Whoooo – shee! Whooo – shee! The pump's rhythmic wheeze and the pull on her nipples made a feeling build in her, like the beginnings of an orgasm, and she groaned. Oh, God. Not here. Not now. She glanced around, as if she were in public, but the door was closed. She was alone. A small thought flitted through her brain. If she just could come, could get rid of this craven need, maybe she could focus on work again and possibly rid herself of the burning want that now permeated everything.
Antonio.
She stood and locked the door, pressing the button slowly, hoping no one was in the hall to hear. Thankful for kicking off her panties, Jessica sat back down, keeping the pumps in place, and tried to figure out how she could pleasure herself. If she let go of one horn, she would spurt everywhere. But she needed a free hand to touch herself.
The agony was killing her as each wheeze of the pump pulled on her nipples, stretching them through the horns, sucking milk out of her at an alarming rate. She knew each bottle held up to eight ounces and she was already at four. If she didn't masturbate now, she would fill the damn bottles long before climax.
Her eyes settled on the pump. Hmmm. Turning the pump knob to four, the speed of the suction picked up.
And so did the pump's vibrations.
She let tucked one of the horns under her armpit and used her free hand to lower the pump to the floor, now hatching her plan. Straddling the pump, she lowered her naked, wet pussy to it, sliding on the black vinyl until she found – ah, oh, oh, yeah...that was the right spot. Her clit settled on on a slow, teasing rhythm that buzzed her to where she needed to go and she rode the pump like it was a Sybian, reaching down to crank the pump to maximum suction.
Pain! Her nipples extended suddenly and sharply, the milk spurting out down the valve, and while the first burst of tugging made her grit her teeth in shock, she was surprised to find it felt amazing. The pain mixed with the milking and her clit on the vibrations as she slid forward, then back, on her knees, pussy lips fucking the sides of the pump's top, her hips shimmying and rocking as if she were fucking a lover, coming on top, riding Antonio – yes, Antonio – riding his thick cock, riding his gorgeous tongue, riding, riding, riding...
The orgasm slammed her against the top of the desk, her body convulsing in a screaming clench as she fought her own sounds, careful to be silent, the need to be quiet making the orgasm that much more urgent. Mouth open, panting, hands clamped over breasts that were stretched into cones, then released, stretched – released – the milk gushing and gushing until she realized, in a half stupor, that one bottle had overflowed, her hind milk backing up into the tube, inches away from clogging the pump's motor.
Tearing the cone off her breast, she turned the pump off, her nipples leaking as she scrambled to stop her expensive machine from being ruined. Drained and suddenly overcome by shame, yet incredible blissful from what she'd just done, Jessica spent the next ten minutes cleaning up and praying she hadn't made anything such a mess that it would be obvious that she had just humped a breast pump at the office.
Panties were still soaked, so she stuffed them in one of the zippered compartments of the pump. She capped the milk bottles and slid them into the chilled compartment with the ice packs, then slipped all the pump parts into a large zippered bag she had. She couldn't salvage her wet shirt or bra, but buttoning her suit coat over them would do.
The thick scent of pussy that filled the tiny room and the slick covering her breast pump? She would have to hope she could get to the women's room before anyone saw her in the hall.
Opening the door cautiously, she made it four doors down before seeing a Women's Room sign. Grateful it was a one-person bathroom, she washed up, never so pleased to find perfumed soap in her life.
What in the everloving fuck was wrong with her? She didn't even recognize herself any more. An image of making love with Antonio on a yacht flashed through her thoughts again and she groaned, this time a sound of reproachment. No more. Look what that man had done to her already. Letting him invade her mind again was nothing but trouble.
Once she felt relaxed and in control, she stepped out into the hallway and went back to her desk, humbled, embarrassed and, a tiny part of her had to admit, a lot less needy.
Deep breaths, Jessica, she told herself. Deep breaths. Ten minutes of answering emails helped. Who would have guessed that answering vendor questions and approving vacation for developers could kill desire so quickly? She made a sarcastic comment to herself in her head and smiled. If someone looked at her now they would think she was crazy. Which she was.
