Claudia Moss

Jay stood in a pool of Atlanta sunshine in the back bedroom on the third floor of her downtown, Chamberlain Street loft.

She gazed out across the courtyard below. In silence, she took in what was left of a tranquil Saturday in March and stared at everything and nothing in particular. Her scrutiny skimmed the courtyard’s centerpiece of bricked shrubbery. Then it winged the wrought-iron separating her complex from the community’s sauntering residents, who promenaded the city in a drug-induced splendor. Whenever they took a notion to dream, they stopped and gazed through iron at high-end vehicles and Jay’s ’07 Mercedes sports car. Beyond this protected enclave, in the distance, a field, in which some of the sauntering found peace, submitted its peppered face of bottles and debris to the heavens.

She knew there was potential in the scene, despite the poor condition of the existing buildings. In part, she already saw the ones not yet built. A dreamer, she speculated what they might be next month or next year since she’d bowed to her intention to invest in this community. For now, though, what she studied on the right made up Edgewood Avenue, with its string of abandoned shops, small clothing stores, and beauty parlors; on the left, it was Chamberlain Street, home of Chamberlain Apartments, a project some city developers in high-rise offices still hadn’t quite figured how to erase.

Jay Morrison was a mover and big-money shaker in her own right, in privy circles. Around the way, she was known simply as “the sistah who had her shit together.”

But the sistah was in a blue mood right now. Little had gone as she’d anticipated in a developer’s meeting that afternoon: it yet amazed her how nobody of color with any real money desired to invest a tad of it in the community. The revelation accounted for her presence in her loft’s back windows.

In truth, in these windows, the longer she stood, the more Jay felt blessed. By her calculations—something she was damn good at, had faith in, particularly when it came to growing dollars and scents from nothing—her mind expanded when she looked out on her block. A magical space, answers to every question she posed floated into her corporate locs when she stood where she was now, pondering…

Hmmmmm. But wait.

Jay cocked her head to one side and raised a rakish brow. That was a first. Did the floral curtains in the third-floor window in the loft directly across from hers really inhale the sweet start of spring and exhale a glimpse of an exquisite ass? She could have sworn the loft had been empty a week ago. As far as she knew, nobody had walked through the place in five months.

A green mini bus on its way up Chamberlain sliced noisily into Jay’s thoughts. The sound directed her attention to a man “pottying” his rat terrier on a fenced-in lawn. Funny. The image clashed with the sight of two other men, dirty and singing, using one another as crutches, as they stumbled to the corner.

Jay sighed and returned an inquisitive eye to the peek-a-boo window, and it was a good thing she did. This time the curtains pooh-poohed with certainty, causing Jay to press her nose against startled glass. There it was for sure. A wide, voluptuous, shapely one. A walnut-hued delight in purple panties, thank you. An ass that didn’t appear to favor bouncing or climbing poles or gyrating like island beauties.

No, ma’am. Jay was well acquainted with those other kinds of behinds. “Naw, this one, ” she calculated, grinning, like the magic room had already spread the delectable woman across her platform bed, those purple panties tossed high on one of its four posts, “no, this one did something else. This one simply strolled.” The strange part was, she hadn’t seen the woman’s face, and a pretty face with pussy lips always lit Jay’s auto pilot. Yet, this woman could look like whatever. Jay didn’t care. In that instance, she realized why she’d been standing there, dreaming, thinking. Her neighbor’s pretty ass had to do what it did, capture her, but the lady’s mysterious persona would do what it must, keep her.

Evening fell as supple as silk while Jay stared. When fireflies twinkled and crickets sang, the lady’s loft dimmed to candlelight. There was no call for desperation. Jay knew her potential. The last time she’d checked, wherever she appeared, looking as tantalizing as the last treat in a box of Lady Godiva chocolates, women—some gay, some straight, (it didn’t matter) declared, word had it, that Jay Morrison was The “She-Can-Get-It” Woman. Thus, armed with such confidence, Jay descended the stairs to her kitchen and leftover Chinese take-out. Her mind savored a new intention: to have her mysterious neighbor in every way she could have a woman.

Two weeks later, Jay posted up against the window in her back room, again, but this time, music drew her there. Big band music. Josephine Baker in a banana skirt and no-bra music. Hypnotic, it was the sort of music that conjured images of glossy stages and rows of leggy, dancing angels in flamboyant feathers and skimpy costumes, kicking up their heels and flashing yards of endless thighs. For once, Jay scanned her usual surroundings and never registered a thing outside of her new neighbor’s, her next woman’s, third-floor window. All investments were put on the back burner, for Jay hadn’t seen a flicker of life in the loft for days.

