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Bob was in a motorcycle accident a couple weeks ago. A bad one. Sara still doesn't have too many details--he hasn't been too inclined to share--so she sometimes imagines different scenarios of how it could've happened. She always has to stop herself before she thinks about it too much. The image of her husband being flung off his bike onto the rough and unforgiving pavement isn't one she can shake with ease.
However, the image that has been in front of her--Bob laying so still he looked lifeless--for the past few weeks isn't much better. He's struggling and Sara can see it. She tries not to let her children know how difficult the situation is, but sometimes bits information slip through the cracks. Sara spends a lot of time holding her children.
Jesse's young. Seven months old. Still being breastfed. It's a great challenge for Sara to split her time between caring for her husband and her little baby, not to mention her five year-old daughter from a previous marriage. Sometimes Sara feels like she wants to crack her skull open.
She would do anything to make Bob feel better. Every day she goes about finding new ways to make Bob more comfortable, finding little jokes and stories that just might make him crack a smile. Not much works. He's in too much pain.
The accident has changed a lot of aspects of their relationship, but the most noticeable difference is in their sex life. Naturally, with a broken neck, Bob isn't really in the shape to be engaging in the…activities that they used to. And boy, did they used to work each other out.
Bob's tried a few times to initiate something and while the spark is always there, his physical ability isn't. Not down there--he's always roarin' and ready to go. His neck and his back are the problem, barely allowing any movement. He certainly can't be on top for obvious reasons and Sara can't be on top because even that much pressure of her grinding on him is too much for his fragile figure. They've tried other positions but they never seem to work.
It's driving Bob insane. The forced dry spell is torturous. With nothing to do but lie down in bed and wallow in his own pain and misery, all Bob can think about is sex. He swears to every deity he could think of that getting off would make him feel worlds better. Sara continues to tell him he's not up to it yet, and while she's probably right, it frustrates Bob to all hell. The farthest she'll go is slide a coy hand up his thigh and caress his balls--sometimes his shaft--for a few minutes. Nothing more. Bob thinks he might explode.
--
One night Sara comes to check on Bob, as she usually does. He's in bed lying on his back with his face up at the ceiling, as he usually is. Sara wonders if he's asleep.
Her question is answered when Bob's eyes shoot open as she sits, dipping the mattress down. Well, if he hadn't been awake moments before, he certainly is now.
Sara strokes his hair. His forehead is sweaty. He seems to get overheated so easily nowadays.
"How you feeling?" Sara offers her warmest smile, something she tries to do every time she comes in and greets Bob--even if he'd been horrible to her the last time they interacted. She thinks it keeps him feeling positive. And loved. (It does).
Bob answers truthfully: "I dunno."
He really doesn't, and he hasn't for a long time now. The first couple of weeks were the worst, when Bob was forced to stop taking most of the drugs he was taking recreationally so he could safely take the pain medications he was being prescribed. The withdrawal was hard. When he became more sound of mind he didn't know if it was better or worse. A few times Sara would ask how he was doing he'd forget how much pain he was in and shrug his shoulders. It always hurt like a bitch. One would've thought that with how many times he’s made that mistake he would've learned his lesson. It took a while to sink in.
A few weeks later, he's still not sure how he's feeling. The pain is still there. It's always there. Sometimes it's better and sometimes it's worse. It just depends. It can change faster than lightning, too. Bob never knows how to answer the question.
"You're getting better," Sara says. Bob can't tell if she's lying or not. Maybe she’s trying to convince herself as much as she’s trying to convince him.
He decides to remain silent. He's done that a lot lately, Sara's noticed. It used to be the hardest damned thing in the world, getting Bob to shut up. With the amount of speed he was on there was no stopping him once he got started. Now, sometimes he'll go a day or two without uttering a word. Sara knows that those days are the worst.
She tries to engage him again. "Maria wanted to see you earlier but you were sleeping. She's worried about you, you know. She misses you.”
The statement makes Bob feel guilty. He doesn't mean to be making his adopted daughter worry about him. She's just a child, for Christ's sake.
Again, Bob stays quiet.
Sara tries not to feel discouraged. There have been a few times where she's said the right thing and she and Bob can actually have a conversation. She hopes that will happen today.
As a few minutes pass, her hopes aren't high. Today's not one of the worst days, but it's not one of the best either.
