The Taste of Me: Leaking, Pregnant

Summary:

A bored housewife finds herself caught in a sensual spiral of unexpected desire after a chance encounter reveals how much she's been missing. What begins as a simple massage leads her down a path of touch, temptation, and ultimate surrender. With each heated moment, she rediscovers the aching hunger buried deep inside her -- and realizes how far she's willing to go when someone finally knows exactly how to touch her. Slow-burning, explicit, and intensely intimate, this story explores the erotic tension between restraint and release.

Tammy stood naked by the window, sunlight slanting through the blinds in warm golden stripes across her belly. Her hands moved in slow, circular strokes over her swollen skin, fingers spreading across the tautness of six months' worth of life growing inside her. Her belly was huge--round, high, the kind of fullness that made strangers smile softly and say "any day now?" even though she still had weeks left.

Her body had transformed with frightening speed: breasts swollen to obscene fullness, nipples darkened and thickened, heavy with milk she could feel aching behind the flesh. Her thighs had softened, her hips widened, and her once-firm core now gave way to curves so lush, so ripe, she hardly recognized herself.

But God, she felt beautiful.

And unbearably horny.

The weight of her tits tugged her forward when she moved, and every brush of fabric against her nipples made her thighs clench. Her pussy, swollen and sensitive, stayed slick almost constantly now--like her body was in heat, desperate, begging for attention. But Donald, her husband, had barely touched her since her belly began to show.

She could still remember the way he used to press her against the kitchen counter from behind, hands gripping her hips like he needed her. Now, he barely looked at her body. His glances were brief, avoidant--eyes sliding past her curves like they embarrassed him.

But she wouldn't hide.

Not today.

She moved to her closet, still naked, and pulled out the dress she'd laid out the night before. A soft heather-gray knit, paper-thin and clinging like a second skin. It had no lining. No bra. No slip. Just the stretch of fabric over skin and the outline of a body that had bloomed far beyond decency.

She slipped it on.

It hugged her breasts tightly, the weight of them pressing down, the nipples visible in hard, aching peaks. Her belly stretched the fabric like a drum. And between her legs... she didn't wear panties. Not with this dress. It would only catch her wetness and remind her that she was alone in it. Without underwear, she could feel the breeze of movement, the brush of fabric against the outline of her lips, the soft squish of her arousal when she shifted her weight.

When she turned sideways in the mirror, she gasped.

The curve of her belly flowed into the swell of her breasts, the shape of her pussy visible through the thin knit--a whisper of shadow and fullness that made her flush with shame and pride.

She bit her lip.

"Fuck it," she whispered.

Let them stare.

She had a PTA meeting at 9:30. Just a small gathering for parents of her five-year-old, held in one of the upstairs classrooms of Lincoln Elementary. She pulled her coat on loosely--just enough to hide the nipples that refused to soften, but not enough to mask the shape beneath.

Her heels clicked against the tiles as she moved toward the front door. Every step made the fabric catch between her thighs. She could already feel her wetness soaking the front of the dress slightly. And she wondered, absently, if any of the other moms would notice. Or if any of the dads might finally see her.

Because she was pregnant. She was leaking. She was alone in her skin.

But she was not ashamed.

Not anymore.

She stepped out into the summer morning, the heat rising already off the sidewalk--and with it, the first curl of desire that would stay with her all day.

The Classroom Heat

The upstairs classroom at Lincoln Elementary was always just a little too warm. One of those older wings of the school with crooked blinds and windows that barely opened, where the air hung dense and stale even in the morning.

Tammy entered last, her coat unbuttoned but still around her shoulders. She scanned the half-circle of parents clustered around miniature desks--coffee cups balanced precariously on laminated math charts, polite murmurs and tired smiles. The PTA chair, a tight-lipped woman named Carla, was already speaking.

Tammy slipped into an empty child-sized chair and tried to adjust without drawing attention--but failed.

Heads turned.

Including his.

Jason.

He sat two rows across and one desk back, a dark-haired dad with forearms like rope and a collar always slightly askew. Divorced. Mid-thirties. Smelled like cedar and spearmint gum. He didn't flinch when she caught him looking.

His eyes dragged slowly--boldly--from her face, down to her swollen breasts, then her belly, then--

Lower.

Where the dress pressed between her legs like a breath. The knit had settled by now, pulled snug between her thighs as she sat, outlining the soft fullness of her pussy lips beneath the fabric. There was no mistaking it. The heat between her legs pulsed, and she shifted slightly, as if adjusting her belly--really just to grind herself more firmly into the seat.

Jason's jaw twitched.

He didn't look away.

Tammy bit the inside of her cheek and turned forward, heart racing.

She tried to focus on the meeting. Field trip funding. Bake sale sign-ups. Something about the new playground mulch. But she felt seen. Not in the polite, patronizing way people looked at pregnant women. Not as a mother. Not as a wife.

Jason looked at her like a woman. A hot, wet, aching slut of a woman, bursting with milk and need.

When she reached for her water bottle, her breasts shifted under the dress--swaying, heavy, nipples dark and stiff against the fabric. She saw his eyes flick down. Again. Held there.

She let her legs drift apart--just a little.

Her pussy throbbed.

And in the dim heat of that fluorescent-lit classroom, she imagined crawling over one of those desks, turning around and pulling up the back of her dress until the plug of her belly arched just so, the outline of her slit bared, dripping, needing to be filled from behind while other parents clutched their Starbucks cups and stared.

When the meeting finally broke, parents filtered out in pairs and murmurs.

Tammy stood slowly, her hand brushing her belly as she rose--feeling the drag of fabric across the wetness gathering at her entrance. Her thighs were damp. Her pulse was loud in her ears.

She turned--and there he was.

