Excursion Into Nurseryland

[Benjy]

Excursion into Nurseryland

The advertisement said that 'a disappointed mother' was eager to meet a man with a 'special interest' in the female breast.

Paul, who described himself as a breast fetishist, wasted no time in replying. He wasn't altogether sure what the 'special interest' in the female breast had to be, but it seemed almost certain that the woman who was advertising would enjoy breast stimulation. Anyway he had nothing to lose while he might actually find she was the woman he had been looking for since his wife left him.

The reply came quickly: 'If you genuinely like large breasts and are not just thinking of making breasts an excuse to take me to bed, I should like to meet you,' the letter said. 'I cannot, of course, explain myself in a short letter but I want to tell you that it has been a great disappointment to me not to have been able to have children and enjoy suckling them at my breasts. Perhaps a man who is really interested in breasts could give me something a little like the thing I have missed.'

The writer, who signed herself Greta Henderson, said he should stand on the steps of St Martin in the Fields on the following Tuesday evening at six o'clock. 'I am thirty-two, I am fair and I shall be wearing a light-blue suit, metal-coloured nylons and black court shoes,' the letter concluded.

Well, Paul Holding didn't miss an opportunity to take a woman to bed but it wasn't his chief reason for going with them. Ever since he was a child he had been captivated by women's breasts. He couldn't remember

whether his mother fed him in the natural way or whether she gave him a bottle, but he could recall being fascinated by watching his aunt breast-feed her baby when he was about seven. If he had dared he would probably have asked his aunt whether he could have a suck at her nipple. Then, later, with his first girl-friend he had been more interested in her sprouting tits than in actually making love to her, and later he had married Harriet simply because she had large ones.

Harriet had, however, turned out to be a disappointment. She didn't like her breasts being caressed, let alone sucked, and in the end his continued interest in fondling her tithes had led to their estrangement. 'I think you're just a bloody baby,' she had said.

He resented the charge she brought against him, but in his heart of hearts he knew that he really was looking for a woman who would, perhaps, be more of a mother to him than a lover. At least he wanted the comfort of lying in the arms of a woman with large breasts and who did not think it odd if he got pleasure and enjoyment from sucking her nipples.

He approached St Martin in the Fields just as the clock struck six on the Tuesday in question and he picked out the woman at once. She was standing as she had said she would on the steps of the church, wearing a light-blue suit and black shoes. She was fair and looked about the age she had said she was. What she hadn't actually said in her letter was that she was well-built, had a strikingly shapely figure, her breasts being especially prominent, and that she was by no means unattractive. He had planned not to make himself known if she had turned out to be ugly or

unprepossessing, but he didn't hesitate a moment before going up to Greta Henderson.

'I am Paul Holding,' he introduced himself. 'And I can see you are Greta Henderson.' He looked down at the deep cleavage in the blouse under her suit as he spoke and then raised his eyes to find her smiling at him gently.

'Well,' she said. 'Let's have a drink and talk for a while to find out if we are likely to suit each other. Do you know a pub near here?'

He knew all the pubs in the Charing Cross area and decided on one a little way down the Strand. He took her upstairs and they were lucky enough to find a quiet table near the window.

'I suppose you think it funny that I should advertise,' she said, 'but it seemed simpler that way. I could separate the wheat from the chaff. You see, so many men don't like large breasts, and among those who do there are very few indeed who are hooked on them. I don't mind telling you that I like my breasts to be admired and enjoyed. I like a man who will, in a way, let me mother him. That's what I have missed and what I can give.'

Paul could hardly believe he had found such a woman. She was attractive and she appeared to be offering him the thing he had always been looking for. He was almost struck dumb, hardly daring to tell her that she was the kind of woman he had always wanted in case he built up his hopes too high.

He explained that he was always attracted to large breasts and that he had married for that reason. 'But my wife hated it when I wanted to caress her breasts and she hardly ever allowed me to suck her nipples.'

'And that's what you wanted most of all?' Greta asked.

