Breast milk and stockings

Dear readers, it's been a long time! How are you all doing

? It's been quite a while since I've had time to connect with you all, so I'm greeting you with a new piece.

You'll soon notice that my writing style is a bit different from before, so please experience the difference for yourselves
.

This piece is nearly 30,000 words long, not particularly long than my previous works, but there are
still . Without further ado, please prepare your tissues and slowly savor my latest humble work

. ——————————

Before things happened, I couldn't have predicted how things would turn out. But since it has already
happened, no one can change it, and we can only accept what has happened. Although
I don't regret facing this reality, it's the majority of society who can't accept it.

My name is Song Yingxue, and I'm thirty-seven years old. I'm just an ordinary office worker with
a husband I met in college and a fourteen-year-old son in his second year of junior high school. My life was ordinary, and my family was quite harmonious. Things started to
change about a year ago with an unexpected pregnancy. Originally, after having our son, my husband and I
had no plans to have a second child and had always practiced contraception. But somehow, perhaps fate wanted to give
us this daughter, or maybe the condom leaked (haha!), and after getting pregnant, we treated her like an unexpected treasure and gave
birth to her, raising her well. My husband said we should name her after our son; our son is named Yu-chung, and
our daughter is named Yu-ru, which sounds quite nice.

Our son is very happy to have a little sister in the family. After all, he's been an only child for over ten years, and it would be a lie to say he's
not lonely . Although helping to take care of his sister is
an added responsibility for him, becoming a big brother at fourteen, the birth of a new life in the family always brings joy.

Being a mother is certainly not unfamiliar to me, but after more than ten years, raising a baby again
is something I need to get used to again, and my breasts getting bigger is the first thing I need to adjust to. Because my breasts
needed to start producing milk, they grew significantly larger. They were already a large 32E,
but after pregnancy they grew to 32g, prompting me to pull out my maternity bras, which had been gathering dust after giving birth to my son, from the bottom of
my drawer . Fortunately, my postpartum exercise routine worked well, and my waistline quickly returned to 24 inches.
Many friends I hadn't seen for over a year were surprised that I suddenly had a child and that my figure
was the same as before pregnancy (not counting the two-cup increase in breast size).

Breastfeeding should be a sweet and warm experience, but only when the mother gets enough sleep and
the baby hasn't started teething yet. My daughter is now ten months old and has four teeth in total, and I
often have to endure the pain in my nipples from her teething while breastfeeding. If I can endure that, the most unbearable thing
is mastitis. The baby doesn't eat much, and a lot of milk isn't finished, but my milk supply seems
plentiful I often collapse into bed exhausted after breastfeeding, only to wake up with my milk full again. Sometimes, if I don't express all the milk and it gets blocked
, it leads to mastitis, with all four symptoms—redness, swelling, heat, and pain—all at once.

Although I recently bought a breast pump (we didn't have these before; we always expressed by hand),
it's really unusable when I have inflammation. Forcing milk out with the machine only causes pain, and my breasts are so swollen and engorged that I can't move them. Luckily,
a former colleague recommended a lactation consultant she knew, giving me her phone number to try.
After putting my baby to sleep, I called the consultant's studio and found it was only a three-minute walk from my house.
They also had a crib where the baby could rest, which was so convenient. My husband is at work,
my son is in school, and I couldn't leave my daughter at home alone, so having a place for her to sleep was a
great idea.

It's a bit chilly outside in October, not cold, but I thought I'd wear stockings before going out to avoid getting cold legs
. Maybe it's a habit from work, but I always feel a little insecure without stockings on my legs. After changing my clothes
and leaving the house, I arrived at the studio a few minutes later, carrying my daughter. The first floor looked like a typical aromatherapy
massage studio; it seemed they offered regular massages and lactation massage services as well. The exterior looked quite nice.

"Hello, I've booked a lactation massage."

"Okay, Ms. Song, this way please."

The room was filled with the calming scent of woody essential oils, very soothing and relaxing.
The female masseuse led me into a dimly lit room, had me place Yuru
in a small cradle next to me, and then took off my top and bra, laying them down face-up on the massage bed for her
massage .

"Miss, your breasts are quite beautiful. Has anyone ever said that?" the masseuse chatted casually,
draping a towel over my abdomen to keep me warm.

"No, they've all changed after childbirth."

Receiving such a compliment made me a little embarrassed. Although I knew my breasts
were already quite nice due to their teardrop shape, and after giving birth, they didn't sag but instead became even larger and
more elastic. While the nipples changed color from pink to a deeper red and also enlarged along with the areolas,
it was unavoidable for breastfeeding.

"Seriously, miss, I wish my breasts were as big and beautiful as yours."

Lying down, although my breasts spread out to the sides, I knew they were very elastic and
still looked quite nice even lying down. Hearing the massage therapist say that made me feel a little smug. Having beautiful breasts is certainly
something to be proud of, isn't it? It's a pity my husband has rarely been intimate with me since I gave birth; I guess he's just unlucky. The

massage therapist first draped a warm towel soaked in hot water over my breasts, which immediately relieved the swelling and pain . After removing the towel and gently pressing on the more swollen areas, she began to massage around my areolas with skillful techniques. It was quite painful at first, but with the massage therapist's skillful movements, the swelling and pain gradually disappeared. I couldn't help but admire the therapist's technique; why did I only experience pain when I tried to massage the lumps at home? It seems the profession of lactation consultant really has its tricks. As I slowly enjoyed the therapist's circular massage, I felt my breasts gradually softening.

I felt so glad I'd listened to my colleague's advice and come to see a lactation consultant. Otherwise, I'd be in so much pain at home trying to nurse my baby,
and the pain of expressing milk when my mastitis got worse would have been unbearable.

Just as the massage was relaxing my entire body, the masseuse's phone suddenly
vibrated . She hadn't intended to answer, but after it vibrated twice for several seconds, she picked
it up and spoke in a slightly panicked voice. It seemed her son had been injured at school or something;
her expression was very tense.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Song, my son had a little accident. May I leave for a moment?" she said
, covering the receiver with her hand, asking for my permission with an apologetic expression.

"It's okay, it's okay, you can go if you need to, I'm fine."

"But the treatment here isn't finished yet..." She tilted her head and thought for a moment, "and it might take me a
while . Can I ask a colleague to take over the massage for you?"