“A traveler, ” Jay speculated. “Cool.”

Distracted by that beautiful butt, on Monday evening, she lay on the room’s bed and snaked one hand into her pants. Damn. She felt good masturbating, releasing. No lady and work dominating her days, she ached for some good loving, every fiber in her hollering for punany: its spice, its flavor, its juice. She closed her eyes and imagined those purple panties strapped to her nose. Breathing in their fragrance, she prayed their owner boasted a face with a pair of the prettiest pussy lips she’d ever seen. Pussy lips that left her on her knees, begging to lick and kiss, suck and nibble, same as she got stuck between a woman’s thighs, mesmerized by her other pair of pretty lips.

She dreamed herself straight into Wednesday, the day those curtains waved to her on a gusty evening breeze. In a rush, she lifted the back closet window and filled her lungs with the beginning of April and snapshots of the strolling beauty just beyond the floral curtains. Shoot! Jay had a mind to—fuck it—show up at the woman’s door with a housewarming gift, perfume, and a dinner proposition the sistah couldn’t refuse. As Jay stood there, strategizing, she heard it again. That music. She listened spellbound, an addict hooked on the next glimpse of mind-altering ass. The compelling melodies transported her back, decades back. By the time the CD changer reached its final cut, Jay had made up her mind. She ripped herself from the glass and headed for the shower. A half-hour and her sports car was dodging Boulevard’s craters and traffic-defying teenagers to pull into a parking spot steps away from Best Buy’s electronic double doors.

In the CD section, a cute, turbaned woman leaned on the ordered counter. Rajima was stenciled in black on her name tag, a sensuous smile stenciled in pink on her lips.

“May I help you? ”

“Hey, baby.” Jay mirrored her enthusiasm. “I’m in a hurry. Do you have Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s 1957 rendition of Porgy and Bess? If not, bring everything you have by them, separate or together. Please.”

“Yes, ma’am, ” Rajima purred, rounding the counter to gracefully take Jay in fully, before walking away, her hips swaying under a long summer skirt.

Jay grinned. Sexy-ass women. They kept her nerve endings racing. She shifted her attention to a basket of discount CDs, but none whet her curiosity. Leaning against the counter, she panned the store’s wares and wondered how long her mystery woman would be in town, wondered if she should leave her a love note, candy, an airline ticket.

“This is everything we’ve got.” Rajima spread a handful of CD cases across the counter and rang her total. “Is there anything else you’d like? ”

Jay slowly considered her offerings. “Huh, not now. Thank you.”

“Whenever, ” Rajima promised, accepting Jay’s three C-notes, her stare fierce, tongue glossing her bottom lip. Jay nodded, advised her to keep the change and departed the store in long, determined strides.

No music. No lights.

Only stillness, when she returned.

Jay felt powerless for a moment, standing in her open garage, a thing she rarely did, gazing up at an obviously empty loft and emptier sky. “Hell, maybe that’s her crash pad, ” she rationalized. “Won’t sweat it, ” she encouraged herself, utilizing her investment savvy. “I am patience personified. She belongs to me.”

Miss Purple Panties failed to sashay those jaw-dropping hips past the still fabric of her curtains for what must have been an eternity and one more weekend. In her absence, Jay’s faith wavered and cut the absolute fool, filling her mind with doubt. Under it, she almost passed out; her longing and the ache in her pussy heavy, intense. So, until muted lights burned an amber haze in her loft once more, Jay ended up licking the view from across the courtyard’s bricked blooms with eyes meant for, at the least, fucking…or prayerfully…if she could hold a joyous image long enough…for making love to a woman who rattled her without one hello.

Jay’s dog, Valentino Starr, lay in on her doorbell one Friday night, like a drunk without a bottle. Behind her, Jackson Street joined in with its late-April night music.

In Valentino’s pockets were tickets for a different type of Saturday-night entertainment. It was no secret her girl had been working serious overtime hours in an effort to bring new horizons and renewed dreams to the strolling disenfranchised under her loft windows. And that alone, Valentino knew, deserved appreciation, being she rarely thought of streetfolk, unless it was to remember to lock her car doors or keep loose bills handy—what with her demanding wife and life.

