Licking Zara's Breast Milk

A breast cast is made when a woman allows fresh plaster to be spread across her chest, and when it hardens over a period of time, it creates a perfect mold of her feminine features.

It's pure art where mother nature is the true star.

This process has been used by women with breast cancer for either their personal memories or public displays. The end result is a sculpted creation of their breasts that exists for as long as the cast remains.

Zara Ebadi was inspired by those powerful stories; she was being told about this by a fellow teacher during the making of a private portrait. Instead of dressing up, Zara wore the same buttoned top and jean pants she usually wore to work. A teacher's outfit if there ever was one.

She remained motionless while they talked. Her dark hair was carefully splayed over her shoulder, her mocha skin was shining from the light outside through the window, and her face pointed towards the wall.

They were in the art classroom and school had already been closed for a week for the start of the holiday season. Most teachers left, some hung around to finish grading along with other miscellaneous duties. Zara opted to hang around. She was a newly hired English teacher and she still wanted to make a great impression with the Principal and her colleagues. She also enjoyed the comradery with Ms. Taylor, the highly respected art instructor.

"It's really that simple," Ms. Taylor said, dressed in a painting coat while making the portrait of Zara. "I'm thinking of starting my own charity program for it. A gift-giving thing, free of charge."

"That's so endearing," Zara replied in awe, still facing the wall. "It's heartwarming."

"I know, it is. Hang on, I'm almost done. Just putting the final touches."

The sound of a paintbrush hitting the canvas echoed in the room. It was the only sound there. Zara loved these quiet moments when something was being created, and frankly, it was always flattering to see a finished portrait of herself.

"I can almost hear your brain thinking," Zara joked, while maintaining the proper pose.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

"You're so talented with this."

"And you're so beautiful," Ms. Taylor countered. "There, all done. Have a look."

Finally breaking the pose, Zara got up and they stood side by side, looking at the briefly made portrait. As far as 20 minutes goes, this was some of the best work a person could do.

Zara nodded her approval. "Nice one. You're a gem."

"An artist is only as good as the person being painted, in my opinion. As far as models go, you're terrific. There's a reason I love painting you."

"You're too sweet."

"Are you sure you've never modeled before?" Ms. Taylor asked with a playful and skeptical squint.

Zara laughed off the compliment. "Without a doubt, I can say that I've never modeled before, well, as far as I know of. Unless someone was doing portraits of me without my knowledge."

"You exude a natural confidence. I mean, look at this painting. You have a natural glow which practically radiates off this canvas."

The art teacher was adamant about this claim and made a grand gesture towards the portrait.

"First of all," Zara said. "You're the one that painted this, so I feel like you're just complimenting yourself."

"Maybe a bit."

"Secondly, I feel like you're buttering me up. Like you're prepping me for a bigger task to come."

"What gives you that idea?" Ms. Taylor asked, eyebrow raised.

"The fact that we've been doing this for weeks, now all of a sudden I'm the next Mona Lisa."

"Well, to be honest, there was something I've been thinking about lately. And I've only become certain of it this past hour."

"I knew it," Zara said with a knowing nod. "Go ahead, give it to me."

"What do you think of my breast casting story? You know, women with cancer who want to memorialize their figure."

"Like I said, it was moving to hear about. I can only imagine what kind of resilience a woman would need in that situation."

Ms. Taylor seemed emboldened. "I want to organize a gift-giving program for these women. I have plenty of experience using plaster."

"God, that's amazing," Zara said with brightened eyes. "Why didn't you tell me before? Need anything? I'd love to donate my time."

"I'd love your help. But it has nothing to do with your college degrees."

Zara's interest was piqued. "Come on, spill it."

"You can offer your breasts to me," Ms. Taylor stated. "I've never done plaster on a person's body before, much less a pair of breasts. We have great chemistry and I think you're beautiful. On top of that, you're fearless."

Defensively, Zara put her hand over her chest. "A portrait is one thing, but come on."

It instantly dawned on her that although she was the much younger one in their friendship, she had now become the most prudish. It was usually the other way around. It was usually Zara who had to teach Ms. Taylor about the latest phone apps, tv shows, and slang that young people use nowadays.

Nudity, it seems, is where the roles were reversed.

