Chapter 1: Of Milk and Temptation
Hi. I’m Pratty, a senior consultant at an IT firm, and I have hardly been a year into the job. I am already the blue-eyed boy on the team. Clients overseas sing my praises and the management? They’re practically in love with my work. They’ve handed me an onsite project in Princeton, NJ, and it means a lot to me.
I’m based out of Navi Mumbai. But now I’m headed to the States, paired with my project lead, Shweta Kapoor. She leads our business unit in this organisation. She was born in Punjab, raised in the UK, in her early 40s, and married just a few months back.
She is currently based out of London. We’ve only ever met on video calls as it’s a remote work setup. Now, we’re about to spend a lot of time together. I board my flight from Mumbai, and I’m in Oman for a 10-hour layover. Shweta’s already there, waiting at the gate, her sharp eyes searching for me in the crowd.
Shweta stood around six feet tall, her skin white as fresh snow. Her light grey eyes were framed by shoulder-length, naturally wavy and bouncy brown hair. A distinct black mole marked her left temple. Her dimples, visible all the time, would make you remember a certain Bollywood actress—readers will know who I mean.
She wore a crisp white full-sleeved shirt layered with a grey V-neck over shirt, paired with sleek black lycra pants. We exchanged polite smiles, made small talk, and killed time until our connecting flight to Newark Liberty.
When we boarded, it was business class—pure luxury. The seats are wide, with a sleek partition shutter between them for privacy. I settled into mine. The leather felt so smooth. Shweta settled in the seat next to me.
The shutter’s open for now, but we can close it if needed. The flight takes off, and dinner is served. It’s some bad chicken, stale and rubbery. I pushed it around my plate, and Shweta wrinkled her nose. “This is inedible,” she muttered, shoving her tray aside.
I nodded, my stomach already growling. Sometime later, we close the shutters and go to sleep. Hours later, it’s midnight, and hunger wakes me up. My stomach growls and wakes me from a half-sleep.
Shweta enquires out of concern for me, “Pratty? You okay?” She reaches for the partition shutter, quietly sliding it open.
“Just hungry,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “That dinner was garbage.”
She chuckled, “I know, right? Nearly made me vomit.” She popped a sugary toffee into her mouth, “I’m fine with these, but you sound like you’re starving.”
She then reached into her bag and pulled out a thermal flask. “Here. It’s milk. The only thing I could pack as a snack for me, but I’d suggest you drink it since you’re too hungry.”
I hesitated, but my stomach was screaming. “Thanks, Shweta,” I said, taking the flask. I unscrewed the cap and took a sip. It was incredible. Smooth as silk, thick and creamy, with some good sweetness. It’s like someone stirred in a generous amount of sugar, but it’s just perfect.
I drank the entire thing, filling my very empty stomach. In moments, I’m full, my eyelids heavy. I whisper another thank you, hand the bottle back, and sink into my seat, closing the shutter. Sleep takes me like I’m a baby, cradled and dreaming.
Morning breaks, and we land at Newark Liberty Airport. We grab our bags, clear customs, and head to Princeton. The hotel is sleek and modern, with rooms so beautiful that they can only be booked by a corporate expense account.
I freshened up, rested for a couple of hours, and woke up to a text from Shweta: I am free today. Want to explore the city?
“Why not?” I replied. We meet in the lobby, and she’s in casuals. Jeans, a fitted sweater. She knows Princeton from a previous trip and drags me to bookstores, leafy parks, and a cosy restaurant for lunch. We laugh and share stories, and for a moment, it’s like we’re not just colleagues.
By evening, we’re back at the hotel, exhausted. I rest in my room, ready to call it a day. Around 11 p.m., I got up from my short nap as my phone buzzed. It’s Shweta. “Pratty, can you come to my room? Need to discuss about a task.”
I hurriedly pulled myself out of bed, threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and headed to her room. She opened the door, and my breath became fast. She’s in a satin night robe, deep burgundy, clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her full breasts pressed against the fabric, nipples hard and poking through.
My cock stood up, and I struggled to keep my eyes on her face. She moved with a slow, deliberate grace at me and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a couch across from her. I sat, trying to ignore the growing bulge in my jeans.
