"I Dream of Teacher's Milk" by HeyAll
Twitter & Instagram: @heyallstories
The following story is told from two perspectives.
A best friend takes me to a small antique shop. She wants to buy a birthday present for her dad. My friend looks around and we make small talk. I do my best to give my opinion, but I don't have a clue about antique gifts. I'm a modernist, in terms of style and personal taste. She thinks about purchasing a vase made over two centuries ago. The price is a hundred dollars, which according to the shopkeeper, is a great deal. The shopkeeper is retiring soon and everything is at a discount. "Get something," my friend says when we have privacy. "Maybe next time." "There is no next time. Get something. You'll regret it if you don't. These are great deals." She knows I'm on a student-loan budget. She has a part-time job on campus, I don't. Nonetheless, the shopkeeper is really nice and I have a personal policy to support small businesses. So I look around to see what I can afford. There's a lamp which costs $50 and the label says it's from Tehran, made centuries ago. The label explains that the lamp has the power to grant one wish -- or so it's believed by the archeologist who uncovered it. "Look at this," I say, pointing to the label. "Nice. For $50 you can become a millionaire. Or a celebrity." I laugh and gently smack her arm. We make our purchases and the shopkeeper takes a few minutes to share stories. We're given a brief history of these items and what they represent, how lucky we are to have them, that sort of thing. I'm amazed by the shopkeeper's memory of these items, but part of me thinks it's just marketing. Afterward we go to her car. She puts the gift for her father in the trunk and I hold onto my lamp, which would look nice in my dorm room, now that I think about it. "Well?" she says, sitting in the driver's seat. "What?" "What are you waiting for? Make a wish." "Are you serious?" "You paid $50 for it," she says. "Thanks to you." "Come on, might as well. It'll be fun. What's the first thing that comes to mind?" My mind goes blank because I'm put on the spot. I look around the neighborhood. Down the street a mother is pushing a stroller. "Breast milk," I say. She looks down the same street. "Why? Because of that mom over there?" "Yeah." "Think of something else. What do you want in life?" "Right now, passing Advanced Calculus because I'm on the verge of failing. That's the only class where I struggle." She smiles. "What are you waiting for?" I indulge my friend and rub the lamp, following the shopkeeper's vague instructions about using this antique. It's a joke, of course. The shopkeeper only repeated information from an art dealer. My friend is an atheist who loves getting a rise out of me. We head to lunch after. Cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. Our favorite. At night I dream of swimming in a lake. I don't dream often. I sometimes dream of flying. For now, my subconscious is sending me under water. I'm a believer in the power of dreams and their meanings, though I can't articulate how. I'm a religious person, though not a zealot. Spiritual would be the right word. Though the term `spiritual' is overused these days and hard to define. As someone raised in a city, I wonder what this dream is about. I'm in a forest and the lake is vast. I submerge in the water and then float on top. I realize that I'm naked. No, I've never gone skinny dipping before. I've never gone swimming in a lake, either. Warm feelings come over me as the water turns white. A creamy color and texture of white. It even sparkles. This is one of the rare dreams where I can feel physical sensations as I swim in the whiteness, letting it slather my body. It feels good. Orgasmic, almost. Then I wake up. My body feels electric and I'm aroused in every part. I'm warm and my breathing is heavier than it should be. The sensation between my legs is begging me to touch, but it's 6:37 in the morning. If I masturbate, I won't be able to go back to sleep. I close my eyes and hope the feeling goes away. * It's early Tuesday morning when I'm sitting in my Advanced Calculus II course. The teacher's name is Professor Chen and she's strict, but I like her. She's a rail thin Asian woman in her mid-30's with short black hair that goes to her shoulders. Professors in the STEM field always dress the same. Plain. Simple. The lights are off while she gives a lecture using the screen projector. I'm typing notes on my laptop, doing my best to stay away from social media. I'm usually good at math, but something about this class bores me. Maybe I'm burnt out after two years of rigorous academic work. When the lights come on, my eyes remain on my laptop as the professor speaks. She concludes the lecture and talks about an assignment. Her voice stops mid-sentence and I look at her. Something caught her attention. She's looking down at the chest area of her green tshirt. I'm sitting several rows back in the lecture hall, so it's hard to see what's gotten her distracted. Then I notice a wet spot forming on the left side of her tshirt. Right below the cup of her bra. My assumption is that it's sweat, but she seems startled, kind of bewildered. The wet spot grows a little bigger and she stands there wondering what to do about her perspiration. "Class is dismissed," the professor says with an unusual, forced