Jason.

Close.

Too close.

His voice was quiet, pitched for her alone.

"You look..." He paused, his eyes sliding down her body again, stopping--lingering--on the dip between her thighs. "Incredible. Honestly."

Tammy's breath caught.

"Thank you," she whispered, but it wasn't gratitude--it was arousal, thick and clinging to her tongue. "I wasn't sure if this dress was... too much."

Jason smiled. Crooked. Dangerous.

"It's perfect," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "It shows everything."

His gaze dropped again--down her belly, past the swell of her breasts, to that spot where the dress outlined the soft, swollen lips of her sex. And stayed there.

She didn't move.

Didn't cover it.

Just stood there and let him look.

"I should go," she said finally, her voice trembling.

"Should you?"

She swallowed. Her whole body was warm.

She took a step backward.

Then turned and left, pulse between her legs.

Outside, the breeze hit the wet spot clinging between her thighs. Her clit throbbed.

By the time she reached her car, her hand was trembling.

She drove home with the windows cracked and one hand pressed between her thighs the entire ride--grinding into the soaked heat of the dress, breathless, needing to feel something, anything before she walked through that door.

Her husband didn't look up when she entered. He was working. Again.

But her dress still clung.

Her nipples still showed.

And Jason's voice echoed in her ears--"It shows everything."

She didn't take the dress off.

Not yet.

She wanted to keep that feeling just a little longer.

A Body Unwanted

Tammy closed the front door behind her, and for a moment, just stood there--coat open, dress clinging damply between her thighs, Jason's words still echoing like a vibration under her skin.

It shows everything.

God. The way he said it. His eyes dragging over her body like they could see through the cotton, see through her ribs and straight into her need. It wasn't just lust. It was hunger. He looked at her belly and didn't flinch. He looked between her legs and didn't look away.

She swallowed.

Her pussy was soaked--still. The outline of her lips stuck to the fabric, and when she shifted her weight, the dress pulled up slightly, catching on the slick heat gathered at the base of her thighs.

Donald was in the living room. On the couch. Laptop open, glasses on, the soft clicking of keys like raindrops in a dead house.

She hovered in the doorway, watching him.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He glanced up. "Hey. How was the meeting?"

"Fine," she said. "Small group. Jason was there."

"Mm." He didn't ask anything else. His eyes were already drifting back to the screen.

Tammy stood for a moment, pulse thudding between her legs.

Then she dropped her coat.

It slid off her shoulders and landed on the hardwood like a promise. She stood there in nothing but the thin gray dress--her nipples like pebbles under the knit, belly round and taut, the dark, wet shape of her pussy visible between her legs.

She stepped closer.

"I missed you today," she whispered.

Donald gave a faint smile. "You were only gone a couple hours."

"No. I mean..." She dropped to her knees between his legs, hands sliding up his thighs. "I miss you."

He stiffened slightly, looking down at her. "Tam..."

She pressed her mouth to his thigh, nuzzling against the flannel. "I've been thinking about you. I'm so wet. I can't stop. I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me."

"Tammy," he said gently, "you know I'm not really in the mood lately."

Her fingers unbuttoned the front of his pants anyway. "Please," she whispered. "You don't even have to do anything. I'll ride you. I just... I need it. I need to feel something inside me."

He leaned back slightly, sighing. "It's not about you. You know that. You've changed, and I just..."

"I'm pregnant," she snapped. "I'm still me. I'm still your wife."

"I didn't say you weren't."

She reached up and took his hand, guiding it to her breast.

"Feel how full I am," she whispered. "My milk comes in at night. I wake up aching, Donald. These tits are for you."

He didn't squeeze. He didn't respond. His hand just lay there, limp.

Her heart cracked a little.

Tammy stood.

Turned around.

She bent over slowly, planting her hands on the coffee table, ass high, belly hanging, the back of her dress rising inch by inch until it barely covered anything at all.

Her bare pussy lips, swollen and slick, glistened between her thighs. The cleft of her ass opened slightly, soft and vulnerable.

She looked back over her shoulder.

"I'd even let you have my ass," she said softly. "You haven't touched it in years. But I'd let you. If you wanted it."

Donald swallowed.

But he didn't move.

He didn't even look properly--just that half-glance, that guilty flinch, like her body made him uncomfortable now.

"I'm sorry, Tammy. I just... can't."

Her whole body buzzed with rejection.

She stayed bent over for a moment, the cool air brushing her wetness, her thighs trembling with tension that had nowhere to go. Her cunt clenched around emptiness. Her nipples throbbed.

Finally, she stood upright.

Her face was blank.

Her voice even flatter.

"Got it."

She turned and walked down the hallway, leaving the dress clinging to the wet outline of her pussy, her ass jiggling slightly with each slow step. She didn't cover herself. She didn't apologize.

She was done begging.

Behind her, Donald didn't follow.

He didn't say a word.

And Tammy?

Tammy went into the bathroom.

Locked the door.

And stared at herself in the mirror.

The sun was too hot for morning. The kind of dry heat that clung to skin and turned even mundane errands into something oppressive, intimate. Tammy stepped out of the automatic doors of the grocery store, arms straining with brown paper bags, belly jutting out proud and swollen in front of her like a ripe, living thing. The same thin gray dress clung to her curves--washed the night before, still damp this morning when she pulled it on--but it dried against her skin now in the open air, stretching tightly across her belly and sticking damply between her legs.

Each step made the bags press into the underside of her bump. Her breasts bounced, swollen and braless, nipples stiff and brushing the fabric. She could feel her wetness again -- hot and lazy between her thighs, already soaking through.

She was halfway across the lot when she heard his voice.

"Tammy! Hey, wait up--"

Her stomach fluttered.