"Ah, my mistake," Ms. Taylor blushed and smiled. "I guess I was wrong."

Zara gave an awkward shrug. "You caught me way off guard. I'm assuming you've made topless or nude portraits before."

"Throughout college, my early adulthood, and I still make them sometimes on the weekends for art shows. Nothing beats it, really."

"I remember being in college hanging around my artist friends. They've mentioned the same thing, that nude portraits are unbeatable."

Ms. Taylor flashed a skeptical look again. "You had artist friends in college and none of them tried to paint you?"

"I never said that," Zara replied humorously. "Sure, they did try to paint me or take pictures of me. At that age, I was a much different person. Even if it was just a few years ago."

"Well, it's too bad you're not interested. I was truly hoping you'd do it."

"You must know tons of nude models with all your connections."

"But they don't have breasts like you."

Zara softly touched her chest. "These are standard affairs. I can assure you of that. Plus they're quite milky at the moment. Trust me, it'll be a wet mess if you ever tried to plaster them."

"Can I be blunt?" Ms. Taylor asked with eager eyes. "The fact that your breasts have milk are precisely why I want to work with you."

"Oh?"

"I think about it like this; if I can manage to successfully plaster your breasts, then I know I'm gentle enough to work with any woman. Because some of these women are up there in age, or other health reasons. So I thought the extra challenge of experimenting with lactating boobs would be good practice."

It made all the sense in the world and suddenly Zara felt guilty for even turning down the offer in the first place.

"How exactly would this work?" Zara gently inquired. "I mean, is the plaster cold? Will it hurt? Are you going to be staring at my nipples up close for a long time?"

"To answer your questions, it's slightly cold, and I'm not sure how it'll feel on breasts. I've never done it before. And for your last question -- yes -- I'll be looking at your boobs up close. I'll even be touching them, too."

"I must sound like the biggest prude in the world."

Ms. Taylor laughed. "It's perfectly understandable. Exposing breasts is an unusual thing to do. But it's for a great cause."

"An amazing cause."

"It really is. I've only learned about this recently from some friends of mine in the art community. I've spent a lot of my free time thinking about it, and with school out, there's plenty of time to work my magic."

"You do have a lot of magic in your hands," Zara said. "Alright, you've got me. Count me in."

Ms. Taylor flashed a generous smile. "I knew you couldn't resist. Your heart is simply too big."

"Well, that's not the only thing that's too big. I have to confess now."

"What do you mean?"

"These kitties," Zara joked, gesturing to her chest. "They're pretty swollen, and I don't mean my cup size."

"Huge nipples?"

"Gumdrops."

"Sounds delicious and chewable," Ms. Taylor said with deadpan humor.

Zara's jaw hung down. "Oh my god. I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Fair enough. If you're still interested, then how about... let's say... Wednesday at 10 am? I'll have everything ready by then and I'll brush up on some old techniques for plastering."

"Just don't gawk at my nipples. And definitely don't chew on them or call them delicious."

"I'll try."

***

Symmetrically cut strips of dried plaster cloth were neatly arranged on a desk, right next to a bowl of water and there was also a new container of petroleum jelly. As with any art room, there was a massive roll of paper towels ready to be used.

This was Zara's first time leaving home without a bra underneath, and to school of all places. But she wore a thick sweater so no one would notice. She also had a thin sweater underneath for good measure.

Pacing around the classroom, she wondered what her friend had in store for her today. Surely it would be something exciting. They'd definitely be a lot closer with each other after this.

"Where does your confidence come from," Ms. Taylor asked, wearing her famous art coat while finishing preparations. "Some models just do it. Some have a particular mindset. I'm curious, what's your approach to all this? You make a great model."

"You have such an inquisitive mind. That's partly why I enjoy modeling so much for you. Because we can talk."

"Thank you. Anything else?"

Pacing the room, Zara thought. "My mother is Persian, and I mean, she's the old school kind. She still comes to my house so she can stuff my refrigerator full of her home cooking."

"Ah, I know the type."

"Yes, but anyway, I was born in Iran and came here for school. I had trouble fitting in. You know, the works. Whatever you can think of, that's what I was going through. One day, my mother sat me down in front of a mirror and highlighted my facial features and hair, telling me how special they are. And you know what? Positive reinforcement works."

