Amita had sat quietly, letting her son give voice to his frustration. She felt the heat that had risen inside her, as she had listened. A solution passed through her mind, not for the first time that afternoon. She stood on trembling knees and looked down at her son.
“Try to calm yourself, Jamar. I must leave you for a minute.”
Jamar nodded. He watched her walk into the next room, the bed chamber she shared with his father. He sat back, aware of the weight that had been lifted from his clouded mind. His sexual tension was still very much there. But, it had become a managable ache. Something to be dealt with later.
He was jolted from his introspection as he heard, “Jamar, come to me, my son.”
Without thinking he stood, arranging his manhood for comfort. He stepped to the doorway and stopped. Amita was on the big bed, laying on her side, her sari loosely covering the curves of her body. “Come and lay with me, Jamar. Let me share my secrets like I shared yours.”
He crossed the short distance, kicking off his shoes as he went. He moved next to her on the soft surface, taking a position on his side. Amita had one arm stretched above her head. Dark silk pillows supported her upper body. Jamar moved close, his face resting at the level of her neck.
She put her hand on the side of his face. “Beautiful Jamar, my first born. I remember the time when you suckled my breasts, like it was yesterday. You drank your fill so slowly. I always felt like my milk was giving you protection you would need out in the world. My milk would make you strong and smart and able to conquer anything you chose to do.”
Jamar stared into his mother’s beautiful dark eyes let her words make him float along on a state of bliss. Her touch was magic, making him forget his months of frustration. She hummed a gentle tune from her childhood in India, before speaking again.
“I will make you forget that wanton little tease back in Ann Arbor. She will pass from your mind like she was never there, and trouble you no more.”
Jamar let his eyes close. He felt her touch leave the side of his face. Then, he heard the soft sound of rustling cloth. His mind filled with hope and anticipation.
He slowly opened his eyes. He looked into his Mother’s eyes. Her look was angelic, with nothing held back. He glanced down. Her soft hand craddled her exposed breast, offering the swollen nipple for his pleasure.
Jamar slowly moved to bring his lips to the dark, firm tip of her engorged breast. When his hot breath touched her exposed offering she moaned, and her body trembled. Jamar let his tongue extend and tease the hard center, tasting and preparing it for his coming feast.
The connection was completed. Jamar’s lips circled her areola and pulled her tender flesh into his mouth. The flow of her milk washed over his tongue as he swallowed greedily. Her nectar warmed him, soothed him, loved him with a power beyond all measure.
Amita put her hand on the back of his head. She pulled him tight, letting her melody begin again. She knew Jamar was hers again, protected from the temptations of hungry women. He was home.
Jamar suckled gently. His manhood rose to rock hardness again, pressure building deep inside his loins. He brought up his hand, to caress the fullness of his Mother’s breast. Her softness was further fuel to his desire.
The electric numbness built to the breaking point. Jamar knew his explosion was at hand. The first spurt inside his pants confirmed it. The next spurt was pure release. Touched only by the confines of his clothes, his orgasm went on and on.
His tension finally eased. The flow of precious milk from his mother’s breast grew less and less. He wanted to shift his position and suckle the other one. But, he knew he should wait for her to make that move.
Her hand returned to the side of his face. Amita pushed him gently away from her empty breast. Jamar let the nipple slip from between his lips, one quick swirl of his tongue taking the final drop of his mother’s nectar.
He looked up into her eyes and said, “I cannot tell you what exquisite pleasure that was for me, my mother. I love you more than life itself.”
Amita put her finger to his lips. “Shush with such talk, Jamar. The pleasure was mine too. Little Niru is a delicate child. She seldom feeds long enough to relieve me of all my milk.”
Jamar shifted his position and moved higher on the pillows. He wanted to kiss his mother’s full lips and love her in ways he knew was forbidden. He said, “You mentioned before, the situation here. Tell me now what you meant by that.”
She relaxed, letting her head rest fully on her extended arm. “I too have been visited by cruel fates. But, I must admit, I brought it all on myself.”
