Page 2 of Milk For His Little

How I longed to be the one changing his diaper, smoothing cream over his length, telling him what a beautiful boy he was and to hold still while I finished. If he was restless, I’d explain we could play when I was done.

My cock stiffened as I pictured Kasper—I’d learned his name weeks ago because he was a club regular—under me, taking my cock inside him while I leaned over him and he flicked my nipple with his tongue. Maybe he tweaked it and I groaned. He’d lift his head and suckle me, and the glorious feeling of the letdown, when the stimulation prompted the release of milk. He’d suckle and…

Someone holding a drink bumped into me, almost spilling it, and my vision vanished. I blinked, and now Kasper was playingwith a train set. Not loudly as he checked on the teddy in the crib and rocked it every so often.

He needed a Daddy but not one like me.

Daddies were strong, protective, caring, and experienced. They didn’t produce milk and didn’t leak when a baby cried at the mall or when a Little like Kasper was alone, needing someone to look after him.

Kasper caught my eye as he slipped a thumb between his lips. He was comforting himself, but his Daddy should be there with him. He didn’t have one, but he needed one so badly.

I was so tempted to talk to him. But instead, I turned away, wending my way through the crowd and stumbling outside as milk leaked through the pads that were supposed to keep me dry and not leave me with an ugly wet stain on my shirt.

Like all the others, Kasper would reject me.

Driving home, I thought back to the Littles I’d shared my secret with. Instead of cuddling and demanding to go someplace so they could latch on, they’d reacted with horror, leaving me alone and an object of ridicule.

When I reached my place, I flung off my clothes and got in the shower, as my chest was sticky and wet. I flicked a droplet of milk off one nipple and licked it, the familiar sweetish taste with a hint of something stronger flooded my mouth. I’d eaten a lot of garlic lately. Not that it mattered because I had no Little to suckle. If I did, I’d be more particular about what I ate.

My thoughts went to Kasper and one hand teased my nipple until milk dripped over my chest while my fingers tapped overmy cock, wishing it was him suckling me and playing with my stiff dick.

If he were my Little, I’d cradle him on my lap, lift my shirt, and allow him to latch on. His cheek would be smushed against my chest while he sucked greedily, and when he was done, I’d put him over my shoulder and rub circles over his back, making sure he didn’t have gas.

Alone in my bed, I couldn’t sleep, watching some series I’d never remember long into the night. I wondered what Kasper was doing and if after I’d left, someone had approached him. Would he have found his Daddy when I next saw him at the club?

Jealousy surged through me. I’d have to find a new club because I couldn’t bear to see Kasper with another Daddy. I’d changed clubs and towns previously, after my secret was passed around the Littles searching for a Daddy.

If I could hide my secret, I would. From afar, it was possible. Not easy, but as long as I had access to a bathroom, spare nursing pads, and a supply of clean shirts as I did at work, it was feasible. None of my colleagues knew of what I thought of as my predicament, that I was part of The Lactin Brotherhood. Others who relished being able to produce milk and had a willing and enthusiastic Little referred to it as a bonus.

Maybe I was destined to be alone forever. Or perhaps I could find someone online who needed a warm bath and to suckle before they fell asleep.

I wanted Kasper to be the one, but keeping my distance would prevent both of us from being hurt. Causing him pain was the last thing I wanted.

Chapter 3

Kasper

Ever since I realized that buying milk was an option, it wouldn’t leave my head. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of it. Maybe because I assumed all of the milk was for babies and it was best not to take from them? That was before I put two and two together about men lactating enough to sell their supply. Unlike with moms, whose milk came in for their young, men lactated because their bodies simply did. And sure, some of that milk went to babies, but from what I was able to read online, most of it went down the drain. What a waste!

Try as I could, focusing on anything other than getting some for my bottle wasn’t happening. I went to the grocery store—and the gallons on the shelf brought me right back to that first ad. When I was at work and people talked about their plans for the weekend, my mind went straight to falling asleep with a bottle. Pretty much every moment of every day, I was thinking about it.

Finally, I managed to get brave enough, and I just did it. Just being a bit of an exaggeration. I spent a ton of time on the app, but getting to the app was the first big step, and if I had a Daddy, he’d be proud of me for taking it.

The interface was easy enough, but that didn’t make the decision any simpler. Reading through the listings, trying to find one where the person didn’t seem like a scammer, sounded like no big deal. Shocker: the site was full of people who were sketchy. Some had prices that were too good to be true, or they wanted money through unsecured internet sites in order to hold your spot in line. Yeah, I didn’t need any of that in my life.

It took a while to find some sellers I felt comfortable with, ones who had reviews that felt sincere and had been around longer than a week. A couple of people caught my eyes and had really good ratings, but they also had waitlists for new customers. Now that I had decided to take the leap, waiting wasn’t an option. If I had a Daddy, he’d tell me to be patient, and he’d be right. But I didn’t, so impatient I was.

Some sellers specifically said they were only willing to sell to bodybuilders, which told me they were probably ingesting some things I didn’t want in my body. A few actually included what those supplements were, and thanks but no thanks to that. If the bodybuilders were into that stuff, they could have it.

But finally, I found a seller that I thought looked good. Their ratings were solid, they’d been on the app a long time, and they made a note that they reserved the right to cancel if someone needed it, mentioning emergency foster placements as an example. To me that shouted that he was a good guy. Not that I needed to buy from someone nice, but I preferred it.

I pulled up his profile and sent him a message saying I was interested in his product. It was uncomfortable thinking of something his body made naturally as a product. I refrained from the word in my correspondence, but the term kept hitting me, giving me pause, like maybe I shouldn’t be doing this after all. Only he wouldn’t be selling it if he didn’t want to, right?

He responded back within the hour, and after some brief negotiations, mostly about time and location, my order was placed. I could barely get to sleep that night, so excited about my purchase. It was going to be a long day waiting until I could go and get it from him even if I wasn’t exhausted, and based on seeing three am before I finally dozed off, I was going to be.

The next day after work, instead of going straight home like I normally did, I went across town and pulled up in front of a stranger's house.

It was the stuff horror movies were made of. You didn’t just randomly go to somebody’s house—you met in public. Anyone could be behind a screen.

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