Work Text:
Humming absentmindedly, resting on his heels, he takes in the splotchy wet patches laced around the prominent indents of fat teats, bunched up uncomfortably underneath the material.
Shouta chuckles, tucking a loose curl behind his ear, before leaning back down and resumes unhooking the buttons out of their slots, taking note of your growing discomfort.
“Alright, honey, hold on now, nearly done,” the way your teats spill out immediately can only be put as obscene, audibly sloshing with milk, hot and heavy, and slumping sideways with the weight, “Now, when was the last time, hm?”
Eyes awkwardly averting to the side with your head tilting into the pillows, Shouta can barely pick up on the quiet murmur, “…I didn’t have time.”
“You didn’t have time?”
“…Finals were going on, Sho, I got caught up on overtime for grading-”
“Honey, weren’t finals two weeks ago?”
“…yes, but-”
“I suppose we’re gonna have to make time now.”
Abruptly grabbing handfuls of the sore flesh, Shouta squeezes your doughy teats together harshly with two pairs of pert nipples pushing up against each other, ignoring the way you whimper at the touch, unsure whether to push into his grasp or pull away from it.
Droplets of milk seeping in between his fingers, trickling into his palms, “Although, with the way you let yourself fill up like this, you’d think I’d be in the right mind to sort out some milk pumps, no? As if you enjoy being full of milk, pretty fat teats pressing up against your work shirt.”
You’re writhing underneath him now as he kneads the supple of your lower stomach, jiggling from the motion, “That’s- that’s not true.”
“You sure that ain’t true, honey? Maybe I should hook you up to a machine, put a silly little bell around your neck, like some sort of silly little dumb sow.”
Shouta idly flicks a nub firmly with his thumb, his cockhead leaking sloppily against his stomach, coating his thick trail of hair with clear fluid, just short of his belt buckle.
He considers if next time, he could take the opportunity to unbuckle his trousers, placing his cock in between all four of your swollen teats, all snug, canting his hips back and forth watching how each thrust would gush out more milk, oozing across his own cockhead, hugging him like a fleshlight.
He can feel your gaze on him, shyly, attempting to get some sort of read on him; hips occasionally shifting side to side to ease the growing weight of milk. Catching on to the way your eyes dart downwards, palms attempting to soothe the irritated skin, he instantaneously smacks away your hands.
He was well aware of your behaviour from brief passerby’s outside your classroom door; the way you’d cup your lower stomach after a lecture, comforting yourself as you’d stretch upwards in order to rearrange the bookshelf behind your desk, whilst your puffy teats would sag, the natural pull of gravity pulling them downwards, paunching.
The way he’d silently catch you during after hours, tugging on them, pinched between your forefinger and thumb, slick with saliva, trying to coax beads of milk out only to be stuck, whimpering in frustration from how much milk was being produced.
It was adorable really, this little act you had going on.
“Have you ever had the thought of someone suckling on ‘em? Nursing on you even?”
“…Sho, it’s really starting to hurt; Sho, please-”
Slapping against the fat teats, now rippling from the force, he lowers himself further between your thighs, his lips just short of an engorged nub, whispering lowly, “You know, and I know what goes on in that head of yours, what you think about. It’s only natural, right, honey? Instinctual. Parental. It’s in your nature. To deny yourself like this? C’mon now. Being hand milked can only do so much, and you know this all too well - I’ve seen you struggling after hours - but suckling on ‘em just a little bit? Let me milk you properly, honey, yeah?”