"Your mother sounds like an amazing woman."

"She is," Zara confirmed. "And you know what the best part is? After all those compliments she'd give me, she'd always tell me that my appearance is the least interesting thing about me. That my mind and soul are the real stars. Not for vanity purposes, of course, but it's just something nice that everyone wants to hear about themselves. I guess that's why I'm so comfortable sitting in front of you for long periods."

"Because I'm just like your mother?" Ms. Taylor laughed.

Zara laughed back. "Close enough. But yes, in many ways. You have a certain ability to disarm people and make them feel at ease."

"I'm glad. Because now, I'm going to have to ask you to take your top off."

"Everything? Now."

"Yes and yes. Bare breasts please."

Although there were a few teachers and administrators in the building, they were far away in their offices, and the door to this room was locked. No one would be looking for them and they had all the privacy they needed. There was a large window which had a view of the mountains and Zara focused on it.

She pulled her large sweater away to reveal her thin sweater, which showed the shape of her breasts.

Pinching the fabric around her shoulder area, Zara pulled her top off to expose her bare chest. They were generously sized. As she had warned the other day, her nipples were very large. They were also very dark, nearly black, which was easy to contrast against her mocha-colored skin.

The moment Zara bared her breasts, she noticed a look of wonder in her friend's eyes. But she tried to ignore it. She knew her mentor was the utmost professional and had seen countless naked bodies.

"Impressive," Ms. Taylor said in a nearly hoarse voice.

Zara giggled. "The shape? Or my nipples?"

"Mainly your nipples, if I'm being honest. It'll make one unique breast cast."

"Yikes. A cast with some real pointers at each tip. Promise me you won't put my name on the cast."

"Embarrassed about your gifts?" Ms. Taylor asked.

"People will think the nipples are fake."

"First, we'll have to find out, won't we? Have a seat on this stool. I'm going to slather your chest with vaseline. Then I'll apply the wet strips of plaster cloth to your breasts, as delicately as I can so milk doesn't squirt out. Ready?"

"That's what I came here for."

Topless, Zara went to the stool to sit down. She watched her mentor dip her fingers into a container of vaseline for a generous serving. Zara felt her heart beating faster as Ms. Taylor stared closely at her big, dark nipples.

The first touch came quickly. It was a soft touch. Zara resisted the urge to gasp as a fellow teacher rubbed the vaseline on her breasts. It felt cold, but it felt nice. It was almost like a breast massage. The fingers rubbed and pressed into Zara's skin. All around her upper chest, her breast tissue, and the underside of her breasts too. Everywhere except her nipples. She knew that would be last.

Zara watched those talented fingers dip for more vaseline. She watched those astute eyes examine her nipples.

With a quick touch, Zara felt her left nipple being rubbed in circles. The same process was repeated with her right nipple. Her nipples turned rock hard and she was afraid to even look at them. But she saw the look on Ms. Taylor's face; this teacher was enamored by the sight.

With each touch, Zara could feel her milk being tempted to release. She could feel the pressure rising.

Especially from her own arousal.

"This may be a challenge," Ms. Taylor said with critical eyes on the breasts.

"Why is that?"

"I can see tiny drops of milk forming at your pores. It's a remarkable thing to see up close, but I'm not sure how it'll affect the plaster."

Zara blushed. "I should have warned you. They're sensitive to touch and feel."

"All the more reason I need to be more delicate with this. It's good practice for me. Now, let's go a bit further."

She watched the art teacher wipe her hands with a paper towel, eyes still on the exposed breasts. Grabbing an extra sheet, the older teacher wiped the excess milk from the pores and tips of Zara's nipples. It felt rough against her most sensitive parts, but it was done with the utmost consideration.

Remaining still, Zara watched the fellow teacher take a sheet of dry plaster cloth and dipped it into the bowl of water. She wondered how cold it would feel against her skin, but it didn't matter.

The excess water dripped from the cloth for a few seconds, before being brought to her upper chest. Because of the vaseline, it stuck to her skin. It was cold and it made her nipples turn harder. This same process was repeated for a few minutes, creating a wet casing around Zara's chest. From the top of her chest, to the sides, to the lower part, Zara's skin was being covered by the thick plaster, and all that remained were her breasts and hard nipples.

