My breasts hurt when she doesn’t finish drinking. I can express, but when she falls asleep on your lap while your breast still drips and your best friend sits across from you with tea, you just don’t feel like it.

“She didn’t finish again,” I said. My best friend grinned. She knew the pain. Four children, all in school, she knew my pain. The slight sour milk smell and the air conditioner caused my nipples to hurt more.

“Just express, I don’t care,” Gail said with a giggle at the end. She glanced at my right breast with the small milk drop. My hands held my daughter.

I shifted to get my hand out, but a murmur from my daughter stopped me. My bundle of joy, my first. But also, the reasons that I get little sleep, my husband no longer looks at me with lust, and my breasts always hurt. I know that my husband will look at me again when my breasts stop milk production. However, with my hormones out of wack, I am always horny. Many a night, I have fallen asleep with my hand buried in my pussy.

“So, you getting any?” Gail asked, crude as ever. She brags about her conquests, the mailman, her daughter’s third-grade teacher, the PAC president, and, of course, her husband’s sexual appetite. While she didn’t say that she liked females, her oldest son had a female teacher, and she hinted that the red-headed teacher didn’t dye her hair.

“Just from her and my five-fingered friend,” I said. My face reddened, and I moistened. Once again, the lust built. I could smell my musk. The heat between my legs. I wanted Gail to leave so I could slip the little one into her crib and satisfy myself.

“Do you need help?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed, and she wore a leer. Her large breasts and belly pushed out against her sheer white t-shirt, a red bra visible under it. A small scar on her chin complimented her dimples and freckles. Small ears under curly black hair. The lip gloss, her only make-up, gave her red lips a moist, compelling appearance. A new scent invaded mine, a more metallic one with lilac.

“Could you get me my pump? I need to pump this,” I said and nodded towards the pump on the table. She leered at the milk on my breast nipple about to drop. One drop had already fallen and landed beside my baby’s head. Thankfully, not on her, as she always wakes up screaming.

“Too loud, let me get that,” Gail said and with a cloth, wiped the droplet away. Her shirt dipped open to display her deep cleavage. Between the touch and the sight, I whimpered and moaned.

“Let me help,” Gail said and wiped the next forming droplet. Heat traveled between my breast, across my chest, down my spine, and into my cunt. Liquid leaked out of four spots, each breast, my cunt, and the corner of my mouth. Six months since someone touched me. Six months of a blotted body, heavy breasts, and a sore back. I didn’t like women, but I needed her touch.