smile. "Don't forget, we're having a quiz Thursday." In unison, the sound of students packing their belongings and making small talk fills the lecture hall. No one seems concerned about the professor because they don't notice anything wrong. Everyone is leaving. Professor Chen usually hangs around at the end of class, like every other teacher, to field potential questions from students. This time she's packing her things, sometimes checking her tshirt to see if the wet spot is bigger. By the time half the students have left, the professor takes her things and goes back to her office. The lamp. The lamp. I'm walking outside, thirty minutes before my next class, and I'm thinking about the lamp. Could it be? My dream. My wish. It's more of a feeling than a practical assumption. I tend to overreact during awkward situations. And what I saw in class was most definitely an awkward situation. I know that if I ignore it, I'll be thinking about it forever. I'll be wracked with guilt and confusion unless I clear things up. It's probably nothing. It's probably sweat. Carrying my belongings, I go back to the math building, towards the professor's office on the third floor. My plan is to pretend I have a question about something, but my actual intent is to check on her nipple status -- which makes me cringe to think about. Once I get the answer I'm looking for, I can have a clear conscience. The door to Professor Chen's office is open, but she isn't there. I step inside. Her laptop and classroom supplies are on the desk. She was here a moment ago. She's probably in the bathroom or talking to another faculty member. I decide to wait, standing here with an uncomfortable vibe. I look around, she has a few awards on her desk and wall. "Ashley, hi," she says, coming into her office at a brisk pace. Professor Chen is wearing a thin gray blazer over her green tshirt, even though it's warm. There's a bulge in her pocket. Her face looks like she had been sweating, kind of panicked, but calm now. She's far from her composed self, though she does her best to act normal. "Hi, I was wondering if you had a moment." "Sure, what's up?" My plan collapses when we're standing there and she's staring at me. The truth is, I have nothing to say. I'm only interested in the status of her breasts. Her face is pretty and her eyes are locked in my direction. I glance down -- for a split second -- and notice that she's braless, even though her blazer covers her breasts. I can tell because the front of her tshirt isn't stretched the same anymore, as would happen when wearing a bra. Most people wouldn't be able to notice because her breasts are small. I notice, however. For two summers in a row, I worked a part-time job at Victoria's Secret, so I know these things. I've fitted and sized enough women to become an expert on this topic. My eyes go down further -- for a split second -- to check the bulge in her pocket. The tip of a small strap is sticking out. It's a bra inside her pocket. I can only conclude that she went to the bathroom to remove her bra and wipe her breasts dry. Was it breast milk? God I hope not. In the face of pressure, I decide to change course and lie to the professor. "There's this medical issue," I say, preparing the lie. "Something weird... it's hard to explain... I'm not pregnant, but I'm lactating. You know, breast milk. I'm giving you notice, just in case something happens during class." Her eyes widen, which reveals the answer I'm looking for. I pride myself on being an honest person but sometimes it's necessary to break the rules. "You too?" she says in a soft, delicate voice. The plan worked. My stomach twists into knots. The lamp? How could the lamp have done this? What have I gotten us into? "Actually, no," I confess. She's taken aback. "Are you having an issue or not?" "No, I was trying to figure out the situation. There's something I have to tell you. And you're going to think I'm crazy." "Ashley, this is the craziest morning of my life." She closes the door and we sit down to talk. I explain everything to her. The antique shop. The lamp. I even tell her about my dream. A pragmatic woman, Professor Chen hangs on every word. She's analyzing my story in real time and I appreciate that she takes me seriously. But then again, what choice does she have? When I finish, she sits back and thinks. It's a lot to process. Her analytical mind is entering a world that we're not prepared for. "I've never been married," she says. "Never had kids. Never gotten pregnant. So imagine my surprise when I felt something towards the end of class. My chest had never felt so full. There was pressure and my breasts felt like they were growing. I thought it was all in my mind, until the incident happened and I felt wetness. She continues, "I'm not sure I agree with your assessment, but I don't dismiss it, either. What happened to me earlier, and I think what's still happening, is certainly unusual. My body has never produced this before. At the end of class, I thought I was losing my mind. In the bathroom, I thought I was going crazy, that my imagination was uncontrollable." "To be clear, was that actually milk?" I ask. Professor Chen reaches into the pocket of her blazer and takes out a thin white bra. Exactly as I thought. She shows me a cup, holding it out so I can see a faint wet stain. She looks at it. Rubs the