Alice lay back in the armchair.

Having sole access to the one with the electric reclining seat-back and the automatic pop-up leg rests, she sighed with the utter relief of someone who has been on her feet for too long, particularly for someone in her condition. It was now the full forty weeks, and her stomach rose up from her torso like a whale breaking the surface, its stretch marks scoring lines into her perfect skin. The sweat ran down her face and body from her larger-than-ever exposed breasts to her swollen feet. Outside, the sun shone in the high summer afternoon, temperatures reaching into the melting-chocolate zone.

Inside the house, it was even hotter. The air-con was rattling itself silly but it was barely making headway, at least according to the look on her face. The inability to bend over, stand up, walk around, lean on a doorpost, go outside, come in again, sit or lie down made life tedious and slow. For Alice to make any movement was difficult, and to stay still even harder. For a small person, having a baby inside you broke every rule in the book, at least as far as being able to do things around the house, go shopping or go to work was concerned.

But it was that time of day again. It had started happening three or four weeks ago, always at this same time of day. Two o'clock. Always two o'clock. Something in her extremely potent hormone mix caused this particular effect. The midwife said the baby was fine, her pregnancy was as healthy and normal as she could expect - except for this one thing.

She called to me.

“It's starting again now, Beth.”

She turned her head towards me with an effort, her sweaty hair leaving a damp blob on the black leather headrest.

“OK, I'm coming now, hold on there.”

I saved my file, pushed back from the table and walked across to where she lay like a car on a hydraulic lift in the maintenance bay. I pulled up a small chair next to her, sat down and put my hands on the nearest breast. Both her breasts were round and taut, bulging with readiness to nourish and feed her baby when she (we knew that it was a 'she' already) was born and suckling. But that wasn't yet. We were all on tenterhooks, waiting for her waters to break. Cases were packed and waiting by the door. The car was all fuelled up and ready to go. The baby's bedroom was painted and furnished, the as-yet unused toys hanging from still-stationary plastic music boxes hanging from the frame above her unoccupied cot and the drop side lowered into the down position.

Alice's breast, the one I was cradling gently with both hands around it, was enlarged, hot and tight. Her nipples had enlarged dramatically over the last few weeks - perfectly normally, we were assured - but there was one thing that had to be done every day at two o'clock. I watched the first drop of milk appear magically from nowhere at the very end of her nipples. Alice groaned, half with the effort of having called to me and half with the delightful anticipation of what I was about to do.

For some reason best known to the stork that delivers babies, Alice's breasts produced an abundance of milk just at this time of day for about half an hour. The midwife had just shrugged her shoulders and given her a complementary pack of tissues, but Alice had a better idea.

It was my task to suckle her dry each day until the baby could do it herself. It had been a day or two before we realised the sudden milk flow was going to be a daily occurrence. Until then, I had run around with the free tissues, mopping up milky messes from wherever there were any and wondering out loud whether this was normal or not. It was far too hot in the afternoons for clothes, so Alice was completely naked, as was I, half out of the desire to be supportive of Alice and partly because neither of us like wearing clothes very much anyway.

Alice moaned again with hot pleasure as she registered my touch on her breast. The milky drop balanced on her nipple turned into a milky blob and my mouth descended over it just as it began to run down her nipple. I suckled for a few seconds. The sweet liquid was just enough to wet my tongue with its sweetness. My tongue slipped around the nipple, licking up the stray milk and stimulating more milk which squirted onto my tongue then further back into my mouth.

I then transferred my mouth to her other breast where the milky blob was just about to run down the other nipple like the previous one had just done. My tongue did its work there, too, and Alice pressed herself back in the armchair, the tingling feeling racing around her body producing more and more milk. Each lick and suck from me added to Alice's boiling blend of hormones which would soon, very soon, overflow into the first of many full-blown orgasms.

I suckled one of her breasts for a few seconds then changed to the other one just before the milk leaking out of it dribbled too far down her breast. This was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I had to suckle her to remove the excess milk from each of her breasts, but in doing so I caused Alice to enjoy herself immensely and to produce yet more milk for me to drink thereby enjoying herself even more. I was now quite busy, drinking her precious fluid from one side then the other. Milk was beginning to dribble down my chin, so every minute or so I wiped myself with a free tissue.

It wasn't the only thing that was beginning to dribble, either. First from between Alice's naked pussy folds, then from between mine, the sticky feeling started gradually and became stickier and stickier, eventually starting to run down the insides of my thighs in the hot airless room. With Alice, it was worse. Hers was a positive flood of stickiness, flowing out from between her legs and oozing over the old towel that she had managed to put on the armchair before lying back on it. Every minute or two I found time to wipe around her pussy with another tissue. It had to be me; she hadn't been able to bend forward and reach down that far for a long time. Some of her juice stuck to my hand, and she liked me to hold my hand to her face so she could breathe in the strong scent of her impending motherhood. I liked to sniff my hand, too, a fact not lost on Alice who smiled when she caught me doing it.