Crazy in lust.
An impulse hit her and she went into her Internet browser, pulling up a search engine. Then she typed “Antonio Bouskos.”
Holy shit.
The man's face was everywhere, pictures of him in Time Magazine, The Economist, People Magazine, OK! Magazine, and pretty much every major rag from the National Enquirer to The Daily Mail. He was seen with supermodels and princesses (real ones! With titles and bloodlines!) and in every photo he looked bored. His eyes were dimmed and although he smiled, his look was one of disengagement.
So different from the sparkling eyes and the laser-focused intensity she had experience this morning. As she read, though, she became more and more embarrassed for ever thinking he had even the slightest interest in her. He was a billionaire! He owned a home in Jackson Hole, a town home in London, a penthouse apartment of 23,000 square feet in Manhattan, a villa in Monaco, was friends with Prince Albert and the Koch brothers, and the list went on and on...
He wasn't just out of her league. He was in another solar system.
Galaxy.
Why hadn't she heard of him? He wasn't really familiar. The article in The Economist explained it as she read: he was old, old money, from a Spanish-Greek family, one that was part of the southern European aristocracy. If he was dating princesses it was because his bloodline was just as regal.
Oy.
Working-class Jessica wouldn't cut it, the daughter of factory workers from Scranton, Pennsylvania who had scraped by to get into college and for whom a graduate degree had made her an oddity in her factory hometown. She and Antonio were worlds apart and, in some ways, that helped. A girl could dream – sure.
But this would just be a dream. All that had happened in the hallway was a wealthy aristocrat being nice, his polished manners mistaken by Jessica for flirting. He probably made in an hour what she made in an entire year. While she budgeted taxi rides, he flew helicopters in Manhattan. She might, someday afford a cruise. He owned an entire line.
This was a guy who wore watches as expensive as her car. So the warm eyes, the melting gaze, the scent of mystery and musk and spice – she could call on that when she needed a little push to get her to completion with her vibrator – she shot her breast pump a guilty look – or whatever device, but any thought of actually having a date – or a fuck – with Antonio Bouskos was about as real as winning the lottery.
And she never bought tickets, the long shot not even worth it. Better to focus on what was in front of her, what was tangible and solid, her picture of Sofia peeking out from behind a report she had shoved on her desk. Grimacing, she pulled the photo out and whispered, “I'll take care of you, my sweet girl,” then set the picture aside, delving into her work.
At 3 p.m. her breasts began tingling again. Mother Nature didn't recognize the work clock; her six month old would be waking from her nap right now and need to nurse, and Jessica's breasts were on Sofia time, not corporate time. Grabbing her pump, she reached for a bottle of water and walked back to the small room Antonio had shown her. Sounds from behind the door made her realize people were in there, on the phone.
Damn! The tingling in her nipples continued. There was no way she could wait until work was over. The mid-afternoon slump hadn't been helped by that cup of coffee she had gulped at 2 p.m., and now she found herself in a bit of a brain fog, unsure of how to handle this situation, growing a bit uncomfortable and perturbed.
&n
bsp; “Hello,” said a familiar voice, the melodic tones making her hot and wet again, her insides puddling. Where did he come from? How did he seem to know when she needed to pump? She smiled without looking at him, his body two feet away, in the threshold to the staircase, and then Jessica took a deep breath and met his eyes.
They hadn't changed. Deep and spinning, like an abyss she would readily leap into, she wondered if he weren't slightly wicked, a bit supernatural and omniscient.
“Hello, Antonio,” she said, her voice filled with whiskey and want, the sound so foreign she didn't know where it came from. If she had said “Come fuck me” it wouldn't have been as intense as her voice, and he reacted instantly, as if slapped. His eyes told her he liked it; the bruising dominance in those brown orbs scared and excited her. She wasn't sure which emotion was stronger, and frankly, didn't care much at this point.
He had her if he wanted her.
Now she needed to find out exactly how far she could take this without crossing a line.
As if she hadn't already?
