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By Anonymous Author

"I have to work in the baby room today," said Joyce.
Curt turned to look at his pretty girlfriend in the church doorway, noticing how cute and fresh she looked in her crisp sundress. This was the most risque thing she could wear to church, he thought. It clung to her curvy figure without looking like she was trying to seduce. Curt let his eyes wander to the pert swell of Joyce's chest, spying a hint of cleavage.
"For the whole service?" he asked.
"Yeah." Joyce grinned sweetly and apologetically. "Me and April do it once or twice a month."
They walked into the foyer, Joyce heading for the door marked "Infants."
"We'll have lunch after the service, ok?" With that and one last smile, she disappeared behind the door.

In the middle of the service, Curt had to get up to take a piss. Then he stopped to get a drink from the fountain in the foyer. While the water was hitting his lips, he eyed the "Infants" sign. There was a two-way mirror placed low in the door - the kind that reflected on this side, but offered a clear view from the other. Curt stood up straight. He looked around. No one was near, so he wandered over. He leaned close to the mirror and peered in.
Joyce's friend April came into view. Curt noticed that April wasn't wearing a top; she was parading around the room in a bra and a black skirt. He could see that she was chatting happily toward an unseen part of the nursery, though all he could hear were the muffled tones of her voice.
Then Joyce came into sight. She, too, wore only a bra on top; she'd pulled the straps of her sundress down past her waist.
A baby cried from inside the room. Curt looked up suddenly, checking to make sure no one saw him with his face in the mirror. He was still alone, and he looked back into the nursery. Joyce was going from crib to crib, tracking down the source of the crying. When she found it, she picked the infant up, holding and rocking it in her arms like an expert. April walked up from behind and began to rub Joyce's shoulders. Then April's hand slid one of Joyce's bra straps off to the side of her shoulder.
Curt felt his heart beating faster as he realized what he was watching. Joyce was pulling her bra cup down and off to release her breast. It was bigger, rounder, and more potent-looking than Curt had imagined it to be. Even from this distance, he could see that her nipple was deep red, and swollen into a thick cylinder.
Then Joyce held the baby's mouth up to her young bare breast, letting her nipple brush across the infant's lips until he accepted it. Curt saw Joyce's nipple and areola disappear into the baby's mouth, and he noticed how the suction seemed to pull her tit slightly away from her chest.
Then April took off her bra and, bending over an adjacent crib, pulled out another infant. She put the child to her (smaller) breast and began to nurse it. The two girls began chatting again. Joyce's boyfriend rose, disoriented.

"Where's Joyce?"
He was standing with April in the foyer after the service. She was fully dressed.
"She's still in the baby room," April was saying. "You can go in if you like all the babies are gone now I think." She grinned.
"What are you doing?" asked Curt.
"I'm nursing," said Joyce, quietly.
He had opened the door and stepped in cautiously. There had been Joyce, sitting quietly, another baby in her arms. Something was wrong with the scene. Curt had looked carefully. One of Joyce's pale, round breasts was exposed. The baby was sucking contentedly at it.
Curt probed a bit. "Don't you have to have a baby to do that? To feed it, I mean."
Joyce looked matter-of-fact. "No. You can get milk on your own. A lot of girls do -- you have to have milk to work here."
"So, uh, that's why you would never let me touch you there?"
"Yeah." She grinned mildly. "I was afraid something embarrassing would happen."
"Like, it might hurt?" Now he was smiling too.
"No," she replied. Her smile faded slightly. "If you squeezed them, milk would start coming out."
"Oh."
There was a pause. Curt said, "But you're not, um, hiding yourself now."
Joyce smiled again. "You're ready."
Just then, Mrs. Thomson walked in briskly. She gave Curt a sharp look. Then she walked over to Joyce. "Thank you for nursing Jessica," she said, taking the baby in her arms. "I'll see you next week." Mrs. Thomson walked out, giving Curt another sharp look as she passed.
Joyce sat serenely in the middle of the room, then, her legs together, one of her breasts exposed. She smiled. "Well," she said, "what do you want to do?"

