LACTOGENESIS I:

THE SHOPPING TRIP

Christine smiled tentatively at the woman standing in front of her, and
the woman smiled back in kind. She allowed her gaze to move slowly along
her body, taking note of small details he didn't ordinarily scrutinize.
Let's start at the top, she thought. I like what she's done with the
hair, a "do" reminiscent of Barbra Streisand's, but shorter. Same color,
though. Thank God, no gray yet, but she's only 24, for crying out loud.
Eyebrows maybe a bit too thick, nose perhaps a bit too long, eyes...now
stop that, she caught herself. Always looking at the dark side. Now
start again, and be *nice*. Where were we? OK -- face: I wouldn't call
her drop-dead gorgeous, but she hasn't broken the changing room mirror
or anything...hey! What did I just tell you, she admonished herself
again. She'd been satisfied with the hand Nature dealt, and the opposite
sex had responded well. She'd had enough dates in her life, but it had
been a while...maybe being here would help that. So let's get down to
it, shall we? She let her eyes move further downward to examine the
bikini she was trying on. Summer's on the way, melanoma be damned. I've
got to get some color into this whiter-than-white skin, she thought.
Actually, I do look pretty damned good in this...
The spaghetti straps of the halter top moved smoothly over a welldefined collarbone and down past a small mole on the left pectoral and a
tiny strawberry mark on the right to plug into the two triangles of
fabric which made the suit just barely legal in public. Her lip curled
slightly as she thought of how easy it had been to find something in her
size. Just a plain old garden-variety 34B, plenty of those around.
Shouldn't complain, she said to herself. Sherri across the hall must
have a hell of a time finding clothes that fit with that enormous chest
of hers. Impulsively she removed the top and took a good long look at
herself. They may only be 34B, she thought, but they're *my* 34B's. If
she were to attempt a pencil test, she would have passed. The coral pink
nipples still pointed slightly upward, and slightly away from each
other. Gravity's been good to me, Chris thought. If I lived on the moon,
would I still look like this in forty years? She cupped her breasts
briefly, but withdrew her hands quickly. Boy, they were sensitive today,
she thought, as a quick bolt of warmth shot from them to her groin and
her nipples responded with alacrity. Must be because I'm so aware of
them right now. She replaced the top and shortened the strap around the
back of her neck, thinking it would increase her decolletage, but the
effect was to flatten her bust and squeeze her breasts back toward her
armpits. She rolled her eyes and loosened the strap a little. She
stepped back from the mirror and completed the visual tour. She noted in
passing a couple of extra pounds around the waist -- nothing some more
time on the Stairmaster wouldn't take care of -- if only she didn't love
Ben & Jerry's so much. A slight look of chagrin crossed her face as she
noted some wisps of pubic hair peeking out of the sides of the suit. If
I buy this, I'll need some Nair, she thought. Hell, maybe I'll just get
rid of all of it; I've always wondered what that'd be like. She didn't
give a second thought to her legs. That same Stairmaster had sculpted
them into a perfect blend of bone, muscle, and just a hint of fat, just
enough to smooth the lines out.
Her legs and the firm butt they were attached to were probably her best
feature, but she was still concentrating on her breasts. The erection of
her nipples was only now beginning to fade, and she noted with some
satisfaction that it wasn't very visible through the fabric. Good, she
thought, I can get cold on the beach and not broadcast it. A quick
breath, a sharp nod. She'll take the suit. Good thing, since the bottom
part, she noted sheepishly as she removed it, was slightly damp.

She emerged from the revolving door of the main mall entrance and
blinked back the bright late spring sun. She hadn't gone ten meters
before she realized she had forgotten where she'd parked. Mall parking
lots are the bane of my existence, she thought. What will future
archaeologists think when they unearth them? She stood in the middle of
the drive adjacent to Section B, doing a slow 360, searching for the
dented hatchback that made her Subaru different from all others. She
clutched her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely aware of it. She
was so intent on her search that only the barest fraction of her mind
heard the screeching of tortured tires and the over-revving of an
engine. She had just completed her full revolution when the world
exploded in a dark red fog.
Pain, and again dark red, becoming lighter. Awareness returning
frustratingly slowly, as if swimming up from very deep water. Why won't
my eyes open? Chris thought, but the words were forming so slowly in her
mind. Then a crescent of white light which grew larger as her reluctant
eyelids finally obeyed her commands. The red fog cleared, leaving
sparkles at the edges of her field of vision. The first thing she
focused on was a thin clear plastic tube snaking its way upward to
attach to an inverted bottle within which a steady stream of bubbles
arose. Instant recognition, and instant panic. An IV unit. I'm in a
hospital! What the hell....? She tried to sit up and was rewarded with
the return of the red fog and a feeling which must be what getting one's
head impaled on a spike must be like. She paused to take stock of her
condition. Her head was wrapped tightly in bandages; in fact, where she
reached up to touch her face, all she felt was cloth. No, just the nose
and the upper jaw were covered. Her lower jaw ached, and her mouth felt
like it was packed full of cotton. She raised her arms into her field of
view and saw a splint on one hand and nothing on the other. Tentatively,
she wiggled toes, moved legs, flexed her back. Sore, but bearable. Her
personal inventory was interrupted by the smiling face of a young man
bending over her. The suddenness of his appearance startled her, and she
jumped slightly, which caused fireworks to go off behind her eyes. A
slight moan escaped her throat.
"Sorry," the doctor said. "I shouldn't be hovering like this. Just
checking my handiwork." Chris heard the scrape of a stool across the
floor as he sat down at her bedside. He paused a minute, as if
collecting his thoughts, then smiled again. "OK. Lots of questions.
First, you're in room 223 of Memorial Hospital. I am Dr. Frankenmuth.
That's '-muth', not '-stein'. I'm your doctor. Seems some maniac trying
to flee mall security with ten dollars' worth of shoplifted doodads in
his possession tried to mow you down in the prime of life." Frankenmuth
noted the fear building in her eyes and his manner immediately changed.
"You're hurt pretty badly, but we've put everything back where it
belongs. The worst injury was to your head. Your EEG shows normal, but
there was some fracturing. We had to go in through the roof of your
mouth to repair the damage. You'll be here a couple of weeks, but you'll
make a full recovery. We've given you medication for the pain and to
help you sleep. You're going to be fine. I and a number of my colleagues
will be checking in on you from time to time, but for now, just rest."
Chris was mildly surprised at how easy it was to follow that advice.
LACTOGENESIS II:
THE HOSPITAL
The next several days were a confusing time for Chris. She slept a lot
but was being constantly awakened for blood samples, urine samples,
stool samples. There seemed to be an endless parade of specialists

marching past her bedside, doing their pokings and proddings. There were
physical therapists, nurses, X-ray technicians, consultants, orderlies.
As the major pain subsided, Chris became aware of less intrusive
discomforts. She had been catheterized; the tube was chafing her vulva
slightly. Great, she thought. I've got a sore pussy for all the wrong
reasons. The IVs were starting to irritate the veins in her arms, but
the stitches in her mouth still prevented her from eating all but the
softest foods. She began to feel the pain along her side where the car
had hit her, but at least the fireworks had stopped in her head.
Finally came the day when Chris got enough courage to get out of bed
and walk shakily to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She gasped
slightly at the bandaged, black-eyed spectre staring back at her.
Christ, she thought, the last time I looked in a mirror I was trying on
a bikini. Now look at me. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound...and
with that she untied the strings of her hospital gown and let it fall to
the floor. She was actually relieved at what she saw. A deep blue bruise
covered most of her right hip, but it was already yellowing at the edges
and beginning to fade. No major contusions otherwise. She had lost those
extra couple of pounds -- nothing like not being able to eat to make one
lose weight. When her eyes fell upon her breasts, however, they went
wide. She had expected them to be smaller, in proportion to her weight
loss. On the contrary, though, they seemed larger! As she became aware
of that fact, she also became aware of a new heaviness and warmth about
them. These can't be mine, she thought. The nipples seemed thicker, the
areolae larger and slightly darker in color. Faint blue veins showed
beneath the skin, which somehow seemed almost translucent. They're
beautiful, she thought, but how...?
Her reverie was shattered by the sound of the door opening. Chris's
eyes closed tightly and she felt a blush starting at the base of her
neck.
There was no way she could hide herself; there was still enough pain
that quick movement wasn't a good idea. So there she stood, before the
mirror, stark naked, clutching an IV stand with a catheter tube snaking
from between her legs, as Dr. Frankenmuth entered the room. She felt
like dying, but Frankenmuth seemed not to take much notice of her
nakedness.
"If you can get yourself to the bathroom, you don't need that catheter
any more," he said approvingly. "Get back up in bed, and I'll remove
it." Chris made a move to pick up her fallen gown and winced as her hip
reminded her of its bruised condition. Frankenmuth just smiled. "Believe
me, I've seen every square inch of you. If you really want it,
though..." and he moved to pick it up.
"No, that's OK", Chris replied, her voice still thick from the rapidly
receding swelling in her mouth. She was almost surprised at herself.
Maybe it was the residual thrill of seeing her new body that caused her
modesty to be pushed into the background. She shuffled over to the bed
and stiffly but ably sat up on its edge. Frankenmuth put on sterile
gloves and retrieved the necessary equipment from a nearby cabinet.
"You might feel a little pressure, perhaps a wee bit of discomfort.
I'll try to make this fast." Frankenmuth lowered the bedside stool and
moved it close, then sat down. Chris realized that a handsome young man
was sitting with his face inches from her naked femininity, and rather
than embarrassing her, she found the thought arousing. This is
ridiculous, she told herself. I'm so banged up I can hardly move, I've
got a tube up my peehole, and I'm getting horny! It's been longer than I
thought. She found herself going with the feeling as Frankenmuth's
gloved fingers gently spread her labia. Chris felt the insides of her
thighs tingle with his touch and a dull but pleasant ache start in her
belly. Deftly, smoothly, he pulled out the catheter. By the time he was
finished, Chris's lower lips were coated with her nectar, her eyes were

