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Dripping milk, mother's breasts - Simon - 11-24-2025
A pregnant woman undresses in her private bedroom.
I only noticed her by chance while walking along the outskirts of this small Colombian town and saw her open window. I'd guess she's in her mid-twenties and six months pregnant. She has the darkest nipples I've ever seen. Her breasts are small, but her nipples are swollen.
She's talking to someone while she rubs lotion on her round belly. A moment later, I see a young man enter the bedroom. A guy her age who works at the nearby construction site. He walks up to her, rubs her belly, squeezes her breasts, and plays with her swollen, dark nipples.
Then he sits down on the bed, and the young woman kneels and begins to suckle. What's striking is how similar they look: the same skin tone, the youthful features, the way their shoulders slump. It's a terrifying, perverse thought to consider them brother/sister, but that's just an assumption.
I can't get caught watching, so I go back to my room.
My mother is an environmental specialist for an American mining company. It sounds like a low-level job, but the Colombian government places great importance on protecting its ecosystem. This means my mother plays a leading role in the excavations.
She got me a job as a technician, but I have to admit I've been interested in this young couple for a while now. Valentine and Miguel. It turns out they're actually brother and sister, but I'm not sure if people know what they do. Miguel works at the excavation site, and Valentine works as a cashier in a restaurant while she's pregnant.
Days later, my mother calls me into a tent at the excavation site during my break. A hundred local workers are there, along with a dozen American employees. She's wearing boots, cargo pants, a sweat-stained T-shirt, and her hair is tied back in a ponytail. She's the more combative version of herself she's been in since last month.
“That throws things into disarray,” says Mom. “There’s a good chance we’ll leave earlier. Maybe at the end of the month – depending. I’ve already spoken to my boss about it.”
"Is everything ok?"
"A minor medical complication. I'm fine."
"You're giving up the most important job of your career because of a minor medical complication?"
"It's a personal matter."
"Is that all you want to tell me?"
She points to her chest. "It affects this area."
„Krebs?“
"Nothing dramatic. It's just breastfeeding."
My gaze drifts to her C-cup breasts, which look enormous on her average figure with its thin arms. Breastfeeding? How is that possible? I have no siblings and I'm 25 years old, which means she hasn't breastfed in over two decades. I wonder if her breasts look different, but it's too obscene to examine them more closely, especially since she caught me.
"Hopefully everything is alright."
"We're currently trying to find out with the local doctors. Some believe it's an insect bite or an allergic reaction. However, the other theory is more worrying – and I think more plausible – but you won't agree with it... not yet."
"An insect bite is much more believable than the supernatural, and I know that's exactly what you're suggesting."
“Don’t you believe me?” she asks. “You should talk to the locals more. Talk to the translators and elders. There’s something here. That’s what they say. A kind of presence, and that’s what we found during our excavations. They mentioned fertility gods.”
"You can't be serious."
"That's possible."
"Something like this has never been reported here before."
She purses her lips and pinches the hem of her T-shirt, as if trying to lift it. She's always been careful to hide her breasts, especially in public, because I think she's afraid people won't take her seriously because of her large breasts. She only wears T-shirts all day because of the heat in the jungle.
I look at her chest. Is she going to show it? How should I react to my mother doing that? Now that I'm looking more closely at her T-shirt, her breasts actually do look bigger than before. They almost look fuller.
As if they were plumper. Rounder.
She takes her hands off her T-shirt when she's had enough of me staring.
"It doesn't matter," she says. "I'll get in touch when there's news."
"So, should we stay or prepare to leave?"
"I'll get in touch."
She is visibly embarrassed as she pats me on the shoulder and leaves the tent.
I can only imagine how uncomfortable this problem is for her.
xxx
She has avoided the subject for the past three days. The noise of heavy machinery has become part of everyday life, as a hundred men work hard.
Despite the drama and the work schedule, I kept thinking about Valentine and Miguel. Real incest is hard to ignore. Toward evening, I decided to follow Miguel from a distance as he walked home. The brother-sister dynamic drew me closer. From afar, I walked along the edge of town, toward her bedroom window. Finally, I saw Valentine undressing after work.
Her brother arrives, still sweaty, and undresses. They can't keep their hands off each other and kiss. Her breasts are fondled by dirty hands. Her plump, black nipples are swollen.
