craving for my sister's breast milk

chapter 3

“You’re a real perv,” I hear whispered in my ear. Then my sister giggles when I jump about six inches up out of my chair.

“You’re supposed to knock,” I instruct my little sister for the thousandth time.

As usual she ignores me as she leans over my shoulder and peers at my computer screen. “Breasts! That’s all boys ever think about,” she complains as she looks at the video playing on the screen. It shows a young Japanese girl being milked by her lover.

“You’ll grow some someday,” I answer even though I can feel her firm, young, teenage breast bumping against my shoulder.

“You’re soooooo funny,” she replies as she stands up straight and pulls her shoulders back in a pose that extenuates everything she’s got. She looks down into my eyes and challenges me to look. I do. Slowly. I caress her curves with my eyes before finally venturing a, “In another two or years when you grow up...”

She punches my shoulder. Of course I knew she would. We know each other too well. And Gretchen, a veteran of these sibling wars, quickly goes back to the attack.

“You want to milk Lucy don’t you?” she asks, then adds in a tone only a teenage girl can manage, “and she’s your Own sister for crying out loud.”

“I’m interested in the process, the—”

“Oh sure, Doctor Timmy,” she scoffs. But she’s smiling.

My sister and I are best friends. Always have been. At almost eighteen she’s only eleven months younger than I am. Siblings like us, born so close together, invariably either become enemies or friends. We’d been lucky.

Actually it’d been Lucy who’d never really fit in. She had been the odd fifth wheel between the duo of mom and dad, and Gretch and I. With her being almost five years older than me I’d never really got to know her growing up.

She babysat Gretch and I but really hadn’t played with us.

She’d been off and away to college before I’d gone through puberty so I’d never really noticed her s****l attractiveness until she arrived home married and pregnant.

I suddenly realise as I talk to Gretchen that she’s as baffled as I am about the whole milky Lucy fixation I’ve been showing. And I know I’ll never be able to fool her...

Both my sister and her baby smile at me as I come through the den door. “You shouldn’t keep getting up like this,” Lucy complains but we both knew she’d have been disappointed if I hadn’t come. Our routine has become fixed.

“What’s that?” she asks even though she can’t help but recognise the photo album and the saucer I’m holding in my hand for exactly what they are.

“Have you ever seen this album before?” I ask as I sit down next to her and open the album on my knee.

“I don’t know. Who’s in it?” she asks as she looks. “Oh my gawd,” she gasps as I turn the page and reveal pictures of our mom she’d never seen before.

“Is that me?” I watch as her eyes dart around the two pages, trying to see everything at once. Pictures of her mother, topless and sitting on the edge of her bed, feeding her newborn.

“Yes,” I answer as I put my arm around my sister. Abby, happy at her mother’s breast, notices nothing except the teat in her mouth.

“Where’d you find it?”

“By accident. A couple of weeks ago. I was looking for something in the attic.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t exactly hidden but—”

“Daddy must have taken them,” she says as she slowly fingers each photo. I know she must be thinking the same thoughts as I had when I’d opened it for the first time.

I turn the page. The next pictures are from another day but the subject is the same — mother and daughter. This time both were naked as our mother suckled her newborn. I watch as Emily takes in mom’s tangled triangle of pubic hair.

“It’s weird ... daddy and mommy doing that.”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t look at them, they’re private,” sis exclaims but makes no effort to close the book. I simply turn the page in answer. More of mom and Lucy. Then, as I continue to turn the pages, other pictures, pictures of mom and dad, pictures I quickly skim through. Private pictures. Pictures children shouldn’t see of their parents.

Lucy gasps out, “Daddy’s p***s,” as we flip by one particularly revealing shot. Then pictures of me appear. It was my turn to get photographed at my mother’s breast.

“These are the ones I really wanted you to see,” I say as I flip the page again. There are four pictures, two on each facing page. I’m being held in my four and a half year old sister’s arms. Mom, topless, and obviously just having finished feeding me, has a broad grin on her face as she watches her little girl trying to imitate her.

“You see, you wanted to feed me eighteen years ago,” I say triumphantly.

“I did not,” she answers as she examines the pictures.

“You know Lucy, your breasts are even nicer than moms were back then,” I compliment.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” But she’s beaming.

In answer I lift the shallow saucer from where I’d dropped it on the couch and offer it to her.

“What’s that for?” But of course she knows. I wait. “We can’t, it would be wrong,” she finally offers. There’s an excited blush on her cheek.

“I want to taste you.”

“You can’t.”

“Do you want me to do it then?” I ask as I move my hand towards her breasts.

“NO! Stop that,” she almost shouts as she pulls her body back from me.

“Then you do it," I insist. Lucy slowly moves her hand under and then cups her left breast. I watch spellbound as she caresses and squeezes streams of milk from first one, then her other teat. Her cream splashes into the saucer.