Malka , Baruch Ch. 01

College

Hi; my name is Malka, and I’ve just got an award by LaLeche League for pumping my breasts for 20 years, since my son Baruch stopped drinking my milk, and I didn’t want to waste it. My husband Goel loved to drink it occasionally, and we agreed to give him the first feed at seven in the morning, and then the breastpump would get the rest of my milk, once every three hours.

Alas, last year I lost Goel last year to a cancer — when his pain became unbearable, he asked me to put him to sleep; it was easy — I nursed him, and he let the milk go the wrong way. It wasn’t the most painless way to die, but we couldn’t afford to go to Switzerland.

After his death, I didn’t skip a pumping, and I prolonged them so that my milk production grew 40% and my breast size 60% – because I exercised less, so all the food I ate piled up on my bosom; Goel loved licking my vulva after pumping (he also made love, but as he was getting older, and cancer was already eating at him, he couldn’t penetrate me every three hours), so I had to buy a clitoral vibrator to replace him — and being both pumped at both breasts and titillated is real bliss!

I thought I was OK — I orgasmed while doing a good deed, and not just once a day; but increasing milk production also mandates pumping on a tighter schedule.

Once I and my son went shopping, as we had to arrange his PhD party; I had just pumped my breasts dry, so I thought I could come home in time for the next session — but I was wrong: an asshole killed himself in the underground parking lot, and the police closed it to prevent crime scene contamination.

I politely asked an officer when were they going to reopen it, and he answered, “It will take two hours at least to complete the investigation — we’re very sorry.”

I couldn’t wait so much — if my breasts weren’t pumped within an hour, milk would engorge them; I couldn’t reach my breastpump in the car, and I couldn’t buy another, as it wasn’t on sale on that mall!

So I asked my son to help me — we went to a ladies’ toilet, closed it, and I bared my breasts, so that my daughter could suck enough milk to prevent congestion. I have big breasts — 36L — but I had already experimented that self-sucking them was ineffective, so I really muğla escort needed someone else’s help.

My son was amazed at my rack — even though he could spot them from time to time, and he eagerly began sucking the right nipple; when he sucked it, the left nipple began dripping milk; my son took advantage of my boob size to try and suck both nipples at the same time, but his attempt made me uneasy — only Goel had tried that once.

I told Baruch, “Don’t worry about wasting milk — we’re striving to prevent duct congestion; let the milk gush spontaneously.”

So Baruch left my right nipple (which kept dripping — I wonder whether Goel, or Baruch, could emit so much white fluid from their bodies) and latched to the left, which he sucked until it went into auto drip mode as well.

“Couldn’t you please suck again?” I asked Baruch, as I knew that auto drip wouldn’t last long, but he was sated, and he did otherwise; he told me, “Sorry, mom, I can’t drink anymore milk,” and he put his right hand between my thighs.

Just by stroking them he aroused me so that the breasts squirted milk like open faucets, and he was encouraged to fondle my most private part until I came. I hugged him for that, he opened his pants and I saw his hard dick — much alike, but somewhat bigger than Goel’s.

The breasts kept sprinkling the closet we were in, and he kneeled, he put his head under my skirt, removed my panties, and licked my vulva so that he, who had rejected my milk, had to drink my ejaculate.

Even though he was my son, I badly needed his help to empty my boobs, so I let him please me thoroughly; and when he was done with licking my clit, he rose on his feet, hugged me and even got a French kiss from me, his mom, before going behind me and telling, “As far as I know, vigorously shaking your boobs may sustain the letdown reflex, and empty your boobs somewhat.”

He put his big cock between my buttocks; I feared that he wanted to bugger me (without lubricant? No way!), but he made me stoop, so he could penetrate my vagina from behind — and he actually shook me forcefully; no vibrator could have done that, and while I climaxed, my boobs squirted milk all over the room.

When he muş escort came, my boobs were nearly dry — I had committed incest, but I escaped mastitis. A case of force majeure!

Luckily, there was enough soap to clean ourselves and our garments before going out, finding the parking lot open again, and coming home.

My son was sated, so he didn’t eat anything; but I was really hungry (breastfeeding always does that to me — not to speak of orgasms!), so I cooked a two-pound T-bone steak, and while I ate it I removed my shirt, thus exposing my breasts to my son.

Baruch was my hero, he deserved leering at my tits; not only did he do that, but he also took a couple bowls, and put them on the floor, besides me and under my sagging nipples; then he kissed me so passionately, that my breasts went into auto drip mode.

I loved him for that, but I anticipated a problem, so I asked him an extraordinary service: after doing my dishes, he had to administer me an enema before latching the pump to my breasts.

He willingly did that — he even licked my twat while the nozzle was in, but I only giggled and asked him to stop, as it wasn’t the right time to orgasm.

It was not the first time he sat on the couch beside me while I was both filling the pump tanks and surfing the Web (I hate TV — I think it makes people dumb and even spoils my milk), but this time there was some electricity between us.

Usually, while nursing, I operate a vibrator, as I’ve known for a long time that they help express milk a lot; on that night, I asked my son to remove it, and he did that. He left his right hand there, then he swapped it with the left, and while the pump was emptying my breasts, he delicately hugged me, and perfected the art of kissing.

At bedtime, he delicately proposed himself, but I delicately declined; he was befuddled, but I knew what was going to happen.

At about midnight, Baruch coughed and had to rise from the bed to prevent being suffocated by the milk he had drunk from me: in lactose intolerant people, this substance ferments producing a lot of gas which causes milk regurgitation and possibly its aspiration into the lungs.

I foresaw it — and knew that the only way nevşehir escort to solve Baruch’s problem was to empty his stomach.

Puking the milk? Neither of us liked the idea; but if we could move his bowels, the milk could pass from the stomach to the duodenum — and the most effective way I knew was to administer an enema.

My son refused at first, but then I hinted that other pleasures would follow if we could stop the regurgitation, so not only did he accept, but also proposed an erotic stunt: to lay on me, and to penetrate me while I was pumping the enema solution up his ass.

I laughed heartily, because it would have been a good idea, if he could stay procumbent without dangerously puking milk into his own lungs. So he had to make up with a conventional enema, taken while he was sitting on my lap, with my naked breasts surrounding his erect member while my hands were trafficking around his lovely butt.

I hadn’t overseen my son’s defecation since he was two, but my being in front of him encouraged him, and the enema was quickly effective. When my son stopped puking, he nearly fell asleep, but I prevented that by kissing, cuddling, hugging, fondling him — he understood that I was now ready to please him.

Sex was now calmer, gentler, and in a more comfortable place; I still wasted a lot of milk to auto drip, but I would milk my breasts dry next time before foreplay, and I loved the way my son made love with me — he loved me as a woman and as his mother, and these loves multiplied each other.

After mutual orgasm, my son asked, “Mom …”

“You’ve slept with me, Baruch. You can now call me Malka.”

“Ok, Malka; I wonder why did you want an enema tonight before the last pumping session. You don’t normally have any.”

“Oops … I was nearly forgetting that I owe you a special treatment.”

“What treatment?”

“You’re not gay, and receiving an enema may not be your cup of tea.”

“It was necessary, and not particularly erotic.”

“I thought it was necessary to let you settle the account.”

“What you mean?”

“Take the lubricant, Baruch. I took the enema to rinse my rectum before taking your cock into my backdoor.”

“Let me pee before.”

“No! I want your pee in!”

These words convinced Baruch that buggering me was worthwhile, but he insisted that I laid on my back and put my feet over his shoulders, so he could kiss and hug me while sodding me. Goel never did that, and I was happy at begetting such a gifted child like Baruch.

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