half-lidded, and her nipples extended a full half-inch from her areolae.
What's *happening* to me? she thought absently. She glanced down at
Frankenmuth and noticed that his smile had changed subtlely. Can he see
how turned on I am? She got her answer mere seconds later, as
Frankenmuth's thumb shifted around to caress her clit, which was ruby
red and glistening. Chris took a sharp, shuddering breath. Her hips shot
forward (no pain, Chris noticed with a tiny fraction of her
consciousness), her thighs began quivering, and she came
forcefully...and voluminously. Through the bright haze of her orgasm,
Chris was amazed to see a veritable fountain of fluid gush from her
pussy, cover the doctor's hand, and splash across the front of his white
coat. Frankenmuth uttered a wordless sound of surprise and scooted the
stool back several feet. Chris was shocked right out of what arguably
had been the most intense orgasm of her life.
"Oh, my God, Doctor, I...." Words suddenly failed her as she clamped
her legs tightly together.
"No, it's OK, really," Frankenmuth said as he looked down at the stain
on his coat. "I'd heard of female ejaculation, of course, but I have to
tell you, that's the damndest thing I ever saw."
"You don't understand, Doctor. I don't do this. This has never happened
to me before. I'm...I'm actually a little bit frightened." Chris
gathered the bedsheets tightly around her, uncaring that a good portion
of them was soaking wet.
For someone who had just provided a patient with an incredible orgasm,
Frankenmuth was quickly able to don his professional demeanor. "Don't
be," he said reassuringly. "Maybe we can find out what's going on. Do
you always achieve orgasm so quickly?"
"No. I often don't come at all. When I do, it usually takes a while.
And I *never* get this wet. Doctor, there have been other things, too."
She told him about the change she had noticed in her breasts.
Frankenmuth rubbed his chin. "You know, I think I'm going to have an
endocrinologist look at you. There's a chance the bump you took to the
head has provided you with some fringe benefits." He stood up and turned
to leave, then realized what he must look like. He removed his gloves,
took off his coat, rolled it up under his arm, and smiled again. This
time there was a definite twinkle in his eye as he left the room.
Chris sat in her bed, still not quite able to fathom what had happened.
Not even ten minutes had passed since she dared looked at herself in the
doorway mirror, and in that unbelievably short time she had had a sexual
epiphany unlike anything she had ever experienced. I don't know what's
going on, she thought, but I think I like it. I wonder what other
surprises are on the horizon. Wicked thoughts began playing through her
mind as she put her hospital gown back on and rang for the nurse. She
was going to need fresh sheets.
LACTOGENESIS III:
THE ENDOCRINOLOGIST
Chris sat in the endocrinologist's office, watching impatiently as Dr.
Ellis ("call me Sheila", she had said) pored over an imposing-looking
stack of laboratory results. In the two weeks since she'd left the
hospital, she'd visited this office three times, each time giving up
what she thought was an inordinate amount of blood for tests and
submitting to microscopic goings-over of her ever-changing body. At
those times Chris had thought that Dr. Frankenmuth had had a gentler
touch -- or maybe that was because Frankenmuth had been a man.
Chris thought back over those last two weeks. She remembered getting
dressed the day of her discharge from the hospital. It was her first
time in street clothes in almost a month. The outfit she had worn the

day of the accident was a total loss, of course, but her neighbor Sherri
had brought her outfits from Chris's apartment. Chris had tried to put
on her undergarments, and laughed out loud at the result. She was still
thin from the weight loss she'd experienced, so the panties were loose
on her, but the bra was ridiculously small. She'd even checked the tag
on it: sure enough, 34B. Her breasts had swollen to 36C by that time.
She had had to forgo the bra for the trip home. She hadn't done that in
some time, and reveled in the feel of the fabric of her blouse teasing
her nipples as she moved. By the time she'd gotten home, they were so
hard and sensitive they ached, and she was sure she'd have to change
those too-big panties.
That first day home had been a one-woman orgy. Consumed with curiosity
as to whether her gushing orgasm at the hands of Dr. Frankenmuth had
been just a fluke, Chris couldn't wait to attain the privacy of her own
apartment before seeing for herself. She'd thought about it in the
hospital but was afraid someone coming for yet another blood sample
would catch her in the act. She hadn't even unpacked her valise before
dashing into the bedroom, stripping off her clothes, and going straight
for her nightstand, where sure enough, the vibrator was just where she
had left it. It was one of those G-spot vibrators with the bent tip,
designed to hit that magic place within the vagina. She remembered that
it had felt better than a standard bullet-shaped model, but she'd never
achieved anything with it like the tsunami that had happened in her
hospital room. Maybe that would change.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt the warmth and
weight of her breasts as they pressed against her rib cage. They didn't
spread out much, not as much as they used to. Not only were they getting
bigger, they were getting firmer, too. She brushed her fingertips
against her nipples, which were now a full three-quarters of an inch
long and as big around as her little finger. A pins-and-needles feeling
spread from the tips of each breast, down her tummy to her cunt. On
impulse, she pinched both nipples between thumbs and forefingers and
tugged. The tingles intensified, and she could feel herself getting wet.
She began stroking, kneading, squeezing her breasts. She was amazed at
the feeling -- the flesh didn't feel like what she was used to, and that
was incredibly exciting for her. She returned to massaging her nipples,
tracing slow circles around the wine-red areolae (they'd continued to
darken during her stay in the hospital). She could feel her hips
beginning to rise and fall of their own accord, so she clamped her legs
tightly together to intensify the slow burn that was beginning in her
clit. She pulled her nipples so hard that her breasts rose from their
resting place, and that put her over the edge. A wave of ecstasy rolled
across her body, and sure enough, the floodgates opened. Her legs were
pressed so tightly together that her juice sprayed forcefully straight
into the air and down into the mattress. She opened her eyes to find
everything below her navel dripping wet. Oddly enough, her fingers were
wet, too. She looked down at her breasts and was mildly shocked to find
a yellowish fluid seeping slowly from her still-hard nipples. Her joy
overcame her shock, though. She had just brought herself off without
even having touched her clit. That was *really* unusual for her, and
that first squirting orgasm hadn't been a fluke after all. Somehow she
was now able to ejaculate. Chris remembered having seen a porn film
featuring an actress named Fallon who shot juice from her pussy, and
remembered how she'd been convinced she was only peeing. Now she knew
better.
The session hadn't ended there, though. The vibrator had yet to be
touched. Chris turned it on and guided it slowly along her waist and
across the insides of her thighs, feeling the vibrations merge with the
trembling of her muscles. She reached her clit and pressed the head of
the vibrator just above the hood. Suddenly she felt an overpowering urge

