Date: Tue, 3 Apr 2012 18:18:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jan None <[email protected]>
Subject: Lactataing Mamma 2 (lesbian/authoritarian, oram milk fetish, F/F)
Warning:
This story is a work of fiction and contains
descriptions of explicit sexual acts between women.
If this type of content offends you or you are under
the age of 18 do not read it.
Author's Note:
This story is the property of the author. It can be
downloaded for personal reading, pleasure, or
sending to a friend, but if you wish to re-post them
on your own site, please contact the author for
permission.
Copyright 2012 Jan, All rights reserved
Please mail to [email protected] if you have
any suggestions for future stories.
 Lactating Mamma 2
 Black Mamma
 By
 Jan
 When I returned to Atlanta I started looking
for a black mamma to treat me the way that I
crave. The first place I looked was my computer
and the second place was the newspaper called the
Advocate. The newspaper was not that much help
because I had to weed through all of the men posing
as women. The lesbian chat-rooms on the web were
more rewarding.
 Actually the role playing bores me. I have no
desire to listen to women and posers babble on about
sexual fantasies by the hour. It is not that what
they discuss does not titillate my sexual desires, it is
just that I would prefer to actually meet women and
perform the acts they discuss. Most of these
women do not have the nerve to actually fulfill their
sexual fantasies. For instance there are a lot of
women that claim they are in an incest relationship
with their daughters, but never actually prove their
story by allowing you to actually meet their children.
The only time I actually indulge in prolonged
discussions with these women is when I'm horny or
drunk.
 One evening when I was in a chat-room, I was
drawn to a name that intrigued me. A name like Ivy
is the kind of name a black woman would name her
daughter. I read what she was saying before I was
convinced that she was in fact a black woman before
I sought to engage her in a private conversation.
She accepted my offer, and we struck up a
conversation.
 She was rather blunt about the way she asked
me what I had on my mind. I admitted to her that I
was a naturally submissive lesbian, and was seeking a
black mammy to dominate me, and my wettest dream
was to find one that was actually lactating.
 She also expressed a degree of interest in the
subject herself. We discussed our desires. She told
me that she was a Mistress for several skinny black
chicks. She admitted that she especially enjoyed
disciplining white women. In the course of our
discussion she proclaimed that she was a full figured
woman with all of the attributes that went along
with her size. I told her that I had developed a
strong attraction to women that would breastfeed
me. Ivy responded with the single word "REALLY."
She was not admitting anything.
 I told her that I traveled a lot as part of my
job as a personnel relations officer for a large
airline. I was willing to travel almost anywhere to
meet women that shared my sexual desires. Ivy told
me that she lived in Charlotte, Georgia.
 The knowledge that she lived so close to my
hometown was enough to make my panties wet. We
exchanged pictures. I was impressed with her
picture. She reminded me of the actress from the
thirties called Hattie McDaniel. She was the first
black woman to receive an Oscar for her role in the
1939 movie 'Gone with the Wind.' Hattie endured
the racial segregation even in Hollywood. She could
not live in Beverly Hills or Malibu, but she was the
richest black woman in the black district of Los
Angeles.
 Ivy had a big round flat face like Hattie and
just as dark skinned. Her figure was everything a
woman like me desires. Her breasts were so large
that no bra would ever hold them up. Only stocky
legs could hold up a robust figure like hers. She
expressed her pleasure with my picture too.
 I insisted on meeting her in a public place the
first time. I prefer to do it that way so that I can
verify she was who she claimed to be, and find out if
she was an interesting in person as she seem to be
online.
 We agreed on a date and time. She selected a
café that would be an appropriate place for a black
and white lesbian to meet without shocking the self-
righteous gentry of Charlotte. Charlotte is an old
charming city, which represents a mix of both the
old established traditional south and a very liberal
mix of free thinkers. It is the kind of city where a
drag queen or a dyke can mix with the gentry at
parties as long as they don't embarrass themselves.
 It was no problem for me to catch a local
flight to Charlotte, and rent a car. I used the
navigation system on the car to get me to the
address of the café. I entered the place and stood
near the entrance before I saw Ivy sitting at a small
table with a red gingham tablecloth. I weaved my
way through the tables. I approached her, as she
stood up to greet me. She extended her hand in
greeting. I took her hand, but approached her and
hugged her as I kissed her cheek.
 She reacted with a degree of embarrassment
as if I had stepped beyond accepted greeting
between a black woman and a white woman. She
recovered and indicated what we should be seated.
A young black waitress approached us with menus in
hand. She greeted us politely and asked if we would
like something to drink. Iced tea was appropriate
for a hot summer day that promised humid rain in
the afternoon.
 As the girl retreated Ivy and I started getting
to know each other. I found Ivy to be everything I
desired. She was a very articulate woman, and her
figure was everything her picture portrayed. Her
body smelled of lavender. Her hands were large and
strong from years of hard work, at the same time
they were soft as a result of pampering. Everything
about her revealed a woman that had worked hard
for years, and educated herself to a point that she
was able to live comfortably. In public she
presented the picture of a respectable black woman
that respected the traditions of the old south. She
would never confront a white person in a
disrespectful manner in public.
 Just the same I recognized an underlying
resentment of way society made her behave in
public. I longed to know this other woman.
 We chatted about trivial things, but I kept
coming back to wanting to know her better. She
eventually agreed to allow me to drive her to her
home.
