I cannot stop pumping my breasts

The cold plastic of the breast pump suctions onto my nipple, the motor whirring to life with a hungry growl. I watch as my tit inflates, the flesh stretching taut, veins popping beneath the surface. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes my cunt drip. I squeeze my thighs together, grinding my pussy against the edge of the chair, desperate for friction. The pump’s rhythm is relentless, pulling and sucking, drawing out a steady stream of milk that dribbles down my chest. I moan, arching my back, fingers digging into my thighs. My other breast, neglected and engorged, aches for attention. I reach down, squeezing the swell, pinching the nipple hard enough to make me gasp. The dual sensation drives me wild, my body writhing as I fuck the air, lost in a haze of lust and discomfort.

I can’t stop pumping my tits, can’t stop the filthy, perverted act of milking myself. I switch the pump to the other breast, the sudden release making me cry out. My hand moves to my pussy, fingers slipping easily into the slick folds. I rub my clit, hard and fast, matching the pump’s rhythm. The room fills with the obscene sounds of suction and wet flesh, my moans and gasps echoing off the walls. I’m a mess of milk and sweat, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm. My pussy clenches around my fingers, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I come hard, milk spraying from my tits, coating my chest and stomach. I ride out the waves, panting and spent, the breast pump finally quiet, its job done.