to have that thing inside her. She flung her legs wide and with a single
motion buried it to the hilt in her sopping wet snatch. The bent tip was
facing forward, and Chris felt it nudge a swollen area of tissue deep
within her vagina. She came immediately, and more forcefully than
before.
She felt hot liquid splash along her calves as she rode the crest of
the wave. When she came down, she saw that the fluid from her distended
nipples had formed rivulets that coursed down into her armpits, and her
bedclothes were wet all the way to the foot of her bed. Lost in the
wonder of the fantastic and as yet unexplained changes that had happened
to her body, Chris masturbated for hours that day, eventually losing
count of her orgasms, each of which produced liquid both above and
below, but in ever-decreasing amounts until she was finally spent. And
very thirsty.
Those two weeks had brought on numerous repeats of this activity. Chris
was completely taken up in reveling in this new body of hers, which had
continued to change. She became more svelte; her skin, loosened by the
weight loss, tightened around a tummy that was now washboard flat. Her
hips became more defined. Her bush had proliferated considerably, to the
point where Chris decided to shave it completely off. *That* had been
quite an experience; she barely had kept from nicking herself with her
shaking hands. The sight of her bald beaver had so excited her that
she'd had three orgasms in rapid succession from only the slightest of
manipulations. By then she had learned to put a plastic drop cloth on
the bed. Her breasts continued to change. They now leaked this same
yellowish fluid more often, not just at orgasm. They also continued to
grow and get firmer. Chris had had to make two trips to the store for
bras as she continued to outgrow them. She finally seemed to level off
at 38D, but she was having to use the last set of hooks and even those
cups seemed a trifle confining.
Her thoughts returned to the present, for Sheila had completed her
examination of the lab results and was looking up at her.
LACTOGENESIS IV:
THE BEGINNING
"This has been a truly fascinating case for me," Dr. Sheila Ellis said
in genuine awe as she regarded Christine across her desk. "We both know
you've never had a child, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear your
blood chemistry was that of a postpartum woman." With the enthusiasm of
a new med student, she launched into a long speech punctuated by phrases
like "This is going to make one hell of a paper." Chris heard words like
prolactin, alpha-lactalbumin, progesterone, hypothalamus, lactogenesis,
oxytocin. "Your body has been fooled into thinking it has to feed a
baby," Sheila said. Chris was beginning to grow impatient. She had heard
plenty of *how*, and now she demanded to know *why*.
"As near as we can figure, something happened to your pituitary gland
as a result of the accident. Part of the surgery you had was in that
area of your skull, and although the pituitary is buried pretty deep,
it's possible that a piece of bone or other trauma has disturbed the
neurochemical connections between your pituitary and the rest of your
body. The hormones the pituitary produces have been going crazy, and
they've been what's triggered the changes in you. Increases in breast
size and vascularization, pigment changes in the nipples and areolae,
discharge of colostrum -- that yellowish fluid that leaks from your
breasts -- elevated serum prolactin...all of these are consistent with
stage I lactogenesis. Your breasts have undergone a tremendous
proliferation of secretory alveoli, lactiferous tubules, and
myoepithelial cells...."

Yeah, yeah, it's all Greek to me, Chris thought. I sure wish she'd stop
with the technobabble. She started fidgeting in her chair. She was
becoming rather uncomfortable. She had noticed a slight ache in her
breasts when she arrived at Sheila's office, and it had been steadily
growing worse. Now she was beginning to feel real pain, her breasts felt
even larger than ever (if that was possible), and she began to feel like
she might burst the confines of her bra. This was new; it was also very
disconcerting.
Sheila was in the middle of explaining how Chris's hormonal changes had
also triggered a proliferation of cell growth in her Grafenberg Spot,
which in turn was responsible for her ejaculations, when she noticed
Chris scrunching her shoulders together and wincing slightly. "What's
wrong?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. My breasts really hurt all of a sudden."
"Let's take a look."
Chris hurriedly removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra. Her breasts
sprang free from their confinement but barely sagged at all upon removal
of their support. They looked absolutely huge to her -- could I really
have once been a 34B? she thought absently. The skin was stretched taut,
and the veins beneath glowed purplish blue. The areolae looked puffy and
had small patches of dried colostrum on them. Her nipples, now exposed
to the cool air of the office, sprang to life. Her boobs felt heavy and
hot, and they *hurt*.
Sheila came around her desk and lightly ran one hand around the side of
one breast. She felt the heat, saw the distension, and knew immediately
what was happening. "You're engorged, my dear. Your milk has come in."
Chris wasn't surprised to hear it; she felt full. All she wanted now was
to be emptied. Despite the pain, she felt a familiar stirring in her
crotch. It had been fun watching the colostrum leak from her breasts
during her sexplay, but now she was going to be able to gush liquid from
her nipples, just as she had been doing from her pussy. I'm going to be
a damn human fountain, she thought. She looked up at Sheila, who was
still staring, almost transfixed, at her chest. After a few seconds
Sheila looked up into Chris's eyes and saw an unspoken question, "What
now?"
Sheila turned back to her desk and picked up an empty coffee cup. "I
don't have a breast pump in the office; you'll have to pick one up on
the way home. We can express some of that milk, enough to relieve the
engorgement. Here." She handed Chris the cup. Chris leaned forward
slightly, placed the lip of the cup under one swollen nipple, and
squeezed. Nothing happened. She tried again with the other breast -same result. Jeez, she thought, you'd think I'd be spewing milk by now.
Sheila watched her for a few seconds, then blinked and said, "I'm
sorry. I forgot you'd have no idea how to do this. Let me show you. It's
easier if..." and she walked behind Chris's chair. Sheila reached down
past Chris's shoulders and cupped her right breast. Her hand was too
small to hold all of it. She moved her hand forward slightly until her
thumb and fingers bracketed Chris's half-dollar-sized areola. Chris
closed her eyes and involuntarily tipped her head back slightly.
Sheila's cool hand on her hot breast felt good. "Now hold the cup up,"
Sheila said, and with that pushed her thumb and first two fingers back
toward Chris's chest wall while simultaneously rolling the areola
forward. She was rewarded by a few drops of pale bluish-white liquid
dripping from Chris's diamond-hard nipple. Sheila repeated the motion,
and this time the drops became a weak stream. Again, and this time two
streams emerged.
Chris was getting caught up in the feeling of Sheila's hand on her. The
milking motions she was applying were very much like the nipple-tugging
she liked to do while masturbating. Through barely open lips she
murmured, "Something's happening." And it was. Through the heat and

heaviness of her breasts, Chris could feel a new kind of warmth, a sort
of pleasant burning sensation that started up high, near her ribs, and
spread downward toward her nipples in an ever-intensifying swell. Within
seconds it felt like she was going to explode. Her lips formed an "O",
and she exhaled in a soft, long moan.
At that moment, Chris's breasts erupted. At least a half dozen needlethin streams of hot milk sprayed from each throbbing nipple, arcing
several feet into the air and splashing across Sheila's desk. Sheila
immediately snatched her hand back from Chris's breast, but the torrent
continued unabated. Chris, completely transported by the ecstatic
feeling of sudden release, unconsciously moved her hands up to her
streaming breasts, grabbed them, and began imitating Sheila's milking
motions. The sprays of milk were doubly renewed; seeming gallons shot
forth. Sheila valiantly tried to catch as much as she could in the cup,
but wasn't very successful. Finally she simply stood back and stared in
wonder at the spectacle before her. Chris squirted and moaned, squirted
and moaned for what seemed to her to be several minutes until finally
the intense pressure abated and she was able to regain control of
herself. Had she come? She was so hazy from the intensity and newness of
the experience that she wasn't sure. When she finally opened her eyes
and sat up, she gasped. Puddles of milk were seemingly everywhere.
Sheila was wiping off the folder containing Chris's lab results, shaking
her head in disbelief. "That was the most astounding letdown reflex I
have ever seen. You must have shot ten feet." The good doctor was
obviously beside herself. Was she breathing a little heavily? Chris
wondered as she fumbled with her bra. Sheila smoothed the front of her
white coat (which had some small wet spots on it), chuckled slightly,
and said, "I think you've gone past stage II and are in full lactation."
No shit, Chris thought wryly.
LACTOGENESIS V:
THE DECISION
Dr. Ellis took a Kleenex, wiped off her chair, muttered something about
how long this was going to take to clean up, sat down, folded her hands,
and looked serious. "We need to discuss how you want to handle this,"
she said.
Christine didn't like the tone in her voice, and instantly her brain
kicked into overdrive. She's right, she thought. What am I going to do
about this? Am I going to be making a mess everywhere I go, spewing milk
like a Guernsey cow? What if I'm traveling, or on a date, or in a store,
and I...what was the term Sheila used?..."let down" like that? Am I
going to be engorged all the time? Am I going to have to wear those ugly
nursing bras? Am I always going to be washing milk stains out of my
blouse? What are *guys* going to think about this?
At the same time, another part of her was almost panicked. Ellis is
going to suggest something like surgery again to correct this, or
hormone therapy. She remembered a friend of hers who had undergone
hormone therapy to treat endometriosis. The drugs had completely changed
her personality, transforming her from a pleasant, ordinary type to a
weepy, bitchy bundle of nerves. Chris shuddered at the prospect of
becoming like that. Her body was screwed up enough now; she didn't want
Sheila or anybody else compounding the problem. And did she really want
to go back to her old body? No doubt when the milk dried up, her breasts
would return to their previous 34B, maybe even less. They'd probably
droop and be covered with stretch marks. The calories that were going
into making milk now would redeposit themselves on her hips, and she
would once again be a slave to her Stairmaster. Hospital nurseries
needed mother's milk; perhaps she could donate hers. Lastly, dammit, she

