Loading...“I really need some help. Can you come over to my cabin? Are you off for a bit?”
Sasha and I had been friends for a few months now, but this was the first time I’d heard this tone of voice.
“No problem, I’ve got nothing going on. Be there in a sec,” I said.
I’d been working on the Enchantment since December. She was a 2,500 passenger cruise ship, and we we’d been on a 7-day run to the west coast of Mexico out of Los Angeles, but that run had ended on Sunday, and we were currently on our way to Honolulu for a series of 10-day Hawaiian cruises. Tough life, I know.
I was a sound technician, responsible for running the board during the shows in the main theater, and that’s how I became friends with Sasha. She’d joined the crew in February, and as with any attractive new girl, she’d made an impression. I hadn’t made a play for her, as I had a girlfriend back home and was trying to be good, but it was hard. Sasha was beautiful, about 5’9″ tall, brunette, with dark eyes and tanned skin, and had a pair of what I later found out were 34DD breasts.
She was responsible for the shore excursion programs — you know, when passengers wanted to take a walking tour of Mazatlan, Sasha was the one who set it up — and she would give a talk in the theater at the beginning of each cruise outlining all the various tours available. I was her sound guy, and through that we became friends. There’s a lot of sleeping around among cruise ship crew members; it’s a lot like college only with money and more time off. I think part of the reason Sasha hung out with me at first was she knew I had a girlfriend, so I was kind of safe, if you know what I mean.
Anyhow, her cabin was only about a 20-foot walk from mine, so after she called sounding like she was in trouble, it only took me a few seconds to knock on her door. Her expression looked like she was in pain, but there was something else — humiliation? I was concerned, and at the same time apprehensive.
“Come on in, I’m really sorry to call you like this,” she said, as she walked over to the bed and sat down. (Our cabins weren’t big enough for a separate seating area, so we used our beds like couches.) She was wearing a bathrobe, and her eyes looked like she’d been crying.
“Sash, what’s going on? Are you ok?” It seemed obvious she wasn’t, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Oh, fuck, this is hard,” she said.
“I’m your friend, whatever it is, you can tell me.” More platitudes; I sounded like a Hallmark card come to life.
She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, and then looked down, ashamed, as she spoke.
“Ok, here goes. I have a condition called hyperlactation. I’ve had it since I hit puberty. What happens is even though I’m not pregnant and haven’t ever been pregnant, my breasts make milk anyway. Lots of it. All. The. Time.”
She looked up at me to see how I was taking this in. The expression I was going for could best be described as “interested, concerned, and wondering how this affects me,” while on the inside I was kind of thrilled. I’m a boob guy, so I was already interested in whatever she wanted to tell me about her breasts, and this particular revelation, while unexpected, was fascinating.
“Anyway,” she continued, “because of this I have to use a breast pump to pump out the milk once a day.” She reached into her bedside table and brought out a breast pump, holding it up for me to see. I nodded my understanding of what she’d told me thus far.
“Yesterday, this fucking thing broke, and there’s no way to fix it.”
“Sash,” I said, “I’d be happy to fix it if I could, but I don’t know the first thing -”
“No,” she cut me off, shaking her head. “That’s not it. I already took it to the medical office and asked the nurse to look at it. Apparently it’s fucked and there’s nobody on board who can fix it. She suggested — oh, God, this is embarrassing — she suggested I try to massage my breasts and pump them out by hand.”
At this, tears formed in her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. She looked up at me, pleading.
“I tried, I really did, but I only noticed the pump was broken on Monday afternoon, and I didn’t work up the courage to go see the nurse until this morning, and now they’re so full just touching them hurts like hell.”
We’d left Los Angeles for Hawaii on Sunday morning, and weren’t going to be in Honolulu until Friday morning. Today was Tuesday, so Sasha had another two and a half days before she could get a new pump. She was obviously in considerable pain, and I couldn’t imagine her suffering like this until the end of the week, never mind how much worse it would get as her breasts continued to make milk.
She looked down into her lap and continued to cry softly. For lack of a better idea, I put my hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll help you any way I can, but what can I do?” I asked. Had I only known what was coming, I don’t think I’d have been able to speak.
“Well, I don’t know if it would work, and I don’t even know if it’s something you would do, or even want to, or….” she trailed off.
“Sash, you and I have become pretty good friends, right?”
She nodded.
“Whatever you think will help you, if I can do it, I will,” I said. “Just tell me what you need.”
She sighed, steeling herself up once again.
“Would you try to suck the milk out?”
My head jerked back and my eyes flew open in surprise. Sasha, aghast, spoke quickly.
“I know it sounds weird, and if you don’t want to because it’d be weird or because of your girlfriend or whatever, I totally understand, it’s just that you’re the only person onboard I trust, and it hurts so much and I don’t know what else to do.”
