reel blurring into one.
Anjali leaned back, her eyes never leaving mine, and whispered, “Do it like he does.” It was all the encouragement I needed. Then I pulled her panties to the side and began to flick her clit with my thumb, mimicking the rhythm of the scene we watched. Her back arched, her breasts jutting out as she moaned, her hand tightening around my cock. The room filled with the sounds of our passion, our bodies moving in sync with the film’s depraved rhythm. The boundary between reality and fantasy had been shattered, and we were both eager to explore the depths of our shared desire.
As we stumbled into the bedroom, our hands couldn’t resist the urge to explore each other’s bodies further. I managed to grab her phone from the nightstand and opened an online shopping app, my eyes scanning the sexy lingerie section. “Choose something for yourself,” I murmured against her neck, my voice thick with lust.
She giggled, her cheeks flushing as she took the phone and scrolled through the options. The screen glowed with the images of scanty lace and sheer fabric, and her eyes lit up with excitement. She selected a few pieces, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see her in them. We tumbled onto the bed, our kisses growing more passionate with each passing moment. I couldn’t get enough of her taste, her smell, the feel of her soft curves pressing against me.
Then I cupped her heavy, milk-laden breasts in my hands, her nipples stiffening at my touch. Anjali’s breath hitched as I rolled her onto her back, her legs spreading wide to accommodate me. I dipped my head to capture her nipple once again, her milk flowing freely, coating my chest and chin as I feasted. Our bodies moved together in a delicious rhythm, her hips rising to meet my touch as I slid a finger into her slick pussy. She was already so wet, so ready for me.
We lost ourselves in the sensation, our breaths mingling as we grew closer to the edge. Eventually, we found ourselves in a 69 position, my cock in her mouth as I lapped at her clit, our bodies tangled in a delicious mess of pleasure. After bringing her to climax, we shifted, and I claimed her in a missionary embrace, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance. She moaned around me, her eyes fluttering closed as I pushed inside, filling her.
The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that only served to stoke the fire between us. We moved together, our bodies fitting like puzzle pieces, as we explored every inch of each other. From the gentle rock of the missionary to the raw, animalistic passion of the doggy style, we took our time, savoring every thrust and moan.
When she was ready, Anjali climbed on top, her curvy body glowing with sweat and desire. She took the reins, riding me with a fierce need that had me panting and gripping the sheets. Her pussy clenched around me. Her orgasm was building. Then with a final, desperate cry, she came, her juices flooding my cock.
The intensity of our lovemaking continued each position a new chapter in our story of lust. We didn’t stop until the early hours of the morning. Our bodies were exhausted yet satisfied, as we finally collapsed into a deep, contented sleep, entwined in each other’s arms.
As the first light of dawn kissed the windows, Anjali lay sprawled across the bed, her naked form a testament to the night’s decadent revelries. My mouth watered at the sight of her, my cock already standing at attention. I leaned over her, my eyes feasting on the swollen mounds of her breasts, the nipples erect and begging for attention. Her breathing was slow and even, the quietude of the room a stark contrast to the symphony of passion that had played out only hours ago.
Then I took one of her luscious, milk-laden nipples into my mouth, suckling gently, savoring the sweet taste of her maternal essence as if it were my morning coffee. A soft moan escaped her lips as she began to stir, the sensation of my mouth on her skin bringing her back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile spreading across her face as she looked down at me, her feminine gaze filled with the warmth of a satisfied woman.
She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me closer, her legs parting instinctively as she woke up to the feel of my hardness pressing against her wetness. Our morning session began with a slow, sensuous rhythm, as she guided me back inside her, her pussy clenching around me like a warm, wet glove. Her movements grew more deliberate as we found our tempo, her hips rolling with the ease of experience, her breasts bouncing gently with each thrust.
The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies moving together, a sweet melody of passion that grew louder with each passing moment. And as the sun fully crested the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over our entwined forms, we reached our peak together, our orgasms melding into one explosive crescendo. The week had only just started, but it was already clear that every moment with Anjali was going to be a delicious slice of erotic heaven.
The sudden wail of her baby pierced through the post-coital bliss, bringing us back to the reality of our clandestine affair. Anjali, ever the devoted mother, slipped from our tangled sheets, her voluptuous body a testament to the carnality we had just shared. She slipped on a silk robe, the fabric caressing her curves as she padded over to the crib. With an experienced hand, she lifted the squalling infant and cradled it against her ample chest, her swollen nipples immediately finding its eager mouth.