"Sure, no problem, you go ahead, I'm fine here," I urged
her nervously. After all, I have a son in middle school myself, so I understood her anxiety.

The masseuse covered my chest with a towel, took her phone, and left the room. I vaguely heard
her talking to her colleague. I lay on the massage bed and glanced to the side; my baby was still sleeping soundly.

Two knocks on the door, then the massage room door opened a little.

"Hello, Ms. Song, my colleague asked me to continue your treatment."

Huh? A man? Lying on the bed, I was momentarily at a loss.

"Yes... but the lady just now didn't say a man was coming..."

"Um... I'm sorry, the only colleagues on duty right now are Ms. Zhang and me. I also have a
lactation consultant license. Of course, if it's inconvenient for you, Ms. Song, we can refund your money."

My mind went blank for a moment. It was a bit strange that it was a man, but he said he had a license, so it must be true
, right? It should be like a breast surgeon or something, it should be... okay?

"It's alright, please continue, thank you."

"Okay.

" In the dimly lit room, the male masseur pushed open the door and walked in. He looked like a
young man, probably not even thirty, wearing the studio's uniform.

"Um, Ms. Song, if you feel uncomfortable later, you can stop at any time, and we will
refund your money."

"Okay." Perhaps to avoid embarrassing the female customer, he emphasized again that she could stop and get a refund
.

After confirming again, the masseur lifted the towel covering my breasts. I wonder if it was just my
imagination , but I felt the masseur swallow slightly? Was he embarrassed? Perhaps I was the more embarrassed one.
After all, the only men who have seen my breasts since birth, besides my father, are my husband and son.
And the only ones I've touched are my husband and my son who was still breastfeeding.

He gently placed his warm hands on my breasts. Nervous, I felt my whole body
tremble slightly. The masseur massaged my breasts gently but skillfully, using
a technique . Perhaps I'm overthinking it, but I felt the male masseur's technique was slightly
…more like caressing? While kneading my entire breast, he also gently stroked the edge of my areola with his fingers,
occasionally touching my nipples. I tried to convince myself
that this was probably how the second half of the treatment was supposed to be; after all, to clear the milk ducts, he'd eventually touch the nipples!

The masseur massaged my breasts around the nipples for a long time, then
gently . During this movement, I could feel my breasts, which had been
as hard as rocks from engorgement, soften considerably. Then, the masseuse placed her thumb and forefinger next to my areolas, constantly changing their
position as she began to express milk.

My breasts already felt much better, and as she started expressing, it was as if all my acupoints
had opened up, becoming unobstructed. A comfortable feeling traveled from the bottom of my chest to my nipples, and a warm flow
was released from the tips. This must be the legendary milk let-down reflex; the release of milk felt incredibly pleasurable,
like a breast orgasm.

This wonderful feeling made me close my eyes in bliss. With the masseuse's skillful squeezing, the milk, which had
started as a few drops, began to flow in gushes. As the masseuse increased the pressure, the milk gushed upwards
in spurts. If it weren't for the towel draped over my waist, my skirt would have been soaked. I have to say, this technique
was truly amazing. I'd never felt so good expressing milk from my breasts before, even the milk spraying out like a fountain
. It was just... amazing. I slowly tilted my head back, my whole body trembling. It felt
like pure caressing. If my husband did this in bed... Without thinking, my legs, clad in stockings
, started rubbing together. It was so incredibly pleasurable.

"I'll squeeze a little harder to get the milk out," the masseuse whispered, but my
breasts were already gushing milk, I was so overwhelmed with pleasure I could barely speak.

"Okay..."

"Then I'll squeeze a little harder."

With that, as I was reaching my limit, the masseuse gently squeezed my breasts,
causing milk to spray upwards like a fountain, some even landing on my face. But I
felt waves of pleasure deep in my chest, a pleasure that seemed to reach my uterus. Close to orgasm,
I couldn't help but moan softly.

"Ah... um... um..."

It really came! While the male masseur was kneading my breasts, I reached my first-ever breast orgasm.
My mind went blank, as if my nipples and uterus were connected. My breasts, gushing milk, thrust
upwards against the masseur's hands, my body convulsing. I vaguely felt one of the masseur's hands
continuously squeezing my left breast, while the other hand seemed to be on... my thigh,
gently stroking it up and down through the sheer stockings I was wearing. But with my hands gripping the sheets and trembling, I
had no time to react, my eyes tightly closed as I received the uncontrollable, pleasurable current. After what seemed like an eternity, the masseur withdrew
his hands, and I finally let my still-erect upper body slump back onto the massage bed.

Slightly panting, I glanced to the side and noticed the masseur's pants were swollen with a large bulge… He seemed to realize
his embarrassment, quickly grabbing a towel to wipe his milk-covered hands and placing another
towel on my chest. I quickly sat up and wiped my milk-splattered upper body myself.
At the same time, the masseur opened the door and left.

Finally regaining my senses, I noticed milk stains on my thigh-length stockings;
the masseur touched my thighs after getting his hands wet with my milk…

“You can pay at the counter later.” A voice suddenly knocked from outside the door, waking me up. Was it
the female masseur who had just left? I quickly put on my bra, changed back into my original clothes, picked up my child, and left the massage room
. The male masseur was gone; only the female masseur was waiting at the counter to pay.

“Is my colleague alright?” The female masseur was still panting, seemingly in a hurry to return. Come to think of it, I had no idea how long I'd been inside
for the massage .

"Okay, okay." My face must have been burning red with embarrassment at that moment; I just wanted to disappear as quickly as possible. After paying,
I quickly grabbed my baby and left the studio.

—

It was almost dark when I got home from the studio. Opening the front door, I found my son had already
come home from school, his backpack and socks carelessly tossed on the floor as he sprawled on the sofa watching TV. This kid
is just like his dad; he comes home and immediately lies down to watch TV, ignoring everything else. Honestly.

Although a massage studio is supposed to be relaxing, the unexpected breast orgasm left me feeling incredibly
tired. I put my sleeping baby back in his crib, then took off my breast-stained
stockings heading back to my room for a nap. Stepping out of the bathroom, I saw my son still lying there watching TV,
and I couldn't help but miss him.

"Xiao Zhong, don't leave your schoolbag on the floor, and take your socks to the laundry basket in the bathroom. Mommy's going to take
a nap for a bit, then I'll get up to make dinner."

