Sinope's Fiction: Bread Rising

Title: Bread Rising
Author: Sinope at (no spam!) gmail dot com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Alice Longbottom/Lily Potter
Warning: Foodplay, lactation, total porn.
Summary: Wherein Alice shows Lily how to bake bread like a good housewife. Or not.
Author's notes: For the pornish_pixies Ambrosia Challenge. Thanks to Anjali and M. for helpful betaing and encouragement. The recipe is adapted from the Southern Living Cookbook.
Disclaimer: This is an unofficial fan work. No profit was made; no ownership is implied.

Combine 14 ounces wholemeal flour, 3 teaspoons dry yeast, and one tablespoon salt in a mixing bowl; stir and set aside.

Harry is one month old. "I can't do this," Lily complains to Alice, pouting mostly so that Alice will scoop her up in her arms and kiss the crinkled lips into tiny gasps. Airy motes of flour float around them, glowing in the morning sunlight, and Lily's new red cotton dress (bought because it made her look like a housewife) is streaked with powdery brownish-white.

"Just look at you, you silly," Alice clucks, surveying the frustrated redhead before her. "We'll just have to get you clean, won't we? Now hold still, Lily-love . . ."

She begins fussing over Lily: brushing the flour out of her hair and gently sweeping it off her face and neck, moving her soft hands lovingly over the younger woman's freckled skin. After another brief kiss, a bit dusty from the flour on Lily's lips, Alice's hands drift down to her shoulders, carefully smoothing away the whitish patches. "That's a good girl," she says softly into Lily's ear as her careful hands circle Lily's bosom.

With one hand, Alice cups Lily's right breast, thumb fluttering just over her nipple. Delicately and surely, the other hand dusts away the specks of flour, gliding over the cotton with just too little pressure to satisfy. Lily lets out a soft murmur of disappointment, arching out into Alice's hands, but Alice pulls away, placing another kiss in the crook of Lily's neck. "Not yet, my love," she says.

Satisfied with Lily's right breast, Alice turns to the other; this time, as she cradles Lily's breast in one hand and strokes it with the other, she bends to hover her lips above Lily's cotton-veiled nipple, covering it with breaths of warm, moist air. Lily whimpers, then lets out a surprised squeak when Alice's fingers dance further downward still, patting the flour off Lily's skirt and tracing over her thighs. Alice is on her knees now, while Lily leans against the refrigerator, clutching at the floury counter to keep balance and breathing hard and quick. "You're so beautiful, love, so beautiful," Alice says, then curls one hand behind Lily, caressing her tight buttocks. Her other hand, having cleaned the side of Lily's skirt, brushes down the slender valley that leads from Lily's hip to her mons veneris, then strokes the soft, giving mound, flicking off flour specks and dipping down between Lily's legs.

"Alice," Lily whimpers, "please," and Alice does: with her other hand still behind Lily, pulling the thin woman forward and stroking her buttocks, she flips up Lily's skirt, burying her head in the soft auburn curls. Alice nudges Lily's legs apart, then delves inward with her tongue, seeking out the nub of Lily's clitoris and lapping at it with tiny, delicate strokes. Lily's legs are buckling, and she's sure that she's gotten more flour on the back of her dress, but none of it matters; nothing matters but the sweet, flickering pressure teasing against her, growing stronger and harder until Alice is lapping across her hard and wet and hot, and oh god it's too much; Lily cries out suddenly and shudders with sweet rippling aftershocks.

"At this rate, I really won't ever make James his bread," she smiles shakily, then pulls Alice up and hugs her tight. "Thank you," she quietly adds.

Combine 15 fluid ounces of milk, 15 fluid ounces of water, 6 tablespoons of butter, and 4 tablespoons of honey in a saucepan; heat slowly, stirring constantly, until mixture is very warm.

Harry is six months old. Lily keeps dipping her finger into the saucepan, asking Alice impatiently how warm "very warm" is, then licking away the buttery-sweet mixture. Finally, Alice sighs, her eyes twinkling. "I suppose I'll have to distract you to stop you asking, won't I."

"I suppose you will," Lily grins back, and Alice tisk-tisks all the way down the buttons of Lily's shirt.

