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Milk Time with the Husband

by Arsia Mons 11 days ago in roleplay
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Francine has a bad day, her husband has maternal issues, and her milk-filled boobs hurt. Can she remedy all three at once?

Photo by Iris Carvalho on Pexels.

Francine was dejected and tired. The client presentation meeting didn't go as well as she'd hoped. She walked to her car and slumped in the front seat, taking a few moments to let out a long sigh. I don't even want to think about today. She threw the stick into drive and headed out the parking garage.

As she hit the freeway, her phone lit up. Shit, boss man. She answered it on the cars bluetooth and her boss's voice came through the speakers.

"Francine! How'd it go? Tell me you killed it."

"Not good. Seems like they were leaning a different direction than the concepts I proposed. To be honest, I wasn't really on my A-game today."

She braced herself for a scolding. To her surprise, his voice took on a gentle tone.

"Fran, you've been through a lot these past few months with the baby and all. I didn't expect you to come back to work so soon. Take the rest of the day off. Come back tomorrow refreshed and we'll sort things through."

He ended the call. That wasn't so bad. I'm used to him being a dick most of the time.

She pulled off the freeway and her BMW 5 series began to jolt and stutter. The engine oil light flashed.

"Goddammit! I told Marcus to get the oil changed. That lazy sonuvabitch!" she cursed her husband. More shit I've got to worry about. My stress levels are through the roof.

The BMW was constantly leaking oil. Francine felt a wetness across the front of her shirt and groaned. Right on cue. Just like my milk.

Francine limped the car home, coasting on the hills, looking like a hypermiling treehugger with the body of a milf—and hormonal attitude to boot.

She pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, putting an end to its sputtering seizures. She grabbed her things and bolted through the front door. Her husband was lounging on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, and TV tuned to SportsCenter. The place was a mess—toys, diapers, empty bottles, takeout lunch containers everywhere.

She dropped her bag on the floor and threw her keys on the table. The clattering spoke for her mood, and Markus jolted up from the touchdown highlight being replayed endlessly on the flatscreen.

"Oh, hi hon. How'd the big meeting-"

"Markus, you lazy sack of shit. How many times do I have to tell you to get the oil changed in that death trap? It almost died while I was on the 405!"

"I was going to do it this weekend. That's when my mechanic buddy has his shift—he always hooks me up."

"Yeah? Well I hope he has a spare couch for you too. Just look at this place! I'm about to toss your ass out on the curb," she grabbed the piles of food containers and dirty bottles and hurled them at Markus, who cowered from the barrage. "Would it hurt for you to clean up?"

"Babe, I just finally put her to sleep. Please keep it down. I'm tired. I was up all night with the baby. Just let me finish these highlights from the Rams game."

Francine stood there, hands balled into boiling fists, milk running from her aching right breast, thinking of the best way to dispose of her husband's dead body so she wouldn't get caught.

Taking note of her fuming expression, Markus hopped up to console his wife. "I take it the presentation didn't go well." He tried to give her a hug, which was awkward these days with her breasts so huge. He pivoted around to give her a shoulder rub instead. It seemed to calm her tension a bit.

"Cheer up. I've got your favorite coming for dinner—pad thai from that little hole-in-the-wall you love so much."

"With the squid salad?"

"Yes, always for my sweetie."

"You're still a sack of shit, Markus."

The delivery driver arrived and dropped off the Thai food. Francine and Markus sat down to eat, without saying much. Her containers of food were splayed out, and she sampled each one, wolfing down its spicy sustenance. Satisfied for the moment, she unbuttoned her soaking shirt and gave her maternity bra a much needed rest, plopping out her engorged breasts onto the table. She hooked them up to her pump, hunched over and let out a long sigh of relief as the contraption suckled her swollen tits in loud hisses.

They've never been so full before, she noticed. I probably gained another cup size or two from not pumping all day. The milk containers already neared capacity, and she barely even started pumping. Whatever. She dived into her pad thai, the only saving grace to a shitty day.

