Milk For His Little (The Lactin Brotherhood #12)

2. Shawn

Chapter 2

Shawn

He was in there, the Little room, as he was every night I came to the club.

Last night he’d been with another Little, and they’d built a house with blocks, or attempted to until it toppled over. They’d given up after that as the other Little lost his temper and tossed the pieces into the corner. He definitely needed a Daddy to keep him in line.

My Little had spent the rest of the evening coloring. Not that he was mine. He tried so hard to color between the lines. I wanted to clap and say, “Good job.”

This evening he was by himself, sitting on the floor clutching a teddy bear and rocking it. He brushed hair off the raggedy bear’s face and whispered into his ear. The door to the Little room was open a crack, but the club was awash in noise and I couldn’t hear his words.

I imagined he was telling the teddy how much he loved him and how he’d look after him always.

Awww, he was putting a diaper on the bear. Lifting his legs up, he pretended to clean the teddy’s butt, cooing to him. Now the faint tune of a lullaby reached me as he placed the diaper under the teddy’s bottom and fastened it.

I wondered how smooth his ass would be. If I was his Daddy, I could run my hands over the soft supple flesh, parting his legs to make sure he had enough diaper cream and tuck him snuggly inside as he squirmed at the loss of my touch.

Putting the bear over his shoulder, the Little swayed for a few minutes before putting the teddy in a tiny crib and blowing him a kiss.

He was enacting what a Daddy would do for him. Protecting him, checking that he didn’t have diaper rash, bathing him every night, and cooking food fresh every day. He was practically begging for a Daddy. And I was that Daddy.

How I longed to be the one changing his diaper, smoothing cream over his length, telling him what a beautiful boy he was and to hold still while I finished. If he was restless, I’d explain we could play when I was done.

My cock stiffened as I pictured Kasper—I’d learned his name weeks ago because he was a club regular—under me, taking my cock inside him while I leaned over him and he flicked my nipple with his tongue. Maybe he tweaked it and I groaned. He’d lift his head and suckle me, and the glorious feeling of the letdown, when the stimulation prompted the release of milk. He’d suckle and…

Someone holding a drink bumped into me, almost spilling it, and my vision vanished. I blinked, and now Kasper was playing with a train set. Not loudly as he checked on the teddy in the crib and rocked it every so often.

He needed a Daddy but not one like me.

Daddies were strong, protective, caring, and experienced. They didn’t produce milk and didn’t leak when a baby cried at the mall or when a Little like Kasper was alone, needing someone to look after him.

Kasper caught my eye as he slipped a thumb between his lips. He was comforting himself, but his Daddy should be there with him. He didn’t have one, but he needed one so badly.

I was so tempted to talk to him. But instead, I turned away, wending my way through the crowd and stumbling outside as milk leaked through the pads that were supposed to keep me dry and not leave me with an ugly wet stain on my shirt.

Like all the others, Kasper would reject me.

Driving home, I thought back to the Littles I’d shared my secret with. Instead of cuddling and demanding to go someplace so they could latch on, they’d reacted with horror, leaving me alone and an object of ridicule.

When I reached my place, I flung off my clothes and got in the shower, as my chest was sticky and wet. I flicked a droplet of milk off one nipple and licked it, the familiar sweetish taste with a hint of something stronger flooded my mouth. I’d eaten a lot of garlic lately. Not that it mattered because I had no Little to suckle. If I did, I’d be more particular about what I ate.

My thoughts went to Kasper and one hand teased my nipple until milk dripped over my chest while my fingers tapped over my cock, wishing it was him suckling me and playing with my stiff dick.

If he were my Little, I’d cradle him on my lap, lift my shirt, and allow him to latch on. His cheek would be smushed against my chest while he sucked greedily, and when he was done, I’d put him over my shoulder and rub circles over his back, making sure he didn’t have gas.

Alone in my bed, I couldn’t sleep, watching some series I’d never remember long into the night. I wondered what Kasper was doing and if after I’d left, someone had approached him. Would he have found his Daddy when I next saw him at the club?

Jealousy surged through me. I’d have to find a new club because I couldn’t bear to see Kasper with another Daddy. I’d changed clubs and towns previously, after my secret was passed around the Littles searching for a Daddy.

If I could hide my secret, I would. From afar, it was possible. Not easy, but as long as I had access to a bathroom, spare nursing pads, and a supply of clean shirts as I did at work, it was feasible. None of my colleagues knew of what I thought of as my predicament, that I was part of The Lactin Brotherhood. Others who relished being able to produce milk and had a willing and enthusiastic Little referred to it as a bonus.

Maybe I was destined to be alone forever. Or perhaps I could find someone online who needed a warm bath and to suckle before they fell asleep.

I wanted Kasper to be the one, but keeping my distance would prevent both of us from being hurt. Causing him pain was the last thing I wanted.