So I thought I had found someone to help me with my little fetish… it entranced him… it excited him… he feasted on my nipples like a starving man’s first meal. He held me down to have his way with my tender flesh, his fingers pumping and squeezing and molding my breasts until they were swollen and tender… then he would pluck at my nipples again until I writhed against him begging for release…
Then he would fill me…. either with his hands or his cock….
And there were changes… there is more life on that planet than I had anticipated. They did swell, and my nipples became redder, like glistening cherries rising from a cafe au lait areaola on pale mounds. My breasts were changing. I could feel them. They ached all the time for his touch. Then one day, as I was massaging them in the bath, the tiniest pearl of liquid came from my body. Then another. The next morning I worked my breasts again and there it was. Not a fluke but the beginning of a possibility. Perhaps even a probability.
I could masturbate from the very image, playing it over and over again in my mind. When I touched myself, the ache only increased. The want. The desire. If the mind could make anything happen, then I would make this happen.
I was so close….
But he was not the one. No matter how much they ached, no matter how much I wanted this to be the time… He was a boy and not a man. I need a man with a mans hunger and a man’s power.
Yet now I know, when I find my perfect Daddy… the man who wants to own me… control me… feel me… take me…
I know its possible.