wet spot, as if in disbelief. "You can still smell the lactate," she says. "I thought about washing it in the bathroom sink, but I wanted to preserve the DNA evidence." "I'm sorry this is happening. It's my fault." She shakes her head. "That hasn't been established yet. This could be a cosmic coincidence. I'll schedule a doctor's appointment for a check-up." My paranoia envisions a future in which we're taken to a lab against our will. Strapped to a bed. And I'm forced to explain the existence of the lamp to government agents. As I mentioned earlier, I tend to overreact. "Wait," I say. "Let me find a solution. You know, something where this remains discreet. I'll talk to the shopkeeper and see how we can resolve this." Professor Chen understands, giving a slight nod to show her agreement of this delicate situation. Neither of us wants to become lab rats. * Later that afternoon, I convince my best friend to drive me back to the antique shop. She doesn't believe me. Yet she's responsive to my frantic state of mind. Consistent with my luck, the shop is permanently closed. Everything inside is gone We sit in the car and I run my fingers through my hair. Why can't life ever be simple? All I want is to finish my degree and get a job I'm content with. "What other details were in your dream?" my friend asks. "Just what I mentioned. A lake of white fluids. It was vivid, like I could feel it washing over my body. And then the arousal. Oh god, I woke up like a hot bitch." She thinks. "If it's a lake, the problem should be finite. At least it wasn't an ocean. Give it a few days, it should blow over. Or you can try wishing again?" "I already used my one wish, apparently, but let's try it again." The lamp is in the backseat, wrapped in a towel, and I reach over to grab it. Once uncovered, I rub the smooth surface and wish. Doing this in front of my friend is cringe-worthy, but I'm desperate. My friend doesn't make fun of me because she knows I'm in distress. I wish in careful terms. I'm cautious of the power that I wield. One small mistake can trigger an even bigger crisis, assuming the power is real. As the professor stated, this could be a `cosmic coincidence' where the lamp is actually useless and she had a legit medical issue. Maybe she's pregnant and doesn't know it? Perhaps milk produced early. Nonetheless, I wish for things to return to normal. "There," I say. "That's all I can do." "While you were praying, I was thinking about your story." "Tell me." "If you truly believe that you caused Professor Chen to lactate, then you owe a moral duty to provide assistance, assuming the problem isn't resolved yet." I look at my friend. Sometimes it's hard to tell if she's joking or not. Right now, it's anybody's guess. She has a great poker face and a dry sense of humor. Most of her jokes are dirty, I should add. "Assistance?" She purses her lips together and makes a sucking/slurping sound, pouting her lips in different shapes, simulating the act of nursing. "Yes, assistance," she says. "First of all, if anyone is giving the professor `assistance,' it's you, because you're the one that took me to some random antique shop. Secondly, you're the one who needs extra protein. Not me." She laughs. "Touche." My friend starts the car and drives. I wrap the lamp in a towel. Hopefully there will be good news in the days to come. At night I have the dream of all dreams. I rarely dream the same thing twice in a row, but here we are. I'm swimming in the lake again. Milk Lake, we can call it. The sky is orange, either sunrise or sunset. The liquid feels warm against my skin and this is the fountain of youth. I'm swimming toward a naked woman who's facing away. She's skinny with short black hair. As I swim closer, she turns around and looks at me. It's an Asian woman with big, dark nipples. I'm captivated by her ethereal beauty. It takes me a moment to realize that it's my teacher and she's waiting for me. Once I make it to land, I step out of the milky lake. The white fluids drip from my body and she approaches me. Our feet make crinkling sounds on the grass, our toes dig into the dirt. She tucks my hair back and then kisses me. God she's a great kisser. We lay on the grass and make out. Her hand goes between my legs. When I awake, it's 5:43 a.m. with total darkness outside. There are tiny beads of sweat on my forehead and chest. My clit aches. Sore, almost. My panties are wet. Did I piss myself? I reach beneath my panties and touch the wetness, then bring my fingers to my nose to smell. The scent is obvious. Not piss. The fragrance is my cum. * It's early Thursday morning and I go to Professor Chen's office before class starts. About an hour beforehand, because we need the time alone. We'd been in contact and unfortunately there's no luck. Nothing to suggest that the milk situation is going away. She hasn't arrived yet, so I wait outside and reflect on the downward spiral that is my life. Or maybe this is an upward spiral? Either way, my life will never be the same after this. How will things change? It's too early to say. My teacher comes to the office after I've been waiting for almost 15 minutes. She's wearing a blazer over her tshirt. Jean pants. Her hands carry her supplies and laptop case. To anyone else, she appears to be a professor getting her day started, but only we know the truth. "Good morning, Ashley," she