realized, she liked it! *Really* liked it! Since her transformation
began, her degree of sexual fulfillment had been orders of magnitude
greater than anything she had previously experienced -- and she smiled
inwardly when she realized that this was in spite of the fact that she
hadn't gotten laid in months. Her orgasms were more intense, frequent,
and yes, even multiple now. She was beginning to open up to herself
sexually, too -- would she have shaved her pussy on a whim a year ago?
She thought not. Being able to give milk and to squirt at orgasm somehow
made her feel like she had attained a new level of physical and sexual
development -- almost as if she had been in "standby" mode all these
years and only now was becoming a fully functional sexual being. After
all, weren't tits *designed* to have milk?
All the gushing, squirting, and spraying was an exquisite form of
release for her -- it felt so much more *thorough* than what she had
experienced before. She also liked her profile in the mirror; she liked
the feel of her big new breasts, new baby-smooth mons, newly talented
pussy. She was sure that most guys would kill for a night with a woman
who could do the things Chris could now do. Besides, hadn't she read
somewhere that lactating tits were less likely to develop breast cancer
than the regular models? The decision was quickly made: Chris would keep
lactating as long as her extraordinary pituitary and mammary glands
would let her.
What Sheila said next made Chris wonder if she could read minds. "I
hesitate to recommend doing anything invasive at this stage," she said.
"It's possible that the pituitary is damaged somehow -- we could do a
MRI scan to see for sure -- but surgery in that area is a tricky
prospect, and there's a good chance we could do more harm than good."
Sheila paused for a few seconds, then continued. "Obstetricians have
been giving 'dry-up' drugs like bromocryptine to postpartum women who
didn't want to breastfeed for decades, but some new studies indicate
that they can be very harmful, and the FDA just recently banned their
use for that purpose. That leaves us with a third option of doing
nothing. Normally, if a lactating woman does not drain the milk she
produces, the pressure produces a feedback mechanism that signals the
machinery to shut down, and she dries up within a few days. It's an
uncomfortable few days during which there's a lot of engorgement. Some
women even develop a mild fever. We could try that if you want, but
frankly, the way your hormones are raging, I doubt the feedback
mechanism would work. You'd just be miserable. Let me ask you this: does
the prospect of producing a lot of milk for the foreseeable future
bother you?" Chris pretended to mull it over for a while, then shook her
head no. Sheila went on. "In that case, I can put you in touch with the
local milk bank regarding donations if you'd like to do that. I've
already mentioned a breast pump; that will become one of your closest
companions, I'm afraid," she added. Yeah, right up there with my G-spot
vibrator, Chris thought with amusement. "I can also give you the number
of the local La Leche League chapter; they can give you a lot of tips as
to the daily care and feeding -- pardon the pun -- of those lovely
breasts of yours." She handed Chris a slip of paper. "I want to see you
regularly over these next weeks and months. I'll be honest with you. You
would make a terrific research project in lactation without pregnancy.
You are definitely a rare find. Would you consider helping out in that
regard?" Chris was mildly surprised but answered yes. "Great," Sheila
replied happily. "Call me if you have problems, otherwise, I'll see you
in...two weeks," she said, glancing briefly at her calendar. "Goodbye
now." Sheila briskly walked over to a paper towel dispenser, pulled out
several, and began mopping up the puddles of milk Chris had deposited on
her desk.
Chris mumbled some thanks and stood up to leave, somewhat perplexed by
the suddenness of her dismissal. She thought she had seen a twinkle in

Sheila's eye similar to Frankenmuth's when he had witnessed her sexual

uniqueness. For a split second she had imagined that there was more than
just a professional interest there, but evidently she was wrong. Chris
had never been with another woman before, but with everything that had
happened, it seemed nothing was outside the realm of possibility now.
She thought it might be interesting, and Dr. Ellis was actually fairly
attractive. She shook her head slightly as if to drive the thought out.
Boy, do *you* need to get your ashes hauled, she thought.
As she started to walk to the door, she felt a trickle of fluid run
down the inside of both thighs. Her panties were absolutely glued to
her.
I guess I must have come after all, she thought. Thank God I wore a
skirt today. She stole a glance at the chair she had been sitting on.
Sure enough, there was a puddle there, too, and it certainly wasn't
milk. As she looked up again, she caught Sheila dipping a finger into
some of the milk on the desk, putting the finger in her mouth, and
smiling blissfully. Just then she caught Chris's eye and turned away as
if embarrassed. Chris smiled and left the office. I am going to have
*fun*, she thought as she approached her car.
LACTOGENESIS VI:
THE ADJUSTMENT
Christine came through the doorway of her apartment, loaded down with
grocery bags. She went straight to the refrigerator, opened the freezer
compartment, and began loading pints of Ben & Jerry's into it. Four
different flavors this time. Blast those guys for inventing this stuff,
she thought. It's more addictive than cocaine. She smiled as she
remembered all the hours she had had to spend on the Stairmaster as a
result of her addiction. She still used the machine fairly often; she
still enjoyed the endorphin rush from it, but at least now she didn't
*have* to use it. One of the fringe benefits of her new ability to
lactate was that she could easily turn all those sinful calories back
into milk instead of wearing them as fat. In fact, Dr. Sheila had
recommended that she increase her calorie intake substantially to
compensate for the increased activity of her mammary glands.
In the weeks since the day when Chris accidentally soaked down the desk
in Sheila's office with her first blasts of milk, that activity had
increased considerably. She had found out early that the more often her
breasts were drained, the more milk she produced. She had had to
graduate from the small battery-powered breast pump she had bought at
the drug store that first day to a plug-in model that could do both
breasts at once that she rented from a medical supply house. The local
milk bank had a standing order with her; she had become their most
prolific donor. On a good day she could deliver close to two liters of
fresh milk to them on her way to work each morning.
She didn't mind the work involved in expressing all this milk; in fact,
the breast pump had replaced the vibrator as her main source of
masturbatory assistance. She couldn't get enough of the rhythmic pulsing
of the suck-release-suck-release cycle of the big pump, and the
wonderful, warm, tingling sensation of the milk letting down would
always set up a similar feeling in her crotch. She was grateful that her
nipples had not become tender and sore as a result of all the
stimulation. On the contrary, they had become her primary erogenous
zones, sending electric shock-like sensations through her even in such
non-erotic situations as being in the frozen food section of the grocery
store and having the cold air from the freezers bring on the inevitable
response from "nature's thermometers". She was coming so much these days
from the thrice-daily act of relieving the pressure behind her nipples

that she had taken to wearing maxi-pads most of the time to soak up the
gush of fluid that accompanied each orgasm. She had little other use for
them, as she had stopped menstruating -- Sheila had told her that was
not unusual in an actively lactating woman. Between her breasts and her
vagina, Christine amusedly likened herself to the goddess statues on the
big fountain in the park, who constantly spewed water from practically
every orifice.
Now that having milk had become such a big part of her life, Chris
decided to become an expert on the subject. In these last weeks, she had
spent a lot of time in the local college's medical library, reading
every treatise on lactation she could lay her hands on. She found out
about the close relationship between milk production and emotional
state: women who had a positive attitude about lactation produced more
milk. No problem there, Chris thought. It's getting so I can't remember
what my body was like before the accident. Conversely, she read that the
flow of milk can be stopped completely by relatively simple
distractions. Mind over matter, she thought, and was intrigued. Armed
with this new information and some stress control exercises she
remembered from the treatment she'd received for a bout of depression
some years before, Chris embarked on a program whereby she was
eventually able to completely control her milk production by force of
will. By clearing her mind and concentrating on her wondrous mammaries,
Chris was able to summon up that familiar pleasant burning sensation
that always signaled letdown at a moment's notice. Without even touching
herself, she could, if she so desired, shoot her milk several feet. On
the same hand, if she knew she was going to be in a situation in which
she could not easily drain herself, she could consciously halt her milk
production at a state of pleasant fullness until such time as she could
be alone. Sheila had called it the most remarkable case of conscious
control she had ever seen. Contrary to what Chris had read, occasionally
halting the flow of milk from her breasts did not cause a diminution of
the supply. She had even taken to occasionally sampling some of her own
milk and had found it sweet and really quite tasty, without worrying
about depriving the orphans for whom her donations to the milk bank were
intended.
Chris had, in short, become master over this wonderful new ability of
hers. Gone were the painful episodes of engorgement when she felt her
breasts might explode from the pressure. Gone were the hideously ugly
maternity bras stuffed with always-wet nursing pads. She was able to
wear sexy lingerie again (and now that her bust had leveled off at 40DD,
she looked absolutely devastating in it) and with the extra firmness
imparted to her breasts, she often went without any underwear with no
fear of a sudden letdown causing embarrassing circles of moisture to
form on her blouses. Despite their enormous size, Chris's breasts stuck
almost straight out from her chest, resisting gravity in a most
aesthetic way. Sheila had said that somehow the supporting ligaments and
musculature had proliferated right along with the extra glandular tissue
-- another side effect of the hormonal treasure trove caused by the head
injury. The hormones had also imparted a new lustre and smoothness to
her skin, and with the veins barely visible under the taut skin of her
bosom, Chris now looked almost as if she had been carved from fine
Italian marble.
Chris was a very lucky woman. Instead of her run-in with a reckless
driver rendering her a twisted lump of broken flesh, it had sculpted her
into a heartbreakingly beautiful definition of pulchritude. So why
hadn't she had so much as a date, let alone a sexual liaison, since the
accident?
Surely the guys at work had noticed the change in her figure. She'd
gained six inches along her bustline; such a thing does not go
unnoticed! She'd felt the eyes on her in stores, on the street...was it

