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A short but shrill cry awoke Ginny from the impromptu nap she hadn't known she was taking. Startled, it took her a moment to realise what was happening.
That single moment was all the peace she had before reality sank in again.
“Feeding time,” Arthur's voice came from above her in a murmur. She didn't look up at him—couldn't
look up at him—as her father loomed behind her armchair.
Instead, she focused on the baby.
Their
baby. She stood and retrieved him from the crib just as his cries began to pick up, and held him close, shushing him.
She wished she could stay right there. Just free her nipple and feed him, have their quiet moment together, tender and loving. Untarnished.
But then her father silently approached her, towering over her, and all thoughts of peacefulness left her mind. Ginny lowered her head slightly and made her way back to the armchair, where she sank down again, this time with the fussy boy in her arms.
She unbuttoned her shirt before the watchful eyes of her father, and pulled out a heavy breast close to their son's face. As if mirroring her, Arthur unbuttoned his robes, and pulled out his member. He was standing beside her, and, while she guided the baby's mouth toward her leaking nipple, she angled her head sideways to meet the leaking tip of her father's thick erection.
They'd been doing this every few hours, for weeks, without exception. Every time Ginny fed their boy with her milk, her father fed her
with his. He said it was natural. That it was nurturing—that thick white was the colour of Mother Nature's nourishment.
Still, as she suckled on her father's tip and his taste invaded her mouth, thick tears rolled down Ginny's cheeks, disgust curdling in her veins. Disgust toward her father, yes—but mostly toward herself. Because, despite how much it sickened her, she enjoyed this every single time.
Her father didn't push all the way in; he never did. He liked to come with just his tip enveloped around her lips. Instead, he cradled Ginny's head with one hand and reached between her legs with the other, touching her lightly. She moaned around him, the pleasure amplified by the baby's relentless sucking on her tender nipple. He grunted, pleased by her moans.
They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. Ginny's jaw had gone numb, her throat sore from moaning from his ministrations, by the time her father's demeanour finally changed, his hand moving away from her crotch to rest lightly on the baby's head. Just the same as every other time.
Arthur orgasmed quietly. He always did. It was almost as if he didn't want to disturb the peace of this moment, except there was no peace in what they were doing.
She swallowed it all, feeling him pulse and pull at her hair. And, once he was done, Ginny braced herself.
As soon as her father's erection began to recede, Arthur pushed all the way into her mouth, pressing his pubes to her nose and holding her head still. Breathing was hard only for a moment, after which her sole focus turned to keeping from vomiting around him while waiting for what was to come.
White wasn't the only thing he fed her, after all. That was what made men superior to women, he always reminded her. Women could only feed with white. But men—men could give
more
.
She felt his abdominal muscles shift against her forehead right before heat flooded her mouth. She whimpered, holding on tight to her baby—her only lifeline, the sole purpose of her life—and tried not to think and just swallow. But as soon as the taste kicked in, inevitably, she gagged and retched.
“Shh, shh,” Arthur cooed like she, too, was a fussy baby. “Just drink up, there's a good girl.”
Where his voice was satin soft, his grip on her hair as he relieved himself down her throat was iron-clad.
Even after he was done, her father stayed inside her mouth until the baby was done feeding. Only then did he step back and rearrange his robes, stepping out of the room without another word.
Just until the next feeding time, of course.