says, with a subtle tenseness. "Morning, professor. Can we talk privately?" "That's the appropriate choice." We're awkward in the hallway and she rushes to open the door so we can go inside. She locks the door. No one can enter. It's one thing to communicate via text message, but for an emergency like this, face-to-face meeting is ideal. She puts her things down and removes her blazer. Her face looks a few years older, as if she hardly slept from the stress. I look at her chest. I swear her breasts are a size bigger, making her a firm b-cup. Once again, I used to work at Victoria's Secret, so I know these things. "Any update?" I ask. "I should be asking you that question. But to give you an answer, I'm officially a lactating woman." "How about the pregnancy tests?" "I've taken three so far," she says. "Including this morning. All negative. I'm a monstrosity of science, it appears. If things don't get better, I'll see a doctor." The thought of us becoming lab rats frightens me. The professor has the same fear, that's why she looks so stressed. "I've done what I can, you know, with the lamp. I hope things will get resolved soon." "You still believe that?" "It's the only plausible explanation," I reply. "Sadly." "What are you doing about your breast milk?" Professor Chen reaches into her laptop container, where she stuffed a breast pump and small cup. She holds it out. There's a content look on her face, as if she'd accepted her fate already. "This is my solution," she says. "A pump in between classes." "I've read they can be uncomfortable." "What choice do I have?" This is where my plan (and my wet dream) comes into play. It may not be the ideal solution, but it makes sense, at least to me and my friend who suggested it. And if I'm being honest with myself, it's the only solution that appeases my newfound, mysterious desire. "We both know this is my fault," I say. "So it makes sense that I have to resolve the situation." "Fault hasn't been established. And I have the breast pump." "I should handle it for you. It's my fault. My responsibility." "What do you mean?" she asks. "I'll nurse from your breasts. It's more comfortable than using a pump." Professor Chen is speechless from my proposal. I think deep down, she's tempted by the offer, but refuses to entertain it for ethical reasons. I can tell that this option had never crossed her mind. Apparently this fantasy is something that only I had -- not her. The look of confusion goes away, replaced with an expression that seems angry. She might consider my offer to be an insult. As if I'm jeopardizing her career as an educator. She still refuses to speak, though I can tell she's going to be careful with her words. I can see her thinking. "You know that's inappropriate," she says. "Give me one chance. If it works, I'll keep doing it for you. If not, we'll pretend it never happened." Her silence speaks volumes and she looks away. It's the universal expression of feeling shame as her head faces down. I stand in front of her, determined, but respectful of her boundaries and authority. My goal isn't to make her uncomfortable, but to help her. Professor Chen knows this, which is why she doesn't kick me out. My fingers pinch the bottom of her tshirt, and when she doesn't scream at me, I view this as a tepid form of consent. I lift her tshirt. Her stomach is white and her waist is narrow. I lift higher and see her nursing bra. It has absorbent material and an opening latch for each cup. "I bought these yesterday," she says. "It'll prevent another accident in class." "Smart choice. It looks good on you." "Looks are irrelevant. It's about being practical." Even as I'm about to suck her nipples, she's still analytical-minded, which is shockingly sexy. We look each other in the eyes. Her expression softens, giving me permission. I can tell by looking at Professor Chen that she's never been with another woman, much less a student. On the flipside, I've never done anything with breast milk before. The thought had never crossed my mind. I'm sure if someone had asked me about breast milk, I'd have thought that the person has a weird fetish. Now I'm consumed by it. "Do you mind?" I ask, gesturing to her nursing bra. "Only if you're quick. And clean. No stains. Class is going to start soon." "Yes, professor." I called her `professor' in a casual way and her eyebrows narrow in my direction. Now isn't the time for typical formalities, as she's reminding me with a strong glare. I know she's in a tough spot and she'd lose her job over this. Before getting to business, I'm struck by how pretty she is. I've always thought she was attractive. But standing so close to her, seeing every detail on her face, makes me appreciate her more. She's an academic beauty. It could also be our heightened sense of arousal, because make no mistake about it, nipples are an erogenous zone. And I'm about to do inappropriate things to her. I've never handled a nursing bra before, but it seems easy enough. I decide the best approach would be to open both cups so I can handle the breasts simultaneously. My fingers unclip the cups of her nursing bra. Professor Chen's nipples are something out of a porn movie. For such a thin woman with small tits, her nipples jut outward. They're long, thick, and black. The dark color is what's most surprising. She's a fair skinned Chinese woman, but her