Lap Bitch

My master sits and pats his lap. I know it means, “Come.”

Like an obedient bitch, I pause only long enough to smile with my whole body and take in the thought of what we are about to do. Then I climb on his lap, straddling, with a knee on each side of his hips, and my breast level with his face.

Immediately my breasts perk up, and my nipples come alive. He will admire them for a while before tenderly teasing them. I am not sure who is getting the most enjoyment. We both groan.

When neither of us can stand the teasing any longer, he grabs a breast. All the tenderness of his approach has given way to his lust. He takes my nipple into his mouth and draws it tight with the first few sucks to the back of his tongue. The vacuum is tight ,and it pleasantly hurts a little. Then from behind my nipple I feel the “pins and needles” feeling
of my milk letting down. The vacuum disappears. He responds with a moan at the
taste of my milk. At this point I usually lose my composure.

I melt. My hands go to his head. Without losing the conscious feeling of his mashing grip of my breast and the rhythm of his lips on my nipple, my fingers become tentacles. The tips of them take in the cut ends of his short hair, and that contrasts with the overall silky and velvety coating it gives his scalp.  I bend my head over and pull a short snip of hair through my teeth. I take in the smell of his hair as I taste it.

From there my fingers travel down his neck and over his bare shoulders. I feel every crease in his neck, every bump and fine hair across his shoulders and down his arms.

There is a positive charge of energy coming from him through my fingers. Energy is flowing out of my breasts back into him. Then like a light bulb turning on, I become aware of the pulsating between my thighs. Is it originating from him or me? There is heat, hardness, wetness, and all these other sensations drawing my attention.

My thoughts are interrupted for only a minute second as he lets go of one breast and eagerly attaches to the other. My focus returns to my breasts, then my finger tips, and again back below my hips. I begin to grind and gyrate, something searching, until we connect and lock, like a piston in its chamber.

Just when I think I am on sensory overload, he begins to drag his finger nails down my back; slowly, slowly, and again slowly. The firmly applied sharpness of his fingertips sends tingles down my spine, while the heat and hardness below me sends vibrations upward. All the while his lips never leave my nipple.

My finger tips dig into the muscle under his shoulders. My breath changes, my moaning changes, my spine goes stiff and my thighs squeeze his. Then, without any conscious effort, my body does the lap dance that all other lap dances can only mimic.

I scream.

I melt again; like jello my arms fall to my side, and my head rests on his. There is the smell of his hair again. I try to bring my breathing back under control. I become aware of him, still attached to my breast, and his arms wrapped around me.

He lets go of my nipple and smiles.

11/08/2011 Loving It (an pen name I adopted many years ago for erotica)
This was written by me, and may only be used with my permission.

stock photo; no relationship to the post or author

Even with our regular bosoming times, my breast still crave attention between those times. I find myself going bra-less, knowing that the peaks in my top created by my nipples will draw him like a magnet. If we can not fit in an extra bosom time, it will at least result in a squeeze of my breasts or the lifting of my top for a quick taste.

This craving of attention… the longing to be touched even if it has only been an hour or so since I last had his undivided attention… It makes me think of my younger years when I had no real understanding of how a man’s “manhood” craved attention. Yes, I knew it was true, but knowing it and understanding are different. How naive I was to think my rewarding his manhood with attention must require at least some time consuming romantic gestures on his part first.

Now I know better, and I am as “grabby” as he is. “Roman hands and Russian fingers” describe both of us. I grab his perfect round butt cheeks every chance I get. I also rub to coax the genie out of the bottle to fulfill my wishes whenever circumstances allow it. There is no longer a need for drawn out rituals, though we still enjoy those times too.  

After a quarter century of marriage, our bodies still crave each other’s attention. How nice it is to be able to just give in to it. I know this “easiness” is because the emotional intimacy and the security is already established and reconfirmed by the other small acts that we now subconsciously do regularly after years of making them a part of our lives together.

I am as crazy about him, maybe even more so, than I have ever been. He makes me feel like he wants me just as much. It is obvious that we miss each other when we are apart through the day.

We are truly bosom buddies.

Yesterday was a busy day for my man. He made it home for lunch and dinner, but bosoming was crowded off the priority list by the need to return quickly to work. 

My heart and my breasts ached all day. I am trying to find words to describe it. It was worse than disappointment, worse than hunger and greater than need. It wasn’t a feeling of rejection, because I understood the reasons. Yet there was that deep aching pain, that intense longing both emotionally and physically. 

You just can not quiet the aching breast. I kept trying to find solace in the idea that bedtime bosoming was a sure thing. Ten o’clock came and went, then eleven. We finally climbed the stairs like zombies and dropped in bed after 2 am. For the first night since I can remember, there was no bedtime bosoming, but I too, could not stay awake a moment longer. I fretted in my sleep, wondering where our commitment to bring back the flow of milk went. I dreaded the morning with the thought that maybe he had changed his mind; maybe it was rejection after all. 

The alarm went off at 6am, just three and a half hours later. I actually expected him to reach over and re-set it, using our normal bosoming time for more sleep instead. 