'Yes, that's what I've always wanted in my relationships with women,' he confessed.

Greta had her own flat in St John's Wood and it wasn't long before she asked him back there. 'It may seem strange that I am asking you to my flat within two hours of meeting you,' she said, 'but I think I'm a good judge of men. I don't mind admitting that I have already seen two other men who replied to my advert and I wasn't with them more than five minutes. I knew at once they were no good.'

'I'm flattered,' replied Paul. He was still amazed at his good fortune and especially at the quick progress he had made with her. When he found himself in her elegantly furnished flat he began asking himself whether it might not, after all, be a dream.

'Well, we won't waste any time,' she said, flinging off her jacket and unbuttoning her blouse. 'Let's sit on the sofa for a while so you can get to know what I'm like in the part of my body that matters.' After those words she invited him to unfasten her brassiere.

He had removed his jacket and tie and sat at her side to undo the clasps at her back. The bra slipped from her and for the first time he had a proper sight of her magnificent breasts.

He shook with excitement as soon as he saw the pear-shaped breasts in all their nakedness. He sat almost unbelieving at their size, their shapeliness, the gentle swing of their fullness, their heavy, thick nipples. He reached out to touch one almost thinking it was a mirage. But it was soft and cool, ripe and heavy when he lifted it. His hand trembled as he held it and his eyes met hers to see her almost saying Well, what do you think?'

He answered the unspoken words by bending over and kissing the large orb gently, then, raising it slightly, he took the large nipple to his lips and sucked on it.

She at once moaned and he knew that so far he had not failed her, that his touch was of the right kind and that he had sucked her nipple with just enough force to arouse her.

He lifted his head from her breast and then indicated that he wanted to lie back against the cushions. 'It will be better that way,' he said.

'In the chair over there would be even better,' she said. 'Then you could lie across my knees and rest your head against the arm. That chair might almost have been designed for the purpose,' she added with a laugh. She sat in the wide armchair and he went over and lowered himself onto her thighs, his back against the cushions, his head supported by her arm and by the arm of the chair. His head was in just the right position and without any difficulty he could reach out and draw the teat to his lips.

But for a moment or two he savoured the sight and feel of the large mammary gland as it hung near to his lips, the nipple already suffused with blood, the flesh erectile.

When he was ready he took it to his lips, licked it, drew it between them and then deep into his mouth. Then he began to suck her as if he were a child being breast-fed.

Greta quivered with excitement as she felt him pull on her nipple, sending currents of excitement through her whole body. At long last she had found a man who enjoyed her breasts and was not thinking of her as a sex object. She wasn't yet sure how far she could mother him, even treat him as a baby; that she knew would take a little time to establish. She had mentioned her desire to 'mother' him but she hadn't revealed — as yet —her true intention to make him into her baby.

'Suck me, darling,' she urged as he swallowed for a moment and released her nipple. 'Suck me as hard as you like.'

He lay back, resting his mouth for a moment, which ached from the way he had been drawing on the teat. He had never enjoyed such an experience in his life and he had drunk greedily at the large breast, almost as if he were a child. It was something he had longed for all his life and here at last he had got what he wanted.

He swivelled round and lay against her left arm and took her left breast to his lips, eagerly drawing the nipple into his mouth. He felt her whole body quiver with delight as her second nipple began to swell to the same swollen proportions as the other.

They continued for more than an hour before he was too tired to continue and lay back in her arms as she stroked his head, making gentle cooing sounds as she did so.

She felt completely reassured that she had made the right decision about him and now she was ready to take things a stage further.

'I think you should undress now,' she said. 'Get ready for bed. You can spend the night with me if you are a good boy.'

He wasn't sure what she meant but the chance of spending the night with her, even being with her, was more than he could have hoped for in his wildest dreams. He was filled with the greatest joy as she led him to her bedroom.

'Take off your clothes and then you can put on a nightdress,' she said.