When Alice spreads open the shirt, Lily's breasts can sway freely, pendulous and heavy with Harry's milk. Her wide, crimson nipples, already puckered tight from Alice's hands, stand out against her alabaster skin, and Alice raises them reverently in her hands, placing one feathery kiss on the open expanse between breast and neck. Then, still caressing Lily's breasts with one hand, she dips a finger into the heating saucepan and smiles. "Perfect. But you should feel yourself." Lily starts to move her finger toward the pan, but Alice catches her wrist with a mischievous smile, then pulls it behind Lily's back, grabbing Lily's other wrist and bringing the hands together in a tight grip.

With her other hand, she steadily bends Lily forward, toward the stove, and Lily realizes what she's doing just in time to emit a squeal before her left nipple dips into the hot honey-milk-butter. Quickly, before the mixture can drip away, Alice leans down and seizes Lily's breast in her mouth, sucking away every drop of steaming liquid. Lily's shivers turn deeper, more aching, but her hands are still clasped behind her back, and Alice is still lapping at the nipple, tugging it between her teeth and laving it richly with her tongue. "So perfect," Alice murmurs into the tender flesh, then begins to work the nipple in a gentle rhythm, pulling and suckling until Lily can feel milk flowing from them, drawn into the moistness of Alice's mouth.

"Oh," Lily tries to exclaim, but Alice's free hand ducks down between her legs, sliding over Lily's slick clitoris and burying two fingers in her vagina. As her plump lips milk Lily in firm, insistent pulses, her fingers pump inside Lily, pushing in so deep that Lily gasps for more. Instead, Alice draws back, circling her thumb lazily across the now-slippery folds between Lily's legs and tracing her tongue gently around Lily's wide aureola. She looks up, meeting Lily's eyes for a moment that feels like forever. "You're so beautiful, love. So beautiful."

Her hand still caressing between Lily's legs, she draws up her head to kiss Lily, and Lily can taste the warm, sweetish aftertaste of her own milk in Alice's mouth. "Up on the counter now, darling - that's a good girl," Alice tells her, smiling, as she lets go of Lily's hands and helps her push herself up Lily's legs are spread wide, and Alice pulls her skirt up, exposing her to the winter-cool air in the house and gazing at the display of pure white curves, reddish-wet secret pathways, and tangled copper hair.

"Now, hold still, love," Alice instructs, opening Lily's legs as wide as they'll go. She picks a wooden spoon up from the counter and dips it into the milky mixture, now starting to steam, then carries it carefully to hover over the paper-thin crevices of Lily's skin. Slowly and steadily, Alice tips the spoon, then follows the scalding rivulet of liquid over Lily's flesh with her tongue, catching the last drops just before they reach the countertop. Again she fills it, and again she delicately pours a searing path over Lily, sealing its finish with a kiss right at the tip of Lily's reddening hood. Lily's trying not to shudder at the heat, trying to be patient, trying to stay calm against the smiling lips that suckle at her cunt as they had at her breasts, patiently and overwhelmingly.

"Yes," Alice murmers, bringing her head up to kiss Lily's belly button, "such a good girl . . ." With Lily still balanced on the counter, trying to thrust into Alice's touch without letting herself fall off, Alice resumes her milking at Lily's other breast, this time filling Lily with three plump fingers that push and stroke in time with Alice's thirsty lips. Lily feels herself arching back, banging her head into the cupboard and crying out not in pain but in desire. Alice sucks harder and harder, drawing away Lily's resistance as she draws away a current of milk, and her hand is gripping Lily's other nipple, squeezing it and plucking it unbearably. Lily turns away, eyes full of tears at the overwhelming, overlapping pleasures, and as Alice follows one last gulp with a sharp bite, Lily shudders into climax around Alice's fingers, beating her arm back helplessly against the counter.

For a few moments, the two hold each other silently, planting quiet kisses over each other's skin. It takes the smell of rapidly burning milk on the stove to finally bring Lily back to her senses, and back to yet another ruined loaf of bread.

Stir milk mixture into flour mixture, and mix well until smooth. Mix in 14 to 18 more ounces of wholemeal flour, enough to make a stiff dough. Turn dough out into a lightly floured surface; let dough rest 10 minutes. Knead dough until smooth and elastic.

Harry is 12 months old. Lily watches Alice knead the dough with strong, capable arms: fold it over, punch it down, turn it around; fold it over, punch it down, turn it around; the repetition is simple but somehow mesmerizing. The kitchen feels warm with August heat, heady with scents of yeast and hot honey, and the globe of brown-freckled dough beneath Alice's hands has been slowly gaining the soft, powdery texture of the skin just beneath Lily's earlobe.

