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I walked out of the Tube station, and saw my host waiting eagerly for me. She was wearing a pink overcoat – I’d revealed in our messages that I have a taste for that colour. We walked together through the quiet country estates of outer London, as she led me to her home. Once we’d stepped in and removed our coats, she sat me down in the lounge with a few sandwiches and a drink, while she popped into the bedroom to ready herself.
So here I was, after a commute of nearly 2 hours into and across the busy capital of the UK, about to enjoy my first ever ABF experience. I’d first discovered my desire to breastfeed some ten years ago, yet my searches since then had mostly been without success – most ladies I could find were no nearer than London, which ruled out daily meets. But now, I had been contacted by someone who’d seen my post, and wanted to share her breasts with me for a dry nursing session, even if it might be just this one time. My excitement was tempered with anxiety – would I learn how to latch on and suckle properly? Would she have advances that I did not reciprocate?
After a few minutes, she returned to the lounge. True to my wishes, she was wearing a lovely pink dressing gown. Gently stroking my hair a little, she calmly took me through to the bedroom, where a large double bed lay waiting. She suggested I remove my clothes, but I opted just to take off my shirt for now – having no sexual intentions, I was planning to keep the trousers on. She pulled back the covers and settled down on her side, with me taking my place beside her. The cover went on top of us, so no one from the street below would see what we were about to do.
Tingling with anticipation, I carefully pulled down the top of her faintly-transparent gown to reveal her beautiful breasts – they were larger than her photos had led me to think, and felt warn and soft in my hands. I fondled them gently to get accustomed to their shape and size, before I reached forward to latch on. I’d read how to get a good latch-on for a baby to breastfeed, so I knew her nipple needed to be at the back of my mouth, where the hard roof turns soft towards the top of the throat. Once I’d taken her waiting nipple in, I soon felt my tongue begin to caress her breast, a rhythmic up-and-down motion to get the milk flowing. Of course there was no milk to drink, but that didn’t matter – I was finally latched on for the first time, and was suddenly overwhelmed by a swirl of new feelings that I’d never felt before.
This was even more wonderful than I’m imagined – a sense of deep calm, forgetting my need to watch the time, and wanting the experience to go on forever. Now I knew exactly what the unique bond and attraction of breast suckling is, and I would never forget it. We continued nursing with her on one side for what seemed like only minutes, but a glance at my watch would reveal it had been nearly half-an-hour. Then we changed sides to suckle on her other side. Even now I still kept my trousers on, despite us being snuggled together under the winter covers. All I wanted was to be latched on, and I was astounded that I’d discovered how to suckle so quickly. Just like a pen-friend had advised me – breast feeding is instinctive, so my body or subconscious mind had known all along what to do.
We paused after two hours for a spot of lunch and a break. Now I had barely an hour left before needing to start my journey home, but I wasn’t ready to give it up just yet. So after refreshing ourselves, we returned to the bed for one more nursing session. As I continued to suckle on her huge, beautiful breasts, I could feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness – all this nursing was making me sleepy! If I hadn’t had a train to catch, I’d have happily let myself drift away into a peaceful sleep while still latched on to her. But I forced myself to stay awake – there was no telling how long it might be before I would enjoy this again, and I was determined to savour every second of it.
Towards the end, I could feel her hand on my crotch, wanting to undo my belt. After suckling for nearly 3 hours, all my reservations of letting her see my manhood had gone, so with little hesitation, I reached down to undo my trousers for her. In moments, her hand was reaching under my pants, and she began to play with me. I felt no fear whatsoever – my cheek was cushioned on her delicious breasts that were almost as large as my own head, and there was nothing more I could want at that moment. For the last part of our nursing session, she laid me against the head rest, and mounted herself upright straddled on my crotch. She was not taking me inside her – she still wore her panties – but she gently slid up and down as though we were making love. Her breast was still at my mouth, letting me suckle right to the end, while she enjoyed a little pleasure of her own.
When it was time for me to go, she led me to the door, and I couldn’t resist one last feel of those amazing breasts under her gown. ‘My first breasts’, I whispered softly, making her giggle in flattered satisfaction. As I walked down the street back to the Tube station, one thing was for sure – the years of waiting and searching had been worth it for this moment. Now I’d joined the realms of adult breastfeeding, and there was to be no going back.
This is a great, heartfelt recollection. Thanks Rob! Maybe others would also like to share their own?
Nice
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