Page 10 of Trained By His Little

A flood of affection and adoration flowed right from me to him, traveling through my milk to his very core. And my whole world seemed to shift when he called me Daddy.

Okay, he wasn’t calling me Daddy. He was mostly just using the term in the heat of the moment. But the fact that it was what he asked for when he was in his most vulnerable state made me want to promise all my love and protection to him for the rest of my days.

My mind drifted to the nursery that I kept hidden from him, and I wondered what he would think about it.

Was that something he would be interested in exploring or was he here purely for the milk?

For now, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that I finally felt like I could breathe again, no longer weighed down by a never-ending supply of milk that was just being poured down the drain.

When I was empty, Oliver dozed off, and his lips eventually relaxed enough to break the seal against my skin. His head rested in the crook of my arm with his lips parted and a light flush across his cheeks, wearing the sweetest milk-drunk expression on his face.

Fuck, this boy is perfect.

I was prepared to stay in that position until the moment he woke up, even if that wasn’t until morning.

But just thirty minutes after falling asleep, Oliver licked his lips and opened his eyes, finally coming out of the foggy state of his regression and looking up at me with a smile. “How long was I out?”

I smiled and glanced at my watch. “Maybe a half-hour.”

“Ugh.” He turned his head and rested it against my stomach before pulling himself upright and sitting beside me. “Sorry about that. I should’ve warned you that milk usually makes me sleepy.”

“Don’t apologize. I loved every minute of having you in my arms.”

Oliver slowly turned to me, locking his gaze with mine. “Did you mean what you said? About…being my Daddy?”

I shifted my body so I could face him better, and then I clasped the back of his neck with my big hand. “I meant every word. I never dreamed I’d find a boy who was so perfect for me. Of course, I don’t know where this might lead, but if you're up for it, at least for now, this is exactly what I want.”

Oliver threw his arms around my neck and squeezed me tight, eventually throwing his leg over my lap and straddling me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I promise I’ll be a good boy. I won’t brat. Only good boy things.”

I dragged my nose through his silky hair and inhaled. He smelled like baby shampoo and cinnamon. I just wanted to eat him up. “Be yourself, little one. You’ve only been a good boy so far, so I don’t expect anything to change.”

Over the next few days, Oliver and I got into a bit of a routine.

After work, I ran home to shower and then headed to his place for dinner and bedtime. Oliver offered to come to my house every night, but I didn’t want him to have to drive home when he was sleepy after a feeding.

As the days went on, it became more evident that even though he was draining me completely after each suckle session, I still had tons of milk leaking throughout the day. The padded shirts helped, but they were no match for the amount of milk that steadily flowed.

I had to change my shirt and pads every few hours while I was at work, and by the time I got to Oliver’s, he usually had to take a few gulps before dinner just to take the edge off me, and then finish me off afterward.

I kept trying to make the pump work, but it just never attached right. Either my muscles weren’t shaped right or my hair kept it from sealing properly, but the airflow never seemed to allow full suction.

Trying was a waste of time and energy, not to mention the pain it caused. Especially when Oliver was so eager to jump in any time I needed him.

And that boy brought me nothing but pleasure and relief. Well, that wasn’t true. He brought me a lot more than that. In just a few days, he brought me a sense of purpose and joy that I’d never felt before. The relationship I’d always envisioned with a Little of my own was becoming more clear in my mind, and Oliver very easily completed that picture.

Saying goodbye every night was tough, especially when I tucked him in and left him sleeping with his thumb in his mouth, all alone in that big bed.

To make up for it, I tried to text him randomly throughout the day. I sent him a good morning text about twenty minutes after I knew he was set to wake up, and then later in the morning, I reminded him to stay hydrated and have something healthy for lunch. On the days I was busy and couldn’t reach out to him until the afternoon, we would exchange selfies and tell each other how excited we were for our evening to come.

It was bliss.

On Thursday night, I showed up at Oliver’s with calzones from a food cart that we both liked.

While we ate, he asked me about my day, and I asked him about his. It was very domestic and intoxicating, to the point that I knew we needed to plan something a little more long-term.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” I looked up at Oliver and waited for his response.

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