Breastmilk Biscuits

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Kate smiled at Wills as he frowned at the assortment of ingredients, bowls and pans littered around the tiny kitchen of their London flat. She stuck out her bottom lip and gave him her absolute best pout. “But you promised, dear,” she whined.

“Yeah, well, I never thought we would actually manage to pull it off. I mean it was easy enough to plan our wedding to coincide with our famous name sakes’, but who would have thunk we could manage to pull this one off too,” he said as he rubbed her protruding tummy.

“Yeah, well, a promise is a promise, William Thomas Thacker. And you said that if our first baby was due within a week of theirs that you would learn to make Nana Quarters famous homemade biscuits just for me. And serve them to me in bed every morning for a week,” she tried to soften the blow with a kiss. Her breast that had blossomed from a modest B-cup to a full D brushed against the side of his arm and he groaned aloud.

“All right, let’s get on with it then,” he moaned as she began to measure two cups of unbleached all-purpose flour. She sat the bag aside for dusting the counter tops when it was time to roll them out.

“This is the complicated part, so listen carefully,” she put two small cans on the counter top along with the container of salt. Beginning with the salt, she measured it carefully using spoons. “One teaspoon salt. Teaspoon, that’s the little one, not the big one. Got that?” She poured the salt into the spoon and added it to the flour.

William nodded, looking bored. She then picked up the other two containers. “This one is baking powder. You need one of the big ones, a tablespoon of this.”

“Yeah, yeah, baking powder, one tablespoon,” he muttered. “Just write it all down will you. I don’t get the point of all this.”

She laughed as she measured out the white powder and put it in the bowl with the flour and salt, “Because I watched you try to put the baby’s cot together and I have driven around France with you. When it comes to directions and maps, you don’t read them. So you will learn how to make them the same way that Nana Quarter taught me, by doing.”

“I never got it. Why do you call the woman Nana Quarter? I thought your mother’s maiden name was Porter.”

“It is, but when you are three, and have trouble talking it can come out funny.” She shrugged her shoulders, “It just sort of stuck. Everyone thought it was so funny. But no more distracting me.” She said picking up the other container.

“This one is baking soda. You need just one-quarter of a teaspoon of it. Or as Nana Quarter called it, a pinch.” She demonstrated by picking up just a small quantity between her fingers and throwing it on top of the growing pile of dry ingredients.

“Powder. Soda. Does it really matter?” he asked.

“Only about as much as neutrons and electrons,” she said using an analogy she knew her physicist husband would understand. “Think of cooking as chemistry, Wills. You have to add just the right chemicals in the right quantities or things go BOOM,” she screamed.

He jumped at the loud noise, then gave her a nasty look. “I prefer your biology lessons, dearest. Chemistry bores me” he huffed.

She shook her head, “You really should think about something other than quarks and god-particles, Wills.”

He rubbed his half hard cock against her arse and his hands drew circles on her enlarged abdomen. “Oh, trust me, Katie, I do. I do,” he nibbled the side of her neck before tweaking her nipples. This time she was the one to jump. Her breasts had not only grown in size but in sensitivity as well.

She shooed his hands away and turned back to the task at hand. “You aren’t getting out of this one, so easily, dear.”

She reached across and picked up a sieve, pouring the flour mixture into it. She held it over another bowl and began to turn the handle, the flour slowly spilling out the bottom into the bowl.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s called a sieve. It’s for mixing the dry ingredients evenly and getting the lumps out.” Her lips curled up in a snarky grin, poker oyna “Think of it as a mini-super-collider.” His laughter caressed her skin, causing her nipples to pebble inside her bra as surely as his caress had moments before.

She could tell that Wills was losing attention already. As the last of the flour emptied into the bowl, she turned the sieve upside down, on top of his blond head. “Hey, what did you do that for?”

“Because you weren’t paying attention,” she said as she grabbed another handful from the open bag and threw it at him.

He grabbed her hands and they wrestled playfully for a moment. He wrapped his arm about her waist, well, what had once been her waist anyway, now it was nothing more than the top of her burgeoning womb just below her full breasts. He reached behind him and grabbed his own handful of flour, spreading it over the front of her maternity jeans.

“Hey, what did you do that for?” she asked with a frown.

“You know what they say about rolling the fat lady in flour and looking for the wet spot? I’m just seeing if it works with pregnant ones too,” he teased as he ran his hand down between her thighs.

Kate moan and leaned back into his strong arms. From the moment that they met in the pub, laughing at the irony of their name sakes, there had been an instant spark. Kate had actually broken her three date rule, sleeping with him on just their second date. Their first real one actually if that chance meeting at the pub did not count. And from the moment that her bedroom door had closed that night, the young couple had been screwing like the proverbial rabbit.