She turned.

Jason jogged toward her, wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans that clung to the curve of his thighs. His forearms gleamed slightly in the sun, and his eyes flicked immediately down her body as he reached her.

"Let me help you with those," he said, already reaching for the bags.

She let him take them -- his hands brushing hers, the pads of his fingers warm and calloused.

They walked together toward her car.

He loaded the bags into the backseat, leaned in deeper than he needed to, the edge of his shirt lifting slightly to show a trail of hair running down his tight abdomen.

When he turned back around, he didn't speak right away.

His eyes dragged over her belly.

"Jesus," he said softly. "You look... incredible."

Tammy flushed, but didn't look away. "My belly?" she asked.

Jason stepped closer. "All of it."

"Do you..." she hesitated, voice low, almost trembling, "Do you want to touch it?"

Jason blinked. "Can I?"

She nodded once.

And then he reached out.

His palms landed gently on either side of her belly--warm, wide hands that spread across the tightness of her skin. He moved slowly, reverently, thumbs smoothing in slow circles. Tammy closed her eyes for a second, the sensation intimate, almost indecent in public.

His hands slid upward, toward the top of her bump.

And then higher.

To her breasts.

He cupped one softly through the dress, then the other -- his palms wide and warm, thumbs grazing over her nipples until they pressed stiffly into the fabric.

She gasped.

"You're... really full," he murmured.

"They've been leaking at night," she whispered. "They ache all the time."

Jason didn't pull back.

His hands moved again -- slower now -- tracing down the sides of her belly, then lower. To the underside. Right where the round curve dipped toward the vee between her legs.

His knuckles brushed the damp hem of the dress.

He paused.

Then let his hand slide between her thighs, just far enough that his fingertips caught the soft, soaked fabric stretched tight over her pussy.

Tammy sucked in a breath.

Jason's eyes darkened. "You're soaked."

"I know," she whispered. "I can't help it."

His fingers moved--just a slow, dragging press over the cotton, directly over her lips. He could feel the shape of them, full and warm and soft, and the slick heat that had already started to spread.

Tammy swayed forward.

Then--her voice barely more than a breath--"How's your wife?"

Jason's eyes fluttered.

"She's good," he said softly. "At home. With the baby."

Tammy nodded.

And just like that, she stepped back.

The air between them cooled instantly.

Jason's hand fell to his side, slick with her scent.

"Thank you," she said, voice calm now, composed. "For the help."

She didn't wait for a response.

She opened the driver's door, slid into the seat -- her thighs sticking slightly to the hot leather -- and let the door shut with a soft, deliberate click.

Jason stood outside the car, unmoving, hand still tingling with the shape of her body.

And Tammy?

Tammy stared straight ahead, lips parted, her soaked cunt throbbing beneath the fabric.

She didn't look back.

But the ghost of his fingers stayed with her the entire drive home.

Tammy barely made it up the stairs.

She didn't stop to unload the groceries. Didn't glance at her husband's office door. Her panties were soaked. Her inner thighs sticky and hot. Jason's scent still clung to her -- the faint trace of his cologne mixed with something more primal: the memory of his fingers pressing the damp fabric between her thighs, the reverent weight of his palms on her breasts, the hunger in his voice when he whispered, "You're soaked."

She kicked off her flats in the bedroom, heart pounding, her body already tingling with the urgency of denial.

She didn't undress.

She yanked the dress up -- the hem flipping over her hips, exposing the heavy swell of her belly and the wet cotton pulled so tight over her pussy it outlined every swollen, aching fold.

Her hand slid straight down, no teasing, no hesitation -- her fingers pressing hard over the soaked fabric. The heat of it made her cry out, just a little gasp, her knees already buckling.

She collapsed onto the bed, lying on her back, belly round and high, nipples poking like thumbs through the stretched fabric of her dress. Her legs fell open, thighs trembling.

Tammy cupped her mound through the cotton, grinding her palm in slow, aching circles.

"You want to touch it?"

"Can I?"

Jason's voice. Jason's eyes.

Her other hand reached up, cupping her breast, squeezing the heavy weight of it, thumb dragging across her stiff, milk-swollen nipple. A sharp, forbidden pulse ran straight from her chest to her cunt.

She moaned, louder now.

Then hooked her fingers into the crotch of the dress and dragged the fabric aside.

Her pussy was glistening -- the lips thick, flushed, open. Wetness coated her thighs. She rubbed slow circles over her clit, hips jerking at the contact, breath shallow, her other hand kneading her breast like it belonged to someone else.

"You're soaked."

"I know. I can't help it."

She imagined Jason saying it again -- not in a parking lot, but kneeling in front of her. She imagined his mouth. His tongue dragging up between her thighs, licking the wet cotton first, then pulling it aside, groaning as he found her lips swollen and dripping, tasting her like he was starving.

"Fuck..." Tammy whimpered, fingers moving faster now, her hips lifting off the bed. She was rutting into her hand like an animal. "Fuck, Jason... oh God..."

She slipped two fingers inside herself -- the slick heat swallowing them with ease. Her other hand pinched her nipple sharply and milk leaked from her breast, warm and sudden, soaking the fabric in a spreading stain. She cried out -- humiliated, aroused, flooded.

She imagined Jason seeing it, tasting her milk from her nipple, one hand on her belly, the other under it, fingers inside her while he sucked her breast like a starving man.

She came.

Hard.

Her whole body buckled -- cunt spasming around her fingers, belly jumping, milk still leaking as she arched into the orgasm, moaning Jason's name into the empty room, wet and aching and so utterly alone.

When the waves finally subsided, she lay there trembling. Dress bunched around her waist. Thighs slick. One breast dark with milk. Her pussy still twitching with aftershocks.