I watched, transfixed, as the baby’s cries turned to contented gurgles, the suckling sounds mingling with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. The delivery notification chimed on her phone, a reminder of the mundane task awaiting her. She shot me a mischievous glance over her shoulder, her lingerie clinging to her damp skin. “Why don’t you wear something… less,” she suggested, her voice thick with desire.
I complied, pulling on a pair of shorts, my cock still half-hard with want. We moved through the house in a dance of depravity, our bodies colliding in every corner, seeking out new ways to satisfy our insatiable hunger. The days blurred into a tapestry of kink and passion, each moment more explicit and erotic than the last.
Her cries of pleasure echoed through the halls as I bound her wrists and explored the limits of her pain threshold, her body responding with a fiery need that only grew stronger with each slap of the leather. Our nights were a blur of hardcore fucking, our moans, and gasps punctuating the stillness like a raunchy symphony.
This week was not just about relieving her breast pain; it was a journey into the heart of a woman’s desires, a place where we reveled in the raw, unfiltered passion that neither of us had ever dared to explore before. And with each passing day, the connection between us grew stronger, a bond forged in the fires of lust and the sweet milk of motherhood.
As the baby’s cries grew louder, Anjali’s breasts leaked with her sweet, nourishing milk, and she couldn’t resist the urge to feed her little one. She turned to me with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she began to unbutton her nightgown. She straddled my lap, her lush curves spilling over my body, and offered her nipple to the hungry mouth of her baby.
I watched, my cock twitching with arousal, as the sight of her lactating washed over me. Her areola pulsed with each suckle, and the sound of her swallowing filled the room with an intimate symphony. I leaned back, giving her the space she needed, but my hands couldn’t help but wander up to caress her soft, rounded ass, feeling the muscles clench and release as she fed.
The tension grew as we ate our breakfast, our eyes never straying from each other’s bodies. Once the baby was sated and put to sleep, we were like animals in heat, unable to resist the siren’s call of our desires. We moved from room to room, discarding our clothing like a trail of breadcrumbs, leaving a scent of passion in our wake.
Anjali donned a scandalous piece of lingerie, a black lace number that barely contained her ample breasts and left little to the imagination. We fucked in the shower, the water cascading over our slick bodies as we explored every inch of each other. Our days melted into a haze of sexual conquests, each corner of her house a stage for our depraved play.
She tied me up and teased me mercilessly with a feather, her laughter, and sweet music as she painted my body with her desire. The week was a rollercoaster of BDSM and hardcore delights, our moans and cries of pleasure echoing through the once-silent corridors. With each passing day, we grew more adventurous, and more insatiable, pushing the boundaries of our desires. As the sun set on our final evening together, we knew that the memories of this week would be etched into our skin, a secret map of passion that would never fade.
On our last day together, I slipped a Viagra pill into my mouth, eager to ensure that I could satisfy Anjali’s insatiable desires without fail. The thought of our final night sent a thrill through my body, and I watched her with a ravenous gaze as she moved around the kitchen, her voluptuous breasts swaying with each step.
I knew I had to give her an experience she would never forget. With a wicked grin, I suggested an idea that had been brewing in my mind. “How about we make something… extra special with your milk?” She raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Then I stepped behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, and whispered into her ear, “Let’s make ice cream.”
The thought of using her lactating breasts in such a playful yet erotic way sent a shiver down her spine. We set to work, mixing the ingredients with wild abandon, her milk the star ingredient. The anticipation grew as we poured the mixture into the machine, watching it churn and thicken. When it was ready, we scooped the creamy concoction onto our naked bodies, licking and suckling at each other like a pair of starving lovers.
The sensation of the ice cream against our hot, flushed skin was electrifying, and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves in a sticky, sweet embrace, our bodies tangled in a dance of desire. That night, we made love with a fierceness that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality.
Each touch, each kiss, each delicate lick of the ice cream from her swollen nipples was a declaration of our unbridled lust. We took turns pleasuring each other, our cries of ecstasy echoing through the house, a symphony of love and lust that would be forever etched in our memories.
