I woke up without three seven.

As always, three minutes before the alarm rings.

Looked out the window. At exactly seven, Alexey and his eldest son left the next entrance and headed for the car. According to him, the clock could be checked!

Peep car alarm. The passenger door slammed, after a couple of seconds, the driver's door. White reverse lights came on, alternating with red brake lights. The car pulled out onto the road, and with the last blink of red eyes, drove away.

It took another three long-awaited minutes. But we agreed so, just in case, what if they for some reason return? I swallowed convulsively and stood in anticipation of these three minutes, until my cell phone caught fire.

SMS: “Come, we wait!”.

Hastily throwing a jacket over my shoulders, I run headlong into the next doorway, looking around, whipping through the iron door, like a thief. I go up to the first floor. Right. Apartment 40. The door for me is not locked. Gently push the door handle down and open the door.

The apartment is stuffy, after a frosty street, a wave of warm air and various odors hits the face: it smells like baby and mother, home, warmth, comfort, milk, washed diapers. From the room I hear how baby agukaet.

Throwing off his jacket on the floor and pulling off his shoes, I slowly enter the room.

She sits on the edge of the sofa and holds the baby in her outstretched arms, clasping it with her palms under the arms, something quietly telling him about his rambling baby babbling. His still weak legs fidget, resting on her hips, trampling the hem of her robe, until he drops from her knees, exposing her tight white legs.

I frantically swallow, feeling the Adam's apple sliding under the skin of the throat and bending my knees, I sit down on the floor, leaning on the open interior door. She sees me, but pretends that I am not in the room, and the kid doesn’t care at all. After all, he is hungry and requires milk, in his voice there is already a capricious note.

“Now, now, my dear,” his mother gently says, and throwing a quick glance at me removes a strand of hair from her face. She frees her robe from the robe, pulling it up to the elbow, until a young breast full of milk is shown, with a large, pale pink, sometimes covered with swollen veins, an areola. At the tip of the nipple is already running up, impatient droplets of milk are flowing, and break down, somewhere under the robe.

She puts the baby on her forearm, and brings his plump lips to the nipple. Having barely felt the smell, the baby calms down and stretches itself, sucking the large papilla into his mouth with the greedy mouth. She shudders slightly from this, I know that now, when her breasts are filled with night milk, her nipples are the most sensitive. Baby smacking sated and finally she looks at me. I do not know what is in her view of this, but now I cannot tear myself away from him, there is some kind of appeal in him that makes me come to her at the same time every morning and contemplate the procedure of feeding a baby. In this view there is thirst and vice, lust and power, desire and fear. She licks her dry lips without taking her green eyes off me. My hand has long been in swimming trunks, cold fingers felt solid fire burning with fire. With a thumb cushion, I drive around a wet and slippery head, but my hungry eyes are on Her. I'm waiting. We are both waiting. We are waiting for the baby to be full. And then I will be allowed ...

The child rejected his head and the nipple slipped out of his mouth, a few drops of milk splashed onto the rosy baby cheek. She again tries to give him a breast, and he takes it, but already languidly, with tired lips, looking at her mother with salty eyes. The baby falls asleep.

She bends over him, a strand of hair slips out from behind her ear, hiding from me what I know so much: she kissed him on the cheek and rose to put the sleeper in bed.

I sit, not stirring, and wait for the TEAM!

A little cooing over the sleeping baby, she straightens and stretches, turns to me.

She walks slowly and gracefully, like a cat's walk, her bare, soft legs touching the pile carpet silently. An open robe hanging on her shoulders beckons to contemplate only a small part of her naked body: the neck, the hollow between the chest hills and the flapping breasts themselves, mostly hidden under the robe, a round belly that did not descend even after childbirth, as if the meridian crossed in the middle a dark strip passing through the groove at the navel and going under the light beige panties,

Two more steps and she is near. I can hear the smell of her body, the smell of bed, breast milk, and female desire, pulsating under her panties, a few centimeters from my face.

Her warm hands clasp my nape and pull me to her, pressing her face hard into the panties in my lower abdomen. I feel her body tremble from this touch, I inhale its mysterious smell, I feel hard moss of pubic hair under a soft cloth. She rubs against me, setting her hips wider and crouching a little to touch my face, thus the source of her passion, the hearth in which the frantic storm of her desire grows.