 Her home was located in an old part of town
that had been the center of high society during the
height of the pre Civil War days. It had fallen into
disrepair and had become a slum before the mid-
twentieth century. Slowly people restored the
homes into their former glory. Ivy's home was
located above a small shop on a narrow street. I had
to park behind the building. That was where delivery
wagons had once delivered dry goods to the shops.
We entered through the backdoor and took the
stairs to the second floor.
 The second floor allowed the home to take
advantage of the cooling evening breeze. There was
wrought iron balconies overlooking the front and
back of the building. Large screen doors allowed
cross ventilation. Everything about the home looked
like something out of the 1850's. We sat on the old
fashioned couch next to each other to continue our
discussion. I suspect that she was making sure that
I was the submissive I claimed to be.
 She told me that her great-grandmother had
been the slave of the owner of this very shop. She
had lived in a small attic room above this very living
room. She clerked for her master's, as well as did all
of the household duties. Ivy claimed that her
grandmother had been fathered by the master.
 When she was comfortable that I would accept
her domination when we were in a private place, she
excused herself for a moment.
 While she was gone I studied the surroundings.
Everything in the room looked like it was age and
style appropriate for the time. I could envision the
black slave on her knees cleaning the hardwood
floors, and then being raped reputedly. It seemed
as if there was some sort of poetic justice that a
descendant of that union owns the place now.
 When Ivy made her entrance I was shocked to
see the way she was dressed. She had on high
heeled boots that fit her fat legs so tightly the
seams were about to bust. Her waist was restricted
by the tightest black leather corset I had even seen.
It looked like a medieval torture device. The corset
forced those massive breasts up and spilled over the
top. Her breasts looked like the color of coffee
with cream, and the areolas and nipples were as dark
as black coffee, and they were as large as my hands.
Those were the only items of clothing she had on.
Her pussy was exposed, but hard to see wedged
between those thick thighs. There was only a
portion of her vulva visible, and that was covered
with pubic hairs that looked like coiled watch
springs.
 She did a pirouette in front of me, to allow me
to check out the look. I had seen pictures of the
Hottentots from western Africa, and they were
known for their bulbous butts. Ivy must have
descended from members of that tribe, because it
looked like you could place beer steins on the cheeks
of her butt without spilling a drop. There were
dimples on her butt. She was able to shift her
weight from leg to leg setting her butt into motion
that virtually dances to the beat of the music
playing on her stereo.
 I found her to be the sexiest thing I had ever
seen. When she turned around she took me in her
arms and kissed me. Her tongue filled my mouth.
There was no escaping from her grasp, even if I
wanted. She sat down in her favorite chair, and
demanded that I remove my clothes.
 While I was standing in front of her stripping
off my clothes, she sat there with her legs spread,
and played with her pussy.
 When I was naked she made me approach, and
she waved a finger under my nose. The smell of her
finger was overwhelming with the odor of her pussy.
The aroma filled my nose, and lingered long after
she returned to playing with herself.
 She demanded that I kneel between her legs
and kiss her pussy. Wedging my face between those
thick thighs was difficult. It was a struggle to get
my tongue into those thick labia major. The slimy
juice clogged my throat. I licked her pussy and clit
with everything I could muster. Her smell was so
strong I doubted that I could ever wash away the
stench, but I loved it. I was forced to suck her
pussy until she had a climax that added even more
slimy juice that I had to swallow.
 When she allowed me to stand up, she allowed
me to sit on her lap, which is no easy task, because
of her full figured body. When I was settled down
with my head resting in the bend of her left arm,
she lifted her let tit with her right hand and fed me
the nipple. You can't imagine my surprise when I
started sucking on her nipple and my efforts were
rewarded the taste of warm milk. I started sucking
like a greedy little pig. I sucked both tits dry until
she forced me to stop sucking.
 She had been finger fucking me the whole time.
She had made me cum a couple of times. I felt as
relaxed as I had ever been. Ivy stood up with me in
her arms, like I was a baby. She carried me into her
bedroom and placed me on her bed.
 I felt powerless to stop her from doing
whatever she wanted, and was willing to do anything
she asked of me. She played with my breasts for a
long time. She only stopped when I complained that
they were sore. That was when she spread my legs,
and started swabbing my pussy with that thick
tongue of hers. She made me cum several times.
When I thought she was going to let me relax for
awhile is when she sat on my face smothering me
with her big ass. She demanded that I lick her
asshole. She lifted my legs, pulling my body up as
she locked my arms under her armpits. She stuck a
butt plug into my asshole and some sort of dildo into
my pussy. I was cumming in fast succession while I
struggled to breathe between the cheeks of her ass.
 I must have passed out, because the next thing
I was aware of was cool night air flowing over my
body. I was alone and still naked. Hunger
overwhelmed me. I stood up on wobbly legs. The
smell of cooking drew me into the rest of the house.
 I found Ivy cooking an absolutely delicious meal
for the two of us. She had a dressing gown over her
corset. She smiled at me and told me to have a seat
at the table. She brought me the supper, and we ate
like starving animals. When she had put the dishes
in the dishwasher, we showered together. I said my
goodbye, with hugs and kissed. I promised to visit
her again soon before returning my rental car and
catching a flight home.
I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you have a
story you would like told, please send your mail to
[email protected]