“Just don’t keep a sistah waiting, ” she’d forewarned Jay just last night. Despite that, here she was, waiting for those second-floor curtains to part so she could cuss.

“Glad I didn’t invite Justina, ” Valentino muttered to herself and doubled-checked her watch. Knowing her wife, she’d have waited five minutes then politely stuck Jay’s ticket under the welcome mat.

Just as she decided to execute the thought, Jay drove up to the curb, the Mercedes spotless, and flung open the car’s passenger door. “Get in, my niggah! ”

She smelled expensive, like she looked.

“Don’t play, dude. You still late, ” Valentino growled, but she had to give it to her—her friend was the cat’s meow. “In New York, the N-word is illegal, kinda like the L-word everywhere else.” The analogy broke her up.

Jay smirked and gave Valentino the finger, frowning. “Shut up and close that door. Look, man, where we off to anyway? ”

Valentino cracked up again, relieved she didn’t have to drive herself, or worse, attempt to unload last-minute tickets on a street where most intoxicated night strollers couldn’t spell burlesque, had no money, or thought only dresses and ribbons were velvet.

The Velvet Room was upscale, noisy and filled with some of the finest women Jay had ever prayed would be in one location. Alluring, they were everywhere. Even outside the club’s Peachtree front, in black tuxedos, valet parking a queue of fabulous cars.

“For whatever this is, ” Jay whispered to Valentino inside the establishment’s lavish, darkened interior, “I’m damn sure down.”

Valentino winked. “Something told me you would be.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Lately, you’ve been wrapped tight enough to hurt yourself, fucking with that crew you do business with. Learn to relax and let live.”

“Ooh, believe me, I’m life’s number one fan, my man.” She steepled her fingers and sank low in her seat.

“I’m bringing my baby back next time.”

“Better ask first. You know Justina.”

The floodlights on, the butch on Valentino’s right coughed, cut them a reprimanding stare, and draped one arm around her lady’s freckled shoulders.

Valentino nodded, then looked at Jay and rolled her eyes. “Did you consider the program’s name? ”

“Naw.” Jay squinted at the ticket stub and nearly laughed out loud. “A burlesque show? As long as cute women are center stage, I’m good.”

After velvet curtains swept the stage at the end of Miss Va Va Voom’s first number sans all but brilliant purple pasties covering each of her succulent nipples and a few inches of glittery something or other atop a well-shaved coochie, The Purple Panty Revue commenced with Las Vegas-style pomp and pageantry. Indeed, Jay was more than good; she was mesmerized. She hadn’t been surrounded by that many half-naked women since she and some of her dogs had made it rain on the beautiful, wiggling, locking, dropping dancers in Strokers and Magic City.

Of all the attractive women strolling the stage in one exciting burlesque act after another, in skimpy, shimmering costumes and shiny dancing shoes and huge feathery headdresses, none made her grit her teeth and sit ramrod straight like the one with the wide, walnut, wonderful ass that strolled sensually, with a downright provocative sway, similar to the one behind the curtains of the loft across her courtyard. Jay’s next breath suddenly lodged somewhere between her chest and throat.

She elbowed Valentino sharply.

“Miss Va Va is my neighbor! ”

Valentino smirked. “Stop trippin’, man. You might want her to be yo’ neighbor, but she isn’t. Besides, why you think that’s her? You can’t see the sistah’s face. Damn! ” She laughed teasingly, cutting a glance in the direction of the butch on noise patrol. “You hallucinating? ”

“Not this time.” Undaunted, Jay planted her elbows on her knees and fixed her entire being on the thick sistah in shimmering purple panties, obviously the star, although every woman in the revue wore panties of a similar hue and style each time she graced the stage.

At intermission, Jay had seen enough. She had to move, get up, and do something. Excusing herself, she found the restrooms and stood in line a good ten minutes before entering the crowded, artful space with its colorful sitting area dé cor and classy, comfortable furnishings. Handling her business, she washed her hands and pulled open the door to confront a pair of lips so kissable, so succulent, and so juicy, it had to be magic. The seat of her boxers moistened. Instantly. Dampened as abruptly as, “O shit! ” escaped her lips. They weren’t simply pussy lips; no, they were the prettiest perfect pussy lips she’d ever beheld.

What could she do but bow? Holding the door for the manifestation of her wet dreams, she watched the magnificent hips she knew by heart glide into the restroom. Other women gawked, though not long.