nipples are as dark as they come. I marvel at them, standing in disbelief for what I'm about to do. I won't tell Professor Chen, but now that I think about it, her nipples are exactly what I saw in my dream. The dark color. The unique size contrasts with the smallness of her areolas. The uneven tips. Even the tiny nipple bumps. When I look into her eyes, she's no longer just my professor. She's a woman in heat. A sexual creature. Her eyes are more narrow. Her mouth is slightly open, breathing heavier because she's aroused by this unholy situation. We're not in denial and we're honest with ourselves. Doing this is a sexual act. There's no way around it. We're not performing mental gymnastics to pretend otherwise. We're accepting of the fact that I'm about to give her pleasure. I'm excited about doing it. She's aroused to receive, which is why she's breathing harder. Lowering my gaze to her chest again, her nipples are more erect. Rock solid. Her tiny breasts are flush with arousal, stiffening with milk behind it. Her chest is heaving with deeper breaths. I put Professor Chen out of her misery and take her right nipple into my mouth. She moans. I suck on her. It's my first time sucking a nipple this big. I'll admit, I suck my own nipples from time to time, mostly in the shower. It's a fun treat with shower masturbation. I know what feels good, the right amount of suction to apply. Her nipple feels heavenly on my tongue. I keep nursing, loving the feeling of taking my teacher into my mouth. I'm devoted to her nipple, sucking so hard that my mouth is filled with her tit. The first shot of milk is a revelation. It shoots across my tongue in a way that I wasn't prepared for. Honestly, I had no expectation for how it would go. I try not to choke or gag. The act of consuming fluids from another woman's breast is jarring, but I remind myself that it's the most natural thing in the world. She tastes sweet, and the more I suck, the more milk squirts into my mouth. A rhythm forms and my mouth is pumping her breast milk. I'm awestruck by this process. Her huge nipple combined with her milk is a feeling I could never have prepared for. I remind myself that I'm doing a duty. I owe her. I look up while nursing, Professor Chen's eyes are wide, looking down at me. She can't believe that a student is doing this to her. I wonder if she's ever fantasized about fucking a student. Or fucking a female student. Or fucking women in general. This is foreign to her. Her eyes refuse to accept what's happening. But she's breathing hard. She's aroused. I work the other nipple. It's the same process, where it's dry at first and I have to keep sucking to get the flow started. Once it starts, it's opening the gates of a dam. This breast shoots with the same amount of pressure as the other breast. I'm drinking so much milk that I start to feel full. But again, I'm not doing this for my pleasure, I'm doing this because it's my responsibility. My pleasure is a mere byproduct of helping her. "You should stop now," she says. Her left breast is halfway drained compared to her other breast. Stopping now seems pointless. Her tits will be uneven if we stop now. She'll go to class with one boob bigger than the other. Literally. No one would notice except for us. I can tell why she wants me to stop. It's more than just shame. I release the nipple from my mouth. "Are you going to cum?" I ask. "Yes." "Does that bother you?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because I know how my body will respond," she says. It takes me a second to understand what she means, and once it clicks, my curiosity piques. Draining her breasts is my responsibility but sometimes I can't help myself. My curiosity is too great. "Just relax, okay?" Professor Chen doesn't stop me, so I bend down and finish sucking on her wet nipple to finish the job. The sweet milk flows freely into my mouth. Her nipple is erect and she moans in delight. She's close. I reach down and touch between her legs. Her body tenses and she tries to relax. My hand rubs her crotch, through her jean pants, as I keep sucking her nipple. I try finding her clit and I succeed when she breathes deep. She moans as I rub harder. My sucking and rubbing work in unison. Professor Chen groans and she doesn't hide her lust anymore. My teacher is loving this. She spreads her legs wider so my hand can have more access to her crotch. Her milk shoots in my mouth. Her orgasm is unusual. She cums differently than I cum. Her body trembles and her hands grip my shoulders. She's making this strange noise with her mouth, which sounds like she's gurgling while her teeth clench, like she's trying to gasp for help. Great sex is something that's always alluded her. I can tell. "Thank you," she says. Professor Chen steps back, a worried expression on her face. She doesn't look at me. She doesn't thank me. Instead she grabs a tissue from her desk and dries her nipples, careful not to spray milk by accident. I wonder if her panties are a mess. I'm certain they are. * An hour later, I'm sitting in her class, watching her give a lecture. She's teaching like everything is normal, going over formulas, trying her best to be interesting, wearing a tshirt and being animated with her hands. Only we know the truth. When she turns the lights down and uses the screen, I reach below and touch myself through my