"Okay." He lazily got up from the sofa, picked up his smelly socks, and went into the bathroom.

Back in my room, I immediately lay down, exhausted. But
after , my phone vibrated beside me. It was the studio from earlier, saying I'd
forgotten my baby's things there, and they were closing in a few minutes, so I'd have to hurry if I wanted to
get them . Thinking it was only a few minutes round trip, I decided to go get them.
Just as I stepped out of my room, my son rushed out of the bathroom and jumped back onto the sofa. I wondered what was
wrong .

Before leaving, I put on a light jacket, then remembered it was a bit chilly outside. I figured I should put my stockings back on so my legs wouldn't feel
cold. So I went back to the bathroom, grabbed the stockings I'd taken off on the laundry basket, and quickly pulled
them onto my feet before pushing open the door and heading out.

After walking a few steps, I suddenly felt something strange coming from outside my underwear. Why…
was it warm ? With my back to the street, I reached under my skirt and felt around. I found
a warm, sticky substance clearly visible in the crotch area of the stockings, soaking my underwear. I touched it with my finger
; it was white and had a distinctively pungent, fishy smell. This… wasn't it? But my son
was wasn't he?

… But the lactation consultant had just said on the phone that the massage studio was closing in a few minutes, and if I didn't go to get the baby
's things, I'd have to wait until tomorrow. I couldn't think too much about it and just hurried out. Enduring
the sticky feeling from the crotch of my stockings as I swayed my thighs back and forth, I quickly reached the studio, grabbed
the baby , and then strode back home as if nothing had happened.

Pushing open the door, my son wasn't in the living room; he seemed to have gone back to his room and closed the door. I quickly
went into the bathroom, turned on the light,
and lifted my skirt to look down. I noticed that the white, sticky fluid at the crotch of my stockings had foamed slightly from the friction of my movements. I touched the fluid on the stockings again and
smelled it, confirming it was indeed male semen. Taking off the stained sheer stockings, I found
the crotch area covered in this foul-smelling white liquid, some even seeping onto my black lace panties—
quite noticeable. I quickly pulled off my panties as well, thinking: regardless of whether my son had actually done anything,
what if the semen seeped through my panties and then onto my genitals, and I accidentally got pregnant?

I took off my semen-stained stockings and underwear and threw them in the laundry basket. I straightened my skirt and left the bathroom.
At the same time, my husband pushed open the door, calling out that he was home and very hungry. I didn't have time to think about the slightly chaotic
situation. I went back to the room to check that the baby was sleeping soundly, then went into the kitchen to prepare dinner,
putting the incident out of my mind .

After preparing dinner, my mind a little blank, I called my son and husband to the dining room to eat. I pulled
the baby 's crib next to the dining room while keeping an eye on her. Only then did I have time to think about
what had just happened. My husband, of course, was eating dinner, oblivious to everything. My son kept his head
down , avoiding eye contact, just picking at his food and putting it in his mouth. My mind raced, a jumble of
thoughts, trying to process what had happened. Did my son ejaculate inside my stockings? Was it accidental? But could it be
accidental? Why? Could my son ejaculate? He's only in the second year of middle school! Why would he ejaculate inside
my stockings? Why did the stockings touch his genitals? " Honey

, did you go for a breast massage today? Was it okay?" My husband's sudden question interrupted my chaotic
thoughts and quickly pulled me back from my mental turmoil.

"Oh yeah, it was quite helpful. It doesn't hurt as much now."

"That's good. Are all the massages done by women?"

"Yes, all the masseuses are women." I thought it best not to let my husband know that there were male masseuses there,
especially since I had been massaged by a male masseur, and even had a breast orgasm...

"That's good, otherwise it would be awkward if it were a male masseur, like getting aroused or something, haha..."

"What are you saying? Our son is here."

"Okay, okay, haha..."

I glanced at my son out of the corner of my eye; he didn't seem to react at all, just continued eating with his head down.
Although my son is usually quiet, he'd at least occasionally chime in during our conversations. Today, however, he was
unusually silent. Was he bothered by the fact that he used my stockings? What was he trying to do? Was this just
puberty or something...

? "I'm full."

My son quickly stood up, the sound of him clearing the dishes interrupting another wave of my thoughts. Maybe
I'll talk to him about today later; teenagers are going through a lot of transitions, and these kinds of things are common. Okay!
I told myself again that this was normal; it's just my son gradually becoming an adult. I'll
talk to him about relationships later.

After putting the dishes in the sink, my son went back to his room. Usually, I might remind him to do
his homework later, but today I felt a little strange and didn't talk to him. After finishing my meal, I
prepared to clear the dishes. As I stood up, my skirt fluttered, and I realized I wasn't wearing underwear! Luckily,
only so no one would notice. Standing in front of the sink, I suddenly realized something and glanced back at
my husband watching TV in the living room to make sure he wasn't looking at me. Then I lifted my skirt and brushed it down, and for some
reason, it was already wet. Strange, I hadn't been stimulated at all; I was just thinking about my son.
How could this cause a reaction? What's going on...

? This afternoon, I did experience considerable stimulation at the massage parlor. Although it was a male masseur giving me a lactation
massage , I felt a little guilty towards my husband, but even now, thinking back to that pleasurable feeling still makes me itch. Then I thought,
it's been a long time since we've had sex. Why not tonight? My husband has
lost interest since I gave birth; I wonder if it's because he thinks my figure has changed... But I haven't changed much when I look in the mirror or weigh myself
, unless my breasts have gotten two cup sizes bigger, which he might not like.

With this thought in mind, I quickly finished the housework, took a shower, fed the baby, changed into
my long- unworn sexy open-crotch black stockings and black lace bra, and went back to the room to wait for my husband to finish watching TV. My husband
has always liked stockings, so when I want to seduce him, all sorts of different colored stockings
become my special armor, and the success rate is quite high... of course, provided he's not
exhausted .

Before he finishes watching TV at nine o'clock, I've already changed into my "battle armor" and hidden under the covers, just
waiting for him to come back to the room. When he pushed open the door, he only asked me if I was already going to sleep. I smiled and pulled back
the covers, and my husband, quite obliging, immediately widened his eyes and his breathing quickened.

