This week’s post is going to be a little different. This is part 1 of a short erotic story I wrote. It’s based on a fun dream I had, so enjoy and stay tuned next week for part 2!
“Welcome to my man cave” he said as he unlocked the door and let us inside.
This wasn’t at all what I had pictured when he asked me back to his man cave after dinner, but that was a pleasant surprise. My experiences with frat guys and the dank basement rooms they watched TV in had rendered me unable to imagine a man cave being so elegant. But here we were in his man cave, and it was definitely elegant. Everything was sleek dark wood and comfortable tweed. Tall bookshelves lined one wall and across from them was a well worn but attractive sofa.
“Have a seat. You like scotch?” He asked.
“I, uh, sure.” I managed to eek out, still surveying his domain. I couldn’t remember if I had ever tasted scotch, but I was in a say yes kind of mood so I went with it. He’d been full of surprises all night, so I shouldn’t have been surprised to find out he was an excellent interior decorator. But I was. Apparently he was also a musician I realized as I noticed the instruments hanging on the wall.
I took a seat at one end of the sofa as he handed me my drink and took his seat at the other end. He chose a spot that kept a respectable distance between us, much to my dismay. I delicately took a sip and eyed him. He had the kind of sad dark eyes I could get lost in, could see myself telling my darkest secrets to, and yet…was he nervous? He sat, fidgeting with the glass in his hand barely looking at me, such a change from the charming, charismatic gentleman who had met me for dinner.
“Nervous?” I quietly asked.
“That obvious, huh?” He said with an embarrassed chuckle.
“Want to tell me about it?” I said, hoping to crack his shell.
“I, uh, well, it’s just that…you’re my first,” he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Your first?” I said scrunching up my eyebrows.
“Yeah, I’ve never actually had the courage to invite someone back here,” he admitted looking away.
And there it was. If he had plucked up the courage to invite me here he must have wanted me. It gave me a glimmer of hope; men don’t invite you somewhere private to just talk, and I had no intentions to ‘just talk’. I let his confession hang in the air between us for a couple minutes while I sipped my drink and plotted a way to help his nerves. Finally I caught his gaze and asked, “well, if you weren’t nervous what would you do differently?”
“Well we’d be sitting a lot closer, for starters…”
“So do it.” I said a hint of a dare in my voice and a wry smile on my face.
He sat there for a second before he downed his drink, got up and plopped down next to me. I could feel the smooth texture of his pants against my bare thigh below my short skirt and I felt my breath catch.
“What else would be different?” I said, taking a sip of my drink for courage.
He smiled and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa behind me caressing my neck. The chills descended down my spine and I felt my nipples harden. I’m sure it was obvious through my silk top, but he didn’t notice. He was gazing at me so intently that I felt a deep blush creep over me.
“What?” I asked, embarrassed, batting my eyelashes for effect.
“It really doesn’t bother you that I’m old enough to be your father?”
I shook my head, and my soft curls bounced from side to side. He was devilishly handsome, and cultured, and read all the right books. Sure, his hair had a healthy streak of silver throughout, but it gave him a distinguished polish that made my heart race. Anyway, I was here for a good time and I felt certain he was good for one hell of a good time.
“So if I kissed you right now, you would like that?” He said, stirring me from my thoughts.
I slowly nodded, locked in his gaze unable to even answer. And just like that our lips met. He kissed me with a passion I hadn’t expected, a seeking, yearning, need that bubbled up from within him, caressing my lips with his like he was telling me all his secrets with his kisses. When we finally pulled apart I was breathless. He gazed at me for a moment.
“Oh, I must have spilled your drink!” He said with a start.
Looking down I realized what he was talking about, but it wasn’t my drink.
“Oh, no, you didn’t spill my drink. I’m leaking…”
“Leaking?” He asked.
“Yeah, I’m a wet nurse.” I said flatly. Most men weren’t into it and some men were put off by it so I hadn’t brought up my job at dinner, but now it seemed I was going to have to do some explaining-and fast. But his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t repulsed by my milk. In fact he seemed downright excited by this information. The look in his eyes was akin to a little boy on Christmas Day, so full of excitement and wonder.
“Is everything ok?” I asked.
He looked away for a moment like he was trying to come up with the right answer for me. Finally after a long pause he looked back at me and said “can I try it?”
“Try what?” I said playing dumb. I knew what he wanted, but I wanted him to say it. I loved how he blushed as his eyes darted to my bust before answering me.
“I want to try nursing. I’ve always wanted to but I never….” He trailed off. His eyes were still locked with mine searching for an answer, for evidence that his vulnerable admission wasn’t in vain. And as he searched I slowly unbuttoned my blouse and unclipped my nursing bra letting my large, heavy breasts free.
His eyes widened for a brief moment before he adjusted his position to lay his head in my lap. Gently he caressed me as he lifted a nipple towards his lips and carefully wrapped them around it. Slowly he began to suckle as his eyes closed and he uttered a faint moan. His joy and fulfillment were plastered across his bliss filled face as he began to suckle ever more greedily and his hands massaged me as if he was trying to get my milk to flow faster. As he nursed I ran my fingers through his hair and closed my eyes basking in the ecstasy of two people becoming so completely one together.
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article sponsered by Northern Michigan certified lactation consulting and Mother Hubbards Country Cupboard
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