She pulled her fingers free and brought them to her mouth.

Jason's name was still on her tongue.

And her husband was still nowhere to be found.

Three days had passed since Tammy came moaning Jason's name into her pillow.

Three days since she pressed milk-stained fingertips to her lips and whispered fuck like a prayer.

Her husband hadn't noticed. Or hadn't cared.

This afternoon, the sun was mellow. The light thick and golden. Birds stirred in the canopy overhead as Tammy walked the narrow path through the park, one hand resting beneath the weight of her belly.

She wore a white cotton dress -- thin, sleeveless, and braless. The fabric clung to her belly like a second skin. Her nipples were stiff, round shadows beneath the gauzy material, the fullness of her tits bouncing slightly with each step. No panties, again -- just soft thighs rubbing, the dress catching occasionally in the crease where her lips met, forming the shape of her sex in full view if the wind so much as shifted.

She was drenched in sweat and arousal.

She wasn't even pretending anymore.

A soft rustle from the curve in the path.

Then she saw him.

Jason.

Black athletic shorts. T-shirt damp with sweat. Headphones hanging loose around his neck. His eyes found her immediately -- and held.

He smiled.

"Hey."

Tammy's pulse jumped. "Hi."

They stood facing each other in the dappled light, wind teasing her dress, lifting the hem just enough to show the tops of her thighs -- bare, flushed.

Jason looked at her belly.

Then her breasts.

Then lower.

"I didn't expect to see you out here," he said.

"I needed air," she murmured. "I've been..." she hesitated, letting the silence fill with implication. "... restless."

He stepped closer.

Their bodies weren't touching. But they could feel each other now. Heat. Pulse. Breath.

"I don't think that dress is legal in public," he said, his voice low, teasing--but his eyes didn't leave the outline of her pussy, clearly visible now as the breeze pressed the fabric between her lips.

Tammy didn't flinch.

"I get hot," she said softly. "All over."

Jason exhaled slowly. His eyes darkened.

"I can see that."

She didn't smile.

Her hand slid slowly to the top of her belly, resting there.

His eyes followed.

"I think about your hands," she whispered. "A lot."

He swallowed.

"I think about how soft you were with me. How you didn't pull away when I leaked. When I... soaked through."

Jason's breath hitched.

"I dreamt about tasting you," he said. "Right through that dress."

Tammy moaned, quiet and breathless.

Her thighs brushed. Her dress stuck to her again.

"You can see the outline, can't you?" she asked, voice low and thick. "You can see where my pussy opens."

Jason nodded.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "You're--Jesus--fucking made to be touched."

She took a step closer.

"You want to feel how hot I am?" she asked.

His hands twitched.

"Tammy..."

But she didn't stop.

She guided his hand -- slow, firm -- to her belly first. Then lower. Past the curve. Beneath it.

To the space just above the mound of her pussy, where the cotton was soaked through.

He let out a strangled groan.

"Fuck, you're--"

"Don't say it," she breathed. "Just feel it."

Jason's thumb moved slowly, circling the damp patch of fabric, tracing the outline of her lips through the gauze. The dress shifted, damp and clinging. He pressed harder. She gasped.

But then--

Voices.

A couple coming around the bend.

Tammy stepped back -- barely -- her breath ragged, nipples like bullets under the white cotton, her thighs streaked with her own arousal.

Jason clenched his jaw.

Tammy looked up at him, heat still vibrating between her legs.

"We can't here," she whispered. "But I'm not done."

She turned, walking down the path, hips swaying, the dress now wet enough to cling directly between her cheeks. Every step made it shift, outline, print her need against her thighs.

Jason didn't follow.

But his eyes burned into her back.

And Tammy?

She didn't look back.

But she smiled.

Three days had passed since Tammy came moaning Jason's name into her pillow.

Three days since she pressed milk-stained fingertips to her lips and whispered fuck like a prayer.

Her husband hadn't noticed. Or hadn't cared.

This afternoon, the sun was mellow. The light thick and golden. Birds stirred in the canopy overhead as Tammy walked the narrow path through the park, one hand resting beneath the weight of her belly.

She wore a white cotton dress -- thin, sleeveless, and braless. The fabric clung to her belly like a second skin. Her nipples were stiff, round shadows beneath the gauzy material, the fullness of her tits bouncing slightly with each step. No panties, again -- just soft thighs rubbing, the dress catching occasionally in the crease where her lips met, forming the shape of her sex in full view if the wind so much as shifted.

She was drenched in sweat and arousal.

She wasn't even pretending anymore.

A soft rustle from the curve in the path.

Then she saw him.

Jason.

Black athletic shorts. T-shirt damp with sweat. Headphones hanging loose around his neck. His eyes found her immediately -- and held.

He smiled.

"Hey."

Tammy's pulse jumped. "Hi."

They stood facing each other in the dappled light, wind teasing her dress, lifting the hem just enough to show the tops of her thighs -- bare, flushed.

Jason looked at her belly.

Then her breasts.

Then lower.

"I didn't expect to see you out here," he said.

"I needed air," she murmured. "I've been..." she hesitated, letting the silence fill with implication. "... restless."

He stepped closer.

Their bodies weren't touching. But they could feel each other now. Heat. Pulse. Breath.

"I don't think that dress is legal in public," he said, his voice low, teasing--but his eyes didn't leave the outline of her pussy, clearly visible now as the breeze pressed the fabric between her lips.

Tammy didn't flinch.

"I get hot," she said softly. "All over."

Jason exhaled slowly. His eyes darkened.

"I can see that."

She didn't smile.

Her hand slid slowly to the top of her belly, resting there.

His eyes followed.

"I think about your hands," she whispered. "A lot."

He swallowed.