"Honey, I want some today, is that okay?"

"Okay, just a minute! I'll shower quickly!"

He then quickly rushed into the bathroom to shower. I knew stockings would work on him; otherwise, I'd always
say I was tired from work or not feeling well that day. Sure enough, wearing open-crotch black stockings was
too much for .

My husband finished showering in just a few minutes, opened the bathroom door, jumped onto the bed, and started
groping . We've been married for so many years, we're pretty much in the same boat. But his caresses are quite
simple: he just rubs my breasts, touches my stockinged legs, and then prepares to penetrate me. Even today, with my sexy lingerie, his routine
didn't change. He just vigorously rubbed my breasts, which had increased to 32g after childbirth, with basically no special
techniques.

I had a really good massage from a stranger this afternoon, but my husband's massage felt like he was just massaging a pillow
. Although comparing my husband to a stranger felt a little unfair to him, the breast massage this afternoon
was really intense, so intense it was unforgettable. But we haven't had sex in a long time, so I wasn't asking for much today. No
change, no change. If there's a chance, then so be it.

He only massaged my breasts for a minute or two before preparing to penetrate me. After he put on the condom himself
, he had me lie down with my legs spread. My husband looked down at me, grabbed my legs, which were clad in black
open-crotch stockings, and pressed his familiar penis against the entrance of my vagina, slowly penetrating me.

I had forgotten how long it had been since we last made love—weeks, a month or two, two or three months?
Although my husband's foreplay was a bit perfunctory, the feeling of his hot penis entering my body was still quite
satisfying. My vagina, parched from the drought, had secreted a good amount of lustful fluid, and my husband's movements became smoother
.

"Feels good, doesn't it, wife?"

"Do you need to tell me..."

My husband swayed his firm hips back and forth, his hard penis thrusting in and out of my wet vulva, and his hands
moved from my stockinged legs to my 32g breasts. His strong hands
squeezed ; it wasn't uncomfortable, but there was no skill involved. Maybe I couldn't ask for too much
. After all, we'd been married for so many years; if he was going to improve, he would have improved by now.

"It's a bit too good, let me change positions," my husband said,
pulling . I knew stamina had never been his strong suit, especially since we hadn't done it in so long,
he was probably even more sensitive. I rolled over and lay face down on the bed, my shapely buttocks, clad in open-crotch black stockings, facing his penis. He took a deep
breath and then thrust in again.

I unhooked my black lace bra, letting my two huge, snow-white breasts breathe. With each thrust from behind
, my breasts swayed rhythmically back and forth. My husband pinched my breasts from behind,
applying pressure ; the sensation was both painful and pleasurable, but not bad.

"My wife has huge breasts, it feels so good."

"You're only just realizing that? How long has it been since you've touched them... ah..."

After pinching my breasts, my husband's rhythm gradually increased. Based on countless past experiences, once
he started to speed up, it was obvious he was nearing his climax. But I wasn't there yet, just a little bit more
...

?? "Ah... I'm coming..." My husband grabbed my stockinged buttocks and slammed forward one last time, then
thrust his penis deep inside me, ejaculating into the condom with each jerk. Feeling his
condom-covered penis trembling inside my vagina must have felt incredibly good.

?? After about ten seconds, my husband finished ejaculating, pulled off the condom, withdrew his limp penis, and lay down
on his back , panting heavily, spread-eagled.

"Wow, that felt so good, honey, did you come?" her husband asked breathlessly, sounding smug.

"Yes, honey, you were amazing."

But actually, no. In all these years of marriage, I could count the number of orgasms on one hand. Countless
times I felt like I was just a little short, but I'd long since gotten used to it.
The breast orgasm I got this afternoon from a stranger at the massage parlor was even more pleasurable than actual penetration. Was this really such a sad kind of sex life?

Her husband threw the condom in the trash and went back to the bathroom for another shower. After he came out, I
quietly showered and went back to bed. We pulled the covers up, ending the
night's unchanging, albeit unsatisfactory, sex life.

——————————

Have I ever thought about whether having sex is a luxury for breastfeeding mothers? Should I stop hoping for anything beyond taking care of my
daughter ? Actually, from the later stages of pregnancy, I don't know if it
was or something else, but my libido was always very strong.
However, my husband was afraid of harming the baby, so we didn't have sex. I guess I just watched porn and masturbated to take care of it myself. I thought that after giving birth, our sex life would return to normal,
but in fact, nothing changed after the baby was born.

I picked up my daughter, who was nursing, and walked to the mirror. Looking at
myself in the mirror, wearing a short t-shirt, my waistline had returned to the pre-pregnancy 24-inch level. My buttocks were
quite firm due to continuous exercise, and my breasts had gone from 32E to 32G. Besides being larger and
firmer than before, they should be more attractive, right? Does my husband not like big breasts? But he always seemed to
like my breasts. Or is it just that middle-aged men are getting older and their abilities can't keep up with their needs?

While I was thinking these things, my lovely daughter, who had been nursing sweetly, seemed to be full. As she nursed
, she slowly closed her eyes and fell asleep. After putting my daughter back in her crib and covering her up, I reached out
and massaged both breasts. It seemed there was still quite a bit of milk left to express. Afraid that if I didn't express it all out,
I'd get another bout of mastitis and excruciating pain like before, I took out an electric breast pump from the cabinet and
started pumping directly from my breasts into a bottle. As I pumped, perhaps because there was too much milk, I started to feel like I couldn't stop. So I
grabbed a nearby glass and started expressing into it. As the milk slowly gushed out,
the feeling of my breasts gradually emptying was much more comfortable; it really made me feel much better.

After filling the glass almost to the brim, I figured my breasts were almost empty, so I put
the glass down and went to the bathroom to dry my breasts and clean the breast pump. I heard the front door open from the bathroom
; my son must be home from school by now. As I tidied myself and came out of the bathroom, I saw
my son picking up a glass from the dining table and pouring it into his mouth.

"Ah, that's..." Before I could stop him, I only managed to utter half a sentence when I saw my son gulping down the warm breast milk I had just squeezed out
of the glass .

After finishing the whole glass, he exhaled, licked his lips contentedly, and after a few seconds
looked at the empty glass as if something was amiss. "Mom, this milk tastes a bit like…"

A little embarrassed, I slowly said, "That's extra breast milk Mom just expressed…"

My son raised an eyebrow, staring at me with wide eyes. "Really…really? I was just about to say the taste…
"

"I'm sorry, it probably tastes awful, and you accidentally drank some."