The brother bends down and suckles on both breasts, milk running down her round belly. I leave before anyone sees me. The town is lively as the workers eat dinner outdoors and grab a beer to relax. I notice my mother outside a first-aid tent with two local doctors, both women, and a serious expression on her face.
Our eyes meet by chance. Without a word being spoken, I know it's about her breasts.
The next morning, before breakfast, she stops me outside. The heat is increasing, and everyone is starting their day. She seems more relaxed today, as if she has come to terms with everything that is currently troubling her.
“I owe you a straight answer,” she says. “We’re not leaving any sooner. We’re staying for the next two months. I refuse to ruin my reputation by quitting.”
"Great news, that's what I was hoping to hear. Did you find out what the problem was?"
"I would like to discuss this with you. The problem persists."
"What's up?"
"Something we should discuss in private. I'll show it to you, and then we'll have breakfast."
We walk to the clinic across the street and enter a private room on the second floor. A doctor and a nurse, both from the area, are there, and my mother speaks Spanish with them while they prepare an examination table and the necessary equipment.
“Let me show you my breasts,” she says. “Last week, we came across some ancient stones during an excavation. They were said to be fertility stones from a lost civilization. I kept one in my room. The next day… well… take a look.”
My mother takes off her T-shirt, revealing her white bra. She stands firmly, her chest thrust forward, the T-shirt lying on the examination table. She doesn't look at me. She looks ahead while the two women prepare whatever they are doing. My mother sits beside her T-shirt on the examination table.
The nurse reaches behind her, unhooks her bra, and takes it away. There they are. Mom's large breasts. They're more like a C cup and sag slightly with age. Her large brown nipples are erect, but her breasts look unusually full, almost unnatural. I can only imagine how embarrassed she must be, sitting there with three people staring at her breasts, me of all people. She remains calm and upright as they speak Spanish and attach pumps to each breast.
Each pump has a plastic cup at the bottom. They've done this before. She's familiar with the process. Once the devices are attached, my mother's breathing becomes heavier, her body squirming as if she wants to remain still. It's one thing to be in your mother's presence, but it's quite another to see her milk flowing into the cups, as if a different kind of discovery is taking place. That explains why her breasts have looked so full lately. I look closer. Milk flows in steady streams into the cups. She looks relieved as it continues.
Her nipples are pulled away from the sucker. They lengthen, then detach, and the process repeats. That's what's milking her. I wonder if she enjoys it.
After a few minutes, the cups are almost full, and the doctor and nurse deactivate the pumps. They remove the equipment, and the nurse wipes the excess milk from the mother's breasts with a towel. New traces of milk appear at the tips of her nipples, and these are wiped away again.
I've never seen a breastfeeding woman before, and the eroticism is fascinating. Those nipples. Is it normal for a woman's nipples to remain erect after using a pump? They look so much larger than they did just moments ago, swollen, protruding, and I'm sure she's aroused.
They speak in Spanish, and the nurse seals the milk containers and puts them in a small refrigerator. Presumably for examination. My mother doesn't look at me; she's too embarrassed, and she's wearing her bra even though new drops of milk are forming on her nipples. Then she puts on her T-shirt and smooths out all the wrinkles so she looks fresh.
"Do you believe me now?" she asks.
"I never doubted you about that part. But I'm not so sure about the fertility stones, or whatever you want to call them."
"Let's eat first. We mustn't arrive at the discovery site too late."
Breakfast revolves around work, while American colleagues discuss the completion of the plans with her. She spends the rest of the morning assisting the excavation team digging in the rugged terrain. Boulders and the occasional ancient artifact slow down their progress.
Everyone takes a lunch break at midday. It's gotten hotter, and people are longing for the break. My mother asks me to follow her into a small first-aid tent where a local nurse is staying. She's sweating profusely because she's been at the excavation site all morning.
Because it's lunchtime, no one is around, and she has a degree of privacy as she closes the curtain. The nurse is preparing breast pumps and empty plastic cups. There are pictures of stone tablets on the table. It takes me a split second to realize I've seen a similar stone in Valentine's bedroom.
“It’s important that we continue this,” she says. “Think of it as a kind of education.”