that her incredible new figure was actually intimidating men? Did they
think she had been artificially enhanced? What was the deal here?
Chris was thinking just such thoughts as she sat alone at her kitchen
table, with an open pint of Cherry Garcia in front of her, when she
heard her doorbell ring.
LACTOGENESIS VII:
THE NEIGHBOR
Christine quickly replaced the ice cream in the freezer, and hurried to
the door. As she peered through the peephole, she felt a pang of
embarrassment. Standing in the hallway was her neighbor Sherri, who had
taken care of Chris's apartment while she was in the hospital. Chris's
embarrassment stemmed from the fact that in the weeks since she'd been
home, she had not once visited Sherri to thank her for the work she had
done to keep the place up and for generally being the kind of neighbor
most people wished they had. Her mind raced as she tried to think of a
proper apology. It was several seconds before she realized she hadn't
opened the door yet.
As the door swung open, Sherri held up a set of keys, which she
jingled. "Just returning these," she said. "Sorry I've taken so long to
get them back to you."
"Oh, Sherri, it's me who should apologize. Please, come in."
Chris stood aside to admit her neighbor, stammering out poorly chosen
words of apology as she did so. "I'm really sorry I haven't been by to
see you. I've been meaning to thank you for helping out while I was
hurt.
The place really looked great, and I appreciate..."
Sherri simply waved one hand. "Listen, glad to do it. If I were laid up
like you were, with no family around to help out, I know I'd want to
have somebody keeping an eye on my place while I was gone. I just wanted
to drop by to see how you were doing. You look...er...you look...uh,
great." Chris suddenly realized that Sherri's gaze was riveted on her
breasts. Chris had chosen a body suit and jeans that morning; the skintight outfit accentuated her outrageous figure more than usual. Of
course, Chris thought, she hasn't seen me for a while. God, I'll bet I
really look different to her. Sherri, at 5'2", was a full five inches
shorter than Chris, which made her staring at Chris's bosom all the more
comical, like someone who had been hypnotized. Chris felt the
awkwardness level in the room growing, so she decided to use a little
levity. She passed one hand rapidly in front of Sherri's face, playfully
shouting, "Hello? Hello?" Her breasts jiggled slightly as she did so.
Sherri shook her head slightly, tossing a mane of thick, reddish-orange
hair. She blinked a pair of huge, gray-green, long-lashed eyes and then
immediately covered them with her hand. "Jesus, I'm sorry," she said
softly. "I can't believe I did that. It's just that you're so...so
*different*..."
"Hey, no problem. Look, I had to do *something* to compete with you.
I couldn't let you get *all* the stares." They both laughed, and the
tension in the room was broken. Chris hadn't exaggerated. Although
Sherri was pushing 40, there was nothing in her smooth, lightly freckled
face to betray her age. Her slight frame had thickened slightly over the
years, but she still had a drop-dead hourglass shape and a chest that
turned heads. In fact, Chris had had to borrow some tops from Sherri
while she had retooled her wardrobe to her new dimensions. They had fit
quite well. As she motioned for Sherri to be seated, Chris could see the
questions in Sherri's eyes, and decided to save her further
embarrassment by beating her to the punch.
"Little fringe benefit from the accident," she said simply. "They tell

me my pituitary gland got kicked into overdrive. I had no idea that

little thing could cause all this. If I'd've known this would happen,
I'd've jumped in front of a bus years ago."
"Well, from the looks of things, maybe you'd better give me that guy's
license number." More laughter. "Seriously, I can't get over what's
happened to you. You look, well, fantastic! I gather you didn't have to
take in any of the clothes I lent you. Even looks like you might have me
by an inch or two. Who'd've thought I'd have the *second* biggest set in
the building?" It was true. Until now, there had never been a problem
getting Sherri's underwear mixed up with anyone else's in the laundry
room. Anything with a tag that said "38D" had to be Sherri's. Chris
smiled. She had always admired Sherri's slightly earthy, no-bullshit
personality. Sherri was clearly envious of Chris's new bustline, and was
making no bones about it.
"Speaking of clothes, before I forget, I want to give you those back,"
Chris said, as she rose and quickly strode toward her bedroom closet.
She quickly returned with a small handful of hangers from which hung
several blouses. "I meant to get them to you earlier, but I had to send
a couple out to get some milk stains removed. They did a good job; you
can't even tell..." She stopped herself. She hadn't meant to say "milk".
The stains had happened before Chris had gotten conscious control over
her ability to lactate. She'd gotten so used to having milk that she
hadn't thought about how other people would react. Had she said too much
already?
"That's OK. I thought you didn't like to drink..." Sherri stopped in
mid-sentence. Her pale features became even paler and her big eyes
widened to almost cartoon-character size. "You don't mean...you don't
mean those actually *work*?" The way Sherri put that, Chris couldn't
help herself. A quick, nervous spasm of laughter escaped her lips.
She recovered quickly. "Yeah. They sure do. Pretty wild, huh?"
Sherri was glancing around the floor, trying to find a place to fix her
gaze. Her eyes were still wide as she said, "Well, that explains those
funny rhythmical noises I've been hearing from in here. You're using a
pump, aren't you?"
Chris cursed inwardly. The walls in this building are thinner than I
thought, she said to herself. Maybe I'll have to do that in the kitchen
from now on. She looked up at Sherri, trying to think of something witty
to say. Suddenly she noticed how Sherri's demeanor had changed. Her
hands were clasping and unclasping in her lap; she seemed to be
fidgeting; her eyes were darting everywhere; and she actually looked a
little flushed. It didn't quite look like embarrassment -- it looked
like...My God, Chris thought. She looks like she's *excited*! I'd best
tread softly here...
"Are you all right? Should we change the subject?"
"Oh, no! No!" Sherri burst out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said
anything. It's just that..." She glanced down, afraid to meet Chris's
eyes. "It's just that, I've always wanted to be able to do that. It's
been a long-standing fantasy of mine. I've always been proud of these
boobs of mine, and men have always appreciated them. I've just been
wanting to give them, and myself, more..." She looked up. "Oh, boy, I've
said too much. I'd better go..." She stood up quickly.
"No, wait. Sit down, hon," Chris said soothingly. "I'm not offended.
Frankly, I'm intrigued, and flattered that you'd want to confide in me
like that. You know, I haven't really talked to anybody about this
except my doctor, and she's so *clinical* about it. Stay. Let's talk.
I'd like to get this off my chest."
She realized the double entendre just as Sherri did. The two friends
stared at each other for a few shocked moments, then dissolved in
helpless laughter. Chris knew in that moment she had found a confidante,
someone she could tell anything to.