“Jessica.” His lower lids tightened as his eyes narrowed and his beauty overwhelmed her. He seemed like a man from a different time, of a class she couldn't imagine, living a life that wasn't quite real. The air thickened between them and time seemed to stand still. If it weren't for her engorged, overfull breasts she would have felt like she was in suspended animation, but nature nagged at her, the tingling worsening as she struggled with what to do next.
He solved that struggle. “Are you here for – ” he pointed very specifically at each of her breasts, eyes lingering so obviously she thought they might be glued, literally, to her, “that? To milk your breasts to feed your baby?” His jaunty smile was a challenge, as if he were saying, Just you try not to be aroused now.
Two could play this game. “Yes, I am. I have my horns and funnels ready to cup to my...ready to express the milk that is overflowing.” She smiled sweetly, and his throat tightened. She could see it, the gulp she extracted from him, triggering something deep he didn't realize she could tap into. They were playing a dangerous game of chicken and while she knew he would win, it was still fun to play.
“So,” he said, finally snapping out of whatever had distracted him. Probably the vision of her pumping herself. A guilt-filled flash of humping her breast pump earlier made her blush. He seemed to take that as a cue and added, “do you have a picture of your baby? Some women look at the picture to help stimulate the milk.”
She laughed. “Oh, no. I don't need the extra stimulation.” His eyebrows shot up seductively as she realized the double entendre. “Er, I mean,” she stammered, “uh, no. My milk comes easily and I have enough to feed five people.”
His face went serious. “Five?”
“Well, not literally – I can't imagine nursing five babies at once. But my cup certainly runneth over.” She was uncertain again; the focus on nursing seemed weird, and not sexy at all.
To her.
Antonio stepped in and pressed her hips toward him as his other hand sank into her hair and he pulled her, slowly, in for a kiss. What the hell – ? She inhaled sharply, surprise triggering the instinct, but his lips were so soft and so in control that she quickly melted into him, her face pressing against that silky-smooth mouth, his hands all over her at once, her clit on fire and her body nearly pulsing with so many months – too many! since the birth! – of craven lust.
This only happens in the movies, she thought, nearly laughing at the absurdity. But his insistence and his confidence made the chuckle die quickly, replaced instead by a rock-solid certainty that he could have her now, anytime, anywhere.
As his tongue parted her moist mouth and devoured her, claiming every inch of skin, teasing and exploring, she felt a boldness rise up in her, matching him dart for dart, caress for caress, her own hands finding his back, thick muscles on his tight form, her fingers playing with the thick waves at the base of his neck, her breasts flattened against the wide expanse of his cashmere suit jacket that covered a rippled, taut chest. Longing to see it, to press flesh against flesh, she pulled back, touching her mouth as if scorched, eyes wide with alarm and impulse and abandon.
"Come with me," he insisted, pulling her into a conference room down the hall, the enormous table big enough to seat thirty people, a view of the city below them, as if they floated on air. One edge of the table rested close, within a foot, to the wide, seamless glass wall and he lifted her onto the table without effort, sliding her back, his knee wedging between her legs and spreading her as one hand deftly opened her suit jacket, revealing twin circles of milk on her cotton shirt and a plump softness that was ever-so-ready for him.
"Undress," he commanded, eyes dark and smoky, and Jessica obeyed, her hands like someone else's, her mind alight with excitement and curiosity, wondering why she was following his orders yet seemingly unable to say no. She slid her shoulders up and slipped off one, then both, arms of her jacket, freeing herself but still wearing the milk-soaked shirt, with circles now the size of oranges, her arousal literally painted all over her chest with breast milk.
"Your shirt," he sighed, inhaling deeply, using his legs to spread hers further apart, one hand braced over her while the other caressed her neck. As she undid the buttons carefully he locked eyes with hers, her hands blind yet knowing, unleashing her skin in seconds as her wet bra spilled over with swollen flesh.
"Ah, this. This is what I want. This is what you want, too," he murmured, nuzzling her right nipple through the cloth, deftly reaching behind her as she arched her back, his hands surprised by the lack of a clasp in the back. Grinning, he moved to the front and freed her breasts with one flick of his wrist at her bra clasp.
