EroticReverie

Two Days Later

Lynette

I've avoided Macy the past two days after what took place the other afternoon. How could I have let that happen? How could I let any of it happen? 

Even if my breast pump WAS broken, there was no reason to have let her feed from my breasts for relief. But I did. That was a little over a month ago when I let it begin. And letting it continue even after Hank replaced the pump. I'd used it while Macy was in school of course, but...whenever she was home...whenever time and privacy allowed it...I let my teenage daughter assist with relieving the pain of my swollen breasts. 

I'd always over produced milk, during all of my pregnancies. So I had plenty of need to pump. Did I need to let my daughter be the one to pump it? With her mouth?

The first time, I was to shocked and scared of what was happening for me to even register the pleasure that came with it. Macy wasn't a baby. She wasn't a little girl. She was a beautiful young woman, and reminded me much of myself at her age. Except girls these days looked older than they were, dressed far more differently than when I was her age. 

It was the second time I'd let her feed from me though, that I found myself fighting off feelings of arousal. The way her tongue subtly would lick my nipple, the way she would smile up at me as she began each time, the way I pretended to ignore the swirl of her tongue at times around my nipples. They were sore, but she was so gentle with them, making me enjoy the relief, and allowing me to let the pleasure of a mouth on my breast take over. 

It'd been months now of Hank not being intimate with me. It wasn't his fault toward the end of the pregnancy. I was too big, too grumpy, because my pregnancy with Maxwell was the hardest of any, and was going to be my last. Even though Hank want's a few more. But we were getting older, and this pregnancy was so hard on me, that I didn't want to risk it. We were lucky enough to have four perfectly healthy children, five including Macy.  He'd brought it up only a month after I'd given birth. How he wanted at the very least , two more.  When I shot the idea right down, he'd become upset. Not in a mean way, but like it made him depressed, like I had killed his dream. I feel like the attraction he always had to me, died a little bit when I took away the possibility of fufilling his dream of more children. 

So when Macy started helping me out, I let myself secretly enjoy the way she was so tender with me, the way her warm mouth felt and her soft tongue. 

But...what happened a few days ago....was beyond unacceptable. No matter how deprived of touch and intimacy and pleasure I was, I shouldn't have let her do that. 

I'd been gone down on , by my own daughter. What kind of mother was I? 

Especially because I had such a special bond with Macy. She was my first baby. My parents begged were furious when they found out. My father and mothers marriage suffering because of it. My mother wanted to kick me out when I refused to get an abortion, my fathers Christian values though, thank god, had saved Macy and I from being thrown out of our home. 

However once I was eighteen, I was told I was old enough now. That I wanted the responsibility of a child, so it was time to be an adult. My father allowed me to get a job and save up some money, in addition to the money I'd already saved from my part time job. 

So I did what a lot of single teenage mothers do, I'd gotten a job stripping, paying the few friends I still had to babysit Macy at night. But it became harder and harder, as teenagers, don't want to waste their weekend nights babysitting their friends baby. They want to be out being teenagers. It was rough. But I did the best I could. 

Macy never wanted anything growing up. She was so aware of the world around her, and knew I had little money, even at a young age. I remember the time I was in line at the grocery store, and she'd asked for a small keychain stuffed animal in the checkout aisle and I burst into tears when I had to tell her no, always, having to tell her no. 

"It's okay mommy, I don't need it anyway" she said. As if she knew just how much it hurt me that I couldnt give her everything she wanted and deserved. 

She was my perfect little girl. Always was, even as she grew up and I met Hank, and we started to have children together, she asked for very little, always putting her siblings first. So the other day, when she had...when she had told me what she wanted to do...when she said the things she said...did the things she did...I couldnt stop her. Not only because at a certain point, it was impossible to, but because she'd asked me for so little growing up, and if all that she wanted now...was me? Why couldnt I give that to her? 

All I've thought about the past two days, was how I should have denied her. Should have stopped her, but then I think about that tongue. That tongue that gave me such consuming pleasure that I didn't have it in me to stop her. It had felt so nice. She looked so sweet, even when she had spoken dirty words to me. She'd been glad to make me feel good. To give me the attention Hank no longer was giving, to hep me feel sexy and wanted again. I shouldn't be allowing my daughter to provide such things. But, I had, and my fingers were currently mimicing the licks of her tongue as I laid in bed beside my husband. 

My eyes closing as he snores beside me and I try to mimic the pattern of the way she traced my clit, remembering what her eyes looked like peering up at me over my pelvis as she sucked on my clit. How happy she was when I came, and how I'd made her make me cum a second time. Shame licks my skin, heating my flesh as I remember the way I told her to curl her fingers, selfishly asking for more, when I didnt even deserve it. I was a terrible mother for what I had let her do. But I couldnt stop rubbing clit now, I was so close, so close. 

A cry comes from the baby monitor, startling me, my hand jerking from between my legs, and I sigh and sink into the bed. 

"Maxwell" I groan quietly, hoping tonight would be the night he would start sleeping through the night. 

I reach over and push Hank's shoulder. He grumbles and say something I can't make out, and two seconds later another snore comes from him. 

I roll my eyes and pull the covers off and turn of the monitor as I sit up and slide on my robe at the door over my silk nightie that I'd worn to bed tonight in attempt to get Hank's attention.  No such luck. 

I tie the long creme colored satin robe around me and walk to baby Maxwell's room. Leaving the door open, his cries lessen as I coo his name. 

"Maxwell..momma is here" I say as I walk over and reach down into the crib and pick him up and he cries still, but not as loud. 

I hush him, bouncing him slightly. 

"What's wrong baby, hmm?" I whispers. 

But I know exactly what's wrong, because I know all of his cries. 

I carry him to the changing table, and change his wet diaper as he fusses. 

I talk to him quietly as I put his onesie back on and zip it up and pick him up, taking him to the rocking chair. 

When he still fusses , I undo my robe, pull down the front of my night gown, exposing one breast as he latches immediately and begins to drink. 

I lay my head back and sigh, exhausted. I yawn as he takes his feeding, his mouth going slower as he gets "milk drunk" as Macy calls it, and passes back out. His mouth going still and I pull him gently from the breast and stand and carry him back to the crib, laying him down. 

I watch him a moment to make sure he doesn't stir back awake, and then quietly go to the door and shut it quietly. 

I walk to the twins room, Millie and Molly, both four, opening their door , finding them both curled up in their beds, thumbs stuck in their mouths, their night light by their beds sending little stars around the room.  I close the door and then walk across the top of the house to the other side, where Mikey, our seven year old has his room, along with Macy's room. 

I check on Mikey, sprawled out as usually with his blanket half off the bed, and I walk over lifting it, and cover him back up and leave the room. 

I look to Macy's door, seeing a light on underneath the door. It's one am, and a Friday night, so I don't open the door to tell her to get to bed. She may be sleeping anyways, also....I can't bring myself to check. Because if she's not. I'd have to look at her. Look at her and be reminded of what I let her do. 

So I turn from my oldests door and quietly go downstairs.