But the past seven months had been even wilder. The surging hormones of pregnancy had taken her normally healthy libido to new heights. And her adventurous spirit had come out in some rather unusual sex-capades. Like on top of the washing machine. In the woods. On the beach. Even a nooner on his desk at work. Her sex drive went quickly from zero to hundred and this night was no exception.

Within moments, he had slipped his hand inside her jeans. His fingers found her wet cunt, spearing it with short, sure jabs that quickly took her over the edge. She cried out as he found her g-spot, sending her body careening higher and faster over the edge.

As she came slowly back to earth, she hung limply in his arms. She looked up to see him smiling smugly. “What?” she demanded, suddenly back to business now that her needs had been properly seen to.

His eyes dropped to the front of her pants that she suddenly noticed was wet. His fingers smeared the flour in patterns between her legs. “I guess it does,” he gave that impish grin that she had loved from the first.

She back handed him on the side of the head. “You will pay for that later, Wills,” she promised as she turned and opened the refrigerator door. She took out the stick of butter and carried it back to the counter. “Six tablespoons of unsalted butter and it needs to be very cold, straight from the fridge.”

He frowned, “Yeah, but if it isn’t melted how can you know what is a tablespoon?”

She shook her head, “I forget that you can’t even manage to put the kettle on. Maybe I should begin with the basics.” She pointed to the stove and said, “That’s the oven, Wills. You bake biscuits in it.”

His hand laced through her long brown hair and jerked her head back firmly. His lips covered her in a scorching kiss that stole her breath. He lingered over them for several long moments before breaking the embrace, “I know what a stove is, smartass.”

“Just checking,” she giggled. Picking up the packet, she pointed to the side of it with clear marks indicating the measures. “Count these. One, two, three, four, five, six.”

“I’d rather count these,” he said as he picked up a wooden spoon and applied quick, light spanks to her broadening backside. “Count for me, darling. And don’t forget to say thank you.”

Kate grabbed the spoon from him and sternly in her best teacher voice said, “Pay attention here.” She used a warm knife to cut smoothly canlı poker oyna through the butter and paper at the six tablespoons mark. She unwrapped the butter and added it to the dry ingredients in the bowl.

“Come here, dear,” she commanded in her best Domme voice. “Now, you need to work the butter through out the flour completely. Make sure you break it all up. You don’t want any big lumps of butter. Understand?” she said waving the wooden spoon this time.

He nodded, “Yes, ma’am. No big lumps.” his grin should have warned her what was to come as his hands reached out and kneaded her ample tits. “What are we going to do with these then?”

She swatted the back of his hand with the wooden spoon and laughed. “You are going to leave them alone and focus on doing what I tell you. Or I’ll break this spoon on your ass if I don’t get my biscuits.”

He frowned, “Oh yes, I forget your corporal punishments.”

She dropped her head to hid the smile that broke across her face, “See that you don’t in the future.” She could never manage to hold the Dominatrix role for long, submission just came so much easier for her. She shook her head, reminding herself that they were in the kitchen for a reason. And it was not to christen the counter tops. Again.

She worked the butter through the flour until it was a fine, grainy consistency. Like lumps of wet sand at the beach, sticking together in tiny colonies. “It should look like this, Wills.”

He nodded, taking a picture of it on his smart phone, but Kate had noticed he had been playing with the phone for several minutes as she did the mixing. That was about to change.

“OK, your turn to get messy, dear,” she pronounced as she handed him the bowl. He scrunched his face in distaste. She giggled. “You might as well get used to messes, Wills. I’m making you do all the poo diapers.”

The look of utter horror on her husband’s handsome face was priceless. She doubled over laughing as he frowned, “That is not funny. Katie-kins.”

“It was if you saw your face,” her laughter slowed to tiny, girlish giggles as she reached inside the refrigerator once more. She pulled out a small blue and white container.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Buttermilk,” she replied. “It is the key ingredient in Nana’s biscuits. It’s why they are called…Buttermilk biscuits.” She pulled the wrapping off the top of the container and her husband turned up his nose at the smell.

“Disgusting,” he said. With a twinkle in his eye, he reached out and grabbed her breasts once more, “How about a slight substitution? How about breast milk biscuits?”

Kate moaned as he continued to squeeze and caress them. He lifted her top and buried his face between the globes. His tongue licked at the swell of them above her maternity bra. She had taken to wearing them a few weeks back for the extra support.