Jay emptied the room effortlessly. Her entire body communicated clearly what was on her mind.

Attraction in the star’s brown eyes assured Jay that whatever she wanted, surely, she could have. And Jay, consenting, quietly locked the door behind them. The verdict was unanimous: she and life were one.

Jay reached out for the dancer’s hand and guided her to a commodious blue sofa, where she placed them on silent mode, mere words useless now. A gentlewoman, she maneuvered the elaborate costume so as not to damage it before sitting down.

Leaning into the beautiful face, Jay discovered she couldn’t not start with those lips. They magnetized her. And she kissed them so delicately it took her breath. The stunning woman’s eyelashes fanned her cheekbones while her hands slipped into Jay’s locs, her fingertips inching deep, deeper, the heat they generated causing a jackhammer throb in Jay’s clit.

Instinctively, Jay anchored her body by gripping the walnut-colored waist, her touch sending currents of desire through them both. The burlesque star’s smoldering stare met Jay’s half-lidded gaze and saw it all: the butch’s mouth twitch, her passion, her drought, her soul.

Pretty pussy lips pouted. Murmured what could have been Jay’s name. The utterance released Jay enough to taste her. The neck. The bejeweled earlobes. Jay’s lips sucked lightly, not to leave hickies across the fragrant shoulders. Out of need, her hands followed her lips. Under such masterful kisses, the dancer’s tantalizing thighs shook, and then parted. Red Sea wide. Jay’s hands floated to them. They were toned. And sculpted. Undulating, the beauty draped one exquisite thigh across Jay’s dark slacks, as her tongue sought Jay’s right ear and danced a fiery tango there, deadlocking Jay’s fingers. Momentarily suspended, they wagered whether to head north or south, every moment essential.

Jay’s mouth, though, was more decisive. It slowly kissed around the dancer’s purple, pasty-covered nipples. Jay pinched them to see her wince, shudder. The beauty’s lids fluttered when Jay’s palms cradled her breasts before returning to her silky, naked legs. The woman tasted so deliriously divine. Juicy. Jay had to see, to sample her cunt now, contrary to her usual custom.

She eased the dancer backward on the sofa, pillows at her back, and kissed a string of desire down her body. The burlesque beauty’s lips parted. A moan escaped the soft mouth. Her ass hunched forward, thighs agape. Again, her hands entered Jay’s locs, directing tender kisses to her inner thighs. Her satiny flesh smelled good, fruity. The dancer melted when Jay mined the fabric between her legs to devour the tangiest, the juiciest cunt she’d relished in a long, dry season. Her lover trembled. Shuddered. Clinched. And sighed.

Jay’s right thumb swirled over the dancer’s sensitive nubbin, and then skated down nectar-slick labia lips, plump and full, before two fingers plunged into pure honey. The creamy pussy swallowed more fingers, then a hand. Jay lay supine in sticky, grade-A nectar, moaning and pumping and kissing. Right then, Jay longed to awake to the gift of this woman’s presence every day of her life.

“Aaaah. Oooo, yes, baby. Kiss me. I love it, darling. I feel you everywhere.”

By way of answer, Jay’s teeth lightly nipped the now trembling thighs. Her strong fingers slowed, and then took charge of the performer’s pussy again, appearing and disappearing, fucking her into paradise. That amazing ass bucked and thrashed against the sofa. Heels draping Jay’s shoulders, sometimes daintily, at others flexing high above her head, on pussy-perfumed air.

When her screams finally erupted, Jay slowly withdrew. She rose and dampened several expensive napkins and gingerly wiped the scent of cum from the dancer’s body. The burlesque beauty lay still and spent while Jay kissed her mouth and hands. She whispered how beautiful she was before deftly readjusting her costume and memorizing her magnificent climax.

“I knew you’d come. Question was, when? ”

Jay stretched her six-foot-one frame atop the dancer’s body.

“I knew you’d cum, too. Just not here.”

The woman’s laughter floated into Jay’s back-grazing locs. Delightfully similar, her pent-up natural hair tickled Jay’s nose and cheeks. She loved the girlish joy beckoning her closer behind the grown-woman glamour. Sweet and playful, it clashed with Jay’s urgency to experience her again, but Jay ignored it, their verbal exchange captivating.

“Thank you for the CDs. I’ve wanted them forever. Now my collection’s complete.”

Jay’s chin lifted in that sexy way of hers. “I’m Porgy to your Bess.”