Her grip is weak, and letting her fingers under the hair on the back of her head, she pulls me over them, ordering me to follow her. And I crawl behind her on all fours, like a dog behind my mistress.

Bathrobe falls at the feet and sat on the edge of the sofa, she beckons me to the chest. The right breast is less full and noticeably sags, in relation to the left, still full of hot milk, not yet printed after a restless night. My lips touch the right nipple, the one that the baby sucked a few minutes ago. I always eat up after him. The nipple is hard and slippery and you need to adjust to keep it in your mouth and suck the milk out of it. I manage it, and hot liquid fills my mouth. Sometimes I, being carried away, squeeze her nipple too much, she shudders and her fingers compress on the hair on my nape, but then she presses me even more against the already soft, almost empty chest, demanding to suck on.

Having finished feeding me with one breast, she pulls me onto the couch, pulls me towards her, and at the same time she randomly takes off her clothes and me. I lean back on the pillow of her husband, I feel how she smells of someone else's male lotion. And barely the thought that I was in someone else’s bed, with a woman belonging to a foreign man, a woman feeding a child from this man in front of my eyes, recites excite me as it dissipates in the fog right away, because the hot female lips clasped the head of my member, and she starts sucking it, pulling it deep in her mouth, just like I did with her nipple recently.

When I emerge from nonexistence, from this sweet confusion, I already feel how she is jumping on me in the pose of a rider, my gaze rests on the randomly fluttering breasts from which streams of milk drops flow down. Her long hair falls on her face and she, having collected them in a bun, holds both hands on the back of her head. I want to stand up on my elbow to remind her about a condom, but she stops these with one look. She holds back moans, gritting her teeth tightly so as not to wake the baby, but it is given to her with great difficulty. The sofa squeaks and his armrest dully and monotonously beats against the wall. But the fed baby sleeps very well now, all these sounds do not interfere with its infant sleep.

Squeezing the nipple of the left breast with her fingers, and with her palms, while the breast is still full, she squeezes out a trickle of milk and sends it to my lips. Time after time she irrigates my face, chest and abdomen with thin greasy jets, immediately bending down and licking them, then kissing me on the lips, and not for a moment ceasing to dive into my penis. This continues until the left breast becomes empty, as evidenced by the last drops squeezed out from the burgundy swollen nipple. Now both of her breasts have lost their shape and resemble empty vessels, but flaming burgundy nipples, with bloated wreaths, like eyes, require the continuation of their vicious look.

She, having squeezed me with hips, in order not to slip out, turns with me on one side, and then turns over onto my back. Now I was on top of her. For a few minutes, we firmly cling to each other wet with sweat and milk bodies. Milky and creamy smell of breast milk and the smell of our heated bodies, our desires are mixed and excite thoughts. It starts moving, slowly at first, then increasing its pace. I'm on the verge of.

- You need to wear a condom.

- Not!

- I'm about to finish!

- In me!

- What are you? I can not! It is impossible!

- Can! I ... ska ... hall ... in ... me ... nya !!! - her heels firmly hold my buttocks, that it is impossible to break free, and no longer able to hold back, I open the dam and pour it into it, with rich life-giving streams, filling it once after the day and shaking from convulsions ... multicolored blurry circles, like in a kaleidoscope and I fall into bliss ...


... thick streams splashed out from an excited member into a melt, on a sheet, on a blanket. When I emerged from the slumber, a wet spot was already spreading beneath me, and the tart smell of sperm soared into the air.

- Heck! - I said through my teeth, throwing off the blanket. “Again, these damned wet dreams.” No longer serious at 30 years of age in the pants to end from dreams! We urgently need to find a girlfriend!

The clock showed three to seven.

As always, three minutes before the alarm rings.

Pulling off my wet trunks, I went to the kitchen and flew out my window out the window.

Exactly at seven Alexei - the husband of my maternity colleague from the next entrance, with the eldest son left the next entrance and headed for the car. According to him, the clock could be checked!

Peep car alarm. The passenger door slammed, and after a couple of seconds, the driver's door. White reverse lights came on, alternating with red brake lights. The car pulled out onto the road, and with the last blink of red eyes, drove away.

Having trampled on for a couple of minutes by the window in the darkness of the kitchen and recovering from sleep and the wet emissions caused by it, I went into the shower to wash away the traces of the incident and wash the bottoms.

Behind my back, the screen of the mobile in the kitchen silently caught fire.

Three words glowed on the screen.

"Come, we wait!".