Copyright© May 2006
From an early age two things about women have always held my rapt attention. It hasn't changed over the years. First are the breasts of any woman. It matters little as to size or shape. Large, small or medium I have continued to maintain my breast fetish. Second is a little odder. Milk. To be more specific I'm referring to breast milk. Even without seeing a naked breast but knowing it has milk is exciting. Having a fascination for breasts is not unusual for most men but having it coupled with them being filled with milk does seem out of the ordinary.
I first learned of my milk fetish while working in a service station. In case you don't know what that is many years ago you pulled in for gas. Your windows were cleaned, oil checked and tire inflated. Ah, the good old days gone by.
There was a young couple that would come in every week. At first everything was normal as I filled the gas tank, washed the windows and checked the oil. I did notice the woman was very pregnant and I delighted sneaking peeks at her rather large breasts. Naturally it didn't hurt that she always wore blouses the exposed a lot of cleavage.
A few weeks later I recognized the car but the woman was missing.
"Ah, Mr. Franks. I don't see your wife today."
"She had our baby early this morning," he proudly told me. "I'm on my way back to the hospital to visit."
"Well, congratulations and tell Mrs. Franks I hope she comes by real soon."
The following week they pulled in and I started filling the tank. As I moved to the right side of the car and began cleaning the windshield the door window rolled down.
"Hi, Mrs. Franks I greeted. Glad to see out and about again."
"That's nice of you to say, Terry," she replied. She was holding a tiny bundle and moved the flap of blanket far enough to she me her baby.
I said all the right things and cooed at the sleeping child. Fortunately she was keeping her eyes more on her baby than on me and I was glad because I kept looking at the amount of upper breast she was exposing. I began to realize that they had grown even bigger and I liked that.
The weeks passed and before I knew it two months had gone by. The Franks' still came in every week for gas and I gladly washed the windshield making sure I snuck and eyeful of cleavage. I was feeling mostly content with the little peep show but then things changed.
Mr. Franks pulled into the station and I started filling tank. When I began cleaning the passenger side windshield I noticed Mrs. Franks holding the baby and it being fussy. I really didn't much care because my attention was drawn mostly to her exposed cleavage. My hand stopped in mid-swipe as she popped open half of her blouse, reached inside and hauled out one very large breast. I had all of one second to look before the placed the long thick nipple in the baby's mouth. The baby began to suckle and I could see its tiny mouth working to get the milk.
"I'm sorry, Terry," Mrs. Franks was saying. "We believe in natural feeding and it makes no difference where we are when the baby is hungry." I had no comment and finished my work.
From that point on it became a ritual. They would come in, she would release one large milk filled breast and nurse her baby. I will admit her side of the windshield was without doubt the cleanest in town. Each week I enjoyed the show using the visions as material for my own self abuse. Then came a change.
I was about to start washing the windshield when Mr. Franks announced he was going to the restroom. (You remember when service stations had public restrooms don't you?) Mrs. Franks was already nursing her baby as I cleaned her side of the windshield. Moments later she removed the baby from her breast and I was presented with her fully naked breasts dripping something thin and white. Instantly I knew it was her milk. The baby she held was sleeping and she carefully lowered it to her lap before looking at me.
"For weeks I've watched you enjoying seeing me nursing my baby." There wasn't even a hint of anger or malice in her voice. I blushed and tried to turn away. "Terry, I can remember before the baby was born how you would look down my blouse trying to see my breasts. It doesn't bother us at all."
"Us?" I gasped.
.... There is more of this story ...