She leaned forward, and the robe slipped slightly, revealing a big part of her cleavage. “So,” she started, her voice sexy as hell, “what did you think of the milk last night?”
I blink, thinking about where the assignment for which she called is, and I come so hurriedly.
“It was great. Smooth, sweet, creamy. Really filled me up. Was it A2 milk or something? That’s the trendy stuff, right? I replied.
She laughed loudly, and that sent a shiver down my spine. “Oh, Pratty. You’re adorable.” Her eyes hinted at mischief. “It wasn’t A2 milk. It was my breast milk. I pumped it for you when the cabin lights were off because I couldn’t let you go hungry,” she said, unable to hold her laugh.
Amidst her wicked laughing, my stomach growled, and what was in there quickly came into my throat. I ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the sink, before I gagged, spitting up a little.
Shweta’s behind me in an instant, her hand rubbing slow circles on my back. “Easy, easy,” she murmured.
“Why?” I choked out, gripping the sink. “Why would you do that? Isn’t that… for your baby? You’re married, what, three months? Is your kid—”
She laughs again, softer this time. “No baby, Pratty. I’m not pregnant. This” she gestures to her boob that is dripping milk through the satin fabric of the robe “is induced. Hormonal pills.”
I turn to face her, confused. “Why? Why go through that?”
Her hand lingered on my back, then slid away as she stepped back. “Come, sit. I’ll explain.”
We returned to our spots—her on the bed, me on the sofa. She crossed her legs, the robe riding up to reveal her smooth, meaty thighs.
“I have a fetish,” she said bluntly. “Adult nursing relationships. Adult breastfeeding. Ever heard of it?”
I shake my head, saying no. “What the hell is that?”
She smiled and replied, “It’s about intimacy. Connection. I produce milk, and I love having someone drink it. Directly. It’s not just about the milk. It’s the act. The closeness. The pleasure.”
Her voice dropped, husky. “I want you to join me, Pratty. At night, when my breasts are full, when the milk’s at its peak. I want you to suck them.”
My cock twitches despite my shock, and I shift backwards in my seat. “Shweta, I… I don’t know. That’s… messy. Complicated. If you want, you can pump it into a bottle and give it to me like last night. Keep it simple.”
She shook her head, “It’s not the same. I need my nipples mouthed, sucked. It drives me wild, Pratty. Gets me so fucking horny.”
She leaned forward, and I could again see the damp spot on her robe where her left breast was leaking, the fabric stuck to her swollen nipple. I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked her, “What about your husband? Isn’t this cheating?”
“No,” she says firmly. “It’s not cheating if there’s no sex. Just you, sucking my tits, drinking my milk. And after that, we can… take care of ourselves. Jerk off, side by side, no sex.”
I’m sweating now, my erection pushing against my jeans. “What if… what if the urge gets too strong?”
She smiled, the wet spot on her breasts spreading. “It’s nature, Pratty. We’ll handle it. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. Relax.”
Her voice turns seductive, “So, what do you say? My nipples are overflowing.” She cups her left breast, and I’m aroused, too.
I sat there in a storm of hesitation. My body said yes while my mind said run!
Chapter 2: I Enjoyed the Delicious Nectar
I sat there, my mind in confusion. Shweta’s words moved in my head—no sex, no cheating. But what if I lost control, my body betraying me in the act? Could I point to her and claim it was nature’s call, as she said? Or would she turn it against me, crying harassment under workplace laws?
Sweat trickled from my forehead down my neck, soaking my face. Desire hit me, and I was stuck.
Shweta again said, her voice now commanding. “Pratty, don’t waste time. My milk’s already leaking, and I hate wasting it. Here’s the deal: please me every day on this trip, and any future ones we’re paired on. I’ll have your back in the office. If you land in any mess, I’ll pull you out. Job security, promotions, you’ll climb the ladder fast. Trust me.”
Her tone was pure seduction and irresistible. I ran to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face and applied facewash. I used her mouthwash to ensure no bad breath. It was a burning mint flavour that woke me up. This was a win-win, I told myself.
A sexual favour for job security, maybe a fast track to the top. If I screwed up at work, she’d save me. I returned, and there she was — robe tossed in a corner, her naked body covered by the blanket up to her breasts. I slid under the sheets. Her body felt warm.