My doubts and fears were laid waste by the intense eagerness in the pull on my nipples. I sighed loudly, and whispered in relief, “I was worried that you had changed your mind.” He came up for air just enough to emphatically say, “No way!” Then as if to prove it, he attacked my nipple with passion, almost burying it in his throat.

There are many assumptions that could be made, and they shouldn’t be. A common assumption by those outside of ANR is  that the one suckling is expressing a submissive affection. They are just as likely to assume that the women is expressing a dominant motherly or matronly affection. For some this is true. Some men even call her momma. Those are wonderful forms of affection, but they should not be assumed. 

Couples are using ANR to express various heartfelt feelings and mind sets. In some, the one who is offering the breast does so with an affection of honor mixed with their feeling of love. This is reminiscent of the tales in which warriors were given the milk from the breasts of grateful women, to give the warrior strength for battle. It also brings to mind the ancient painting of the aging Emperor being offered a breast of his subject. Whether this is the simple honor shown by a wife towards her husband or deep felt admiration and reverence, it is far from a dominant motherly affection. It is still nurturing, but the heartfelt reason for wanting to lovingly nurture her man is more than romantic affection or passion, it is also respectful honor and her voluntary subjection in this area. It is far from the motherly love and responsibility to provide nourishment. 

I have read personal stories where it is the woman being honored in her role as a “goddess,” and she is the more dominant person in the relationship. Yet she is still not mothering her man and is nor viewing him as a childish. He offers his lips to show adoration, not dependence. 

I could see a possibility where the bases of affection don’t necessarily correlate with each other. Perhaps both feel the admiration and the desire to please. Neither one of them is seeing themselves as receiving, but both giving. Of course it could be completely opposite where both see themselves on the receiving end of adoration. 

For some it is clearly a gift of loving affection and each of them are on both the giving and receiving ends. There is a mutual respect and honor between two mature adults who love each other and want to share an intensely intimate act of affection. Both are being emotionally nurtured by the other in this act of intimacy. 

There was a time in our relationship years ago, when my husband and I had just dealt with some serious relationship issues. Sex was emotionally uncomfortable for me, because of where the rest of our relationship was. I felt a need to spend intimate time together that was non-sexual, and slowly work our way back into our sexual relationship. One of the little rituals that came about was my desire to towel dry him after his morning shower. It sounds silly, but it was what it was. I wanted to caress him in a non sensual way to show him I still loved him, and I had a desire to give myself to him, but in a lesser intimate way. At first, he just tolerated it. After about a week, I could tell he was growing impatient with the whole thing. I asked him why it bothered him. He said, “Because I am a grown man, and I can dry myself off. I don’t like being treated like a kid.” Whoa!  I had seriously miscommunicated my affection and needs. Then I explained to him, my desire was to serve him, not mother him. I asked him to look at it in the way that oriental women traditionally serve their men. It was a way to show an affectionate honor and admiration, not motherly affection. Once he knew my real intention, it was well received. 

Communication is important, no matter what your reason is for desiring or participating in ANR. The feelings present are bound to be more than just the physical sensations of nipples and lips. The act is too intimate to be only physical. What emotions and affections are being shared? How does it make you feel? What do you want the other person to feel? Perhaps it changes over time, or changes from one session to the next. Maybe at first it is enough just to do it. Eventually though, I think you will grow trusting enough to make yourself even more vulnerable and really communicate your heartfelt affection and what it is you are experiencing. 

Do you know your own bases of affection? Do you know what way your spouse is feeling? How does this express your relationship? Perhaps I am leaving you with something to ponder. I would love to hear your thoughts in this area.

His Milkmaid

I raised my garden a few weeks ago and planted cool weather plants; started seeds inside to be trans-planted later. Everything just seems so fresh and new. I feel younger somehow during this time of year. My arthritis doesn’t act up as much and I don’t feel as stiff when I wake up simply because I am more active when the weather is warmer…kind of like a reptile…LOL!

And is there anything better than bosoming and making love with the windows open and a slight breeze blowing through the room. Just me and my hubby…the only two people in the world (or so it seems) loving, pleasuring and nurturing  one another in ways that only we can. My husband is the ONLY man that has ever truly loved me; aside of my own father…but I’m talking about Romantic Love. Dad used to say that true love is a verb, an action word…it has feet. Love is demonstrated through actions. My DH knows me so well, sometimes better than I know myself. He understands my needs and provides a back or foot rub whenever I need it MOST…he demonstrates his love in so many ways I find myself on a mission to love and care for him in every way possible. Truly I think we sometimes try to “outlove” one another…not out of competition, but out of a true desire to love one another to the fullest extent.

We are not promised tomorrow; I want to use each and every day as an opportunity to love my husband better, longer, and deeper…who knows when a simple kiss goodbye may be our last. My father passed away 6 yrs. ago…it still hurts, especially when I see my mother’s loneliness. Dad truly loved my mom.
Cling not to worldly possessions but to those people that you love; they are the only things that truly last.

May you have a blessed spring day as you ponder the ones you love and demonstrate your love for them.

Lovingly,
Luvmyhub