The beauty’s laughter filled the bathroom air with the tinkle of magic. “Oh now that’s original, although I hoped you would be.”

A female voice soaked in authority bumped up against Jay’s suave, “You’re welcome.”

“Delilah, your bathroom break is up, darling! You may be the star of this revue, but you’ve got less than fifteen minutes! ”

Delilah’s pout and eye rolling sent Jay careening into a slow burn. If the night’s promise wasn’t so fulfilling, she might have hollered to the voice to get herself another star because this one was hers now. Instead, she got, pulled into the goddess’s easy flow.

“Gotta go, sweety. One thing, though. I will tell you how charming you look when you’re caught up, studying me from your back windows.”

“Oh. You noticed? ”

“Of course. I like your style, not too flashy, more businesslike. You’re about positive things for the community.” She paused. “Was thinking, maybe, possibly, we could, with my creativity and your business acumen, be the change our folks need.”

“Sounds foolproof to me.”

“Good. I’m Delilah, Jay Morrison.”

“I know. You’re good. Damn good.”

“Thanks. So are you. May I come over later, after the show, so we can finish what we started here? I give as well as I receive.”

To that boon, Jay bit her bottom lip and flashed her cockiest grin. Grateful for their meeting, she rose, offered Delilah her hand, and pulling her to her feet, softly kissed her before embracing Delilah close enough to synchronize their heartbeats. Blessed, she unlocked the door and watched her woman float backstage.

Jay headed back to Valentino, whom she had to thank for investing in burlesque tickets that had already begun to change her life.

Uma

Sydney Molaré

The patter of small feet, then, “Uma, thuck.”

My body tensed at the sound.

“Thuck, now! ” The high-pitched little voice now stressed with need.

“All right.” Female.

A chair was pulled out. I knew what came next.

I lifted from lounging on the sofa, moved quietly over the Berber carpet to stand next to the door unseen. My stomach flip-flopped, uterus clenched, palms wet.

A zipper being pulled.

Rustling of clothes as she pulled him onto her lap.

The wet sounds of suckling.

I peeked around the door, already knowing what I would see as this scene had been repeated six or seven times daily for the past two years. Uma sat in the chair, shirt flapping open, one nipple in Thor’s mouth, his hand massaging the other breast.

I almost came right there as I stared at the exposed breast—large as a balloon, dark brown saucer-sized nipples with purple veins running across it. Thor’s head bobbed, mouth smacked around the aureole. My head spun as a drop of milk leaked from the unfettered nipple. My glands salivated. I gulped.

Uma must have heard the sound. She turned her head slowly toward me, meeting my eyes. A slight grin slid onto her lips. I was rooted to the spot, watching Thor, wanting to trade places with him if only for a moment. My pussy gushed as he unlatched, claimed the other nipple, cheeks sunken as he swallowed the liquid sustenance hungrily. His hand lay across the just milked tit, rubbed and squeezed involuntarily, occasionally pulling the distended center.

The garage door opened. Uma shifted, pulled her shirt over the free breast, turned her eyes away just as my husband, Darryl, walked in.

“I see my boy is still keeping you busy, Uma.” I heard him sit his briefcase down before opening the refrigerator.

I moved back to the couch, tried to appear composed but I was anything but. My pussy was slippery; my nipples saluting like two popped eyes on my chest.

“Hey, babe.”

Darryl leaned to kiss my cheek. Instead, I turned into the kiss, allowed my lips to clamp onto to his as my tongue dipped between his teeth, plundering, coating his mouth with my copious saliva. He was caught off-guard, even more so when I pushed him against the wall, swirling and twirling my mouth organ in a frenetic dance.

“I want you to fuck me now, ” I whispered before I nipped his earlobe.

“But Thor and Uma are—”

“—keeping each other occupied.” I lifted, stared into his eyes. “Please, fuck me right now. I need you in me, ” I pleaded.

He led the way to the bedroom. Before the door closed, I’d ripped his shirt open and was making good headway on his pants.

“Damn, you are a tiger today. What’s gotten into you? ”

Uma.

I felt his eyes on me but said nothing as I pulled his fast-stiffening cock from his BVDs. Panties were dropped to the floor before I turned, flipped the skirt over my ass, leaned over the bed. I pulled my slick pussy lips wide, showing the pink.

