The classroom was a quiet fortress after hours, the late sun bleeding crimson through the blinds, casting jagged shadows across the chalkboard still etched with Renaissance timelines. Claire O’Sullivan—forty, redhead, fiery curls framing her sharp emerald eyes, porcelain skin freckled, big lactating breasts straining a silk emerald blouse—sat at her desk, legs crossed, grading papers with a patient smile. Her nipples leaked faintly, milk staining her lace bra, a subtle throb of frustration mirroring her own neglected desires. The parent-teacher conference was scheduled for 6:30 p.m., but the door burst open at 6:12, and Mrs. Evelyn Grant—forty-four, blonde, blue eyes flashing fury, curves poured into a navy blazer and pencil skirt, full lips curled in a snarl—stormed in, heels stabbing the floor. “This is outrageous! My son is failing your class because of your ridiculous standards!” Evelyn’s voice cracked like a whip, frustrated, hands slamming a crumpled progress report on the desk, big breasts heaving under her blazer, bush damp with stress-sweat beneath her panties.

Claire tilted her head, smile unwavering, cooing softly, “Now, Mrs. Grant, let’s not get upset. Tell me more.” Evelyn paced, frustrated, “He studies! He tries! You’re singling him out!” Claire nodded, “Mhm, go on,” but her eyes glazed with boredom as Evelyn ranted—“biased grading,” “unfair essays,” “ruining his future.” Ten minutes in, Claire’s patience snapped. She unbuttoned her blouse—one, two, three—exposing her lactating breasts in a delicate lace bra, milk beading on both pink nipples, trickling down her freckled cleavage. Evelyn halted, shocked, “What the—?!” Claire squeezed both breasts—hard—milk squirting in dual arcs, splattering Evelyn’s face, soaking her cheeks, dripping into her open mouth. Evelyn ** sputtered**, disgusted, wiping frantically, “This is vile! I’m reporting you!” Very hesitant, she backed toward the door, milk glazing her blazer.

Claire giggled, voice dropping to a soothing lullaby, “Shh, little Evie, don’t be a fussy baby, Mommy’s just helping.” She stood, breasts swaying, milk dripping onto the floor, and blocked Evelyn’s path, guiding her to the teacher’s chair with a firm hand. “Sit, sweetie, Mommy knows what grumpy babies need.” Evelyn resisted, frustrated, “Stop this! I’m not your—” but Claire straddled her lap, chair creaking, cradling Evelyn’s blonde head, pressing a leaking nipple to her milk-smeared lips. “Open wide, baby girl, drink Mommy’s milk and calm down.” Evelyn clenched her jaw, disgusted, hesitant, “*No, it’s wrong,” but Claire squirted again—milk hitting her face, running down her neck. “Good babies don’t fight, Evie, suck for Mommy.”

Evelyn whimpered, frustrated tears mixing with milk, but the scent—sweet, nutty—overwhelmed her. Her lips parted, sucking reluctantly—creamy flood coating her tongue. Claire cooed, “That’s it, my precious girl, drink all of Mommy’s milk.” Milk gushed, spraying Evelyn’s chin, soaking her blazer, pooling in her cleavage. Evelyn suckled harder, hesitation fading, gulping, moaning despite her frustration. Claire switched nipples, baby-talking, “Such a hungry little baby, yes you are, Mommy’s so proud.” Evelyn’s hands gripped Claire’s waist, nails digging, suckling frantically as milk dribbled down her neck. Claire rocked, cooing, “Who’s Mommy’s good girl? You are, oh yes, drinking so nicely.”

The suction was rhythmic, wet slurps echoing, milk cascading like a fountain. Evelyn’s thighs clenched, bush throbbing, frustration melting into need. Claire sensed it, whispering, “Cum for Mommy, let all that anger out, baby.” Evelyn shuddered, ass clenching, orgasm detonating—pussy spasming, squirt soaking her skirt, dripping to the floor. She moaned into Claire’s nipple, choking on milk, body shaking. Claire patted her head, “There, there, all better, Mommy’s good baby.” Evelyn slumped, milk-crusted, squirt-glazed, frustration gone. Claire buttoned up, smiling. “Next week, sweetie?” Evelyn nodded, wrecked, stumbling out, milk trailing.