She looked down, crying again.
“No,” I said, “it’s not that. I was just taken aback by the suggestion is all. I mean, do you think it would work?”
“I don’t know,” she said, not looking at me, “but this hurts so bad I’m willing to try anything.”
Decision made.
“Ok, then,” I said, “What do we do?”
“You’ll do it?” she looked up, hopefully.
“I’ll give it a shot.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but inside I was losing my mind. A beautiful girl was asking me to breastfeed from her amazing tits!
“How do you want to do this?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “What if I sit at the head of the bed with my back against the wall, and you lay with your head in my lap and your feet down toward the foot of the bed?”
“Ok,” I said, and we began to shuffle around into position. I waited until she’d had a chance to prop a couple of pillows against the wall and get comfortable.
“Ready?” I asked. She nodded, and I laid on my back and lowered my head onto her thigh, looking up at her beautiful face.
“Ok,” she said, moving her hand to her bathrobe, “here we go.” She pulled the bathrobe aside, exposing her right breast.
It was beautiful. Large and full, with amazing, kind of translucent skin showing a few pale veins beneath. Her nipple was dark, perfectly round, and all I wanted to do in the world was take it into my mouth.
“Jesus,” I breathed.
“What?” she said, alarmed, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I replied, “I’m sorry, it’s just — your breast is incredible.”
She laughed quickly and softly, the tension broken. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Ok, you ready?”
“Yes,” she said, calmly, “Go ahead.”
I turned my head to the right and took her nipple into my mouth. I started to caress it with my tongue before quickly remembering that this wasn’t supposed to be a sex thing; I was just supposed to suck out her milk. Gently, I started to do just that.
“You can go a little harder than that,” Sasha said, “The pump does it pretty hard, and sometimes it takes a minute to get it started.”
“Mm hmm,” I said, while simultaneously increasing the pressure of my sucking. After what felt like forever, but was probably only 15 seconds, a warm, sweet jet of milk squirted into my mouth.
“Oh!” Sasha exclaimed.
Immediately I stopped. “What’s wrong? Did that hurt?”
“No,” she said, “It was fine.” She continued, but her voice sounded like she was very far away. “Don’t stop, you’re doing it just right.”
“Ok,” I said, and went back to suckling.
It was heavenly. After a minute or so I got into a good rhythm where I would take a long suck, swallow her sweet delicious milk, and then take a deep breath before continuing. I closed my eyes as Sasha began stroking my head with her left hand, running her fingers lightly through my hair. It was supremely relaxing and erotic.
So much so that after only a few minutes I became aware of a potentially embarrassing hard-on growing in my shorts. I hoped Sasha wouldn’t notice; I didn’t want her thinking I was getting off on her suffering. But then I noticed to my amazement she was softly moaning in time with my suckling.
I stopped and asked, “Sash, you ok?”
“Yes,” still in the dreamy voice, “Please don’t stop.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. I started suckling again, and Sasha began moaning again only louder, and this time, after only a few sucks, I felt her right hand on my leg, brushing up and down my thigh. I sucked a little harder, which seemed to spur her on, and she began to undo the front of my shorts.
“Mmm?” I asked, not stopping.
“Shhhhh,” she said, “Just let me.”
You bet, I thought. She found my hard-on — pretty obvious by this point — worked my cock out of the front of my shorts, and began to stroke up and down. It was at precisely this moment that her right breast ran out of milk.
“Uh, Sash, I think this one’s empty.”
“Quick, do the other one,” she said, and thus ensued 10 frantic seconds of repositioning, opening the other side of her bathrobe, and settling back down to start on her left breast. I knew what I was doing by this point, and was drinking down her milk in no time at all. She continued to stroke my cock.
I can’t tell you exactly how long this went on, but it’s not like I’m a porn star and can last forever, so it couldn’t have been too long. After a few minutes anyway, as her left breast was beginning to run empty, Sasha started pumping my cock with greater intent, and with her left nipple still in my mouth I came, spurting come all over her hand and the bottom of my t-shirt. She continued to stroke my cock for a few more seconds as my orgasm subsided, and then she slowly came to a stop as I let go of her now-empty left breast.
We sat quietly like that for a long minute or two before she spoke.
“I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know what came over me. It was just when you were first sucking and the milk started to come out, it felt so amazing and tingly all through my breast,” she paused, “and the rest of me. It’s never been like that with the pump.”
“It’s ok,” I replied. “I enjoyed that a lot, too.”
We were quiet for another moment.
“How often do you have to do that?” I asked.
“At least once a day,” she replied.
“Until we get to Honolulu,” I said, “When you can get a new pump.”
“Yes,” she said, “I can get a new pump on Honolulu.”
There was a twinkle in her eye as she went on, “Or, maybe I won’t.”