"I think about how soft you were with me. How you didn't pull away when I leaked. When I... soaked through."

Jason's breath hitched.

"I dreamt about tasting you," he said. "Right through that dress."

Tammy moaned, quiet and breathless.

Her thighs brushed. Her dress stuck to her again.

"You can see the outline, can't you?" she asked, voice low and thick. "You can see where my pussy opens."

Jason nodded.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "You're--Jesus--fucking made to be touched."

She took a step closer.

"You want to feel how hot I am?" she asked.

His hands twitched.

"Tammy..."

But she didn't stop.

She guided his hand -- slow, firm -- to her belly first. Then lower. Past the curve. Beneath it.

To the space just above the mound of her pussy, where the cotton was soaked through.

He let out a strangled groan.

"Fuck, you're--"

"Don't say it," she breathed. "Just feel it."

Jason's thumb moved slowly, circling the damp patch of fabric, tracing the outline of her lips through the gauze. The dress shifted, damp and clinging. He pressed harder. She gasped.

But then--

Voices.

A couple coming around the bend.

Tammy stepped back -- barely -- her breath ragged, nipples like bullets under the white cotton, her thighs streaked with her own arousal.

Jason clenched his jaw.

Tammy looked up at him, heat still vibrating between her legs.

"We can't here," she whispered. "But I'm not done."

She turned, walking down the path, hips swaying, the dress now wet enough to cling directly between her cheeks. Every step made it shift, outline, print her need against her thighs.

Jason didn't follow.

But his eyes burned into her back.

And Tammy?

She didn't look back.

But she smiled.

The message came just after dusk, glowing on her phone like a confession.

Jason: Room 214. Courtyard Inn. 5:00. If you want me.

Tammy read it five times.

Her hand trembled around the screen. Her heart thudded deep beneath her breasts -- full, leaking again from the tension, her nipples aching like stones beneath her nightshirt. She was alone in the kitchen, the house quiet, the fridge humming like background noise to the chaos inside her chest.

She didn't reply.

She didn't need to.

At 4:12, she was already showered. Her dress -- black, clingy, sleeveless and backless -- slid over her curves like silk poured over a storm. No bra. She didn't even pretend. The thin fabric stretched tight across her breasts, nipples swollen and visibly hard. Her belly pushed the hem forward, made the dress ride up at the front.

And beneath it?

Just a thong.

Black. Lacy. Tiny.

The triangle of fabric disappeared between the slick, swollen lips of her pussy. When she moved, she could feel the string tug at her soaked folds, already wet from just thinking about his hands, his voice, the way he'd pressed against her under the trees.

By 4:58, she was in the hallway outside the room. Door 214.

Her hand hovered over the handle.

The hallway was quiet. A lamp buzzed faintly above. The carpet smelled of lemon cleaner and something faintly smoky -- like old heat sealed behind air-conditioning.

She exhaled once, sharp.

And knocked.

The door opened instantly.

And there he was.

Jason.

No words. Just that look -- slow, devouring, stunned for a heartbeat at the sight of her.

His eyes dropped from her face to her breasts -- the nipples obvious beneath the dress -- then down the line of her belly, and lower, to the hem that barely covered the start of her thighs.

The heat in his gaze made her thighs press together instinctively.

Tammy stepped inside.

The door shut behind her.

Silence.

And then--

"You came," he murmured.

Her voice was low. "I'm wet already."

He groaned -- barely audible -- and stepped toward her.

His fingers reached out, tentative, reverent, and brushed the underside of her belly. Then her hip. Then -- with a whisper of movement -- he hooked his fingers under the hem of her dress.

Slowly.

Lifted.

The lace thong clung to her lips like a confession. Black and soaked, the gusset glistening.

Jason dropped to his knees in front of her, breathing heavily.

"I need to taste you," he said.

Tammy's fingers slid into his hair, heart hammering, breath gone.

And then she nodded.

Jason rose from his knees like something pulled by gravity and need, not muscle.

His hands came to Tammy's waist -- large, warm, reverent -- as his mouth found hers, and suddenly they were kissing.

Not the soft, testing kind. This was breathless, wet, claiming.

His lips pressed to hers like he needed her breath to survive, his tongue slow and searching, sliding past hers, tasting her, groaning deep in his chest when she moaned against his mouth. His hands were everywhere -- sliding up the sides of her belly, fingers spreading, palms tracing the soft, stretched heat of her skin. Then higher, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric, thumbs pressing over the hard peaks of her nipples.

She gasped into his kiss.

And then again when he squeezed.

"You're so full," he whispered. "God, you're unbelievable."

Tammy's whole body arched into him -- belly against his stomach, tits squashed between them, and below... she felt him. His cock was hard, thick, pressing against her belly like a brand. She could feel the shape of it through his jeans, the weight of it, the hunger.

Her dress was soaked at the nipples now, turning sheer where milk threatened. He kissed her again -- softer now, slower -- as his fingers reached for the hem.

"Let me see you," he whispered.

Tammy nodded.

The fabric peeled up inch by inch.

It caught over her belly, lifted past her ribs. He paused only to mouth at her breasts again -- wet kisses over the wet fabric, his tongue circling the dark outline of her nipple until she cried out. Then he pulled the dress up further, over her arms, and off.

She stood before him in nothing but the thong.

And he stared.

Tammy's body was a portrait of erotic contradiction -- tight and swollen, stretched and overflowing. Her belly was huge, taut and perfectly round, the skin gleaming softly in the dim hotel light, faint blue veins tracing beneath the surface. Her breasts hung heavy and high, wide at the base, the nipples dark and thick, shiny with fresh milk. The weight of them was obscene, too large for her frame, and so sensitive that even the air made her gasp.