LACTOGENESIS VIII:
THE SECRET REVEALED
Christine and Sherri laughed for a long time over Chris's "get it off
my chest" line. As the laughter began to die down, Chris impulsively
reached out and hugged Sherri to her. She immediately felt the
unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of another woman's body against hers.
It was the first time Chris had had close physical contact with another
person since her body had changed. Sherri had gone up on tip-toe, and
Chris became acutely aware of her breasts pressing against her own.
Seventy-eight combined inches of mammary tissue squashed together,
creating a huge soft cushion any man would have been more than happy to
suffocate in. Chris found herself holding the embrace longer than she
thought she would have. It felt soft and safe in Sherri's arms.
It was Sherri who broke it off. "Oh, I shouldn't have squeezed so hard,
but I haven't laughed like that in weeks. Did I hurt you?"
"No, don't be silly," Chris replied. "They're full, but it's not like
they're going to pop or anything."
Sherri sat down again abruptly. "Oh, Chris. Tell me what it's like.
Is it uncomfortable? Do you like it? Is it inconvenient for you? Does
it make you feel sexier?" A flood of questions followed, and Chris
answered as best she could, when she could get a word in edgewise. She
decided to be honest, and not hold anything back. She told Sherri about
the incident in Sheila's office, about how much she enjoyed using the
pump, even about how the letdown sensation always enhanced her orgasms
and how she was now able to ejaculate. She found herself going into
painstaking detail. She also discovered that relating these experiences
was proving to be extremely arousing for her. She was reliving her
sexual awakening. The memories of how she had received the new
sensations her body had provided were actually reviving those
sensations. She couldn't help noticing Sherri's reactions, either. As
Chris went on, Sherri occasionally would reach up a hand to absently
stroke a breast, or she would rub her thighs together gently. The look
on her face was one which a man marooned in a desert would have when his
eyes beheld a drinking fountain. Finally, as Chris was describing a
particularly intense orgasm she had had in the shower, when the blasts
of water, vaginal juice, and breast milk had combined just before
disappearing down the drain, Sherri could contain herself no longer.
"Please, show me." She was almost begging. "I must see what it's like.
Show me, please, Chris."
Chris was so turned on by her own narrative that Sherri's request
actually sounded reasonable. Her excitement had cranked up her hormone
levels, and her breasts were in need of relief. Why not, then? Without a
word, Chris stood and walked to the kitchen cupboard, from which she
produced a large drinking glass. She walked back over to the sofa, put
the glass on the coffee table, and began unbuttoning the top of her
bodysuit. She pulled the stretchy fabric down over her shoulders and
allowed it to bunch at her waist, revealing a lacy, sheer, half-cup bra
that seemed to only barely hold its contents. Chris unfastened the front
clasp and the cups swung to the sides like the gates of heaven. She
thought she heard Sherri gasp as her bosom came into full view.
"Oh, Chris, they're beautiful." Sherri suddenly leaned forward to touch
her neighbor's swollen breasts. Gently, almost with a feather touch,
Sherri's hand traced the smooth curves, brushed the extended nipples
with butterfly-wing tenderness. Chris found herself moaning softly,
captivated by the softness of Sherri's touch and how totally
electrifying it was. She felt a hard coolness in one hand and opened her
eyes to find that Sherri had pressed the glass into it. She looked up

and met Sherri's eyes, which wordlessly were pleading Do it, do it.
Chris placed the rim of the glass along the lower margin of her left
areola. With her left hand she pressed in and down, and was immediately
rewarded with a gush of milk. The thin fluid streamed freely, pulsing
anew with each press from Chris's fingers. The glass began filling
quickly.
Sherri sat transfixed, her eyes never blinking. Her hands were busy
however; one rubbing a tit while the other was buried between her legs,
fluttering like a wounded bird against the fabric covering her pussy.
Through the buzzing of pleasure in her head, Chris felt the now-unequal
pressure on her chest, and almost unconsciously switched breasts. Now
her right breast sprayed hard and long into the glass, while a thin
dribble continued from her left breast, dripping onto her thigh. Chris
knew that if she continued, the glass would soon overflow, so she
started the mental exercise that would slow the flow without taking away
the pleasure. As the bluish-white jets from her turgid nipple became
slow droplets, Chris felt Sherri grab the glass away.
Sherri was like a woman obsessed. "I *have* to taste this. I simply
must..." Her words were cut short as she thirstily slurped at the
contents of the glass. Without taking the glass away, she began
murmuring, "Oh, God, it's so sweet and warm. I had no idea how good..."
Her voice sounded strangely hollow as she spoke through the bottom of
the glass. Abruptly she stopped drinking, lowered the glass, and stared
at Chris with a look that practically screamed "please". Somehow, Chris
knew what Sherri wanted, and somehow, she welcomed the idea. Sherri
quickly dropped to her knees next to Chris, leaned forward, and fastened
her lips to Chris's dripping nipple.
Chris inhaled sharply at this new sensation. This was not some
inanimate plastic cup applying a suction like the vacuum of space
itself, this was a live, warm, human being. Her body reacted intensely
to the feel of skin on skin, a feeling it hadn't experienced for months,
and never in this incarnation. Sherri sucked like a starving woman, and
Chris's breast responded in kind. Sherri's breathing became erratic as
she tried to handle a flow so strong that she could barely swallow fast
enough. Her right hand went up to fondle Chris's free breast, and for a
moment Chris lost her mental hold, allowing fresh milk to cascade over
Sherri's kneading fingers and down her arm. Sherri's left hand was
firmly entrenched in her crotch, her fingers a blur as she masturbated
right through her clothing. As she neared orgasm, Sherri's mouth lost
its grip on Chris's nipple. Milk still blasted forth, hitting the back
of Sherri's throat as she opened her mouth wide to scream forth her
pleasure. Her orgasmic yell became a choking cough as the milk went down
the wrong pipe, but Chris was too far into her own orgasm to hear it.
She felt the maxi-pad between her legs swell with the liquid being
poured into it, and the extra pressure that created heightened the
sensation even more. Her body was actually trembling as she reached for
a tissue to dab some errant drops of milk from her pulsing nipples. The
maxi-pad had reached its limit, and a dark spot was forming on her
jeans. Sherri's outfit fared little better.
LACTOGENESIS IX:
THE FAVOR
Sherri coughed a few more times, then straightened up, her eyes
watering. She accepted tissues, which she used to wipe off her mouth,
throat, and hands. "Christ almighty, that was unbe-fucking-lievable,"
she mused. "I don't come like that, even with a cock in me. You are
truly a wonder, you are."
Chris sat very still, numbed by what had just transpired. She had just

had an orgasm as the result of an encounter with another woman,

something that just a few short months ago she would have considered
unthinkable, repulsive even. It slowly dawned on her that the hormonal
changes had affected not only her body, but her mind as well. She
suddenly felt as if a great stone gate had been torn away from a hidden
place in her psyche, allowing a whole new world of possibilities to be
entertained. Is this what it's like when a blind person regains her
sight? Chris thought. In a rush, she grabbed Sherri's head and pressed
it to her still-wet chest, tears beginning at the corners of her eyes.
"Thank you, Sherri, thank you," she repeated over and over. "You have no
idea what you have just done for me. If there's any way I can repay
you..."
Sherri allowed herself to be rocked in Chris's arms, blissfully unaware
of what she was talking about. Through her post-orgasmic glow, however,
she clearly heard Chris's last sentence. Her eyes brightened as she sat
up, took both of Chris's hands in hers, and said, "Actually, there is
something..."
Chris blinked away the tears and smiled. "Honey, after that, you can
have anything your lil' ol' heart desires."
Sherri wasn't smiling, and there was a look of earnestness on her face.
"I'm serious here," she said. She paused a few seconds as if framing a
very important question. "Chris," she said finally, "I want you to show
me how to do that. I want *my* tits overflowing. After seeing what it's
like, I just realized I've never wanted anything so much in my life.
Teach me how to get milk in these babies. Please."
Chris sat back against the sofa. She had not been prepared for this.
She began refitting her bra and bodysuit as she tried to think of how
to respond. Presently she said, "Sherri, I don't think this is anything
I can *teach* you. You forget, I had to get my head practically smashed
in for this to happen. This is a fluke, a one-in-a-million thing. My
doctor's still not sure why or how I'm still like this, or how long it
will last. There are just too many unknowns here."
Sherri's shoulders drooped and her face fell. "I know, I know," she
said resignedly. "I shouldn't have asked such a silly thing. I guess it
was just the tail end of my orgasm talking. Forget I said anything."
Chris was surprised; Sherri was genuinely disappointed, and seemed
almost on the verge of tears. Chris couldn't let such a marvelous sexual
experience end on such a note.
"Now hold on a minute, I didn't say it was impossible. You know, I've
been doing a lot of reading lately, trying to figure out what's going on
in this body of mine, and I seem to remember...hey!" Chris jumped up and
hurried over to her bookshelf, from which she extracted an imposinglooking volume, one of the books on lactation she had borrowed from the
college's medical library. She checked the index, then started paging
through the text furiously. She stopped suddenly, and triumphantly
stabbed a finger halfway down one page. "I knew I'd seen something about
this." She scanned the page quickly, half mumbling to herself, while
Sherri sat bolt upright in anticipation of some great revelation Chris
was about to reveal.
"It says here that it is possible to induce lactation in a woman who
has never been pregnant. Guess I'm living proof of that! Evidently
adoptive mothers have been able to produce enough milk to nurse their
babies, at least somewhat. God, it even says it's possible for *men* to
make milk. Let's see. How to do it? Hmmm...OK, here it is. Looks like
you need to have your breasts sucked on several times a day for a long
time, maybe even months. I'll lend you this book so you can read the
details for yourself, but it looks like frequent stimulation is all
that's really needed. No drugs or anything."
Sherri was smiling again. "Frequent stimulation, huh? Sounds like
something that's right up my alley. Thank God the boyfriend likes to