"No, it's just that it's a little strange, different from regular milk, but it's sweet and delicious." My son scratched
his head and continued, "I think it tastes better than regular milk. I was just wondering if there was any more, haha."

After saying that, my son seemed to realize his statement was a bit odd. He stared at me blankly for a moment, then
turned and went back to his room without saying anything more. However, for me, if I put the milk my daughter couldn't finish in the
freezer thought, expressing it for my son
wouldn't be such a waste, since he drank my milk when he was little. As for my husband, forget it. He
hates cow's milk, so he probably wouldn't like breast milk either…

The next morning, after feeding my daughter, I
expressed a glass of breast milk using the pump, just like yesterday, and placed it on the dining table. When my son came out of his room after washing up, he didn't
notice the glass of milk on the table at first. I tried to speak to him in a normal tone, "
Xiao Zhong, you can have some of the extra milk

on the table." My son paused for a moment, but his expression didn't change. He walked to the table, picked up the glass, sniffed it like
a puppy , and then
brought the breast milk to his mouth, gulping it down. After finishing, just like drinking cow's milk,
he from his lips.

"Delicious!" My
son .

For the next few days, expressing extra milk for my son became a regular routine. My son drinks
the warm breast milk I express before going to school. It's pretty much the same as drinking cow's milk, I think, so I
should overthink it. He drank all my milk when he was little, so is having a large milk supply actually
beneficial? Like being able to feed two children at once?

This morning was the same. After feeding my daughter, I picked up the breast pump to express another
cup for my son. But when I turned it on, the light wasn't on, and the machine wasn't working. After
fiddling with it and trying to turn it on and off a few times, I figured it was probably broken. What to do? Even if I didn't give the remaining milk to
my son, I couldn't leave it unexpressed, or I might get mastitis. So I unbuttoned my bra and
started manually expressing the milk into a glass.

I haven't expressed milk much before, and my technique isn't as skilled as a professional lactation consultant. But I couldn't force it
in this difficult situation, so I slowly squeezed the milk from my nipple into the glass myself.
Although it didn't require much strength, my hands were still a little sore after squeezing for a while.

"Good morning, Mom, ah...

" My son came out of his room and saw me unbutton my shirt, revealing two snow-white breasts.
My breasts were 2g, and I was laboriously squeezing milk with both hands. My son seemed frozen, staring wide-eyed at my movements,
probably also staring at my breasts. To be honest, it really
startled me when my son suddenly came out and stared at my breasts, because I thought he might not come out for another ten minutes or so. Having my breasts
exposed to him like this, especially while I was expressing milk, was a bit embarrassing.

But then I thought, he's always suckled directly from my nipples before, so it shouldn't be too bad if he sees me now,
after all, he's my son. So I tried to remain calm, subtly continuing to press down on my
brown areolas, squeezing milk into the glass.

"Not done yet?" my son asked.

"Just a little longer," I replied, continuing to express milk without changing my expression, but I have to admit, my arms were really sore!
My son then went to the dining table and sat down in the chair next to me, watching me squeeze milk from
my .

My arms were probably really sore; I'd only squeezed about half a cup when I stopped and gently shook them.
My son saw this and touched my knee, which was covered in sheer nude stockings, saying, "Mom,
are your arms sore?"

"Just a little. Now you realize how hard Mom works."

"Can I help Mom?"

"Huh?"

My son's suggestion to help caught me off guard. Before I could react, he
reached out his right hand, stopping about thirty centimeters from my left breast, seemingly about to touch it directly,
giving me no time to think.

"Is it to pinch the head?" he asked tentatively, before his hand touched my breast. The
warm touch of his hand on my rounded breast sent a
shiver through . It had been over a decade since my son last touched my breast; that little baby
was almost an adult now.

My son's hands trembled slightly as he gently pinched my nipple. The strange
sensation was hard to describe, but since he had already touched me, I had to show him the correct technique.

"No, it's the area around the areola. Pressing the nipple will hurt a little." I took his hand with one hand,
guiding his slender fingers to encircle my nipple and areola, while my other hand held a half-full glass against my
left breast, letting him gently apply pressure to express milk from the nipple. Milk spurted from my nipple
into the glass under the pressure of his fingers, making my son gasp softly, "Wow!"

"Like that...good." I placed my right hand on my stockinged thigh, and continued to hold the glass
against my left breast with my left hand. Although my son's hand was only gently pressing the areola where I had shown him, it gave me
a very strange feeling. Especially as the milk spurted out in gushes, the tingling sensation gradually intensified,
slowly spreading from my left breast to my entire upper body in waves.

I took a breath and reached out to stop my son's right hand. He seemed startled and trembled,
probably thinking I was going to stop. But I instead pulled his right hand to my full right breast and placed it there, telling him,
"Switch to the other side."

My son recovered from his brief shock and continued expressing milk from my soft right breast. The
tingling sensation shifted from my left to my right, and each time the milk flowed smoothly through
my nipple and sprayed into the cup, it became an indescribable pleasure. Besides relieving the engorged breast milk, it also
brought an embarrassingly pleasurable sensation, almost like sexual pleasure.

Although it was just simple milking, when my son pressed on my areola, he placed his entire right hand on my
breast, gently massaging it with his thumb and forefinger. I never expected that such a simple
action would bring me sexual pleasure. I closed my eyes, biting my lip to endure the tingling pleasure,
wanting to moan but afraid my son would hear and embarrass me.

A few seconds after closing my eyes, I felt my son place his left hand on my right thigh. Although I wasn't going out
early in the morning , I sometimes wear stockings indoors because my legs get cold easily. I opened my eyes and
saw him gently stroking my thigh, which was covered in sheer, flesh-colored stockings, while his right hand continued to press on my large, white breasts , causing
milk to gush out.

My son stared intently at my breasts, and the pressure of his right hand on my breast and his left hand on my stockinged
thigh increased slightly. I endured the continuous pleasure spreading from my right breast throughout my body, my right hand, holding the cup to collect the milk
, trembled. Looking down casually, I was surprised to find a tent bulging in my son's uniform pants
at . Seeing that my son had actually become erect from massaging my breasts
made me blush instantly. Just as I saw my son's erection, I noticed the cup was almost full, so in a
panic, I slapped his hand.