She starts to give up. She knows that sometimes Bob just needs to be left to his own devices, alone with his thoughts. Despite how much she dislikes that, she knows that she can't take it away from him. It's now one of the only things he can do without any assistance.
She makes an offhand comment as she starts to get up, placing a hand on Bob's thigh and mentioning that she needs to go breastfeed Jesse, that she can feel her breasts engorging and it's starting to get uncomfortable. Bob can practically feel himself start drooling. They've done this before. If Sara ever had a blockage, Bob was very talented at clearing it out. The first time he suggested they do it, Sara was shocked. She allowed it and she loved it. Didn’t speak a word of it to her friends until one of them brought up how her husband loved to do the same.
Just as Sara finally stands, she asks, "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
Those are almost always the last words that slip out of her lips when she has to leave Bob alone again. Usually he says no, but she'll bring him a heating pad or an ice pack or a glass of water anyway.
"Uhh, there is one thing. Maybe," Bob says.
Sara's ears perk up. "Uh huh? What is it, Bobby?"
Suddenly, Bob feels like a kid again. How does he ask this? He feels like he's lost his charm, his appeal.
Hell, he thinks, what's the worst that could happen?
"Uhh, could I maybe help you with your…ahem, milk…problem?” That wasn’t the right way to ask, but Bob is pretty sure there isn’t really a right way.
Sara doesn’t know what to say. Her first thought, that she has to try her hardest to keep herself from spitting out, is how could you help? You can’t even move. She knows it would come out sounding a lot meaner than she’d ever intend for it to be. It’s a valid question though, she thinks.
She opts for a safer answer. Better to let him explain. “Oh?” She sits back down.
A shaky hand lands on Sara’s thigh, sends a chill up her spine. He’s still got it.
“You know…” He seems shy. Sara thinks it’s sweet. “Jesse can’t drink all that, and-and the pump, it’s just…it hurts sometimes, don’t it? Not too gentle, I thought.”
Sara smiles. Ah, okay. She watches Bob shift a little and wince as his back twists uncomfortably. Her smile drops.
“I don’t know, honey…your back, your neck, it’s just…”
Bob deflates and it’s like a heavy punch to Sara’s gut. She’s missed his sheepish grin and his playful mood.
“Yeah, alright.”
The disinterest and boredom in his voice are back. Sara wants to tear her hair out.
“Well…”
Bob’s eyes flicker open.
“Maybe we could work something out.”
Thank fucking god.
They think for a moment, Sara’s brain operating more efficiently than Bob’s. Slowly, she creeps onto his lap. She’s careful, each movement calculated.
In a low, sultry voice, she asks, “You okay?”
“I’m good, yeah.”
Sara doesn’t like how nervous he sounds, but there’s no hint of pain in his voice. She continues.
Leaning forward as much as she can without hurting Bob’s back, Sara kisses him. They’ve kissed since his accident, sure. Plenty of times. Not like this, though. Bob is starving for her. He deepens the kiss, melting into her mouth.
After a quiet noise of discomfort springs from the back of Bob’s throat, Sara starts to pull away. Bob brings her right back. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” He speaks in a hushed tone. Sara believes him and they get back to it.
This time when Sara breaks the kiss it’s to move down to his jaw where she presses gentle kisses.
They’re too light. Bob wants more. Needs it.
“You can go harder,” he whispers. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”
She obeys.
A moan escapes from Bob completely unwillingly and he’s almost embarrassed at how such little touch has gotten him so worked up. He doesn’t have time to think about that now, though.
Sara doesn’t cause him any neck pain.
When she lifts her puffy lips from his skin he tries to pull her back right away. She tells him to be patient, then pulls her shirt over her head. Bob’s mouth waters.
She goes back to kissing his neck, at one point bringing Bob’s hands to her chest so he can explore. Below her, she can feel him getting more and more excited. Ever so slightly, he raises his hips up to graze her ass. He knows he's straining himself a little but it's too good to stop.
Sara pushes him back down and places his arms at his sides. He watches patiently as she removes her bra. Bob can't even speak. He hasn't seen his wife like this in entirely too long.
After her bra has been discarded onto the floor, Sara gets on her knees and bends forward. Her breasts are dangling over Bob's face. Before she lets him get his mouth anywhere near them, Sara leans down and presses her body against Bob's as softly as she can. He feels himself shudder as her skin makes contact with his. His hands slide up and down the sides of her torso as if they're meeting for the first time.