nibble on me anyway. Several times a day, though, I don't know. Guess

I'll have to get me a pump, too. 'Course," she said, cupping her
breasts, "these are big enough for me to suck myself. I just hope my
nips don't fall off." She looked up and her smile took on a wicked
quality. "I wouldn't mind a little help now and then, if you're
willing." Sherri read the expression on Chris's face, and added with a
slight shrug, "Guess there was no way you could have known I was bi.
Never came up in conversation, did it?" She snorted softly. "Main reason
Kent divorced me. Didn't want to share me with a woman."
Chris shook her head. This was rapidly becoming more than she could
handle. First the realization that she could enjoy sex with a woman,
then Sherri's outrageous request, then her bombshell that she was
bisexual...Chris's head was swimming.
Sherri sensed her friend's confusion. Somehow she put the pieces
together. "This was your first time with a woman, wasn't it?" Chris
nodded gently. Sherri almost laughed, but thought better of it. "Hell of
an initiation. Well," she said softly, reaching out to stroke Chris's
hair, "I'm glad it was with me. If you find this kind of thing to your
liking, maybe we could get together once in a while. In the meantime, I
hope we can stay friends."
"What? Of course, we're friends! I'm sorry, Sherri, this has just been
a very eventful day for me."
"Sure, I understand. I remember my first time with a woman. Blew me
away. For a long time I wasn't sure of my sexual identity. Took me a
while to sort it out."
"Tell me about it?" Chris said earnestly.
Sherri stood up, tucking Chris's book under her arm. "It's a long
story, best told over drinks. Tell you what. There's a new club opening
across town tonight, an 80's retro kind of place. Why don't we go out
and get wasted, and we can talk about, well, *everything*. What do you
say?"
"Sounds great. I need to talk. These last weeks have been so crazy..."
"It's a date, then. Come by my place at nine." Sherri moved to the
door. "Thanks for the book. I've got a feeling the next few weeks are
going to be crazy, too." Before Chris had a chance to react, Sherri
stood on tiptoe and kissed her on the mouth. Chris was taken aback, but
not so much that she didn't appreciate the softness of Sherri's lips.
Before she knew it, Sherri was gone.
Chris touched her lips lightly, her head still cloudy from the last few
minutes' events. She'd been living in the same building with Sherri and
had known her for quite a while, but never in a million years would she
have thought... As Chris closed the door, she had a feeling the day
still had some interesting things in store.
LACTOGENESIS X:
THE NIGHTCLUB
Christine stood in the hallway outside Sherri's apartment. She rang the
doorbell, then checked her watch. 9:07 pm. She glanced down at herself
to take final stock of her appearance. She and Sherri were going to a
nightclub to drink and talk; she wasn't in the mood for cruising the
place for cute guys. She was dressed accordingly: an understated outfit,
characterized by loose-fitting fabric that de-emphasized her figure. She
didn't want some drunk asshole slobbering all over her chest tonight.
God, she thought, I feel like I'm going on a blind date or something.
Relax! It's only Sherri; this is only going to be a couple of girls out
on the town. She reconsidered. It was never again going to be "only
Sherri", not after what had happened in Chris's apartment earlier that
day.

The door opened to reveal Sherri brushing her hair. Chris's eyebrows
arched when she saw what Sherri was wearing. The phrase "hunting outfit"
came to mind: high heels, sprayed-on slacks, a form-fitting shortsleeved striped top cut to reveal roughly a mile and a half of cleavage,
lots of jewelry, and just slightly exaggerated makeup. The two of them
looked for all the world like a librarian and a hooker going out
together. Sherri motioned Chris inside.
"Before you say anything, this is how I like to dress when I go out,"
Sherri said. Chris was beginning to realize just how good Sherri was at
reading facial expressions -- hers must have been telegraphing "slut".
"And don't you dare dash off to change. You look nice. I figured one of
us would have to look outrageous so that we can get into this place."
She checked her watch. "Better get going. I'll bet this place will be
filling up fast about now."
A fifteen-minute ride downtown, a half-block walk from the parking
garage, and a ten-minute wait in line at the door later, Chris and
Sherri were sitting at a small table to one side of a stage in a club
called Decade Eight. The band onstage was doing eighties covers at a
volume that did not exclude the possibility of conversation. They
weren't bad.
Almost before she knew it, Chris was on her third gin and tonic, and
was working on a decent buzz. She hadn't been on a night out since well
before the accident, and she realized that she had sorely missed her
social life.
Sherri was terrific company. She kept the conversation light, regaling
Chris with tales of horrific-then-funny-now sexual encounters with
members of both sexes that left Chris's sides aching with laughter.
Sherri's storytelling was as colorful as a sailor's.
"I remember going down on this girl once," she recalled. "She was a
squirter too, though I didn't know it then. I was down there munching
away when without warning she came like a freight train. I thought I was
going to fucking drown! Juice went up my nose, down my throat, hell,
into my ears!
For a while I thought I was eating out Buckingham Fucking Fountain!"
Sherri stopped to take a swig of her Manhattan, and went on almost
without taking a breath.
"Oh, God, speaking of eating. I once made it with this guy who was into
food during sex. I remembered getting turned on during the refrigerator
scene in '9-1/2 Weeks', so I was game. Son-of-a-bitch practically
covered me with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Licked it all off me,
all up and down. Really fucked up the sheets. Anyway, when it came time
to finally get down to it, he had such a stomach ache he couldn't keep
it up! Can you imagine? I'm lying there, all hot and bothered and sticky
as hell, and he's in the john popping Rolaids!"
Chris was howling, but her imagination was working overtime. How
*would* it feel to have somebody suck a maraschino cherry out of my
pussy? she thought. She'd had no idea that Sherri was this sexually
rambunctious; it was no wonder her husband had left her. Sherri seemed
to prefer the single life, and was living it like a woman fifteen years
younger. Chris's own age, now that she thought of it. Was there a hint
somewhere here?
Chris had been so engrossed in her conversation with Sherri that she
hadn't really taken a good look at the club. As the fourth round arrived
and Sherri excused herself to use the restroom, Chris had an opportunity
to check out her surroundings. Not a bad place, she thought. I've been
to better, but this place has a nice ambience. What's that banner over
in the corner say? Her jaw dropped slightly as she read it. She had just
finished when Sherri returned.
"Sherri! What the hell is this?" Chris pointed to the banner, which now
seemed to scream out, OLD-FASHIONED WET T-SHIRT CONTEST *TONIGHT*! FIRST