Devouring her entree, she slurped her Thai iced tea and mumbled in between mouthfuls, "Markus.. pass me.. the squid salad." A few moments ticked by and there was no response or sliding of the appetizer container. She scowled, ready to berate him with full force.

The moody mother looked up to find her knob of a husband staring at her tits—in the same manner one does when eyeing a mouth-watering, succulent steak. Something about the way they flattened, pressed against the table as they laid, their heft overflowing outwards with an abundance of milk. It ignited a hearth long buried deep within his loins.

"Markus. The squid salad. For fucks sake."

"S-sorry. I-I don't know what came over me. I had the biggest need to, uh, suck on them just now."

"Oh?" Francine was thrown off by his remark. A smirk quickly spread across her face. "Maybe, someone will get lucky later." A little tender loving care would do her some good.

"Later? I need it now!"

He practically launched himself out of his chair, spilling chilli oil and stepping on fallen crab rangoons in the process. He clawed at the pumps attached to her decadent breasts, ripping the tubes as white gold sprayed everywhere.

"Markus!!" Francine whipped her hand, slapping him across the face multiple times, in a fervor for wasting her precious milk.

"S-sorry, babe," he murmured sheepishly, rubbing his head, unsure of what had possessed him.

"Just clean this place up. I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine and lay down. I don't know if this day can get any worse."

Francine changed into some comfortable loungewear that hugged her juicy mombod tight. "Ugh, I look like those whores with the Brazilian butt lifts," she grimaced, gripping the curves of her hips. I really need to get back in the gym.

She flopped down on the couch and took a long sip of the Sauvignon in her glass. In short time, the wine worked its wonders, and the worries of the failed presentation were an afterthought. Her dutiful husband finished cleaning and sat down beside her. She dug her feet into his lap, until he began to rub them obediently.

He worked the balls of her feet in circular motions, then moved up to her heels. It felt so good. She couldn't help but let out a low moan. He ran his hands up her calves, massaging tender her stiffness.

"Oooh, that feels nice." He doubled down his efforts on that area, and her back arched as the pleasurable sensations weaved through her body. She felt her nipples grow hard and a few spurts of milk shot out. Either it was that time again or it was from all the excitement.

"Dammit, I just changed this shirt." She tried rubbing out the wet spot. Markus noticed her erect nipples poking through her already precariously taut shirt—like the sausages from pigs in a blanket. Once again, that desire surged through him.

"Does momm-y.. do you want me.. to lick.. c-clean that?" he stammered, inching towards her. Francine noticed the same look of rapacious hunger on his face from before.

Why does he have to be all weird about it? I should let him suck on them, so he stops looking at me like I'm a cow or something.

"Do you want to help me, baby?" Francine played along. She twerked her nipples in a slow invitation, as more milk squirted out, drenching the fabric of her top.

"Yes, mommy." He climbed up her body, stopping to watch in a stupor as she reached into her shirt.

Francine grunted as she pulled out her heavy boobs one by one. They bounced out of her camisole in all of their buoyant, physics-defying splendor. They were so unfathomably large, yet firm and protruding, they could emit their own gravity well. And they possibly did—her husband's face was sucked right in like a black hole.

He clutched onto her right boob with his two palms, wrapped his lips around her slippery nipple, and nuzzled into her dark areola. He suckled and suckled, draining the creamy milk from her engorged tit, as her veins glowed bright purple under her alabaster skin.

"Yes, baby," she cooed, caressing his head. "Suck on mommy's boobie. You must be so famished."

The hearth within him raged hotter, and he sucked harder and harder. The milk overflowed down his cheeks and chin, her ample bosom supplying too much for his mouth to slurp. He relented, choking up a bit, and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Do you like it when mommy does this?"

She squeezed her other boob, soft yet perky in her hands, and sprayed a long, arching stream. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to catch the milk shower splashing down over his face. Gurgling in delight, his word came out warbled. She didn't even need to understand his garbled response to know that he liked it—one glance at the pole pitching in his pants was all she needed.