He wasn't sure that he had heard her correctly but if she had really said 'nightdress' what did it matter? His friends would have thought him silly to wear a nightdress but with her nothing mattered any more. He would be with her, nuzzling against her warm, welcoming breasts.

He undressed as she did and then she threw him the baby's nightie. Without embarrassment he put it on and she smiled at him gently when she saw him looking like a large baby.

'Now come to bed and let Mummy give you her breast,' she cooed.

A moment later he was lying at her side in the large double bed, his mouth glued to her right breast, his free hand roving over her soft resilient flesh and finally reaching to caress her other one. He shook with excitement as he felt her body against his, the nipple drawn deep into his mouth, his hand twisting and fondling her left nipple.

It was no more than twenty minutes before both of them fell asleep.

He woke with a start, at first not knowing where he was. Then it all came back to him.

'Breakfast time,' he heard Greta call from the kitchen.

He quickly got out of bed, saw in the mirror that he was wearing a baby-type nightdress and momentarily a wave of shame overcame him. Embarrassed at the sight he quickly removed the nightie and he started to dress.

'You'll find a razor in the bathroom,' she told him.

A few minutes later he was shaved and dressed and was drinking coffee in the kitchen.

'I have to go to my office,' Greta told him, 'but I am free tonight if you can come round.'

He accepted her offer at once and at seven that evening he was again at St John's Wood, where Greta was waiting for him.

All day he had been looking forward to seeing her again and, above all, to getting his hands and lips on her teats. In the same way Greta had been waiting eagerly for the evening, knowing that she had found a man whom she could make into her baby. The previous night together had proved to her that he saw her more as a mother-figure than a lover. She was now ready to take their relationship a stage further.

After a drink she led him to her bedroom. 'I thought it would be nicer in here,' she said, 'but I've brought that large chair in as I thought that was the nicest time we spent last night.'

'However I think we should undress for bed first of all.' she said. 'You can put on the nightie and I'll wear one too. But I've got a surprise for you as well.'

He undressed and got into the nightie, waiting for her to reveal the surprise. When he went over to sit on her thighs he saw that she had spread out a nappy across them.

'Yes,' she said. 'I think it'll be so nice if you wear a nappy. It'll also give me the greatest pleasure to put one on you.'

'A nappy?' he queried.

'Yes, I think you'll like it,' said Greta.

He wasn't sure but if it was what she wanted then he would have to fall in with her wishes. He had never thought of himself wearing a baby's nappy.

He sat down on the folded nappy and she drew the corners together and pinned it in place. It was tight and supportive and if he overlooked for a moment the fact that it was a baby's nappy he had to admit he liked the feel of it.

Then he heard her talking to him, taking almost as if he were really a baby.

'There, there's a nice clean little baby,' she was saying. 'Now he can have Mummy's titty.' She leant back and drew him to her breast on which his mouth fastened greedily.

He lay in her arms drinking — or getting the impression that he was drinking — from her breast. He was transported into a new world and he felt truly happy for the first time since his childhood. The fact that he was wearing a baby's napkin no longer troubled him. It began to seem right that he should act out a role as a baby in every possible way, for in return he got what he wanted: the breasts of a mother, the breasts that he could suck till he was content. He had never had that before and now he had it: two large teats which the woman wanted him to suck. What did it matter if he was dressed as a baby? Indeed, he began to see that it helped him to feel even more dependent on her in every way, and that was what he was really looking for. He squeezed her breast and drew more deeply than ever on it.

Greta lay back, fulfilled at last, having found a substitute for the babies she had never been able to bear. She knew that she could use him just as she wanted and that he would never make demands on her except those that she wanted him to. He was in her arms, sucking her nipple, dressed in a nightie and a nappy. What more could she want?

Well, she planned to dress him in a baby outfit, to give him a bottle from

•time to time to add to the realism of his role, to bath him herself and finally to get him to sleep in a cot.

But that is the subject of another story about Paul's life with Greta.