"Wish me luck," Ms. Taylor said. "This is where it gets dicey."

"I must say, your hands are so skilled."

Looking down for the first time, Zara noted how aligned everything was across her chest.

"Use the mirror," Ms. Taylor said, walking over to pull the body-length mirror in their direction.

It was then that Zara truly took a good look at herself. It was incredibly artistic, yet oddly sexual. Her face had little makeup, she wore her usual pants, but her chest was encased in the wet plaster with her vaseline-covered nipples looking so prominent. Her tits were shiny!

"My god," Zara gasped. "This looks like a porn movie."

"We haven't even gotten to the good part yet," Ms. Taylor smiled.

They turned their attention back to their work. Ms. Taylor dipped another sheet into the water and let the excess water drip.

A short moment of truth lingered between them as Zara watched the art teacher carefully contemplate how to attack. This next sheet was going straight to her breast. The underside of her left tit.

It was pressed gently at first, lifting Zara's breast. But it needed to be pressed harder for it to stick.

Ms. Taylor carefully pressed the wet plaster even harder.

Zara's breast sprayed a healthy dose of milk onto the teacher's face.

"Oh my god," Zara gasped in utter horror.

She watched in disbelief as Ms. Taylor now had a face full of white milk, squinting hard as it had gotten into her eyes, dripping down her face.

"I'm okay," Ms. Taylor replied, eyes still shut.

The art teacher, while blinded, was able to reach for paper towels, which she used to dry herself.

"I... I don't know how that happened," Zara quickly offered. "I pumped my breasts before I came here."

Ms. Taylor tossed the paper towel away. "Breasts are wonderful things for a reason. They provide nourishment, which, I should tell you tastes pretty good."

They both giggled awkwardly as some of the milk had made its way into the art teacher's mouth.

"Now what?" Zara asked. "Are you going to find a different model? Or are there other techniques to get the plaster on me?"

"That's the only technique I know of. I had already told my friends of my gift-giving plans. It would be embarrassing if I backed out now."

"So you're going to find a different model?"

"Not a chance," Ms. Taylor replied. "I need to perfect my skills and hone my ability to treat each breast delicately. Why don't we regroup and try again on Friday? Are you still interested?"

"I live for charity. Besides you've already seen so much. The cat is already out of the bag, so to speak."

"More like the milk is out of the breast."

The laughed awkwardly again before ending their session. Together, they pulled off the cast and threw it in the trash. With help from Ms. Taylor, they used wet paper towels to wipe the excess vaseline from her breasts.

It could only be done by the large sink, because each time her breasts were wiped clean, milk would spurt from her nipples.

Although embarrassing at first, Zara grew comfortable around her friend.

***

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Ms. Taylor said from behind a dressing curtain in the art room. "Now that I know what we're dealing with, I have to be more prepared."

"Makes sense. I'm still mortified by that mess I left on your face."

Zara paced the room, wondering what the new game plan was. Like the other day, supplies were neatly arranged on the table and they were almost ready for another round of body plastering.

"I think I might have to take more precautions," Ms. Taylor said while behind the curtains. "Do you mind if I take a few liberties in getting comfortable? I don't want to shock you."

"Oh? And how would you shock me?"

"I want to take my clothes off. Do you mind? I do it all the time when it comes to nude modeling. It forms a more cohesive mood in my opinion."

There were ruffling noises coming from behind the curtains and Zara wondered if this was a joke.

"Umm, sure," Zara replied, wondering if this was real. "That doesn't bother me."

"Fantastic. I'm more comfortable this way."

Sounds of clothing shuffling and/or being removed became louder, making Zara feel even more confused about the day's events.

And then it happened.

Stepping out of the dress curtains, Ms. Taylor wore her painting coat, and nothing else. She was barefoot and her legs showed. She was thick around the midsection. The center of her chest was bare. Most striking of all, her curly pubic hairs were on glorious display.

"You actually did it," Zara said, with her head nearly snapping back.

"I did give you fair warning. Does it bother you? I can always get dressed again."

"No, no. It's fine."

"It's European. I spent a lot of time there in my youth and this is how we made art with each other."

Zara tried not to stare at the bush. "That makes sense."