Darryl inhaled sharply, then a cock was knocking at the door. I moaned as he slipped inside my lubricated walls, sighed as I felt his bush on my ass. I unhinged; pistoned on his cock like well-oiled machinery in my need. I fingered my clit and in seconds, my entire body locked as tingles zipped up my calves, across my thighs and exploded between my clit and pussy. Darryl hiccupped, and said “Oh, damn, ” before joining me somewhere over our private rainbow.

Uma.

She was hired almost immediately after Thor’s birth. Really. My husband was very old-fashioned about some things and the nourishment of Thor was one of them. No formula for his boy. Titty milk is what he wanted and expected.

Oh, I tried. I had great hope when my 32 AA’s swelled to 32 C’s with my pregnancy. And after the birth, when I saw the first glistening of colostrums, I was more than prepared to nurse my new son. Didn’t happen. He’d gummed me for no longer than a minute, then turned to the ceiling screaming. I shifted him to the other slightly leaking breast. Same result.

“Let’s try the breast pump, ” the kind nurse suggested.

I relaxed as the plastic tube was fitted over my nipple and the plunger pulled backwards. What little breast tissue I had was sucked into the contraption. It was a bit painful, but so what? My baby needed milk. After ten minutes of suctioning, I was sick to see less than a tablespoon of milk had been retrieved and not a drop more followed.

My baby spit out the pacifier and was now screaming to the heavens again. I cried along with him. The nurse slid a warm soy-milk filled bottle into my hands and sat Thor back in my lap. I looked at it in horror.

“My husband…he doesn’t like formula, ” I said through my tears, hoping that she’d somehow understand what sin I was committing even holding the bottle.

The nurse nodded and patted my hands. “Might not, but I don’t like hungry babies either. Feed.”

“He’ll be upset.”

She leaned down to my eye level. “Then you both need to come up with a solution before this baby starves to death.” She pushed the hand holding the bottle toward Thor’s squalling mouth. “Feed.”

Thor hungrily sucked the milk into his stomach as my stomach swirled waiting for Darryl.

As I imagined, Darryl had foamed at the mouth, accusations on the tip of his tongue as he listened to the nurse explain that I was dry. Agalactia, she called it. After she left, he turned disappointed eyes on me. “I’ll fix this, ” he’d said through clenched teeth, eyes drifting down in disdain to my useless mammary glands, before stomping through the door.

And he did.

Uma was waiting for us as we arrived home from the hospital. I was taken aback at the short, brown woman, wide of hips, with a thick waist, breasts jutting from her chest rivaling the best producing Jersey’s udder, helping us from the car.

My mouth dropped. Where in the hell had Darryl found a nurse-maid? It was 2007, not 1807! Darryl explained that Uma had just delivered a stillborn child, was single, alone, and needed a job. And according to him, Uma had told him it was the easiest money she’d ever earn.

All I know is, at Thor’s first squall, she’d opened her shirt, positioned his lips and that was that—the beginning of the unraveling of my well-ordered life.

I stared into the darkness, restless, unable to sleep in the wee hours when I heard Thor’s, “Uma, thuck.” A flash sweat coated my skin. The covers were slowly shifted from my body and, millimeter by millimeter, I rolled out of the bed, and tiptoed to Uma’s bedroom door.

From the nightlight in her room—placed there for Thor—I could see him already nestled in the crook of her arm. Slurps and smacks reached my ears, telling me he was already suckling. My pussy juice factory revved to life; sent backup hormone to my now throbbing clit.

I was jealous and turned on. I’d once asked Uma how she felt when Thor was sucking. “Like breathing. It’s as natural as breathing, ” she’d answered. Watching them, I believed her.

I listened until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I tipped back to my bedroom, eased into the bed and ran heated hands over Darryl’s belly, licked his neck.

“Quit.” He swatted at my hand in his underwear. “I’m tired.” And rolled over, pulling the covers tightly to his body.

That’s my line.

I stared at his handsome features, sexual tension making me bold. I tried to slide my hand between his waist and elbow and was met with a not so pleasant squeeze of my fingers. “Stop it. I’ve got a big meeting in the morning and I’ve got to get my sleep.”

Rebuffed, I sat back, continued to stare at the back of his head. No, I tried to will him to fuck me by employing my never-before-used telepathic powers until I heard his snores. I looked down at my chest. It was flat as a pubescent boy’s with two stiff points relieving it. I cupped the bullets, pulled at the center, wishing for the thousandth time I’d been the lucky chick whose boob cup had runneth over. Resigned to not getting any cock, I let my fingers slide into my panties, imprinted Uma’s orbs on my mind, while I mashed and stroked my clit until my eyeballs rolled inside my head as the powerful orgasm fried my brain cells.