• •

After his visit to Greta's flat in St John's Wood Paul returned home almost unable to believe that at last he had found a woman who responded to his intense interest in breasts and who enjoyed it when he caressed and sucked them. They had spent a long evening together during which he had spent almost all the time at her breasts. Evidently they had both enjoyed themselves enormously without the question of sex between them arising at all.

Nevertheless, at the back of his mind, he couldn't help but be worried about the way she had got him to wear a baby's napkin, fastening it round him just as if he were a baby. He had sat on her knee as she had fixed it and then had lain back against the arm of the chair sucking her breast. It had been terrific, something he had longed for all his life, but it hadn't altogether seemed necessary that he should wear a napkin and almost adopt the role of a baby.

But Greta had been insistent and seemed to get extra satisfaction from having him in a nappy. She had said something about breast-feeding him and that had almost made him feel for a few brief moments that he was back in babyhood.

Still, he was getting what he wanted — the erotic and fulfilling pleasure of two large, pear-shaped breasts — and he was prepared to put up with a few idiosyncrasies on her part in return.

She had asked him to visit her at the week-end. As Friday drew near he got more and more impatient to see her again. By the time he reached her flat on the Friday evening he was literally shaking with excitement at the thought of having the freedom of her breasts again.

Greta opened the door and led him with a smile to her lounge.

'Let's have a drink first,' she said. 'Then we can go to the nursery.'

She wasn't sure whether she had heard her correctly so she repeated what she had said: 'The nursery?'

'Well,' Greta laughed, 'you know what I mean.' She realized that she had made a mistake in calling the room she had prepared the nursery without breaking it to him gently.

He seemed satisfied at her explanation and they drank two or three sherries before she led the way from the lounge. When they reached the first door in the corridor she turned into it, much to his surprise as he knew that her room was farther on the right. She opened the door and led the way in.

It was a small, cosy room, wall-to-wall carpeted, with a large cot at one side, a large chair, a small table, and a painted nursery wardrobe. There was also a tallboy as well as one or two other items of furniture.

'This is the nursery,' she said.

His face expressed disbelief but she was quick to assuage his almost wounded feelings.

'You see I thought it would be nice to pretend that you were my child —just as we did when you were here before. But to make it more realistic, if you see what I mean. You know if you are going to be breast-fed and wear nappies you might as well enjoy your role completely. I think you'll enjoy yourself much more in the end if you really pretend and let yourself enter into the spirit of things.'

He found it difficult to believe that she really wanted him to be like a real baby, but he knew that he would have to go along with her wishes if he wanted to continue to see her. At that very moment she allowed the kimono-like dress she was wearing to slip from one shoulder to expose her wonderful pear-shaped right breast, the nipple already swollen and tumescent.

That decided him. What did it matter if he had to play-act a bit as long as he got the wonderful breast to his lips?

'I see,' he said after a pause, 'then I suppose the cot is just to make things seem more real. You don't want me to sleep in it?' he added with a laugh.

'Never mind about the cot,' she said, taking his arm, 'we'll see about that later. Now I want you to take off your things and come to Mummy's breast.'

The shapely, slightly sagging dug hung tantalizingly from her chest and it made up his mind for him. He started to undress at once, casting aside all his reservations about the use of the word 'nursery' and the presence of the cot.

As soon as he was naked she handed him a short nightie. 'Put this on so that you'll feel more comfortable,' she said. It was pink and had lace threaded through the neck and hem. He looked at it reluctantly for a moment but then took it from her and drew it up his legs and over his shoulders.

'There that looks really nice,' Greta cooed. 'Just like a baby. Come now, sit on my knees and I'll put your nappy on.'

She allowed the kimono to fall from her body and then sat naked on a feeding-chair she had placed near the small table. Across her thighs was a nappy shaped ready to be fastened to him.

He had baulked at the nappy the first time she had mentioned it but now he felt no particular objection to having it fitted on him. It somehow made him feel dependent on her in a way that excited him and when it was fitted in position its tightness and restrictiveness was quite pleasurable.

