Milky Milky Davvy
Copyright© 2025 by natnice
Chapter 3
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 3 - David starts by milking his grieving mom's overflowing breasts every day to ease her pain. What begins as innocent help turns into obsession and dominance.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa Incest Mother Son DomSub MaleDom Spanking Lactation
Evening – 5:47 p.m.
David pushes through the front door, backpack slung over one shoulder.
The house smells like dinner simmering—Sarah’s lasagna, from the scent of garlic and cheese.
Sarah is in the living room, folding laundry on the couch.
She looks up with a soft smile the second she hears him.
Sarah: “Hey, sweetheart! Welcome home. How was—”
David doesn’t stop.
He flashes a quick, tight smile as he passes the kitchen archway.
David (fast, almost clipped):
“Hi, Mom.”
He’s already moving—feet hitting the stairs two at a time, not slowing down. Sarah’s smile fades into confusion.
She sets the folded towel down and turns fully, watching him disappear up the stairs.
Sarah (quiet, to herself):
“ ... What was that about?”
She hears his bedroom door shut.
Then the unmistakable click of the lock.
Upstairs – David’s room
David drops his bag, heart already pounding.
He yanks the MacBook from its hiding spot under the mattress, flips it open, and punches in the password.
The “lactate_project” folder is right where he left it.
He scrolls past “tomyson.mov” and dives straight into the video thumbnails—titles glowing on the screen like forbidden promises.
* missionarydomfulldrain4hr.mp4
* doggydeepletdown_6hr.mp4
* titjobcontrol90min.mp4
* breedingfullempty_3days.mp4
* analreliefexperiment.mp4
His cursor hovers over “breedingfullempty_3days.mp4”.
Thumbnail: Sarah on her back, legs spread wide, milk spraying in thick arcs with every thrust, Dad’s hand pinning her wrists.
David’s breath catches. His cock is already straining against his jeans.
He clicks it open.
The video starts—Dad’s low, commanding voice immediately filling the earbuds:
Mark: “On your back, Sarah. Legs up. You’re going to take every drop until you’re finally empty.”
Sarah’s moan from the speakers is instant, needy, broken.
David leans back against the headboard, hand sliding down to palm himself through his jeans.
His eyes are glued to the screen, but in his head it’s not Dad anymore.
It’s him.
It’s always going to be him now.
Downstairs, Sarah stands at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at his closed door.
She bites her lip, arms crossed under her chest—still no leaking today, still that strange, calm fullness.
Sarah (soft, puzzled whisper):
“ ... Davvy?”
No answer.
She turns back to the kitchen, shaking her head, but the worry lingers in her eyes.
Upstairs, the muffled sounds from David’s earbuds are faint but unmistakable—wet skin, rhythmic creaking, Sarah’s recorded cries echoing “Yes ... yes ... please, more...”
David’s hand moves faster.
He’s not thinking about helping her anymore.
He’s thinking about owning her.
Downstairs – 7:23 p.m.
An hour and a half has passed.
The house is quiet except for the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the occasional turn of a page.
Sarah is curled up on the living room couch, legs tucked under her, reading a paperback romance with the cover half-hidden against her thigh.
She’s wearing a light black sundress dotted with tiny white flowers—thin straps, low neckline, the kind of dress she’s always worn around the house in summer.
No bra.
The soft fabric clings to the full weight of her breasts, nipples faintly visible through the material, rising and falling with each calm breath.
They look heavy.
Ready.
Like they’re just waiting for his mouth again.
David appears at the bottom of the stairs, freshly showered, hair still damp, wearing gray sweatpants and a plain T-shirt.
He’s come twice upstairs—hard, frantic sessions with the videos playing low, her moans in his earbuds, his own hand a poor substitute.
He thought it would take the edge off.
It didn’t.
The second he sees her, his heart slams against his ribs.
His cock twitches, thickening fast against the loose fabric of his sweats—semi-hard in seconds, impossible to hide if he gets any closer.
Sarah senses him before she looks up.
She lowers the book slowly, marking her page with one finger.
Sarah (soft, curious, a little cautious):
“Hey ... you okay, Davvy? You’ve been up there a while.”
David stops at the edge of the living room, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep them from doing something stupid.