Another day, another episode of hide-and-peek for me. But the solution to my problem had finally come in my post-orgasmic high: Uma had to go.

I’d broached the subject tentatively earlier this morning. I’d suggested to Darryl that we wean Thor from Uma. My thirst for the taboo grew daily and I was valiantly trying to hold onto the tenuous thread, the last remnant of my sanity. Besides, Thor was two and had ten teeth to boot. It was time.

Darryl gave me a lazy, irritated look, continuing to pull his tie around his collar before he spoke. “Why would we do that? Hell, Thor is bigger than any other two-year-old we know, he never gets colds, so what harm can it do? ”

“It’s time, ” I repeated again, jaw tight from the effort to not scream the words at him.

“Naw. I could see if he was five and going to pre-K or something and had to be weaned, but otherwise, I say let him continue to nurse and we’ll revisit this again when he turns three.”

Seven whole months away! Who knew what compartment of Hell I would have secured for my soul in that time?

He gave me the perfunctory marital kiss before heading out the door. The topic was finished as far as he was concerned.

Now, I sat tense as a cornered cat, waiting for Thor’s little feet and voice. I didn’t have to wait long. It was less than a half hour before he shuffled down the hallway, rubbing sleepy eyes. He glanced my way and I motioned him over for a hug. Baby stink breath floated up my nose as I clutched him to my flat chest, wanting his hands to seek my comfort; need me. After a quick tickle session, he wriggled from my lap in search of what he truly wanted.

“Uma, thuck.”

I slunk behind the doorway and positioned myself just so. I knew Uma was well aware I watched them, yet I needed to deny this urge, this thirst which had rapidly magnified into a fetish. I slid my eyes around the door jam and stopped. Today, Uma sat facing me; waiting for me. I stood enthralled as Thor patted her hand as she unzipped her shirt slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

There was no bra.

I squeezed my thighs together as the huge globes spilled into view. Uma lifted the mountainous tissue to meet Thor’s darting tongue and he dipped his head, mouth covering the center of the dark circle. My womb squeezed and released. Milk pooled and ran rivulets down her breast before dripping onto the floor. My nipples blossomed, chest constricted on my lungs. I felt dizzy, the air too dense to breath.

Uma’s cat grin greeted me as I composed myself. Her hand held the free orb, and as I watched, she expressed milk. The beads of white moved me to my soul. My tongue unconsciously flicked out of my mouth, sensing the air; preparing for the offered forbidden feast.

“Ow! ” Uma’s yelped broke me from my trance. “You bit me! ”

She had rescued the injured nipple and I could see the indentations of Thor’s teeth from where I stood. I winced for her.

Uma slid him from her lap, half-fed, and said, “Why don’t you go watch Power Rangers? ”

Thor’s little head nodded. Uma patted him on the bottom and he trotted away, legs churning as he headed toward the den on the other side of the house. I followed in his wake, wanting to make sure his television experience was all it should be. Once I’d slid the DVD in and modulated the volume, I retraced my steps back to the kitchen.

Uma stood by the sink, water running, band aids and triple antibiotic ointment on the counter beside her. She turned as I entered. My eyes immediately fell to the objects of my obsession—one slightly deflated, the other appeared swollen enough to burst if so much as pricked with a pin.

“That must hurt, ” I managed to eke out.

“Yes, it does.” She nodded. “Since your little man got teeth, it’s happening more and more often. Soon, I’ll have to wean him. Ouch! ” Uma cried out as she pressed the wet paper towel over her injured flesh.

I was by her side in a moment. “Let me see.”

Suddenly, I was up-close-and-personal with her right nipple. I stared at the landscape of puckered flesh, engorged purple-green veins with the hint of red arteries beside them running across her chest, making the breast throb, lift less than a foot from my face…and mouth. I heard nothing but my heart thudding, pussy weeping, as I pressed shaking fingertips around the mini-craters created by Thor. No blood was evident, but from Uma’s reaction, I’d expected some.

“Would you rub some of that ointment on that area where he bit me? ” Uma said, voice low and, in my mind, seductive.