"Okay, okay, it's almost full!"

My son, who had been staring intently at my chest, was startled by this. He trembled violently, his right hand
gripping my breast tightly, while his left hand gripped my thigh, which was clad in sheer stockings.

"Ah...ah...ah...!"

As if out of control, his lower body began to tremble unnaturally,
twitching at a rate of about once per second, almost making his entire buttocks bounce up. He unconsciously let out
soft moans, and his grip on my breast brought me a slightly painful yet incredibly stimulating
tingling sensation.

It was obvious that my son had ejaculated…

I trembled slightly as I placed the cup full of warm breast milk on the table. At the same time, my son
seemed to and released his hands. Several large drops of milk dripped from my right breast, and
a few drops, perhaps from overstimulation, also dripped from my left breast, which hadn't been touched recently. A drop of white breast milk
landed on my thigh, which was covered in nude stockings. My son, somewhat flustered, grabbed a tissue from the table and quickly
wiped the milk off my stockings. The touch of the tissue on my breast made me shudder. But I noticed that
my son had just ejaculated, and semen had seeped out of his pants, leaving a sticky, wet stain
that made it necessary to change his pants.

I gently pointed to his crotch. He glanced down, quickly put down the tissue, and...
My face flushed , I stood up and rushed back to my room.

"Hurry up and get dressed for school!" I urged my son, but he didn't respond from inside. The problem of excessive milk production persisted. If I didn't finish expressing after the baby was full, I would often get mastitis. Since the breast pump broke down, I didn't have time to buy another one, so hand expression seemed to work, although my hands would sometimes get sore. After the last time my son helped express milk, it seemed to become commonplace for him to help me express milk on his own initiative. That afternoon, when my son came home from school, I had just put my daughter down to sleep and was expressing milk at home. When my son got home, I didn't try to hide it and continued to massage my breasts . "Why is Mommy constantly touching her breasts?" my son asked, putting down his schoolbag and staring intently at my hand movements. "Because if you don't finish expressing the milk for your sister, it can cause inflammation and your breasts will feel a little uncomfortable. You need to massage them to improve blood circulation," I answered my son while continuing my work. "Then I'll help Mom." My son said, and naturally sat down on the sofa next to me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world . Since my son had already helped me express milk last time, I treated this as a normal thing and simply let him help me. "Use both hands." I slightly turned my lower body, which was wearing black sheer stockings and a tight skirt, towards my son, opened my shirt, unhooked my bra, turned my upper body towards him, and then took his hands and placed them directly on my 32g snow-white breasts. My son's hands trembled slightly the moment they touched my breasts, but he was much calmer than last time. My son's left leg, wearing athletic shorts, was right next to my right leg, which was wearing sheer black stockings , but I didn't care. "Xiao Zhong, massage gently, starting from the top of my breasts towards the nipples, and massaging from the bottom as well," I gently instructed my son, using the same massage technique I'd learned from the lactation consultant. Because of his short stature, his hands weren't large, appearing somewhat disproportionate to my large breasts, but he still massaged them very gently from top to bottom and side to side, quickly relieving the pressure on both my breasts. "Squeeze a little harder, there are mammary glands in Mommy's breasts, massaging them makes Mommy feel very comfortable..." Suddenly feeling a bit strange saying "feels very comfortable," I added, " When I massage the mammary glands, Mommy feels her breasts feel more relaxed." My son attentively and obediently pressed and massaged my two soft, large breasts. Honestly, my technique was far inferior to the lactation consultant's, both in skill and experience. But a feeling, seemingly from nowhere, spread from the outside in, making me feel incredibly comfortable from my breasts to the depths of my body, and that tingling, comfortable feeling slowly transformed into a pleasurable sensation with his massage. "Does this feel good, Mom?" My son, his hands kneading my breasts, tightened his grip slightly, his legs pressed tightly against my long legs clad in sheer black stockings. "It feels so good..." The pleasure was almost indescribable, but I thoroughly enjoyed the way my son massaged my breasts. Honestly, it felt even better than when I made love with my husband. Whether it was instinct or not, my son's massage of my breasts slowly turned into caresses, something he would never normally do. The pleasure emanating from my breasts quickly intensified, the intense stimulation causing me to arch my chest, allowing them to touch my son's hands more closely. My son then instinctively began circling my areolas with his fingers, even gently pressing my nipples with his fingertips. An electric-like sexual pleasure surged from deep within my uterus, like a continuous line pounding against my nipples—it felt so good. "Mom, you're leaking milk..." My son's reminder made me realize that my milk was already flowing uncontrollably. I only intended to massage my breasts, not to start expressing milk yet, so there were no cups or containers on the living room table. "Xiao Zhong, you suckle," I said, my voice trembling slightly. But my son didn't hesitate; he immediately took my nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on my right breast , drawing a large amount of milk directly from the nipple into his mouth. "Ah…!" A large amount of breast milk entered my son's mouth through my nipple, and at the same time, the pleasure from my nipple made me tilt my head back, close my eyes, and moan. My son didn't suckle very hard, probably afraid of hurting my nipple. But the stimulation from even not suckling hard was already incredibly pleasurable, making me urge my son, "Xiao Zhong, it's okay to suck harder." Receiving the order, my son suckled even harder, and I could feel the milk flowing directly into his throat in an unprecedented amount. My son's hands also temporarily stopped massaging my breasts, instead grabbing my thighs, which were clad in sheer black stockings, and gently stroking them back and forth. "How can this feel so good?" I asked myself silently. Wanting my son to suckle more, I wrapped one arm around his head and pulled him closer, just like when he was a baby nursing. The waves of pleasure from my nipples were relentless, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. My son suckled for several minutes before finally letting go to catch his breath, then moving his mouth to the other breast for another wave of pleasure. It seemed like my son had an innate talent for sex; he started using his tongue to caress and tease my nipples from bottom to top . He even boldly sucked the nipple, areola, and surrounding flesh directly into his mouth, filling his small mouth with my snow-white breasts. This no longer felt like a child suckling at his mother's milk; it felt like a man using his tongue and mouth to caress a woman's 32g breasts, except the man and woman were my son and his mother, whose milk was overflowing from breastfeeding. I rested my chin on my son's head, enjoying the pleasure his mouth brought to my snow-white breasts. Unbeknownst to me, his erect penis had already emerged from beside my school shorts, pressing against my beautiful legs clad in sheer black stockings, one in front and one behind. "Mmm…!" My son suddenly thrust forward forcefully, pushing his erect penis hard against my thigh.