Bob gets so caught up in it he almost forgets what they're really doing here. He watches with big eyes as Sara lifts herself up and offers her chest to him.
"Go on," she says.
Dipping down just a bit further allows Bob to take one of her aching breasts into his mouth. She sighs passionately at the warmth, the feeling of his tongue snaking around her soft skin.
Using his teeth ever so slightly, Bob starts suckling. The more milk he drinks, the thirstier he becomes. He squeezes her tit, massaging it to help ease the flow. Sara can't help the sounds that fall from her lips. It's like she's possessed.
After a few moments, the other breast starts leaking. Bob feels a drop on his shoulder and looks up, wiping his mouth.
"Need some attention over here?"
"Oh, yes!"
Bob smirks. "Yes, what?"
Sara begs, "Yes, Bobby, please!"
How could he say no?
He teases her this time, dances his tongue around her nipple, licking up any milk that's already dripped out. Sara's desperate for him to start sucking again. Not only is the feeling of his mouth on her boobs incredible, but the relief of the pressure building up inside of them is heavenly. Seeing her excess milk slip down his chin lights a fire in Sara's stomach. Oh, she needs him. Bad.
They both seem to forget about Bob's injuries--Sara more than Bob. Bob can still feel his injuries, he's just ignoring them at this point. He leans his neck up to get a better grasp on Sara's tits, and it hurts like a motherfucker. Does he stop? God no. He tries to keep his whimpers of pain sounding like whimpers of pleasure. They really are about 50-50.
Sara reaches her hand down underneath the blankets and grips Bob's cock in her hand. Upon feeling her dry skin on Bob's, Sara reaches her hand back up and collects some of her breastmilk in her hand before returning it to Bob's crotch.
The erotic groan he lets out is like no other Sara has ever heard from him.
They continue to work on one another until Bob's body is shaking and he's coming onto Sara's hands and the blankets beneath him, his mouth still working her breast until the intense feeling of bliss fades.
It's not until Bob flops back down against the bed that Sara realizes he's been propping himself up. She gasps when she sits back and sees the look of malaise on Bob's face.
"Bobby?" Sara speaks quietly.
Bob lets out a light hum. Sara doesn't like it.
"Are you alright?"
The answer is no. "Just fine."
He can't hide it this time. The pain is written all over his face and spilled into his voice. It's not as bad, Bob swears to himself, though he knows that once the endorphins from his orgasm have faded he'll be in a whole world of trouble.
"What happened?"
Bob sighs. He can't deny it any longer. "Tweaked my neck." Sara succeeds in not falling apart. Then he adds, "And my back."
Her world loses color. How could she have been so stupid? What if she's set his recovery back? And for what? Getting her tits sucked? Was it really that worth it?
"Hey, I'm okay." Bob brings her back down to Earth. "I just...I need a little help cleaning up."
Sara looks down to see the mess they'd made in the sheets. There's breastmilk and cum everywhere. Everything is too overwhelming all of a sudden.
"Just, Sara, help me up."
He has to ask her two more times before it gets through. She offers a hand and he pulls himself up. It makes her nervous. He's been able to get up off his feet before, but he's still under halfway through his recovery process, and he really should be wearing the braces the doctor had given him. He'd taken them off a day ago. Apparently they were suffocating him. The second they get cleaned up, Sara decides, they're going back on.
Bob can't even help as Sara changes the sheets. She has to hold him up against the wall as she showers him off.
It's turning into a whole ordeal. Sara can only think of her son who's waiting to be fed as she helps dry off and clothe her husband.
When she brings the braces over, Bob refuses to put them on. Sara just barely keep her cool as she shoves them at him. He sees the stress he's put on her and shrugs the braces on without complaint.
Sara's still not happy.
She leaves briefly but returns with Bob's pain medication. She's the only one who knows where it's kept, after all. It's quite evident how upset she is with herself. She doesn't meet Bob's gaze when she hands him his pills.
"Thank you," Bob says.
Sara looks up. Something is different.
"What? Why're you lookin' at me like that?"
"I don't..."
She studies his face harder, furrowing her eyebrows and cocking her head. It makes him laugh. Ah, okay. That's what it is.
He's happy.
Sara beams. "I'll get you an icepack."