"Are you sure you want to do this? You seemed very uncomfortable earlier."
"Believe me, I'm safe. I wasn't thinking about anything else."
"It will be unpleasant."
"That's my decision. I should have raised you more religiously. Maybe I can change that."
"You seem certain that this is something spiritual."
“The universe is an endless place,” she says. “I would like to believe that there are higher powers guiding humanity. The artifacts are safely stored and will be taken to America for further study. Here’s what the locals told me.”
She goes to the table and grabs photos of the stone artifacts while the nurse waits with the breast pumps. There's no doubt I saw something similar in Valentine's bedroom, and I spontaneously decide to tell my mother everything.
"I've seen that before," I say.
"Did you? Where?"
"Somewhere I shouldn't have been looking."
When Mom notices the nurse is interrupting our conversation, she asks her to leave the tent. Once we're alone, I confess that I've been spying on Valentine and Miguel, and that they're actually siblings who seem to have an insatiable lust for each other. My mother doesn't judge me for spying on them having sex, because there are more important things. She doesn't seem surprised by what she hears either; on the contrary, she seems to understand, as if she grasps the power of the stones. She thinks for a long moment. "Can you turn around?" she asks. I turn toward the tent and listen to her undressing. The T-shirt falls off, I hear the bra unhook, followed by the sound of pants raking and boots falling to the ground. The thought of her naked makes me incredibly uncomfortable because she might regret it later. "Yes, I know, this is totally unconventional," she says. “But I think I’m following my instincts. I’ve researched these stones and I’m convinced they contain the key to something bigger.”
"Only if you are sure that you want it."
"At this point, I may have no choice. You can look now."
When I turn to my mother, she is sitting completely naked on a cot, using a breast pump. Her body glistens with sweat. She is barefoot and has crossed her legs, covering her most intimate area. She is pushing her right breast into the pump, a less expensive one than the one she used this morning at the clinic. Because she is hunched over on the cot, her stomach forms a rounded curve.
Her entire focus is on holding her right breast and filling the cup with milk. She holds the heavy breast in her hand. I can see her nipple being pulled with each pump of the suction cup. Her other nipple, the one without the pump, has become erect, even though it isn't being stimulated. This could mean she's aroused.
When she's finished with that breast, she removes the pump, leaving a trail of milk on her nipple, and presses the pump against her left breast. She repeats the process, this time with her left breast, her breathing becoming heavier. I see her toes wiggle. She was already sweating from the heat, but breastfeeding warms her again. The beads of sweat on the center of her breast have become more pronounced.
"Do you still believe that an allergic reaction was the cause?" she asks.
She opens the pump and holds the full bottle in front of her, so that excess milk runs down her body from her nipples. She tries to convince me that spirituality is real, but she's only making my penis hard. She realizes this when she looks down and sees the accidental bulge.
Getting dressed is a transformation into her normal self. A diligent worker. Someone with a scientific and environmental background. After drying her breasts and stomach, she puts on her panties and turns to the side so I can't see her vulva. Then she puts on everything else, conceals her large breasts, and pulls on her muddy boots.
When she enters the jungle, it's like a switch flips. She's no longer the doting mother struggling with breastfeeding, but someone people rely on to do a multimillion-dollar job. So she sits down with her colleagues for lunch and starts chatting with them again.
After the work is done, she insists on seeing Valentine and Miguel in action. It's embarrassing to take my mother to a place where I spied on people having sex, but that doesn't seem to bother her. She's more interested in the stone they have and, without saying so directly, whether the fertility stone caused their incest.
We're extremely careful not to get caught on the outskirts of town. I check the bedroom while my mother keeps an eye out for other people who might be passing by. We know it's an invasion of privacy, but my mother has always been relentless when it comes to science.
Valentine comes into the bedroom and begins to undress at the same time she does every day. Minutes later, her brother arrives, dirty and sweaty from his shift. They kiss, and Valentine undresses, revealing her swollen belly and dark nipples. She sits on the dresser while her brother fingers her pussy and she moans.
My mother observes this with eagle eyes, with sharp eyes and without emotion.
"That's the fertility stone," says Mom. "Right there on the dresser. Just like the ones I found at the excavation site."