My beautiful legs in stockings, his swollen glans suddenly sprayed hot liquid forcefully onto my sheer
black stockings with a "plop." His mouth stopped sucking and instead forcefully took my swollen nipples into its mouth, bringing me
to the peak of a breast orgasm. I trembled with pleasure, feeling
a large amount , seemingly about to overflow my underwear, stockings, and tight skirt.

My son and I hugged tightly, reaching a double
orgasm . His semen gushed like a tidal wave onto my long legs, staining my
thighs, clad in sheer black stockings, with a large amount of white, foul-smelling semen. After an unknown amount of time in the embrace, I
finally released my son's head, letting his mouth leave my swollen nipples.

We got up without saying a word. My son went back to his room, while I fastened my bra, pulled up my clothes, and
tossed the sheer black stockings, now soaked with semen, into the laundry basket. Then I started doing housework as if nothing was wrong.

That evening, after my husband came home, we ate dinner and chatted casually about our day.
Of course, I didn't mention to my son that he had massaged my breasts, which ended up with me being sucked until I climaxed, and that he
had ejaculated on my stockinged thighs.

After washing the dishes, my son had already showered and gone to his room to study, so it was my turn to shower.
As soon as I entered the bathroom, I smelled a distinctively pungent male odor. Looking towards the source of the smell, sure enough, it was
the black stockings I had placed on top of the laundry basket. I picked up the sticky stockings. When I took them off,
the thigh area was already sticky with semen, and now, as I picked them up, I found
a large, still-warm white puddle of semen at the crotch of the thong.

I picked up the stockings and brought the crotch area, soaked with semen, to my nose. The pungent, fishy
smell incredibly strong; I hadn't expected it to be so concentrated after a second ejaculation. Was this normal for virgins, or was this
kid just too excited? The

smell, though foul, had a strong masculine scent that made me inhale deeply, arousing me as well. I went even further, sticking out my tongue and licking the cooling semen on the black stockings. The bleach-like stench and the tingling sensation on my tongue shot up to my throat; it tasted awful, but for some reason, I felt an urge to eat it. The moment I licked my son's semen, reason seemed to vanish. I quickly stripped off all my clothes , but put the sticky, transparent black stockings back on. As I pulled the stockings up , I felt the semen sticking to my legs. Normally, this would have been disgusting, but now it felt incredibly exciting. Even before I made any other movements, I felt my vagina rapidly secreting a gush of fluid, which immediately dripped onto my thighs. I quickly pulled the sheer black stockings back onto my body. Because my son had ejaculated in my crotch area , my entire vulva was covered in his semen, a large patch of cloudy white liquid covering my genitals. It should have been utterly disgusting, but it also incredibly arousing. I sat on the bathroom floor with my legs open, rubbing my 32g breasts with my left hand, while my right fingers forcefully pushed through the stockings, forcefully digging the thick semen into my vagina. I've almost never masturbated in my life, only a few times when I was a student and had just learned how. But now, wearing these thin black stockings soaked with my son's semen, I felt like a seasoned masturbator. The crotch area was covered by a T-string, but my fingers were surprisingly strong. I forcefully dug into my wet, sticky vagina through the stockings, not knowing if it was from semen or vaginal fluid. The mixture of my son's and my own fluids lubricated the synthetic fibers of the stockings inside my elastic vagina, making it incredibly easy for my fingers to apply pressure. I quickly reached the deepest point my fingers could reach. Before, when I only used my fingers to reach this area, the pleasure wasn't very strong; but now, through the stockings, the delicate feel on my skin, but too rough on my vaginal mucosa, sent me into a frenzy of pleasure. My left hand was kneading my soft, large breasts, and almost immediately, breast milk began to spurt from the nipples , causing my vagina to burst forth with a gush of vaginal fluid that usually only erupts at the peak of climax. My body, churned by my son's semen and the black stockings being rubbed into my vagina, reached another peak of sexual desire . After a man and woman reach orgasm, whether through sex or masturbation, there's usually an indescribable sense of regret . Some call it "saint mode, " like regretting wasting those few minutes on such a thing. But after wearing stockings stained with my son's semen and vigorously masturbating, I felt no regret whatsoever. Perhaps it was like rain after a long drought, or perhaps I was simply so lewd that I found masturbating with stockings stained with my son's semen pleasurable? I don't know what my son was thinking, but a sinister thought seemed to be rapidly expanding . The intimate contact with my son, beyond the parent-child bond, transformed the otherwise warm and loving atmosphere into a taboo incestuous thrill. Anyway, no one knew, and my son seemed to enjoy . Giving him a chance to make me feel good, or even for both of us, didn't seem like a big deal, no matter how absurd things became afterward. In the end, it always seemed to come back to that: "Anyway, no one knows." The next afternoon, after taking care of my daughter, I took off my bra, leaving only a white shirt on my upper body. I also noticed that my son seemed to like stockings, so I wore a pair of sheer pinkish-gray stockings with a tight black silk skirt that barely covered my hips, just waiting for him to come home. I dared to dress so boldly partly because my husband had gone back to his hometown , so he couldn't bother me with what I wanted to do, right? "I'm home." "Xiao Zhong, come give Mom a massage." As soon as I heard my son's voice, I called him to the living room. He obediently went to the living room put down his schoolbag, and sat next to me, just like yesterday. I slowly unbuttoned my white shirt, letting my 32g snow-white breasts breathe, and unsurprisingly, I felt my son gasp in surprise . "Give Mom a massage like yesterday."

I commanded my son, and without a word, he knelt before me, his hands gently
resting on my large, white breasts. This wasn't the first time my son had massaged my breasts; his technique
was increasingly skilled. He gently but firmly kneaded and pressed my mammary glands, and I immediately felt
the blood flow to my breasts improve. He skillfully cupped my areolas with his hands, his thumbs and other four
fingers sinking into my soft yet elastic breasts like dough. While gently supporting my
gravity- breasts, he skillfully pressed at various angles that felt sore and pleasurable. His
sensual touch even surpassed the stimulation and pleasure I had experienced from the lactation consultant.