And over the last couple of days, another extraordinary thing had started happening. I began to lactate as well. When I had told Alice, she stared at my breasts with their milky nipples and burst out laughing.

“What, are you pregnant as well?” she'd chortled, before groaning with the effort of teasing me.

“When's it due? Is it a boy or a girl? Have you thought of a name for it yet?”

She had gone on laughing until the discomfort cut in again, while I simply shrugged my shoulders and looked confused. My milk was more watery than hers, and she offered to suckle my breasts but only if I could lower them over her mouth one at a time. My breasts were smaller than hers anyway, even before hers had grown larger with the idea of doing what breasts are supposed to do.

Since that moment, Alice had enjoyed my milk as much as I enjoyed hers. So, again today I stood up out of the chair and leaned over her face. I slowly lowered my chest over her face and my breast into her mouth. Her tongue flicking over my nipples did things to me it's hard to describe, like having an electric tickling sensation inside you that was there - but somehow it wasn't either. I wasn't pregnant, I didn't have huge quantities of explosive hormones raging around my veins (or the baby bump that goes with it), I just had Alice and her tongue working its magic on me. It went straight to my other breast which began to produce its first drop of the day. The feeling also went down between my legs. I felt the fresh rush of stickiness gathering in my vagina and seeping out between my lips and going slowly down my thighs.

We were both far too busy with each other to worry about my sticky thighs. From the first time it happened to me I could do nothing except let the gunge trickle slowly down each leg. So far, each of the lactation sessions had come to an end before the first trail of gunge reached my shoe. It was all we could do to suckle each of the four milky breasts in rotation one after the other, and for me to mop up between Alice's legs every so often, never mind worry about wiping my legs.

In addition to the suckling that each of us was doing to the other, there was the exciting feeling which built up in both of us until we spontaneously orgasmed, Alice lying back in her reclining armchair wriggling around as little as she could manage while her little spasms took her over for a few seconds, making her tight and heavy breasts wobble on top of her chest, her fingers and hands to make little movements by themselves, her breathing to increase in rapidity and her eyes to flutter open and shut, and open and shut again. When it was over for her, I had to quickly catch up on sucking her as dry as I could and wiping her pussy again, before an orgasm of my own occupied my attention for a while.

This would happen randomly to me and I'd have to stay standing and suckling as long as I could until my frenzy started, made itself felt and then subsided. The few short moments when I was enjoying myself too much were moments when I was not tending to Alice. As soon as my orgasm was over I had to again catch up on breastfeeding from her on both her breasts until her, sorry our, lactation episodes had come to an end for the day.

After ten or fifteen minutes the sheer quantity of milk Alice was producing began to settle back to normal levels for a forty-week pregnant mother-to-be, along with the enjoyment she and I were giving ourselves. My lactation cycle came to an end as did our combined pussy juice production and the resultant suckling and wiping up operations carried out by both of us (but mostly me).

Half past two came, and things had reverted to normal. No, not that normal. This normal, the normal where poor Alice was still too hot and too unable to move very much or do anything until the sun went down behind next door's chimney pots and the temperature in the house dropped below boiling point.

That blessed moment would arrive eventually. By then I was back at work on the other side of the room and Alice was able to make the armchair retract its leg rests and give her a push out of the seat into an upright standing position once more.

Annoyingly, the sun kept on sinking and soon it was cooling off to the extent where we both wanted to put some clothes on again. Once more she called, and I came to help her put her knickers on and her massive maternity bra with six pads in each cup to soak up any milk escaping during the rest of the day and to try to support those two huge jug-gernauts (sorry, sorry) which took at least some of the pressure off Alice's back. Any minute now, her hubby Steve would arrive home and take over the nursing duties performed during working hours by me.

And here he was, right on time. No overtime for him today, or any day in the last four weeks. By this time, I was fully dressed - well, a thin bra, a thinner white top, knickers, an extremely short skirt and flip-flops which were all I needed to nip out of their back door with my laptop in hand, through the gap in the fence between our two houses and back to work into my own house to await my hubby who was doing some overtime, or so he claimed.

My milk-suckling activities were well known to the four of us. Me, Alice, Steve and Bill. No one minded a bit, in fact, either husband would frequently tease me about being the mobile breast pump, a milk tanker on legs, a sucker for milk and other such examples of high-quality male humour.

Whether Steve continued my suckling activities after I'd left, no one ever said. And likewise, I never said anything to them about what Bill and I got up to when he got home.

Maybe next year when I was at forty weeks and unable to move (if it ever came to that state of affairs), Alice would come to my house every afternoon and help out, just like I had done for her. Bring the baby, she won't mind.

Can I borrow the armchair?