"Do you think that's why they do it?"
“Yes.”
"Perhaps they would have done it even without the stones. You never know."
"No, I have the same fantasies."
Mom touches my shoulder and says she needs a shower. Before I leave, I notice a stutter in her crotch, an uncomfortable sensation that must be between her legs. What did she mean by the same fantasies? Lust? Incest? As I leave, I glance back one last time and see my brother having an orgasm in Valentine's mouth.
xxx
It stopped digging today, so I can stay with Mom at the clinic after breakfast. She clarified that it's a combination of scientific and spiritual training. The science part is fine with me, but I'm still skeptical about the spiritual aspect, though she's convinced of the stone's fertility power.
She sits naked on a chair after her breasts have been emptied. She leans back and relaxes, her legs crossed to cover her vulva. I wonder if she had an orgasm. Towards the end of pumping two cups of milk, her body seemed to be trembling. Unlike yesterday, my mother is unashamed today, or at least she's better at hiding it, as if she's come to terms with the new reality of exposing her body.
My mother's nipples are swollen and protrude differently than yesterday. They are more pronounced, as if her body is begging to be suckled and nourished. My mother looks down at her body, from which milk is still leaking, while the nurse wipes her clean and then attends to the bottles.
The doctor returns and checks the lab results on a clipboard, while the nurse labels the milk bottles for storage. My mother looks into my eyes as we wait for news. Despite her resigned expression, I know she's embarrassed, and I also sense that she's agitated.
"We need to perform a vaginal examination," the doctor said. "I believe this is affecting your sexuality."
For the first time that morning, my mother's eyes showed vulnerability. I don't understand Spanish, but I've caught certain words and have a general idea of what the doctor wants. My mother takes a small sip and speaks with the doctor a little more.
There stands my mother, barefoot, in all her naked glory. When she undressed earlier, I had to turn to the wall and was only allowed to look at her when she sat down and crossed her legs. Now I have a complete view. Her bare hips. Her thighs. Her bare vulva, covered by a trimmed pubic hair.
The nurse receives instructions, opens a drawer, and takes out an electric razor to clean my mother. The room is filled with the buzzing sound. Stubble of pubic hair falls at Mom's feet as she positions herself around her vulva, and from my vantage point, I can see her clitoris. Her face remains emotionless as this happens, but I can imagine how she feels inside.
"Are you satisfied with your son?" the doctor asks.
“Yes,” Mom replies.
A doctor's coat is opened and spread out on the floor. My mother stands over it and squats down. In that moment, I see more than I ever expected. Not even my mother seems prepared for it, although she is following the doctor's instructions and perhaps her own excitement.
Her pink pussy is visible to everyone in the room. Her squatting position makes it even more intimate, as we can see the depths of her vaginal canal. It's wet inside. Was that the real reason she always crossed her legs when she was doing nude pumps? Her pussy is starting to dribble, the juices threatening to drip. Now I understand why the nurse made my mother squat over a spread-out nightgown.
The doctor opens a drawer and takes out a phallus-shaped, thin instrument about ten centimeters long. My mother suspects what's coming as they continue speaking in Spanish and nods. The doctor and nurse kneel beside my mother and examine her vagina. They spread her labia with their fingers, without gloves, and rub her clitoris and labia to get a better look.
Mom flinches at the initial pressure of the sex toy sliding inside her, but forces herself to relax. As it slides all the way in, her eyes roll back, something I've never seen her do before, and her toes curl on the floor. That a woman reacts so sexually to a small toy says something about her current state. Her body is reacting as if she has a huge sex toy inside her, like the ones you see in porn, and the doctor and nurse look as if they've discovered something.
She moans and makes trembling noises, which she tries to suppress, while the doctor attempts to push it in deeper, as far as 10 centimeters will fit inside a woman's body. They seem dissatisfied with the depth, even with the doctor's fingers penetrating her. When my mother manages to stifle her moans, the only sounds in the room are raindrops from outside and the wetness of her vagina.
The doctor stands up and examines the 10-centimeter-long, wet device under the ceiling light. The nurse stands beside her, and they exchange a few words. They place the device in a plastic bag, presumably to analyze its fluids later in the lab. My mother is asked to stand up. I think she's about to get dressed, but instead, she nods as she receives further instructions. With a defeated expression, she curls her lower lip. Then, reluctantly, she bends over the examination table, exposing her backside to everyone, her large breasts hanging loosely in that position. This time, the doctor looks at me.