Joyce let her bra drop completely off as she made her way to the door of the baby room. She locked the door. Then she went back to the chair and sat down. "Come'ere," she said.
Curt knelt before Joyce and kissed her lips. His tongue slid forward through the tight passage and into her mouth. It met her tongue, and the two velvetly intertwined.
But before he knew what was happening, Joyce was moving his head firmly down, down to her chest. Her hands pressured his shoulders until his lips were in front of her big, soft orb. It seemed even bigger now that he was right in front of it.
"Come on," she was saying. "Try my milk."
Then he was sucking at her nipple. He noticed several things at once: how puffy her large areola was, how its soft moistness helped him to latch on, how full the nipple itself felt in his mouth, and then, in a quick stream, how warm and so very sweet Joyce's milk tasted. Curt felt closer to his girlfriend than he had ever before, as he nursed from her thick nipple, and as he sucked more intently, he felt her hand begin to caress his hair. His stomach began to feel warm and full.
When she was done breastfeeding Curt, Joyce sat up and reached up her dress with both hands. She slid her panties off smoothly, and after she let them drop to the floor, she spread her legs. Her dress slid up past her wonderful thighs.
Curt didn't have to be told what to do. As he opened her, leaned down, and let his tongue slide through the trough of her vulva, Joyce drew in a slow breath and thought of the other time this had happened to her. She had been fifteen the guy was nineteen. She didn't exactly understand the purpose of it, until she felt a warm tingling burning white hot pleasure there between her legs. There was just one of them, and she didn't know for a long time that this was an orgasm. But Joyce was twenty now, and she knew a lot more than she had five years before.
Joyce felt some of her education pay off right about then -- she found herself escalating into a soaring pleasure oblivion as the blur of Curt's slithering tongue pushed her over the edge. She had no idea how long she felt the ecstasy, only that it seemed to melt through minutes. However long, she came down only to find herself on the verge of coming again. She could see Curt burying his lips between her labia, sucking her clitoris into his mouth and refusing to let it go. She began a quiet yelp -- "No, it's too . . ." -- that was stifled as she rocketed away into a second orgasm.
Curt had noticed that her hands had found her bare breasts. A finger delicately orbited each nipple until drops of her milk trickled and spilled around her areolae. Curt had had enough. He dropped his hands to his pants, unzipping with fury. About the time Joyce's third or fourth orgasm (she'd lost count) ended, he presented his penis at the opening of her vagina.
"Wait," he heard her say. She pushed the chair back and slid to the floor. Even Curt, not the hallmark of sexual experience, could tell how hungry Joyce was for that final act, coupling. She spread her legs so far back and apart that she could grasp each ankle with ease. Her cunt was opened wide, a stretched set of moist pink lips surrounded by a thin trail of light brown hair. But though Curt could see the entrance to Joyce's vagina easily, he noticed that the tunnel itself hadn't opened much at all.
"Enter my gates with thanksgiving," Joyce joked nervously, making a pun of a hymn the congregation had sung during the service.
Curt didn't let it spoil the mood. "I love you," he said, dropping the head of his dick into Joyce.
Both gasped at once. Curt felt the warm -- no, hot -- she felt inside, how soft, how wet. Joyce was recalling the previous, first cock she had let inside her. She knew Curt was barely inside her, but already she could tell that he was bigger than the other guy had been.
He didn't exactly know what he was doing, but pumping in and out of Joyce's cunt felt good, and he found himself doing it at a fairly fast rate. Joyce, it was obvious to him, was enjoying it too: her hands were back at her breasts, milking the nipples with tight squeezes, while her mouth was open. He wondered if she would come again.
Joyce was coming alright. About five strokes into their intercourse, the sweep of orgasm suddenly enveloped her, and it refused to let her down. It melted into different stages: she tingled all over, then her crotch burned almost painfully, then she was aware of the relentless ramming of Curt's dick in her pussy. Then her breasts -- oh, her breasts. God. Each light touch of a finger to a puffy areola made her sting with a delicious pleasure, a tiny orgasm in itself, on top of the one that now seemed continuous.
When it slipped away, she opened her eyes to watch Curt leaning over her, thrusting at the brown furry patch between her legs unrelentlessly. God, what a turn-on. She found herself coming again, but relatively briefly. When those 30 seconds were through, she opened her eyes again, and this time the determination on his face soon sent her back into ecstasy. And the cycle continued.
After a few minutes of this, Joyce knew that it had to stop soon. If she'd counted right -- which she doubted -- she'd had at least, say, ten orgasms. And though they seemed to become more intense each time, sometimes much more intense, she felt as if she could barely take anymore. "Oh, Curt, I love the feel of your dick," she confessed.
Curt, meanwhile, was at the end of his rope when she said that. He couldn't hold out any longer, though he'd heard so many times that it was his duty to fuck a girl until she came at least once.
"Joyce," he said, gasping slightly at a breath, "uh, have you come yet?"
Joyce giggled softly. "Yeah," she whispered. "I have."
She cupped a breast with her hand. "Here," she offered, "it'll help."
Curt leaned down to her tit and, taking a good portion of it in his mouth, drew streams of milk from her. Joyce closed her eyes, involuntarily swept away. The whole idea was such a turn-on to Curt that he began to feel a really strong pressure in his groin.
"God, oh, God," he said, slowing his thrusts to long, powerful strokes. It was over in a few seconds, and Joyce could feel a new wetness deep within as come gushed from his dick.
They spent a long time that way, with Curt's head resting on Joyce's chest, his mouth gently sucking at her full round breast, her hand brushing against the back of his head. She felt tender and fulfilled as she passed her milk to him. He felt warm inside; he felt as though he would never take enough of it.
And from the other side of the two-way mirror, April smiled.