His eyes drop to her chest for a split second—can’t help it—then snap back to her face.
David (voice rougher than he wants):
“Yeah. Just ... homework. Long day.”
Sarah tilts her head, studying him.
The dress shifts with the movement, the neckline dipping just enough to show the soft upper curve of one breast.
No leaking tonight.
No wet spots.
She looks relaxed.
Relieved.
Sarah (gentle smile):
“Dinner’s in the oven if you’re hungry. Lasagna.”
David nods, but he doesn’t move toward the kitchen.
He can’t stop staring.
The way the fabric hugs her.
The way her nipples press faintly against the thin cotton.
The way she’s looking at him—like she’s waiting for something she doesn’t quite understand yet.
David (quiet, almost to himself):
“You look ... nice.”
Sarah’s cheeks flush a little.
She glances down at the dress, then back up at him, surprised.
Sarah:
“Oh. Thank you, sweetheart. It’s just an old thing.”
A long beat of silence.
The air feels thick.
David swallows hard.
His cock is fully hard now, straining against his sweats, and he shifts his stance to hide it.
Things have definitely changed.
And tomorrow morning is coming fast.
Late that night – 2:47 a.m.
David’s room is dark except for the blue glow of the MacBook screen.
He’s on his third—or fourth?—round, sweatpants pushed down to his thighs, hand moving slow and deliberate now, too exhausted to rush anymore.
Every video he clicks is worse than the last: Dad commanding her, positioning her, making her beg.
Sarah’s moans from years ago fill his earbuds—raw, desperate, obedient.
He comes again with her recorded voice crying “Please ... deeper...” and his own mother’s face in his mind.
He finally closes the laptop at nearly 4 a.m., collapses back on the pillow, cock sore, heart racing.
Tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow he won’t just drink.
He knows exactly what he’s going to do.
Sleep comes hard and restless.
Next morning – 8:45 a.m.
Sarah stands outside David’s locked door in the same black floral sundress, the thin fabric now clinging wetly to her chest.
Two large, dark patches have spread across the front, milk seeping steadily through, a few drops already tracing down her stomach.
She knocks gently at first.
Sarah (soft, worried):
“Davvy? Sweetheart ... it’s getting late...”
No response.
She tries the handle—still locked—then knocks louder.
Sarah:
“Davvy, baby? Are you awake?”
Silence.
Her voice rises, concern sharpening.
Sarah (knocking hard now, three sharp bangs):
“David! Open the door, please—you’re scaring me!”
Inside, David jerks awake, head throbbing from the all-nighter.
The room reeks of stale come and sweat.
MacBook still open on the bed, screen dimmed but showing the frozen frame of Sarah mid-moan from the last video he watched. He closes it.
He stumbles to the door, rubs his eyes, and cracks it open.
David (groggy, voice thick with sleep):
“Good morning, Mom...”
Sarah’s face is tight with worry, eyes scanning him like she’s checking for fever or worse.
Sarah (relieved but still anxious):
“I’ve been knocking forever. You didn’t answer ... I thought something was wrong.”
She steps inside as he turns away, rubbing his face again.
David shuffles back to the bed and sits heavily on the edge, shoulders slumped, looking completely drained.
Sarah follows, closing the door behind her.
The movement makes the wet fabric shift; milk beads faster at her nipples.
Sarah (soft, pained moan):
“D ... Davvy...”
David looks up.
The sundress is soaked through now—fabric translucent in places, clinging to every curve, nipples dark and swollen, milk dripping in slow rivulets down the front.
Sarah doesn’t hesitate.
She sits beside him on the bed, slips the thin straps off her shoulders, and lets the top of the dress fall to her waist.
Both heavy breasts spill out, glistening, veins visible, milk already streaming from both nipples in steady drops.
Sarah (voice trembling with urgency):
“Please, baby ... it came back worse overnight ... I need you...”
David drops to his knees in front of her instantly.
His hands grip her thighs, pulling her forward to the edge of the bed.
He latches onto the left nipple with a deep, hungry pull.
GLURK—GLURK—GLURK
Thick, warm milk surges into his mouth.
He gulps hard, throat working fast, eyes half-lidded.