"Can you penetrate your mother?" she asks.
"Oh, excuse me, I don't understand."
The nurse points at my crotch. "Can you penetrate your mother? Penis? Fuck?"
I'm speechless at this brazen question, but I suppose my mother tacitly agrees with everything they're asking, because she's still bent over and not answering. I can see part of her vagina and anus; her legs are spread. She's wet. Glistening. A trickle is about to fall onto the floor. Is this what my mother meant when she said she'd had "the same fantasies" when we watched "Valentine and Miguel" yesterday? Incest clearly holds a certain attraction for her.
The nurse steps forward because I'm taking too long and, as if it were a completely normal day, frees my erection and leads me to my mother. The doctor and nurse work together to spread and hold open Mom's wet entrance. Everyone looks inside, at Mom's stretched asshole and her soaking wet pussy, which is begging to be fucked. The nurse pinches my erection with one hand, and with the other, she pushes me from behind so that I penetrate Mom. The doctor helps guide my cock into the hole from which I was born.
Mom gasps softly, but she doesn't protest. I thrust further, inch by inch, much deeper than with the small device I was just using, until my crotch is pressed against Mom's ass and her pussy is stretched. Her body trembles and she moans. I start fucking her. This is what this is all about: no experimenting, no exploring, just real fucking. Her moans grow louder, more insistent, as she comes again. She moves with me, pushing back with her ass as if desperate to explore the sensations. Her wet pussy grips my shaft, squeezing me with every contraction. Besides the sound of her wet hole being fucked, there's a trickle of water in the room, and it's not from the rain outside. We notice milk dripping from Mom's breasts onto the floor. Without us squeezing or physically stimulating them, her breast milk is leaking from her nipples simply from the fucking. It only makes my cock harder. I squeeze the area between her waist and buttocks, my thrusts hardening until she cries out. The doctor and nurse watch, fascinated, occasionally glancing at each other with raised eyebrows. The doctor takes notes on a clipboard as he observes Mom's orgasm. The nurse kneels and touches my mother's breasts to check for leakage. Mom's breathing is now short, sharp, gasping sounds, her moans turning into cries of ecstasy. Her climax is pornographic as she screams, and I fuck even harder, the sound of her milk drops falling to the floor growing louder as well.
My mother pats herself down after her orgasm and withdraws, standing upright with her back against the examination table. Her body is trembling as if she were standing in the freezing cold, and her eyes are bewildered. She can't believe it. She can't believe this has happened to her. Her breasts are swollen, milk is spurting slightly, and wetness is running down her legs. She stares at my furiously hard penis.
The doctor takes care of my mother, comforts her, wraps a blanket around her, and says something in Spanish to calm her down.
"Okay. Okay. He's just your son."
These words calm my mother. The nurse does me a favor and strokes my penis without a single expression on her face. She strokes until I come, several spurts spraying into her other palm. Her hand holds a warm pool of my thick, white semen. Again, she remains expressionless. I assume the nurse will wipe her hand with a paper towel and wash it with soap. Instead, the nurse walks up to my mother and holds the palm of her soiled hand to her mouth. The doctor and nurse watch my mother's reaction closely to see what she will do. My mother sticks out her tongue to loudly slurp up my semen, then runs her tongue over the nurse's hand to lick up the rest. Seeing your own mother with a mouthful of your fresh semen is something you'll never forget. Believe me.
xxx
Images of the fertility artifacts are projected onto the large screen while my mother gives a lecture at the podium. She is dressed semi-formally as she speaks to the world's leading researchers about her time at Columbia and the groundbreaking discovery. She wears a blazer, which she now always wears around experts, because without it her breasts would have been so obvious.
The slides show photos I took of my mother at the excavation site, posing with the locals, heavy machinery behind them, or working out plans with other Americans from the company. The people in the audience see my mother and see her as a pioneer of modernity.
