Content warning: Age play, nipple sucking, lactation play.

Maria posted this a few (5?) years ago online, and it cracked open my desire in a way I never would have expected. I am grateful she gave me permission to reprint it, to share it with you all.

Hunger

by Maria See

Wrapped in a comfortable blanket, you lay here, looking like my child.

I am on my side. You are facing me, sucking. My nipple is in your mouth, and I caress your hair, kiss your forehead.

You are sucking lightly. It feels like you are being careful. “Don’t worry about hurting me,” I tell you, in case you are. I want you to hurt me. I want you to know that hurt does not deter me. I want you to be selfish. The needs of children always are.

You become more rough in response. You suck harder. Every now and then you use your teeth.

And now I am dripping wet.

I think of touching you, but the thought is an uneasy one. It doesn’t feel right to be sexual with you right now.

You feel innocent, young, in this space.

I want to lactate. In your mouth. I want to feed you, protect you. I hope this takes a long time, that you do not tire and move. I want you to stay here. And when you are gone, I want you to come back. I want you to come back each time a woman breaks your heart. I will be here to care for you. I’ll hate her for hurting you. I’ll be silently thankful that, in doing so, she returned you to me.

You fall asleep. I wait a while before moving your head and heading to the bathroom. I wipe up the puddle that has run down my thighs.

I return to bed and to holding you.

In the morning, the water hits my raw nipple in the shower. The sting reminds me that you were attached to it. That you needed me. That you still do.