He sat on the triangular-shaped piece of towelling and she at once drew the corners together and fixed them with a safety-pin.

'There,' she said, 'now baby has got his clean nappy on.'

He would have preferred it if she hadn't kept on referring to him as 'baby' and to herself as 'Mummy'. But it didn't really matter any more for now he was gong to enjoy her breast. That gave him such satisfaction and fulfilment that he really didn't care all that much what he had to undergo to get it.

He lay back against the arm of the chair and took the hanging teat to his mouth, greedily sucking on it.

'lovely baby,' smiled Greta,

proffering the breast for him to grasp in his hands, 'Suck Mummy's titty, suck Mummy's titty hard.'

He drew on it, drew if deep into his mouth and almost believed he was obtaining milk from it. Oh, if only she was carrying milk and he could be fed by her! But that was simply a fantasy that would never be realized in actual life.

His thoughts must have

communicated themselves to Greta for she said that it was a pity she had no milk in her mammary glands. 'It would be so nice if I could suckle you properly,' she said. 'However, I have got a baby's bottle filled with warm milk and I am going to give that to you in a minute or two.'

He found the idea of a bottle almost repulsive but for the moment he had what he wanted and didn't want to let his pleasure be interrupted by unpleasant thoughts. He continued to caress the breast with his hands as he sucked greedily on the teat.

Greta had advertised for a man whom she felt she could convert into a surrogate baby, and had had no thoughts about the sexually stimulating aspects of having a man sucking and drawing on her breasts. She had been seeking only a substitute for the child or children she had been unable to bear because of her sterility. But now she suddenly found that her 'baby' was exciting her sexually and that as he pulled on her breast she felt waves of excitement coursing through her body, communicating with her vagina and activating contractions there.

She was not interested in having a man for sexual reasons, but she could enjoy a climax brought on by a man's breast-sucking provided he did not know about it. She did not want to let a sexual relationship develop for she knew that would spoil everything, all that she had taken the trouble to achieve through her advertisement.

She now allowed herself to give way to her sexual feelings but was careful not to let him know it. She lay back, her whole body quivering with excitement, almost as if in a dream world, while he brought her to a long-sustained climax. She was mad with excitement as he continued to suck on her teat throughout her climax, but managed to suppress any outward expression of it.

She knew that she was now able to enjoy the best of both worlds — the world of having a baby and that of sexual fulfilment. The man on her lap was now more precious to her than ever and she had to keep him at all costs.

She lifted his head and drew him from her teat. 'Oh, you give me so much pleasure,' she said. 'I feel guilty having such a lovely baby. But now it is time for your bottle.'

'Bottle?' he asked her. 'Do I have to have a bottle?'

'Yes. I think it will help you to feel more like a baby, and the more you do that the more, in the end, you will enjoy yourself. You must try to think of yourself as my baby and think of me as your Mummy.'

Her words soothed him and he felt ever more dependent on her. It was silly, all of it, but secretly he was amazed at the fact that such a lovely woman would be so interested in him and encourage his dependence on her. Perhaps it was right that he should allow himself to play the role of baby more completely. It gave her what she wanted and it made him important to her. He would never experience the loneliness again that he had gone through with his wife, and after their divorce. Now he had a lovely woman only too happy that he should enjoy her wonderful breasts.

He took the bottle as he lay back in the chair again and looked into her eyes as he drank. Something in her eyes told him that she almost thought of him as a baby and she seemed to get the greatest satisfaction from everything that added to that illusion. He drank the milk and almost felt he really was beginning to 'be' her baby.

Then she said something that amazed him. 'Now you have had your bottle you may want to use the pot,' she said. 'But don't worry. I shan't mind if you use your nappy.'

Her words both shocked him and yet intrigued him. What if he did use the nappy? But that would be really babyish, retrogressive. But why not? He really liked the feeling of increased dependence on her. If he wet the nappy she would have to take it off him and clean it. She seemed to get pleasure from such things, anything that made him more like a baby. So why not?

