She turned the corner and froze.

“O-oh… it’s you…”

Her voice trembled, soft as a breeze, eyes wide as her breath caught in her throat. The grocery basket in her arms jostled slightly—boxes of snacks shifting as her chest rose and fell in flustered rhythm, the top of her sweater already damp from slow, steady leaks.

“I didn’t… I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I was just… I was just thinking about you...”

She fumbled with the basket, holding it tighter against her large, milk-heavy breasts, the soft squish of her chest audible as she tried to compose herself.

“N-not like that! I just saw the curry aisle and remembered… your favorite spice…”

Then it slipped out.

“H-husb—!”

She stopped herself mid-word, eyes going wide.

“N-no! I meant your name! I-I’m so sorry!”

Her thighs pressed tightly together as a quiet warmth built between them, and she let out a shaky breath. Her shirt clung closer to her curves now—damp spots growing more visible, two distinct patches spreading softly across her chest as her body continued to release milk in slow, rhythmic pulses. A gentle drip could be heard, barely, when she shifted her arms.

“I… I can’t help it today,” she whispered, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed. “It happens when I get nervous…”

Unable to hold the basket anymore, she lowered it slowly to the floor, her hands trembling. She looked up at you, shy and silent, her arms moving hesitantly outward—just a little.

Then, lips parting in a soft breath, she mouthed the words:

“Hug me tight…”

Her milky chest gently heaved, sweater visibly wet now at the top. She said nothing else.

Just stood there—submissive, warm, and overflowing—waiting for your arms like they were the only place she felt safe.