Shweta’s skin was snow-white, flawless, her light pink lips begging to be kissed, licked, bitten. Her breasts were heavy, round as ripe mangoes, veins faintly visible beneath the skin. Her areolas were pale pink, and her nipples stood erect, already dripping with drops of milk.
They were meaty, begging to be sucked, and my cock jumped painfully in my jeans. “Pratty,” she said, “if you’ve got shorts under those jeans, remove the T-shirt and pants. Get comfy. We might fall asleep here, and I’m fine with that.”
I nodded, stripping down to my boxers, and slid closer. “Lay on me,” she ordered, guiding my head to her chest. “Suck my nipples. Drink it all.”
I closed my lips around her left nipple, and the milk flowed—thick, creamy, sweeter than honey, with that same sugary warmth I’d tasted on the flight. It flowed through my tongue, rich and heavy, filling my mouth with every pull. She moaned, “Lick them. Bite them,” she gasped.
Her breasts were impossibly soft, smooth as satin, and I felt them on my tongue. I swirled circles around her areola, her gasps growing sharper. Her left hand tangled in my hair, then stroking my back, while her right hand worked between her vagina, her knuckles brushing my hard-on, sending jolts through me.
Her breathing grew faster. Moans intensified as she fingered herself. Her body was trembling.
“Don’t you dare sleep,” she slapped me. “There’s more to finish.”
I kept sucking, her milk flooding my mouth, my tongue teasing her sensitive nipples. “Oh God, Pratty, you’re heavy, but this is worth it,” she panted. “For the next 20 days, you do this every night. Skip dinner. My milk’s enough. It’ll keep you healthy.”
I paused, my erection twitching painfully. “Shweta, I’m so hard it hurts.”
She smiled, still gasping. “No sex tonight, but do what you need. Just don’t stop sucking.”
“Can I hump your thigh?” I asked.
“Be my guest,” she replied. I pressed my cock against her smooth, firm thigh, grinding hard. In minutes, I came, my cum spilling through my boxers and falling onto her skin. She didn’t flinch. Her climax hit as her juices dripped onto my thighs.
I thought it’d end there, but her milk kept flowing. I was exhausted, my eyelids drooping, but she’d slap me, “Keep sucking!” when I slowed down dozing off. Finally, her breasts emptied, but she ordered me to continue for pleasure. I obeyed.
My stomach was now bloated, but I continued until I slept with her nipple still in my mouth. Hours later, my full bladder woke me. I slid out, her nipple slipped free from my mouth and went to the bathroom. Pissing, I marvelled—she milked like a cow. She could start a dairy. I laughed at that thought.
I considered leaving for my room but remembered her saying we could sleep together. Fuck it. I crawled back beside her, dozing off.
Morning came, and I woke to Shweta resting on me, her drool pooling on my nipples. It seemed that she’d returned the favour in her sleep. She woke up minutes later, hugging me. “Good morning,” she murmured. “Did my milk fill you up?”
“More than enough,” I grinned. “Even my bladder was bursting. But I enjoyed it.”
She smiled, her dimples flashing. “I’m milking again. Let’s have a round two. Just drain me.” I sucked onto her breast. The milk came steadily. We chatted casually. Her hand stroked my hair. She talked about her husband, whom she lovingly referred to as “Kapoor Saab,” and how they stumbled into this fetish.
“He read about a girl advertising for a flatmate, offering half-rent for adult nursing. It sounded insane, but we researched, tried it, and got hooked. It even cured our alcohol addiction.”
She described, “When Kapoor Saab is not around, it’s hell,” she said. “My clothes get soaked, and leftover milk hurts my breasts. Pumping is a tedious task. Having someone mouth it and suck? Win-win.”
She thanked me, insisting I do this every night, plus weekend afternoons. As she got up to prep for our client seminar, she added, “Jerk off here if you want while I shower. Then get ready—it’s a long day.”
I jerked off and then headed to my room to get ready. It was a good first day of client workshops. This US trip had surely taken a wild turn!
Add your comments if you’ve really liked this story. I’m working on a part two. Open for a chat on [email protected] if you want to know me better!