Lily watches Alice thrust her fists into the dough in silence, taking the opportunity to rest her eyes on the rhythmic flexing of Alice's curves. Before long, though, Alice turns to her, face shimmery with sweat but smiling. "There you go." She hands the kneaded dough to Lily to let her feel its smooth surface and balanced weight. "Just like that. I think we may actually have a good loaf today!"

At that, Lily laughs. "It's about time. At this rate, Harry'll be starting at Hogwarts before I ever learn to bake a cake!"

"Oh, but you know it's been worth it," Alice smiles back, grasping Lily around the waist and twirling the two of them around in the narrow kitchen space. Still grinning, she presses Lily against the wall of the pantry, covering her mouth with a penetrating kiss, and adds in a sultry timbre, "I saw how you were watching me, Lily-love, and I think we both know what you were asking for."

"Mmmmm," Lily purrs back in playful anticipation, "you are observant. Do you plan to punish me for watching, then, milady?"

"Punish you? You'd enjoy that far too much, you silly. No, I have something else in mind. Now, get yourself out of that sundress and onto your sofa."

Lily curtsies to Alice, bemused, and hurries to comply. By the time that Alice has cleared off the counter and emerged in the sitting room with the ball of dough in hand, Lily is draped over the Potters' second-hand couch, one hand buried in her burnished hair and the other demurely resting above her privates, with her nipples punctuating the pale expanse in between. She slides her hand temptingly deeper between her legs as Alice approaches, but Alice chuckles and shakes her head. "Not this time, darling - roll over now, onto that delicious little tummy. That's right, love, just like that."

Lily's head is now buried in the dusty cushions of the couch, so she starts a bit when she feels a warm, heavy weight settling between her shoulderblades. "Just relax, dear," Alice says, then starts to knead the dough into Lily's back with languid, deep strokes.

As the warm dough works through the sorest muscles of her back - shoulders that ache from picking up Harry, a spine that groans from hours standing for Auror examinations at the Ministry of Magic - Lily feels herself melting into honeyed bliss. The knots in her back begin to smooth away with liquid ease as the bread firmly kneads from her arms to the hollow of her back, then over the curves of her buttocks and down the lines of her thighs.

When the dough finally lifts away from Lily's now-buttery calves, she can hardly bear to do more than breathe a floaty "Thank you." She feels Alice settling her weight over Lily to embrace her, scooping her arms underneath Lily to hold her close. The house is too warm to press that tight for long, though, and just as Lily feels the first prickles of sweat-sticking skin, Alice rises a bit and begins to drift her hands over Lily's back, brushing as delicately as puffs of flour. Around and over Lily's skin they trace, drawing circlets and wide spirals along her back and gently fluttering ever-downward.

When Alice's fingers dance across the juncture of Lily's thighs and in between her legs, it only seems natural, and Lily feels like she ought to respond but doesn't have the strength to do anything but smile wider, savouring the pleasantly light strokes. Practically ticklish, they wander downward with teasing hesitation, then flicker over Lily's lips and hooded clitoris before withdrawing. Once again they advance, still evanescently soft over the tender flesh, and once again they retreat. Tracing up and down Lily's side with her other hand, Alice repeats the dance over and over, until Lily is trembling with wordless longing, breathing in quick shallow puffs of desire. "I love you," Alice whispers, just as one last touch draws Lily across an indiscernable threshold, and she is floating, rising into the air like a balloon in a restless summer wind: so simple, so perfect.

This time, neither of them want to move, not until the sweat trickling between their bodies has become unbearably sticky-hot. Alice gradually looks over at the ball of dough, still sitting on the coffee table. "We may bake this one yet," she says with a quiet smile. "And just think of what James and Frank will say when we tell them where it's been."

Place dough in a well-greased bowl, turning to grease top. Cover and let rise in a warm place, free from drafts, for 50 minutes or until dough has doubled in bulk. Punch dough down and divide in half; shape each portion into a loaf. Place in two well-greased loafpans. Cover and let rise in a warm place, free from drafts, 50 minutes or until doubled in bulk. Bake at 200 degrees for 35 or 45 minutes or until loaves sound hollow when tapped. Brush loaves with melted butter; remove from pans, and let cool on wire racks.

finis.