Legs draped over the leather straps, parted just enough to make my mouth go dry. One arm hooked lazily through the rope above her head, the other resting on her thigh.
Her head tilted back slightly, exposing the long column of her throat, and her kinky curls cascading over her shoulders.
The swing held her suspended, weightless—an offering to me.
She looked like art that should be showcased in a museum.
Flesh.
Heat.
Mine.
The swing swayed gently.
Fluid.
Hypnotic.
Divine.
My heart rate spiked again.
One hundred and twelve.
Finally, she spoke, “Are you thirsty?”
What?
My gaze fell to her breasts, and then I saw it.
A single droplet of milk welled up at the peak of her right nipple, glistening under the muted light.
Oh fuck.
All day, I was protective husband and new loving daddy. The one who made sure my wife was safe, loved, and properly supported. The one who fixed scraped knees, checked homework, and promised movie nights.
But here, in our hidden room, with her—I could let go.
I could be small.
Needy.
Hungry.
And she would feed me.
The mushroomed tip of my cock throbbed.
That droplet of milk clung to her nipple until gravity overpowered its resolve and sent it cascading down her breasts.
For a moment, I watched in stunned silence.
Finally! The milk is here!
The sight was ethereal, maternal, yet overwhelmingly erotic.
Her eyes locked onto mine while her lips curled into a tantalizing smirk.