“Tell me your troubles, mother. I hope I can listen and offer you wisdom.”
Amita looked into his eyes and let a resigned smile cross her lips. “I was fearful as I carried your new sister. I sought out the advice of women my age, in my situation. I went to classes about childbirth. Everyone said I had to bring your father into the actual delivery. That is the modern way here in America. Fathers do what they call coaching, helping with breathing, rubbing the mother’s back through the contractions.”
“Your father did not want to do it. I implored him to reconsider. I admit, I used every argument, some fair, some probably not so fair.”
Jamar felt her pain. “Did he relent? Did he go into the delivery room?”
She nodded and said, “Yes, he did. I fear it was the worst mistake in all the years your father and I have been together. He was shocked by the experience. The hospital people finally just pushed him aside. He just stood and watched, more fear and pain than I had ever seen in him.”
“How is he now, mother?”
Amita cast her eyes down at the pillows. “You father has not touched me, has not shared my bed since that day. My mistake has turned him cold. It is all my fault. Bearing children has always been a burden borne by women. For me to believe that had changed was lunacy. Now I live with the results of my folly.”
“After the birth he insisted I get the operation to prevent another child. I agreed, thinking that would somehow make amends. It had no effect.”
Jamar considered before saying, “Do you think he will change?”
Amita let her fingertips trace along his jawline. “He will not speak of it. Time alone will give me the answer. Either he will return to my bed, or we will grow old without joy.”
Jamar covered her hand with his own. “Is there anything I can do, mother?”
She let his words hang in the intimate space between them. Her mind raced with more questions than answers. Finally, the moment arrived. She leaned closer to her son and whispered, “Touch me, my son. Touch me there and let me feel like a whole woman again.”
Jamar understood her meaning as her words touched his ears. His desire rose like a shooting star. With a trembling hand he reached down between their bodies. His fingers found the cloth of her sari just above her knees. He pulled it up and up farther.
When his touch found the bare skin of her thigh, she rolled more onto her back. Her legs slowly spread as she pulled a deep breath in through her mouth. His touch continued higher and higher. When he touched the swollen softness of her outer lips, she moaned and shifted her hips to meet his fingers.
Jamar felt the wetness of her aroused sex and knew there was no turning back for either of them. He rose on the bed. He quickly moved to a position on his knees, between his mother’s spread legs. He pulled his hand back and quickly opened his pants. After one quick tug his clothes were bunched just above his knees.
His cock was fully erect, the tip swollen the size of a ripe plum. Amita looked down at her son, poised to fill her need. She smiled as she took in the size of his manhood. She called out, “Fill me, my son. You are my young stallion.”
Jamar leaned forward, taking the weight of his upper body on his hands and arms. His rigid member found her entrance. The sweet wet tightness of her pussy pulled him into her after just three eager strokes. He pushed his cock deep and started moving. Each full stroke brought his hard cockhead to the place just inside her swollen lips, then back in with all the power he could deliver.
Amita closed her eyes and let her head turn from side to side. His manly power renewed her spirit and let her revisit sensations she had missed for so long. She pulled aside the last of her sari covering her breast, presenting the untouched fullness of the breast Jamar had not suckled.
Jamar looked down at her nakedness. The breast he had drained lolled soft and pliant, jiggling with each stroke of his cock. The other was swollen plump and full, almost begging for the touch of his lips. Her nipple stood firm and inviting.
He rocked back slightly and gripped his mother’s bare bottom with both hands. Then, he bent forward at his waist, still stroking fully into her pussy. He leaned down and covered her dark nipple with his lips. Her milk filled his mouth as he began sucking greedily.
“Oh, yes, my son. Drink from my breast while you fill me with your manhood. I love it. I love it so much!”
Jamar was in heaven. The combined sensation of burying his root in his mother’s sex and suckling the hot milk from her breast was driving him beyond desire. He was beyond thought, beyond reason, into a place he had never dared dream of.
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