The thought of actually wetting his nappy still horrified him but he knew that he was going to do it. He had to do it to prove his utter dependence on her. That's what he felt like doing more and more. After all, no one but Greta would ever known about his 'babyism' and it was beginning to mean more and more to him.

He let go and felt the hot urine filling the nappy.

She must have guessed for she looked at him with a new kind of excitement and drew him to her. At last she really had a baby — a man who wore a nappy and did not mind wetting it!

When he had finished she told him she was going to change him. She reached for a fresh nappy from the table and then unfastened the one he was wearing, wiping him with the drier parts of it. Then she drew it from underneath his bottom and slipped the fresh one in its place. Soon she had tied it tightly with the safety-pin.

'There now,' she said. 'Baby is nice and clean again.'

She gave him her breast again, but this time she did not seek or allow sexual feelings to disturb the wonderful sense of motherhood she was enjoying, while Paul lay back completely at ease and thoroughly enjoying her breast.

On that second visit she did not press the question of the cot and it wasn't until he visited her a third time that he was persuaded to sleep in it. She dangled the attraction of staying with her the whole week-end if he did, and that was too much for him to forgo.

They had gone through the long routine of breast-sucking, bottle, nappy changing, gone through it twice before it became late enough for her to talk about bed.

'Now if you want to stay with Mummy you'll have to sleep in the cot,' she said. 'I don't think it would be right for baby to sleep in Mummy's bed.'

He appreciated the dilemma at once. Sleeping in a cot was taking things even further than he was ready to accept, but if it meant he would be with her all the next day, why should he make such a fuss about it?

He said he would stay in the cot, much to her joy, and a few minutes later she had tucked him up in it and pulled up the side. 'There,' she said, 'Mummy see baby in the morning.'

He lay in the cot, wearing a baby nightdress and a nappy and reflected on his situation. If anyone of his friends had been told about him, they would either have disbelieved it or that he had gone stark, raving mad.

But they would have been wrong, he convinced himself.

He remembered the first time he had seen a baby being fed by a woman and how he had longed to take the breast himself. Then later on his preoccupation with breasts, how he had longed for a woman who would let him caress, fondle and suck her breasts. Then his wife, whom he had married mainly because she had large breasts, had denied him the pleasure of them ..

He had missed out an important part of his life, that of a baby, that of being mothered. What was wrong with re-living that life now, if only part of the time? Yes, it required that he wore a nappy, that he drank from a baby's bottle, wore baby clothes and slept in a cot. But that helped him to realize his fantasy more completely, and it gave Greta, the mother-figure in his life, a complete sense of motherhood. She had missed out too, and the two of them now fulfilled each other's longings.

*

He felt no shyness or embarrassment when she changed his soiled nappy in the morning, gave him a bottle for breakfast, and then dressed him in toddler's clothes. For he knew that he would have the enjoyment of her breasts in a sustained 'feeding' session. That would make up for everything and give him what was now essential to his life and allow him to enjoy to the full his psychological dependence on his new mother, Greta.

That Sunday morning clinched their relationship and what had been a series of excursions into nurseryland for Paul was changed into full acceptance of his role as baby to Greta Henderson.

He has moved into her flat in St John's Wood and they both regard him as her 'baby'. He works in the City and returns to her each evening, at once being changed by her into baby clothes. She has bought him the most attractive and expensive baby clothes as well as a baby's wig so that she can tie his hair up in bows.

After he has been put into his nappy the wonderful moment comes when he lies back against her and takes her large pear-shaped dug to his lips and sucks greedily on it. The comfort he gets from it makes up for all the trials and tribulations of his daily life in the City and fulfils the longing for comfort and fulfilment through a woman's breasts that he has been looking for all his life.

[DL-FTW]

wow, good job

[Benjy]

wow, good job

Wish I knew who the author was...

[mblues]

Wow wow wow. A story that almost perfectly captures my favorite themes. Thank you!!!!!