I should have straightened up, left her to tend to her own injury, sat my ass back on the couch and returned to the Land of Boredom. Instead, I watched as my arm extended itself, hands grabbed the tube of triple antibiotic and squeezed an inch or two of the thick ointment onto my index finger. Tentatively, oh so tentatively, I dabbed at the offended nipple. Uma moaned a bit in the back of her throat. I rubbed around and around the unfamiliar skin, memorizing each bump, ridge, smooth expanse beneath my fingers.

Our eyes met. Uma’s were glazed but the message was direct: suck, now. She lifted the unsucked globe, held it outward, egging me on. I took a deep, ragged breath as the denizen from Hell cut the string holding my willpower intact, and moved my opened mouth forward. Milk spurted as I sucked inward—nectar from the gods.

All bets were off! My hands cupped, held the poundage, mouth unhinged as I tried to stuff as much of her tit as possible into my mouth. My head rotated, teeth nipped lightly on the nipple as the watery manna warmed my stomach. I was further energized when Uma squeezed, caused the milk to spray the back of my throat.

“Wait.” Uma pushed me backward, grabbed my hand and pulled me behind her. We entered her bedroom. “Thor might walk in on us in the kitchen.” She turned back to me, shed her shirt from her body; allowed me the opportunity to appraise her entire chest unclothed. I left my tube top on since I felt I had nothing in comparison to offer.

She sat on the bed, breasts bouncing, legs splayed wide. Her hand covered mine and tugged downward. I seated myself between those healthy thighs, wasted no time melding my lips to her dripping nipples. In the privacy, I allowed my other hand to fondle, squirt milk from the unattended breast. Uma pressed on the back of my head, urging me on. I felt my pussy release a load of juice, which slowly crawled from the side of my wet panties and trailed down my inner thighs.

A hand slid between us, fingers pinched my alert nipples. I leaned into it, allowed the feelings to wash over me as I undulated my hot pussy in the air. The tube top was pulled over my head. Uma stood and I stood with her, hands wrapping around her back, keeping my lips fused to her nipple, as I was not yet ready to stop this secret tryst.

Hands tugged at my panties. I assisted, shimmying the cotton scrap down my legs and stepping out of them. Uma kissed me then. Her tongue, sweeter than confectionary sugar, stabbed and intertwined with mine. I clasped her cheeks, met her swirl for swirl, twist for twist. I’d never felt this hot, this fevered in my entire sexual life. My skin flushed with excitement, nerves hummed in joy, endorphins swished through arteries.

My body heated further as her lips left my mouth, trailed past my neck and pulled my bud between her lips. I couldn’t stop my pelvis from rotating as her tongue lapped, teeth nipped the sensitized berries. My head lolled backward, giving her more room to pleasure me.

Her tongue trailed lower still; I knew the destination. My body, unused to cunnilingus but a willing participant nevertheless, rocked in anticipation. When her lips arrived, it was sweet indeed. Fingers parted my manicured bush, exposing my clit. I felt cool air before a hot mouth covered my stiff clit and sucked. I moaned deep as Uma’s tongue whirled and spun up and down between my labial lips.

She lifted, positioned one of my legs up on the bed before opening me slowly. Her head dipped, licked the trail of juice all the way back up from my knees to my pussy. I panted as her tongue eased inside me. My hands twisted in her hair, holding her in place. I slid up and down that luxurious tongue as Uma inserted her fingers; pumped as she lapped. Arms wrapped around my thighs, head rotated and bobbed as she feasted on my pussy.

I pushed her backward onto the bed. I turned, straddled her face. She eased me down slowly to her waiting tongue. I leaned forward, lifted the titty to my mouth. I couldn’t understand the words she spoke around my pussy as I sucked her deep into my mouth and honestly, I didn’t care. All I knew was she didn’t push me off her so it was all good.

I ventured further into pristine sexual territory when I allowed my fingers to slide into her snatch, pinch her clit. Uma ignited! She stabbed my pussy, bucked against my fingers as I diddled her clit. The staccato of her tongue slung me over the edge. I felt the sizzle radiating from my feet, past my knees and explode at my clit. We both cried out as the orgasm shook between us, made us complicit co-conspirators in this illicit affair, created intangible soul ties that would be difficult to unravel…dammit, I was in lust!

Poor Darryl. I informed him that I’d done some “research, ” found that some children nursed until they were five, so we could let Thor breast feed as long as he thought necessary.

Darryl gave me a smug smile, secure in the knowledge that once again he’d have his way and said, “Good girl. Like I told you, titty milk ain’t hurt nobody.”

I couldn’t agree with him more.