As she begins to recount her first encounter with a breastfeeding woman, all I can think about is how, since that pivotal moment in the doctor's office, I've been fucking my mother every single day. Most of our sessions took place under strict medical supervision. The nurse took samples, the doctor ran tests on Mom's orgasm fluid in the lab. It was all under the guise of research, but my mother was addicted to coming on my cock, and it helped her clear her head before starting her day at the excavation sites.
At night, she would sometimes come to my room with an urgent, primal need to nurse me. She claimed it was because the pumps were making her nipples sore and she needed a gentler way to relieve her breasts. But it was obvious she wanted me to suckle at her nipples and drink her milk—for her personal and sexual gratification. So I did it for her, kneeling, my head partly in her arms, taking her large nipples into my mouth, her sweet milk flowing. This made her brown nipples swell more than anything else.
Sometimes we'd have sex again, or she'd suck my cock and swallow before going back to her room to sleep. Before she left, she'd say something like, "Don't tell the doctor," because we had strict instructions that all sexual contact had to be monitored. She always made sure no one saw her entering or leaving my room. Discretion was paramount. She was worried about her reputation and didn't want any nasty rumors circulating among her colleagues.
"The crucial question remains: What drives a mother to bed with these stones? A sister with a brother? A father and daughter? These questions remain unanswered, but the progress we are making is astonishing. One thing is clear: There is an intuitive level beyond the physical. That should inspire us all."
My mother receives a standing ovation from the esteemed experts as her lecture concludes. She smiles wholeheartedly; this is her moment to shine. Next, she answers questions from the audience. Most are curious about the incest aspect, wondering if it's common among the people of Colombia or if she believes the artifacts are responsible. My mother elaborates on the stones, explaining how they create a genetic attraction.
I wonder if anyone found out that my mother fell under the same spell. Everyone in the American corporation knew we were mother and son. This aspect was omitted from the presentation. I suspect her colleagues are wondering if we did something. I'm sure some attendees did some research and discovered our family ties.
Her heels are on the floor, one on its side, the other upside down. Her expensive wardrobe, which she bought for this lecture, is scattered on the bed.
“I never thought I would ever find myself in this situation,” she says. “But I’m glad the stone chose me. It has shown me an inner strength I never knew existed. And I feel like I’m connected to something greater than myself.”
"You were right all along. The universe is vast."
"Thank you for your help. I couldn't have done it without you."
She gestures for me to come closer, and when I'm close enough, she hugs my leg while she sits there, and I stroke her hair. With her free hand, she rubs my crotch, then takes out my penis and holds it firmly. She begins to lick and suck, her tongue circling the head. The time she's doing something to her breasts is always when she's most aroused. My mother stops suckling, opens the milk bag, sits up straight, and looks me in the eyes. Slowly, she pours the milk over her large breasts as if she were icing a cake. She's never done this before, and the sight of the white on her brown nipples is intoxicating. It drips down her body and onto the floor.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I want to feel my milk flowing over my skin while I suck you. I'm so aroused right now."
She starts sucking again, her lips encircling my shaft. I watch in awe as she moves up and down, taking me deeper into her warm, moist mouth. Her tongue massages the sensitive skin beneath my glans and then my testicles. With her other hand, while she continues sucking, she squeezes her breasts, plays with her large nipples, spreads milk on her skin, and feels uncontrollable pleasure.
Deepthroating drives me to the brink of madness, and Mom senses this, so she starts sucking harder. She looks at me as she sucks and caresses her milky tits. I explode in her mouth, my sperm shooting down her throat. She swallows every drop without breaking eye contact, for better or for worse, thanks to the magical powers of the fertility stones.
End
Hours later, I go to Mom's hotel room, which is down the hall from mine. We booked separate rooms to avoid suspensions due to the nature of her lectures. It's not always clear what my mother wants, because despite her daily orgasms and her breastfeeding routine, she feels guilty about it. She's ashamed to do these things with me—the breastfeeding, the sex. But her desire stems from a primal state. Breastfeeding touches her emotionally and ignites her lust.
I swipe the keycard and enter Mom's room – she is stark naked and slumped over in a chair.
On the table is a breast pump with empty cups containing traces of milk, and a plastic bag full of milk lies on her stomach, between her hard nipples.
She has her legs crossed and doesn't look at me when I come in.
She is fixated on the milk bag, as if she still can't believe it.