My wanton breasts, even without his nipples and areolas being touched, had already begun to
secrete milk in pleasure. Without waiting for my consent, my son lunged forward and took one of my breasts into his mouth, immediately
teasing my deep red nipple with his nimble tongue.

As his tongue skillfully teased my nipple, my body went numb with an indescribable tingling sensation. I didn't know
whether to say it was because my son was nursing in my arms, or because I was holding his head to keep myself from going limp.

"Is it uncomfortable, Mommy?" My son, noticing my seemingly limp upper body, released
his mouth and asked.

"No, Mommy feels so good." I pulled him back to continue nursing. What was originally maternal
love had transformed into lust. Although it was unexpected, the stimulating and immoral pleasure was too hard to resist. Only
in the last sliver of my mind could I weakly convince myself: this was just because I had too much milk,
so I was letting my son drink some.

But every time a part of my mind weakly tried to convince myself, something even more outrageous would happen. Kneeling
before me, my son, vigorously licking my nipples and suckling at my breast, lifted my ultra-short black silk skirt up to
my waist, revealing my lower body clad in sheer pinkish-gray stockings and light green lace panties. He then
reached behind me, boldly and forcefully rubbing my buttocks and
shapely legs in those sheer pinkish-gray stockings.

I knew this behavior was becoming increasingly outrageous, but from my breasts down to my entire body
, I was gradually enveloped in a deadly pleasure, too weak to stop him. I could only silently allow my son to continue his lustful
groping —even though, ultimately, I was the one who willingly let myself fall into this immoral vortex.

Unsurprisingly, my son's genitals reacted as well, his erect penis
tenting itself again beneath his middle school uniform trousers. To reward my son for his hard work in helping his mother breastfeed, I gently pressed my pinkish-gray
stockinged erect penis, immediately feeling his entire body tremble.

"Does it feel good?" I gently stomped on his erect penis under his trousers with my stockinged feet. My son, while
alternating between sucking on my breasts, breathed and said, "So good!"

"Then unzip your trousers," I commanded him, and he quickly unzipped his uniform trousers
. My feet deftly pulled the erect 14-year-old's penis out from under his underwear. Although it wasn't very clear
in , I could feel
the large size of the glans through the thin stockings. I held my son's head down so he could continue sucking on my large breasts, enjoying the
pleasurable stimulation. My feet, clad in delicate pinkish-gray stockings, clamped his erect penis between my left and right,
performing a perverse footjob for him.

This was the first time his own mother had performed such a lewd act on him, and to prevent his young penis
from being uncomfortable or in pain, my stockinged feet moved very lightly and slowly.

"Does it hurt, Xiao Zhong?" I asked softly, panting.

"No..." my son swallowed a mouthful of milk and added, "It feels very good."

I slightly increased the range of motion of my stockinged feet as I stroked his penis, and occasionally used the tips of my stockinged feet to gently scrape his
penis and glans. From the way he gently caressed my stockinged buttocks, I could tell he was indeed feeling very
good. As my stockinged feet gradually increased the force and speed, my son squeezed my stockinged buttocks
harder. As the sexual stimulation we gave each other intensified, we reached our peak almost simultaneously
. My son squeezed my stockinged buttocks hard, and my feet, clad in pinkish-gray sheer stockings,
clamped his swollen penis between them. Intense sexual pleasure flowed through my body from the nipples my son was tightly holding, penetrating my lower body
and squeezing out orgasmic fluid from the deepest part of my vagina. At the same time, my son's penis, which I had clamped between my stockinged feet,
began to throb and ejaculate violently, spraying a thick stream of white, lustful fluid onto his stockinged calves and feet.

We both groaned, enjoying the sensation, the sounds lasting almost as long as our orgasms
. After what seemed like an eternity, I released my son's head, separating his body from mine. I glanced
at his stockinged calves, now sticky and wet from my ejaculation, and went into the bathroom to clean up.

I took off my clothes and the sticky stockings, throwing them into the laundry basket. Intending to take a bath,
I only remembered to check on my son after running the water. Peeking through the crack in the bathroom door, I saw
my bewildered son kneeling blankly where we had just been embracing and I had ejaculated. I chuckled and
said from behind the door, "Mommy wants to take a bath. Xiao Zhong, do you want to come?"

My son stood up somewhat dazedly, pushed open the bathroom door, and came in. Seeing me
naked in the bathtub, my penis, which had been limp, immediately sprang back to life.

"Son, you rinse off first. Mommy will wait for you."

He quickly lathered himself with soap and began washing, then jumped into the tub,
sitting on either side of me. Even after he was in the tub, his penis remained erect,
and it was the first time since infancy that I had the chance to observe his penis.

Our bathtub wasn't large, so I could easily reach under the water and feel his hard penis.
When my son
which is about the average thickness for a 14-year-old boy. But what's unusual is that his
glans is unusually large, perhaps even enormous. It's red and swollen, about the size of an egg,
and very wide. Viewed together with the shaft, it resembles a large-capped mushroom.
It was about 12 or 13 centimeters long. Although it wasn't very long overall, the glans alone took up
about 1/3 of the length, making the proportions quite bizarre.

The only penises I'd ever seen besides my husband's were those from a few pornographic films he'd shown. While not many, I was
certain that the ratio of my son's glans to his shaft was very strange. Curious, I reached out and gently manipulated
my son . He gripped the sides of the bathtub tightly, his legs spread wide, pressing my long legs
against the sides.

"Don't be nervous, let Mom look at Xiao Zhong's penis."

I moved his erect penis up and down, thinking about how such a strangely shaped penis, if inserted into a woman's
vagina, would the enormous glans scrape against her vagina? That would probably feel good, wouldn't it?

While pondering these strange thoughts, I stroked and observed his penis. Seeing Xiao Zhong trembling all over,
I stopped, and he immediately relaxed. We continued to soak quietly in the bathtub for a while.

"Mom," my son suddenly said, "can I touch your breasts?"

"Why do you suddenly want to touch them again? Didn't you just touch them?" A little confused, I nodded
slightly to indicate that my son could touch my breasts.

After getting my permission, my son reached out and gently cupped my soft, white breasts floating on the water's surface.

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