Peeling off his jacket, Antonio pressed her gently into the hard table, her body straight now and parallel to the sky, her head turning to the right and capturing a full view of the city's skyline from thirty floors above the clamor. Floating, floating, Jessica's breath hitched as his warm, dark mouth descended on her now-dribbling nipple and he latched on, the feeling surreal, and he suckled at her, filling his mouth.
Shocked, Jessica froze, the sensation unnerving. Only Sofia had done that, her tiny, infant mouth rooting and latching. Nursing had been solely maternal, instinctive and loving. Now, this stranger, her boss she realized with alarm, was suckling at her full, ripe tit and she...loved it. Her clit thrummed and her hand went toward his back, urging him as he drank from her, is low moans telling her this pleased him. And she wanted to please him, needed to, craving obedience and compliance and something so deep it had no name.
She had just orgasmed a few hours ago but her flesh felt new, compliant and ready, as if nothing had happened earlier. Her breast pump had been a poor imitation for this man, and she was about to find out how poor as he enveloped her with his power.
Her other breast began to spurt, the flow of milk in tandem with the internal waves of climax that built within her. How could she orgasm just from this? she wondered, marveling at how her body reached this point so quickly. It had been too long and this, this was too much. Jessica forgot about time cards and billable hours and resource distribution and shifted into carnal pleasure as Antonio slipped one finger within, easily pushing her and finding what he wanted from her body, grinning at her lack of panties.
"I found you, you know, Jessica. You are exactly who I wanted," he sighed, his lips now next to her ear as he leaned over her, his hand doing what she wanted another part of him to complete, fingers thrusting and circling as his mouth whispered words that made no sense. Her? Why would the owner of the company seek her out? She was a no one.
"Why me?" she asked, then arched as he hit a spot that had never been touched, lightning running through her, the milk spraying his face, running in rivulets down her ribcage and pooling beneath her on the conference table. He laughed, then licked it, answering her in short, staccato phrases.
"I seek this," he said, licking a drop from the corner of his mouth. "It was easy to look at the maternity lea
ve records and find you. But no," he hissed as she frowned. "You are so much more than your milk. Do not worry. I am here for you – and your milk. You," he pulled back, his eyes raking her body, taking in the curves, her overflowing breasts, the long, yellow curls she knew were now pouring over her shoulders and the table as her hair spread out. "You were more than I ever bargained for."
"You bargained for me?" she choked out, loving his words, wanting to hear more but slightly horrified. He sought out nursing mothers? Buying a corporation for that kind of data seemed extreme.
"Oh, if only you knew," he said, his mouth covering the exploding breast as he drank, sucked, drank, sucked, the rhythm sending Jessica over the edge completely, giving her what she had tried so hard to get from her breast pump this morning, Antonio's touch and attention completing her.
She took the lead for a moment, though, squirming under him and wiggling out to stand before him.
Unbuckling his pants and slipping his belt out, Jessica encircled his cock with her hand, the familiar, easy touch both foreign and perfect all at the same time. He may have her under his spell, but right now she controlled the wand. And she was very, very good with her wrist and her mouth, the two playing a duet that would have him arcing and screaming in minutes – if he let her.
Oh, how she wanted that thickly-veined, rigid cock in her. That was what she should have been riding earlier. Not the lame breast pump, with its anemic vibrations, but this flesh-and-bone man, his hands all over her, pumping into her, giving her what she needed.
A rush of power took over her senses. She ran her open palm along the curve of his tight thigh, muscles bulging in the right places, the legs of a soccer player or someone who was casually in peak shape – through fun and endurance, and not just a buff body via personal trainer and money. She licked her lips in anticipation, his serious eyes on her, eating her up with those dark irises. As she licked the head she added more lubrication, her spit more than enough as she bobbed down over his knob, giving him a mouth that was a tight, hot, wet cave of pleasure. She would love to give him an even tighter cave, but that was for later.
The Billionaire's Milkmaid (BBW Lactation Erotic Romance) Page 2