Her thighs were soft, parted, trembling.

The thong was tiny, lost in the swell of her hips, the wet black triangle disappearing between the glistening lips of her cunt. The thin strap pressed into the skin above her mound, drawing the lips apart slightly. The gusset was soaked, nearly translucent now, clinging to the slit like a second skin.

Jason exhaled like he was witnessing something sacred.

"Oh my fucking god..."

He stepped forward, one hand on her belly, the other on her hip. His thumb traced the elastic of the thong -- slow, deliberate -- and then cupped her pussy from beneath, palm flat over the heat of her, just holding it.

Tammy shuddered.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," he said, his voice thick with lust and something deeper.

She moaned.

"Jason..."

He dropped to his knees again.

But this time not to worship.

This time, to devour.

Jason knelt before her like a man before an altar -- eyes locked on the soaked black thong stretched tight between Tammy's thick thighs, the tiny triangle glistening, barely able to cling to the lips it was meant to hide.

He didn't rush.

His hands slid up the backs of her legs, slow and sure, cupping the underside of her thighs, thumbs grazing the wet crease where her ass met her thighs. He kissed the inside of one knee. Then the other. His breath was hot.

Tammy whimpered.

"Please..."

Jason's fingers hooked the sides of the thong, and she lifted her belly for him, shifting slightly, trembling as the fabric peeled away from her heat with a sticky little sound. Her lips were puffy, flushed, parted and soaked -- a glistening split of slick, tender pink between folds swollen from days of denial.

"Jesus," he whispered. "Look at you..."

Then his mouth was on her.

Tammy cried out -- a sharp, high gasp as his tongue licked a long, slow stroke from her opening to her clit, pausing at the top to circle, then press, then flick. Her hands flew to his head, fingers twisting in his hair, hips already jerking forward as the first wave of pleasure overtook her.

Jason groaned into her pussy -- deep and guttural -- and buried his face in her completely.

He licked everywhere.

His tongue explored her with slow reverence -- dipping into her soaked entrance, tracing the edges of her lips, suckling gently on the soft, swollen sides of her clit before flattening his tongue and pressing hard.

Tammy bucked.

"Oh my god--Jason--fuck--"

He didn't stop. He devoured her, nose pressed to her mound, tongue working her like she was the only thing that existed. He moved slowly at first -- then faster, hungrily, lips wet and open, sliding back and forth, building the pressure with a practiced rhythm that made her thighs start to shake.

Her belly trembled.

Milk dripped from her nipples in soft, rhythmic beads, her body overwhelmed by stimulation, fullness, and need.

She came fast.

Too fast.

It hit her like a shockwave -- her legs locking, her voice catching in her throat, her pussy clamping down and pulsing with a heat she hadn't felt in months.

"Oh god--Jason--yes--yes--I'm coming--fuck--!"

She writhed against his face, hips grinding, her pussy twitching and leaking against his mouth. He didn't stop. He held her thighs steady, face buried, licking through her orgasm, drinking every drop of her.

Tammy sagged against the edge of the bed, panting, eyes wild, legs trembling.

Jason finally looked up, lips glistening, chin soaked, eyes full of awe and hunger.

"You taste like heaven," he whispered.

Tammy, flushed and shaking, pulled him up by the collar and kissed him -- her taste on his tongue, her cunt still fluttering.

And she wasn't done.

Not yet.

Tammy was still trembling when she pulled Jason up from his knees, her legs slick, her pussy throbbing, her thighs shining with orgasm and spit.

But now... her tits ached.

The pressure had built while he licked her, while her body tensed and bucked. Milk had welled up behind her nipples and now it was leaking--slow, rhythmic droplets seeping through the thin, darkened cotton of her dress, trailing down the undersides of her breasts.

Jason saw it the moment he stood.

"Jesus," he whispered, breathless. "You're leaking..."

Tammy nodded, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, breasts heaving.

"They do that when I come," she murmured. "When I get turned on. When I'm... full."

She reached behind her and unhooked the dress from her neck. The top fell open with a sigh, baring her swollen tits--huge, heavy, full, the skin smooth and flushed, veins tracing beneath the surface like blue silk. Her nipples were wide, darker now, thick and sensitive, and both were glistening with milk.

Jason just stared for a second.

Then stepped forward like a man hypnotized.

"Can I..." he breathed. "Can I suck them?"

Tammy bit her lip.

She guided his head down, fingers soft in his hair.

"Yes."

Jason didn't hesitate.

He latched.

His mouth closed over her left nipple--hot, soft, hungry--and she moaned immediately, her head falling back, her hands clutching his shoulders. He suckled hard, lips sealed, tongue pressing and swirling as the milk let down, spurting gently into his mouth.

Tammy cried out.

"Oh--fuck--yes--yes, drink it..."

Jason groaned low and deep, both hands cradling the underside of her breast as he suckled greedily, taking mouthful after mouthful of warm, sweet milk. His eyes fluttered closed, and his hips ground unconsciously into her belly--his cock thick and pulsing behind the fabric of his jeans.

He switched nipples without speaking, mouth slipping wetly from one leaking peak to the other, his lips glistening with milk and need. The moment he sucked the right one in, Tammy shuddered.

Her nipples had always been sensitive.

Now they were electric.

Her cunt clenched again. A fresh dribble of arousal slid down her thigh.

He licked the leaking milk from her skin in long, filthy strokes, his breath ragged, his mouth wet, moaning softly as if drunk on her.

"You taste like nothing I've ever had," he whispered against her breast. "Like heat. Like home."

Tammy whimpered, holding his head tighter to her chest.

"I want you to drink from me while you fuck me," she whispered. "Do you want that?"

Jason groaned.

"God, yes. Please."