Sarah’s head tips back with a shaky cry, fingers sliding into his messy hair.
Sarah (gasping):
“Oh God ... yes, Davvy ... drink it all...”
He switches sides roughly, sucking harder, milk spraying when he pulls off for a breath before diving back in.
His hands knead her thighs higher, fingers digging in possessively.
The exhaustion from the night is still in his eyes...
but so is something darker.
Something that wasn’t there yesterday.
Sarah’s hands tighten in his hair as David sucks harder than ever, cheeks hollowing with brutal pulls.
Milk floods his mouth in thick, forceful jets, spilling from the corners of his lips as he refuses to swallow fast enough.
His fingers find her free nipple and pinch—hard, twisting just enough to make her whole body jerk.
Sarah (gasping, voice shaky):
“Davvyy ... ahhh ... mmmnn ... slowly, baby ... they’re not going anywhere...”
He doesn’t slow.
He pinches the other nipple even harder, rolling it between his fingers until she cries out, back arching off the bed.
David growls low around her breast, the sound vibrating through her skin. He moans into her flesh, lost in it, hips grinding against nothing as he drinks like he’s starving.
Minutes pass—rough, relentless sucking, milk spraying every time he switches sides. Finally he unlatches with a wet pop, mouth full, cheeks bulging with warm milk. Without warning he surges up, cups her face, and crushes his lips to hers.
His tongue pushes in hard, forcing her mouth open. The thick flood of her own milk pours from his mouth into hers—sweet, warm, unstoppable.
Sarah’s eyes fly wide for a split second, then flutter shut. She moans into the kiss, deep and helpless, swallowing greedily as their tongues tangle, milk spilling over both their chins in sticky streams.
David kisses her like he’s claiming her, one hand still kneading her breast, forcing more milk to leak between them.
When he finally pulls back, they’re both panting hard. Thin strands of milk connect their lips, dripping down her neck, his chin.
David stares into her eyes—dark, intense, no trace of the gentle boy from yesterday.
David (rough, low):
“How does your milk taste, Mom?”
Sarah’s chest heaves, lips shiny and swollen.
She licks them slowly, tasting herself on him, eyes locked on his.
Sarah (breathless, barely a whisper):
“ ... So ... sweet...”
The words come out faint, almost lost.
Her eyes are wide, searching his face, lips still parted and glistening with the milk he just fed her.
Shock flickers across her features—cheeks flushing deep red, a small, stunned tremor in her lower lip.
David wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing the last of the milk still lingering on his tongue.
David (flat, voice low):
“I’m full, Mom.”
Sarah blinks, still dazed, the taste of her own milk strange and warm in her mouth. She forces a small, polite smile—the same one she’s always used to smooth things over.
Sarah (soft, automatic):
“It’s okay, Davvy ... I can manage.”
But her words falter when she meets his eyes.
Something is different.
They’re darker, sharper—like he’s looking straight through her, hungry in a way that makes her stomach twist.
David doesn’t answer.
He stands up slowly, no expression on his face, just calm, deliberate.
Sarah’s gaze drops involuntarily. His sweatpants are tented hard, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric—long, heavy, impossible to ignore.
It’s right in front of her face now, inches away.
Before she can speak, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pulls his boxers down in one smooth motion.
His cock springs free—thick, veined, the swollen head already slick with precome—and slaps lightly against her nose.
The musky, masculine scent hits her immediately.
Sarah freezes, eyes wide, lips parting in shock.
Sarah (tiny, stunned):
“Davvy...!”
It’s right there—throbbing, brushing her lips with every pulse.
She tries to lean back, hands rising instinctively, but her protest dies in her throat.
David watches her closely.
He sees it—the flicker of her tongue wetting her bottom lip, the way her eyes linger on the flushed head, the tiny, involuntary swallow.
She wants it.
He knows she does.
Without a word, he grabs her shoulders, pushes her heavy breasts together with both hands, and slides his cock right between them—hot, hard flesh enveloped in soft, milk-slick skin.
The head pokes out the top, inches from her chin.
David (low, serious, no room for argument):
“Spit on it, Mom.”
Sarah’s breath catches.
She stares up at him—his face calm, unreadable, but his eyes burning.
There’s no question in his voice.
Just command.
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