Two a.m., six at home, and my breasts hurt so much that they woke me from a much-needed sleep. I have no idea how I will survive six days without my twins. The milk leaked through the pads, my bra, and my grey sweatshirt, with large wet spots over each breast.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” the steward asked, a tall man with a well-trimmed beard and short haircut. He wore turtle shell glasses that enhanced his greenish-blue eyes. His body filled out the blue steward suit in all the right places. All the women on the flight stared at him and his firm ass as he had directed people to their seats.

“I...” I mumbled, embarrassed about the wet spots, embarrassed about my red face, and embarrassed about my embarrassment. While I know that milk is natural and everybody with a baby makes it, I still do not feel comfortable with my udders, as my husband calls them. He used to call them his big bouncing balls of glorious desire.

I fumbled with my seat belt. I needed to get to the washroom and express. I had extra pads but didn’t think to bring an extra top. Shit, the dry plane air caused me to sweat, which made my hands slippery. Some of my milk may have dripped on the belt clasp as my fingers couldn’t open it. A metallic odor overlaid the sweat milk scent.

“Let me help you,” the steward said as he leaned down. His gaze stayed on my breasts, or rather, the wet spots over my breasts. His tongue lay on his lower lip like he wanted to lick. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He breathed ragged. My heart fluttered, and my groan moistened. His lust filled me. The last time a man gazed at me in lust was before the twins. Now, as before, the man stared at my large breasts.

He paused and sniffed. His hand entwined with mine over the buckle. My breath stopped. My mouth opened. His warm fingers burned against my hands. Gentle, soft fingers. Dexterious and strong. Only my husband has touched me like this. I wanted, I needed him. Too long of going to bed filled with desire and unable to do anything about it. Too many nights of waking to the twins to return to a snoring husband who never touches me anymore. Too many times, a man smiled at me, and I turned away.

I lifted my sweater. The wet fabric coated my upper breasts and chest with milk. Just the movement of the fabric caused my breasts to throb and increase the leakage. Milk had leaked down my belly, pooled in my belly button, and reached the seam of my panties. The steward stared at my bra-encased breasts, mouth open, tongue out, and desire in his eyes.

As I held my sweater up, his hands undid the left feed flap on the bra, removed the pad, and exposed my deep red, erect nipple with milk drop on the end. In slow motion, the droplet filled and fell onto his hand. The white dot matched his pale white skin. His tongue darted out and licked the milk. My heart fluttered, and my body heated. Another droplet soon formed.

“Do you mind?” he asked. His hot breath washed over my breast. His lips almost touched my nipple. My hands trembled as I held my sweater for him. I didn’t know what to do or say. I wanted him to devour me, but I had a husband and twin boys that I loved. But those lips, so close.