pants. I hadn't relieved myself since our sexual experience. I'm worked up and desperate. I'm sure I can do this secretly. My hand is subtle. Professor Chen looks around the room as she talks. The screen projects enough light where she can see the faces of students to make sure everyone is paying attention. She sees my right arm moving. Subtle. She looks at me for a moment. Then she looks away, continuing her lecture. I give myself an orgasm in class. Twenty minutes later, she turns the lights on, then she looks in my direction. She's wondering if I came. She stares at me and knows the answer. It makes her breathe deep and lick her lips. ~~~~~ Two Months Later -- The Friend ~~~~~ From the fourth floor of an adjacent building, I have a view into Professor Chen's office. I'm not supposed to be looking. No one knows I'm here. It's my first time being a voyeur. Ashley would kill me if she knew that I'm spying. The professor and Ashley are both topless and making out. Clearly they've done this before, they're so familiar with each other. They're casual lovers at this point, it would seem. Their hands aren't hesitant to rub each other. Their lips are free during the kiss. Seeing their breasts mesh together is something I'll always remember. Big dark Asian nipples poking against Ashley's white girl, pink nipples. Their nipples are erect. But it's the professor who has milk which needs to be nursed. If there was ever a big nipple contest, the professor would be the grand champion. Ashley has been my best friend since high school and we tell each other everything. She's told me that she still `helps' the professor out of guilt, but I had the sneaking suspicion that something more was going on. Great sex changes a girl's personality. Every time. I spy on my best friend getting on her knees, undoing the professor's pants, then pressing her face in between the bare crotch; this makes Professor Chen tilt her head back and play with her own big nipples. So this is what they've been doing. I knew it. They've been licking each other's pussies, giving each other orgasms. Looks like I've created a monster by suggesting that Ashley assist her professor. Truth be told, I never thought it would happen, or come this far. Whether she admits it or not, I'm the one who taught Ashley everything she knows about this topic. I taught her the ins-and-outs of pussy service -- literally speaking. I made her into the professional she is today. I should be upset that she's using my techniques on another woman, without my permission, without even telling me. Actually, I should be fucking furious. Even though we're not dating, it feels like Ashley is cheating on me. I mean, wouldn't you feel the same way? Instead I'm fucking hot. In fact, I even feel proud that she's sharing these techniques and I secretly hope there are more women in the future. It gives me a twisted rush to know that Ashley is expanding her sexual horizon. As for the professor? Seeing a mathematician like Professor Chen enjoying the mouth of a student is better than having a gourmet dessert. It's like a paradox that should never have happened. The look on her face is remorseful, but the pleasure is intense and she's grimacing. They switch places and I'm curious to see if Professor Chen will return the favor. Ashley pulls her pants down. But instead of facing the professor, she turns around and leans on a desk, sticking her butt out. Professor Chen gets on her knees and puts her face between the butt cheeks, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue, stroking up and down like a paint brush. Rimjob? Maybe. I'm over the moon watching a mathematician giving oral to Ashley in the most deviant of ways. Maybe smart women are the freakiest of them all? I want to howl and cheer, watching this. I wish I could touch myself, but I'm not that brave. When they finish making each other cum, Professor Chen sits on a desk and feeds Ashley her big nipples. This is more sensual than their pussy-licking exchange. It goes beyond medical necessity. This is an act of sensuality and lust. Was it the lamp's fault? We'll never know. The shopkeeper is long gone. The good news is, according to Ashley, the breast milk situation is gradually going away. Each week the amount is smaller. In my opinion it's the lamp. I want to live in a world where the supernatural exists. The breasts appear to be drained after Ashley had sucked both nipples for a few minutes. They look each other in the eyes. Professor Chen wipes excess milk from Ashley's lips, then they kiss again. A milk wet, tongue kiss. What's crazy is that they have class together after this. Ashley told me several times that it was fucking hot seeing the professor give a lecture after sucking on her tits. Seeing them together is burned in my memories. I'll masturbate to this later. They dry themselves with tissue, get dressed, and smooth their outfits so they look casual. As if they hadn't just eaten each other and conducted an adult-nursing-relationship. When they leave the office, I also leave from my hidden position. I walk to my history class with a smile on my face. I'll never mention this to Ashley, unless we get into a big argument and I have to embarrass her with something. "Oh yeah? I saw you on your knees, eating your professor out." Yep, she'd be horrified if I ever said that. The End hope you're doing well