"Be a good boy and pull down your pants."

"Yes, mommy."

He pried off his pants, and his cock sprung out, flicking along with his excited heartbeats. She grabbed it and stroked it up and down, up and down, while he sucked on her tits.

She played with his cock between her fingers until it grew nice and hard for her. "You've been such a good boy for mommy," her voice in a comforting, sing-songy tone. "I'm going to do something special for you."

She directed him up to her chest and pressed her giant breasts around his pulsating cock. She pointed her nipples upward and shot two long streams that fell into her cleavage. Markus felt himself shudder—the sight of Francine's massive mom boobs sandwiched around his hard dick, spraying milk like a fountain was too glorious to bear—for any mere man, let alone Markus. He bit his lower lip and fought the urge, somehow holding back with only a few splooges of precum escaping. They slathered the top of her perfectly round tits.

Chuckling over the power she wielded, Francine ised her lactate and his precum as lubricant, and began to stroke him up and down with her boobs. Markus wasn't too big and by no means small, but his cock never saw the light of day between her tits—they were so milk-filled that his mushroom head stayed completely submerged as she titty-fucked him.

Faster and faster and faster. Her boobs made a slick sloshing sound as they rubbed against his shaft. Faster and faster, Francine worked her tits until they were a blur of milky flesh. Markus' eyes glazed over, his body trembling as it succumbed to the immense pleasure.

"You love your mother's big, juicy milf titties, don't you.. you dirty boy," Francine whispered coyly.

"Uuunnnhh," he squeaked meekly. "Yes, yes I do! Fuck me. Fuck me with your mommy milkers!"

She loved seeing him like this, and she found that she actually enjoyed the roleplaying—it made her pussy ooze down her thigh.

She readjusted her arms and squeezed her breasts in a bear hug, raining milk all over Markus and the couch. She slammed her tits down over his cock again and again, harder and harder, until his body began to shake violently.

"Oh god!"

"Not yet. Not til mommy lets you."

She freed his trembling cock from her boobs and gripped it tight in her hand, cutting off the explosion for the moment. She pulled herself up, slipped off her panty and ensnared his dick with her wet snatch.

She gasped. This is the biggest it's ever felt inside me! Even still being stretched from giving birth. It was so stiff, so turned on by her milf tits and the unleashing of his mom desires. She rode it, her fat milf ass slapping against his thighs, using his stiff cock to erase the shitty feeling of her day.

She moaned as sensations of pleasure trickled across every inch of her body. She hastened the pace, her mombod jiggling like so many bowls of delicious jello. I'm so close..

"Mooommmmyyy!!!" Markus screamed, his voice reverberating the entire house. Francine felt his pelvis lurch and his cock clench as it erupted inside her, blasting hot cum deep into her pussy. He reached out and grabbed onto her tits to steady his convulsing body. His hands squeezed them so hard they turned bright red, shooting geysers of warm milk in every direction. More and more untimely cum exploded into her.

"N-no, I was almost about to-" she was still confused, in the daze of her ruined orgasm. She felt him wilt and limp out of her, still dribbling cum.

Francine got up from her husband's depleted body, a dripping hot mess. He was already dozing off.

"Markus, wake up, you sack of shit. Where are those boner pills from when we were trying to get pregnant?? I'm gonna get off whether you like it or not."

"I'm tired, Fran. I haven't gotten any sleep with this baby. And I've got to wake up early to set my waiver wire picks.." his voice trailed off as he started snoring.

I really did marry a fucking man child with perverse mommy issues, didn't I? She stopped rummaging through the drawers for the pills and slumped over in defeat—her luck just wasn't there today. How did I fuck up so bad in this life. That's when she it heard. The soft wails of the baby—who she realized had been crying this whole time in the bedroom.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You fucking asshole, you woke her up."

"I'm sowwie, mommy," he mumbled, lost in his dream state. "I'll close the door next time."


About the author

Arsia Mons

I write erotic fiction to satiate your thirsts.

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