As the sun set on our final evening, we lay entwined in the sticky mess of our dessert-turned-foreplay, our bodies sated yet craving more. I knew that the moment I stepped out of her door, our world of sexual freedom would come to an end, and reality would set back in. With a heavy heart, I whispered my goodbyes, our eyes speaking volumes of unspoken desire.
We dressed in silence, the weight of our impending separation hanging heavy in the air. She walked me to the door, her hand in mine, and as I stepped out into the night, she leaned in for one last kiss, her breasts pressing against my chest, her milk-scented breath a sweet farewell. As I made my way back to the hostel, the taste of her milk lingered on my lips. It was a reminder of the week that had been nothing short of a sexual odyssey.
The memory of her curvy body, the feel of her soft skin, and the sound of our mingled gasps and moans played on an endless loop in my mind. The week with Anjali had been a whirlwind of erotic exploration. It was a chapter in our lives that we had written together in the most explicit, realistic, and unforgettable of ways. And as I lay in my bed, the scent of our love still lingering on my skin. I knew that while the story of our affair had come to a close, the heat of our passion would never truly be extinguished.
After a few months, Anjali became pregnant with me. Anjali’s husband thinks he is the father. “You’re so fucking sexy,” I whisper in your ear, my hand tracing the curve of your waist. You’re laying on your back, naked and vulnerable, your breasts heavy with milk. I can’t resist the urge to lean down and take one of your nipples into my mouth, sucking hard as I feel the warm liquid fill my mouth. “Oh, fuck,” you moan, your hips bucking up to meet me.
I continue to suck, my other hand playing with your other nipple, rolling it between my fingers. I can feel your body responding to me, your pussy becoming wetter by the second. Then I move my mouth down to your pussy, licking and sucking on your clit. You taste so fucking good, I could spend hours down here, making you cum over and over again. But I know you want more. So I slide two fingers inside you, curling them up to hit that spot that drives you wild.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, your fingers tangled in my hair as you grind against my face. I can feel your orgasm building, your muscles clenching around my fingers. I suck harder, my tongue flicking against your clit as I feel you reach your peak. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” you scream, your body shaking as you cum hard. Then I continue to suck, drawing out every last drop of your orgasm. When you’re finally spent, I move up to lie beside you, my cock hard and aching.
You wrap your hand around it, stroking me slowly as you catch your breath. “I want to ride you,” you say, your voice husky with desire. I nod, letting you climb on top of me. You position my cock at your entrance, slowly sinking on me. “Fuck, you feel so good,” I groan, my hands gripping your hips as you start to ride me. You lean forward, your breasts brushing against my chest as you move up and down.
I can feel your milk dripping down my stomach. And I can’t resist the urge to lean up and take one of your nipples into my mouth again. You moan as I suck, your pussy clenching around my cock. “I’m close,” you gasp, your movements becoming more frantic. I can feel my orgasm building, my balls tightening as I feel you start to cum again.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” I groan, my cock twitching inside you as I fill you with my cum. You collapse on top of me, your body spent as you catch your breath. We lay there for a few minutes, our bodies entwined as we came down from our high. I can feel your milk still dripping down onto me. And I can’t resist the urge to lean up and take your nipple into my mouth again.
“I think I’m addicted to your milk,” I say, my voice husky with desire. You reply “I think I’m addicted to you,” your fingers tracing circles on my chest. We stay like that for a while longer, our bodies entwined as we enjoy the afterglow of our lovemaking. But eventually, we have to get up and go about our day.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, giving you a lingering kiss before I get dressed and head out the door. But I know I’ll be back later, ready to drink more of your milk and make love to you again. Because I can’t resist the temptation of your lactating body, and I know you feel the same way about me. And so we continue our illicit affair, sneaking around behind your husband’s back as we explore every inch of each other’s bodies. And when he’s gone, we live together as man and wife, enjoying each other’s company and the pleasure we bring to each other.
Eventually, our secret is revealed, and your husband finds out about our affair. But instead of being angry, he’s relieved. Because he knows that you’re happy, and that’s all that matters to him. And so we continue our life together, a happy family with a little secret that no one else knows about. But we don’t care, because we have each other, and that’s all that matters.
***
Any Sugar mummies, lactating women, unsatisfied women, and girls in Hyderabad can contact me at [email protected]