She took his hand. Led him to the bed.

Her tits were still dripping. Her cunt was soaked. Her body was wide open.

Jason stood at the edge of the bed, shirt discarded, chest rising and falling with shallow, stunned breath. Tammy was seated in front of him, her thighs parted, belly full and proud, breasts heavy with milk and still slick from his tongue. Her skin glowed, her nipples dark and shining, her lips wet and parted.

Her eyes were locked on the bulge in his jeans.

It pulsed.

She reached out, fingers slow, almost reverent, and pressed her palm against the shape of it--thick and long, the heat of it seeping through the denim.

He groaned. "Tammy..."

She didn't speak.

She unbuttoned his jeans.

Zipped them down.

He sprang free.

Jason's cock was hard. So hard it twitched with every heartbeat, rising thick from his pelvis in a proud, upward curve. It was darker than she expected, veiny, the shaft thick and heavy, with a fat, swollen head already slick with precum. The sight made her mouth water. It looked delicious. Needed.

She took it in her hand--slowly--fingers wrapping around the base, thumb brushing the underside where the shaft met the head. He shivered.

"God," he murmured. "You're so fucking sexy..."

She looked up at him, her voice low, smoky. "I want to taste you. I want you in my throat."

Jason didn't move. Just stood there--breathless--watching.

Tammy leaned in.

And kissed the tip.

His cock jerked.

She licked it--once, flat-tongued, from base to tip--then circled the head, tongue swirling slowly, collecting his precum, moaning at the salty taste. She licked under the ridge, then kissed it again, wetter this time, her lips glossy.

Then--without breaking eye contact--she opened her mouth.

And took him in.

Jason groaned, his fingers immediately twisting into her hair.

"Oh, fuck..."

Tammy sucked slowly, her lips stretching around the thick head, her tongue swirling as she pushed down, inch by inch, feeling the weight of him slide across her tongue, against the roof of her mouth, into the back of her throat.

He was big. She had to relax her jaw. She let her spit run freely, coating him, making it easier.

She pulled back slowly, with a wet pop.

Then went down again--deeper.

Her hands braced on his thighs as she worked her mouth along the shaft, slow and deliberate. Each stroke was a long, wet pull, cheeks hollowing, eyes watering slightly from the fullness, her throat beginning to open for him.

Jason's hips flexed forward, but he didn't thrust. He let her take him.

Tammy moaned around his cock--sending vibrations up the shaft, feeling him throb, swell even thicker.

She sucked him lovingly.

Wetly.

Filthy and slow.

Her milk was dripping again, one long bead sliding down the curve of her tit and onto her belly as she bobbed her head, spit and precum coating her lips, her chin, trailing to her cleavage.

"Fuck, Tammy... that mouth... Jesus..."

She pulled back again, breathing heavily, stroking him now with her slick hand, spit connecting her lips to the tip in a trembling thread.

"I could do this forever," she whispered. "You taste so good. You feel so perfect."

Jason was shaking. Desperate.

"Please," he begged. "Let me fuck you now. Let me feel that pussy around me."

Tammy smiled.

And took him into her mouth one last time--deep and slow, throat stretching, tongue pressed tight--and held him there until his legs trembled.

Then she stood.

"Get on the bed," she said, voice wrecked and low. "Now."

Jason lay back on the bed, cock slick and pulsing, watching Tammy as she turned from the edge of the mattress and climbed up onto all fours--slow, sensual, exposed. Her thighs parted wide, hips tilting back, belly swaying low and full beneath her. Her tits--massive, swollen with milk--hung like ripe fruit from her chest, nipples flushed and dark, already beginning to drip in slow, lazy beads that fell onto the sheets below.

He knelt behind her.

Hands trembling.

Her pussy was soaked.

The lips were full, flushed, slightly parted from the pressure of arousal and gravity--shining with wetness, the faint twitch of her clit visible as she shifted her hips and looked back over her shoulder.

"I want you to take me," she whispered. "Slow. Deep. Fill me."

Jason gripped the base of his cock and rubbed the tip up along her slick slit--moaning at the heat of her. She was hot, wet, puffy, needy.

He guided himself to her entrance.

And pressed in.

Tammy let out a long, trembling moan, her hands clutching the sheets as the first inch slid inside--thick, stretching her, the muscles of her cunt fluttering around him as he pushed deeper.

"Oh fuck, Jason..."

"Jesus, Tammy--you feel... perfect."

He eased in, inch by inch, watching her stretch for him--open for him. Her pussy was tight but soaked, clenching around the slow invasion. Her belly swayed as she rocked forward, gasping when his hips finally met her ass.

He was all the way in.

Buried.

And he didn't move right away.

Just let her feel it.

Her full belly, soft and firm, hung between them, brushing the sheets as she rocked her hips gently back--milking him.

Then he started to move.

Long, slow thrusts. Deep.

The kind that filled every inch of her, dragged across every nerve ending.

His hands gripped her hips first--then slid up to her sides, then under her, cupping her tits from behind as they swung heavily, milk beading again as her body rocked.

"You're dripping," he whispered, voice husky. "So full, baby. You're leaking."

"I know," she moaned. "I can feel it. Don't stop."

Her milk dripped from her nipples, streaming in small rivulets down the curves of her breasts, splashing onto the sheets, onto his hands. He leaned forward, mouth open, tongue flicking over one swaying tit as he fucked her--licking the milk as it fell, tasting her while his cock dragged slow and thick inside her.

Her pussy clenched around him.

Her moans grew higher, sharper.

"Oh my god--Jason--your cock is so deep--"

"You love it like this?" he growled, hips still pumping slow, the wet slap of their bodies loud and obscene. "You love being fucked like this while you leak?"