Her eyes widened when she felt the cool air caress her hard nipples. Looking down she saw that Wills had unsnapped the nursing panels, freeing her breasts for his touch…and his mouth.

“Wills,” she protested as his lips covered her nipples. He drew strongly upon it for several moments, until she felt a tingling. She looked down to see his fingers squeezing and tugging at her nipples. White liquid spurted from the tips. She was surprised at how far it shot and how much.

“I think breast milk smells much better than that stuff,” he protested pointing to the container.

“Very funny,” she said. “The recipe calls for one cup, which is just about this whole container. I don’t think you could get that much from these things,” she said lifting them.

“Maybe not now, but once the baby is born. What do you say? I’ll make some your way, if you let me make mine with your milk?”

She shook her head, “Naughty boy. Let’s get back to the recipe. You need to add the milk slowly working it through the mixture. That way you don’t end up adding too much.”

“Yes, but how will I know if it is too much, as you say?”

Her brown eyes glinted mischievously. “Oh that internet casino is the fun part,” she smiled as she added, “Nana always said that the uncooked dough should feel like a woman’s tit. Firm but spongy.”

He smiled back at her with a wink. He put one hand tentatively in the bowl, mixing the ingredients along side her. Their hands collided at times, just as their bodies longed to. But it was his other hand that was up to the most mischief as it kneaded and squeezed her left tit until she had forgotten almost entirely about buttermilk biscuits. He bent his head slowly and swallowed her soft groans. His lips and tongue playing at her mouth for a couple of moments before he drew back with a smile.

“I think it is done now,” he said, squeezing the dough in the bowl with one hand and her breast with the other. “Yes, most definitely done. But of course, I shall have to compare them again. Every time I make the damned thing, I think.” he winked.

She pushed at his chest playfully and threw some flour on the counter top. She reached into the drawer and pulled at her rolling pin.

“Aww, yes, the heavy artillery. I shall have to behave now,” he chuckled.

“You better,” she said as she began to roll out the dough. “You don’t want it too thin. It is not like cookie dough or pie crust.” His frown clearly told her that he would not know the difference except upon his plate. “Between an inch and three-quarters is good enough,” she replied, knowing that her scientist required precise measures.

She grabbed a circular cutter and began cutting the individual pieces, placing them on the lightly buttered cooking sheet next to her. When she had a dozen lined up on the pan, she held it just beneath his upturned nose.

“And that is supposed to be appealing?”

“No, but it will be. After fifteen to twenty minutes in a pre-heated oven at two-hundred degrees Celsius.”

He smiled, “Now, you are talking. I actually understood that word, Celsius.”

She used her hip to shove him aside, placing the pan on the bottom shelf of the oven and closing door. She set the timer for fifteen minutes.

“And what do we do now?” he asked.

“We wait. Fifteen minutes. Remember?” she said putting the bowls into the kitchen sink and standing on tip toes to place the dry ingredients back in the cupboard. She stopped in mid-air as she felt his hands move beneath her top, caressing her bare skin. When she stepped back down, her back collided with his broad chest. Her bottom brushed the front of his jeans, she felt the outline of his erection pressed firmly against her.

“Fifteen minutes is enough time for a quickie,” he purred as his teeth bit into the lobe of her ear.

Kate moaned as she pressed her ripe, fertile body back against her lover. She felt him lift the top over her head and make quick work of the bra clasp at her back. The lacy convection floated down her arms and she slung it carelessly into the air. His lips covered her aching nipples as his hands tore at the elastic waistband of her maternity jeans. He suckled strongly as he pushed the pants and her knickers down her legs. “Just what I want with my biscuits. Fresh milk,” he said as he bent over to lift first one and then the other foot from the trousers.

“Hands on the counter tops. Don’t move,” he ordered her as she heard the raspy sound of his zipper being lowered. She had barely gotten hold of the perch when his hard length invaded her. She cried out as her first orgasm assailed her.

“Wills,” she moaned as he moved hard and fast inside of her body. His hands came around to grasp her full breasts that hung down, swaying softly as he pounded into her from behind. He squeezed them in perfect time to his thrusts. Some hard and fast, other slow and painfully gentle until she cried out, begging and pleading for her lover to “Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

He obliged, his throbbing cock plunging inside her wet cunt over and over until they both cried out. Just as the alarm on the stove chimed out.

“Perfect timing,” he purred against the sensitive skin of her neck. He playfully swatted at her bare bottom, adding, “Now, let’s see if these damned biscuits are half as good as the cook is.” He took a bite and smiled. “Not half bad but I still think breast milk biscuits will taste better.”

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