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Giving Daddy a Milk Moustache

Copyright ©2017 Izzy Slam

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Giving Daddy a Milk Moustache is a work of fiction intended for mature readers. All characters are fictional and are consenting adults over the age of 18 years. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


My dad just walked in on me pumping my milky boobs. It’s been two years since I gave birth, but for some weird reason, I like the way my lactating boobies feel. The fullness and the size, the coolness of the cream as it drips down the swell of my breasts making my nipples pucker up tight, and the intense throb between my legs as I pump is like the perfect storm of sexual energy.

And unless I’m blind, it seems to be affecting my dad the same way, based on the tent in his pants. I know it’s wrong, but how can I convince him that oral pumping would be so much better than using a machine? Guess I’ll have to seduce him with my creamy mounds. He won’t be able to keep his hands, or his mouth, off me then.


I held both pumps in my hands, leaning back on my pillow and enjoying the sensation of my nipples being tugged and all my creamy goodness squirting inside the plastic bottles. I don’t know if I was like most new moms, reveling in the sensation of lactation, but I had the feeling that I was somewhat of an enigma.

I didn’t even nurse anymore. I’d had my son two years ago when I was nineteen. But there was something about attaching the plastic guards to my nips and feeling the pressure as my milk was being sucked out. I was also still blessed with these gentle contractions as I pumped—something that should have stopped long ago.

And the fullness in my tits as they filled back up again was pure heaven. Call me a weirdo. I don’t care. But many times, more often than not, I kept a bullet humming on my pussy as the machine did its thing. It was a nice little stress reliever, and I often had multiple orgasms that way.

But tonight, I just wanted to let those waves of relaxation wash over me as I lay in bed, holding the silicone cups to my tits. When I heard a knock at the door, I assumed it was my sister, Rebecca. Our dad was supposed to be at work.

“Come in!”

I heard the door open before my dad’s voice sounded. “Hey, Teresa. Just wanted to let you know I was … WHOA! Sorry. I had no idea you were … umm…” He circled the air with his pointer as I stared at him.

“Relax, Dad. It’s not like you can see anything.”

My breasts should have been covered by the pump.

He lifted his eyes and stared at my chest. “I can see plenty.”

I glanced down and saw that my nipples were the only parts of me covered. Huh. How had I not noticed that before? Maybe because I had been too focused on how it felt.

“You know what? I’ll just come back later.” He started to pull the door closed.

“Wait, Dad. What were you going to say?”

He turned around and moved his gaze to the wall next to me. “Just that, uh, I’m off tonight. Wondered if you wanted to get something to eat since the baby’s at his dad’s house. But obviously you’re busy.”

“I’m not that busy.” I adjusted one of the cups and it went back to tugging my nipple. Fluid sprayed into the bottle. “We can get something to eat if you want.” He nodded and started to back out of my room again. I don’t know why he was freaking out. “What did you want to eat?”

He scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I was thinking maybe Chinese. Or Italian. What do you want?”

I tapped the side of my pump as I thought about it. And that’s when I noticed the tent in his pants. Holy shit. He was getting a boner. And watching him get a boner while I sprayed my titty cream inside these bottles made me wet. It didn’t hurt that my dad was a hottie.

I would never tell anyone, but I’d had plenty of fantasies of him. My sex drive was more than healthy. So I couldn’t help but think about every kind of cock imaginable. He was my dad, though. And even though Mom had been gone for over ten years, it still didn’t seem right.

But now here he was, in my bedroom while my tits were being milked like a dairy cow, and he was getting a hard-on. That could only mean one thing.

Dad wanted to see more of my milky titties.

“Italian sounds good. Why don’t you hang out with me until I’m done? Come on, Dad.” I patted the bed next to me, and he raked his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know if I should.” His crotch twitched, and I tried not to stare.

“Of course you should. What I’m doing is a natural process. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He chuckled. “I’m not embarrassed, sweetie. I just don’t want you to be.”

“I’m not.” I sat up in bed and thrust out my chest, flicking my head to the side. “Come here.”

He shrugged and sat down on the bed next to me, darting his gaze to my chest.

“I didn’t know you were still nursing.”

“I’m not. I just like the way it feels.”

He licked his lips, and his dick bumped underneath his pants. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, and I didn’t want to stare. But I was starting to get seriously wet. And I really wanted to see his cock grow as he stared at my chest.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“Like pure bliss.” I reached over and turned off the machine. The cups released my nipples, and they stood out red and puffy.

I set the bottles aside. I then reached up and gently ran my fingertips along the sensitive flesh, and my nipples turned to hard pebbles. “It’s as if every nerve ending in my body is concentrated right here. I don’t mean to sound crude, but I sometimes think that my tits could orgasm if I focused hard enough.”

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