"Yes--yes--I want it--I want to be used like this--filled--bred--"

Jason groaned, his thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate--claiming. His hands roamed her back, her belly, her tits, worshipping the fullness of her, the way she curved and trembled, the heat and wetness that gushed around him.

"I can feel you gripping me," he growled. "You're gonna come again, aren't you? You want to come on my cock while I fill you?"

Tammy nodded, eyes wild, mouth open.

"Fill me. Please--fuck--Jason--don't pull out--make me come, make me--ahh--"

Her pussy convulsed around him.

She screamed, low and guttural, as her orgasm hit--her entire body locking, her milk pouring now from both tits as her cunt spasmed, gushing wet heat around his cock.

Jason slammed deep.

And came.

A loud, broken moan tore from his throat as his cock pulsed inside her, pumping thick, hot cum deep into her--so much it filled her instantly, spilling back out around his shaft, down her thighs, soaking the sheets as he held her still and let every last drop flood her.

Tammy collapsed forward, tits squashed to the mattress, still leaking, still shaking.

Jason stayed buried.

Panting.

Possessed.

Home.

The room was silent but thick with scent--milk, sweat, sex, heat. The air clung to Tammy's skin, and her body trembled in the aftershock. She was still bent forward on the bed, legs open wide, arms tucked beneath her, her breasts leaking slow drips onto the damp sheets. Her pussy--wrecked and swollen--throbbed with every heartbeat, wide open, soft and spilling Jason's cum in a lazy, wet trail down her inner thighs.

She exhaled shakily, glowing, ruined.

And still aching.

"Jason..."

He was lying beside her now, watching, his face stunned and reverent, his cock half-hard again from just the sight of her.

She looked over her shoulder, voice low, wrecked.

"Do you want to taste me?"

His eyes darkened.

"You mean... now?"

She nodded slowly.

"I want you to lick it out of me," she whispered. "I want you to eat my pussy while I'm full of your cum. I want to feel your tongue inside me while it drips."

Jason didn't speak.

He moved.

He crawled between her thighs like a man possessed, eyes locked on her gaping, soaked pussy--red and tender, glistening, a slow creamy trickle sliding from her stretched hole, coating the lips, pooling at the base.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're dripping..."

He spread her cheeks gently, reverently, exposing more of her, his thumbs brushing the slick mess at her entrance. Her cunt twitched.

Then he leaned in.

And licked.

A long, filthy, slow stroke from the bottom of her slit to her clit, gathering the wetness, tasting everything--her, him, the combined heat of their bodies.

Tammy moaned.

Her arms buckled slightly.

Jason licked again--slower this time, letting his tongue sink between her lips, collecting the cum leaking from her, groaning deep as he swallowed it.

"You taste like heaven and sin," he murmured against her folds.

She whimpered. "Don't stop. Please..."

He didn't.

He licked deeper, slipping his tongue into her hole, fucking her with it slowly, savoring the way her pussy pulsed around the intrusion. His hands held her hips, his mouth wet and open, his lips sucking softly on the mess, his tongue lapping every drop that escaped.

Her swollen lips parted beautifully for him, her clit still hard and exposed. He sucked on it gently, then again with more pressure, flicking his tongue in slow, rhythmic pulses while his chin and mouth grew soaked in their combined slick.

Tammy was gasping now.

Her belly swayed with every movement. Her milk started to leak again, slow streams soaking the sheets beneath her. Her whole body was vibrating.

And Jason just kept going.

He licked her through another orgasm--soft, wet, devoted. Her pussy clenched and dripped, her thighs shaking, her moans low and breathy and grateful.

When she finally collapsed fully onto the bed, thighs trembling, cunt twitching, Jason kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other.

Then he licked her clean one final time.

And lay beside her.

His face still glistening.

His eyes filled with something beyond lust.

Worship.

The sheets were soaked beneath them -- with sweat, with milk, with everything that had spilled from her and into her. The room smelled like sex, thick and warm, the air still humming from all that had passed.

Tammy lay curled against Jason's chest, her breath slow and shallow, her body limp with satisfaction, skin flushed. One of her thighs was still damp. Her nipples were soft now but tender, glistening with the last beads of milk, one of them resting gently against his arm.

Jason's hand traced slow, reverent circles around the swell of her belly.

"You're so full," he whispered, fingers spreading over the curve. "So fucking beautiful. I didn't know a body could be like this..."

Tammy exhaled through her nose, eyes closed. Her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest lulling her, grounding her in the heat.

"I've never felt this wanted," she murmured.

He leaned in, kissed her temple.

"I've never wanted like this."

His hand slid lower -- over the underside of her belly, cupping the roundness, cradling it like something sacred. She shifted her leg, let him hold more of her. Her skin was hot. Still twitching with aftershocks.

He whispered again, voice low and thick:

"You were made to be touched. Fucked. Worshipped. Every inch of you. I could live between your thighs."

Tammy flushed deeper.

"Jason..."

He kissed her again, this time lower -- her jaw, her neck, his lips grazing the damp spot just below her ear.

She pulled back, just enough to meet his eyes.

"I want to see you again," she said softly. "I want this again. I need it."

Jason nodded without hesitation. "You will."

"But..." her voice was suddenly firm, even through the haze. "You can't tell anyone. No one. Not your wife. Not your friends. No one. Do you understand?"

He blinked. "Of course."

"Our spouses can never know."

Jason touched her cheek gently. "This is just between us. I swear."

Tammy's gaze lingered on his for a long moment. Her expression unreadable. But beneath it, her thigh shifted again -- brushing his cock, already beginning to stir.

She smiled faintly. Sleepy. Wicked.

"We made a mess," she whispered.

Jason's hand drifted back between her thighs.

"Let's make another."