PRIZE $250, SECOND PRIZE $100, THIRD PRIZE $50. COME GET WET AT DECADE
EIGHT! How the hell had she missed it?
Sherri laughed and clapped her hands together. "Isn't that a hoot? I
haven't done one of these in years! I wonder if I've still got a shot at
some of that money?" She looked at her watch and had to blink a few
times.
She was getting drunk. "Oh, shit, we almost missed the registration.
Come on!" She grabbed Chris's wrist and tried to pull her out of her
chair.
Chris pulled loose from Sherri's grasp. "Now wait just a damn minute,"
she said, then stopped briefly as the room swam around in response to
her rapid movement. She knew then that she was also half in the bag. "I
came here to talk and have a couple drinks, not prance around onstage in
front of a bunch of strangers."
Sherri made a razzing sound. "Oh, lighten up, Chris. I get a kick out
of these contests. Musta won a couple of grand over the years. Great way
to vent frustrations, too. Besides, I've always been a breast woman.
Like to check out the merchandise. Why should the guys have all the
fun?" She winked. "Come on, it'll be a blast! You do community theater,
don't you?
It's not like you've never been on a stage before. Believe it or not,
Chris, you need to do something like this. You've been locked away in
your apartment, just you and your breast pump, for weeks now. I'm
willing to bet you're still a little intimidated by your recent...
developments." She waved a hand drunkenly at Chris's torso. "You need to
start feeling better about this gift of yours. If you've got it, flaunt
it, kid, and believe me, you got it! You're a lock on first prize! Take
it from somebody who's been there!"
The three and a half drinks, the ever-present pituitary hormones, and
Sherri's exhortations proved to be a deadly combination for Chris. She
had already started down the road of sexual exploration as the result of
her new abilities, and now here was somebody willing to be a guide. The
gift horse, and all that. And hey, the $250 would be nice. Her last
inhibitions vanished with Sherri's persistent tugging on her arm. She
grabbed her drink off the table and downed it almost in a single gulp,
in classic movie cliche fashion. Banging the glass back down, she even
quoted a movie as she said defiantly, "'Sometimes you just got to say
'what the fuck.' So, what the fuck!"
"That's the spirit! Come on, registration's over here." Giggling like
girls a fourth their age, the two headed for the table at the back of
the club.
LACTOGENESIS XI:
THE CONTEST, PART ONE
After signing up at the registration table, Chris and Sherri were
hustled backstage to a overly small dressing room where about ten other
women of varying ages, degrees of sobriety, and bust size were milling
about, waiting for the wet T-shirt contest to start. During this time
the alcohol they had consumed had fully taken hold, and Chris in
particular was feeling the effects to the full. Absently she wondered
whether her altered biochemical balance had affected her tolerance
level. She didn't remember getting this tipsy the last time she'd had
four drinks. She looked at the T-shirt the man at the registration table
had thrust at her.
At least a size too small, of course, thin material, of course, and
white, of course, so that it would become transparent and attach itself
to her skin when it got wet. It was a tank top, like a man's undershirt.
Chris giggled when she remembered how the registration guy had stared at

Sherri's ample cleavage but hadn't even given Chris a second look. He'll
notice me in *this*, she thought.
Sherri was already beginning to pull off her top. "Hurry up and change.
They're getting ready to start." In a flash Sherri was naked from the
waist up. Even though she and Chris had been sexually intimate only a
few hours before, this was the first time Chris had seen Sherri
undressed. Her breasts were nowhere near as firm as Chris's, but they
were at least fifteen years older, and they weren't lactating (yet, but
that would change if Sherri had anything to do with it). Her nipples,
however, were still years away from pointing to the floor. A line
connecting them would have been almost exactly halfway between her
shoulders and her bush. The left breast was slightly larger than the
right. A faint sprinkling of freckles spread downward across her chest
and between her breasts. An even fainter line of downy hair, the same
color as that on her head, traced its way south from her navel to
disappear into the waistband of her slacks. Her armpits were unshaven.
Chris suppressed a naughty urge to reach out and tweak Sherri's nipples,
and instead began unbuttoning her outfit. It was then that she realized
that her clothing was in one piece. Removing it would leave her
pantsless! That thought concerned her for only a moment, however, as she
stepped out of it. She giggled again when she remembered the age-old
parental admonition regarding wearing clean underwear. She had on a pair
of red satin tap pants which showed off her toned thighs to great
advantage. Maybe this little edge will help me win, she thought. As
Chris removed her bra, she noticed that her breasts didn't move at all
under the force of gravity. She stole a quick touch to one and felt the
heat, the stretched skin, and a swelling that even pressed back into her
armpits slightly. Man, I'm really full, she thought. The alcohol must be
affecting my control a little. She felt Sherri's eyes on her and looked
up.
"Damn, hon, you look even bigger now than you did this afternoon,"
Sherri said. There was a slight slur to her speech. "You're going to
knock that crowd on its collective ass."
Chris wriggled into the T-shirt. The front of it stretched taut,
pressing tightly against her bosom. Chris had to use a mental exercise
to keep from leaking as a result. The armholes of the shirt were too
large, so that fully half of her breasts were visible from the sides.
The snug fit felt good, and her nipples responded appropriately, forming
well-defined 3/4" peaks through the thin fabric. Sherri was shaking her
head and muttering something about not having a chance against a rack
like that. Suddenly the music out front stopped, and was replaced by
feedback by an ill-placed microphone.
A balding, bearded, overweight man in a too-small T-shirt emblazoned
with the words "LET'S GET WET" had taken the stage. He motioned offstage
for someone to turn down the gain on the mike, then shouted
(unnecessarily), "All right, people, it's time! Are you ready to get
wet?!" Chris was surprised at the volume of the yell that followed. The
club must be packed. The man continued, "Outstanding! OK, will those
lucky gentlemen who won the drawing earlier tonight please come up
onstage!" As four men practically fell over one another to climb the
short stairway, the announcer yelled, "These guys have won the coveted
honor of getting to wet down our contestants!" He gestured to one side,
where a small table held four seltzer bottles. "Don't worry, ladies,
these are at room temperature!" As the contest winners each took a
bottle and assumed positions equally spaced along the width of the
stage, the M.C. reminded the crowd of the prize money and made a few
announcements about upcoming events. He started getting booed, so he
wisely stopped, turned to where the women would enter the stage, and
shouted, "Let the games begin! Our first contestant..."
Chris was seventh in line, Sherri sixth. Most of the contestants turned

out to be rather poor dancers, or almost too drunk to even stand up, but
the crowd didn't care. As soon as the seltzer hit the shirts, causing
them to effectively disappear, the din became a continuous roar whose
decibel level rivaled that of a jet engine. The heat of the lights, the
deafening sound, and the alcohol were combining to strengthen Chris's
resolve with each candidate who left the stage. I'm going to win this
thing, she said to herself. I'm going to blow these amateurs away. Never
mind that Chris was an amateur herself...
It was Sherri's turn. She turned and winked at Chris, then practically
slithered onto the stage. Within seconds it became obvious that she had
done this before. Sherri launched into a gyrating, cock-stiffening
dance, sometimes skillfully dodging the blasts of water, sometimes
seeming to drape herself on them. She regarded the crowd with a scalding
"fuck me" look as she paraded up and down, her breasts bouncing freely
to the beat of the music. The noise level increased even more as she
moved to the edge of the stage. She bent down low so her boobs swung to
within millimeters of the faces of the men in front. They screamed their
approval. Just as her music was ending, Sherri grabbed the T-shirt at
the neck and ripped it down the middle. Her breasts sprang free as the
crowd bellowed. She cupped them, pointed them at the audience, blew them
a kiss, and skipped off stage. The room went up for grabs. No question
who was in first place now!
LACTOGENESIS XII:
THE CONTEST, PART TWO
Chris stood stock still, stunned by Sherri's performance. Her iron
resolve melted away. How in the hell am I going to top that? she thought
frantically. She felt a hand on her shoulder as the contestant behind
her gave her a gentle push. She was on! She cursed the alcohol for
slowing her thinking as she used a little go-go step to move out to
center stage. What to do, what to do?? Through the alcoholic haze and
the wind-tunnel sound blasting at her ears, Sherri's voice suddenly
sounded in her head: "You need to start feeling better about this gift
of yours. If you've got it, flaunt it, kid..." A sudden rush of
adrenaline filled Chris as she knew what she would do.
She glanced about her, gauging the positions of each of the men with
the seltzer bottles. They raised them almost simultaneously and took
aim.
At that moment Chris stopped dancing, thrust her palm outward, and
screamed loud enough to be heard over the din, "NO!! STOP!!"
The men held their fire and glanced uncomprehendingly at one another.
The gleeful shouting of the audience turned to yells of displeasure.
The music stopped. Finally the M.C. took the mike and said, "Little
lady, this is a wet T-shirt contest. You got ta get wet!" The crowd
thundered agreement. Chris just smiled knowingly.
"Just keep watching!" she yelled back. She signaled to the D.J. to
start the music again. It was a slow, seductive number, perfect for
Chris's plan. She clasped her hands behind her head, thrust her elbows
out, and began to slowly move her hips in a circular pattern. The angry
shouts slowly began to transform back into wolf whistles as she
continued.
Chris leaned her head back against her hands, interlocked behind her
neck. She began going through the now-familiar series of mental steps
that would unleash her own private biochemical miracle. It was more
difficult than usual due to the level of distractions around her, but
somehow she was able to put the crowd out of her mind. She concentrated
on the rhythm of the music, the oscillations of her body as she danced,
and of course, the increasing tingling in her teeming breasts. She

thought of a mountain stream, the trickle of rain down a gutter, water

pouring from a tap. Deep inside her head, brain structures responded.
Hormones flowed. Glands secreted. Milk ducts expanded. Mammary sinuses
filled. Tiny muscle cells contracted. "Let it come," she whispered to
herself. "Let it come..."
Some of the audience members started yelling at the seltzer bottleguys.
"Go on, let her have it!" one shouted. The man closest to Chris raised
his bottle again, took aim, and...stopped cold. "What the hell?" was all
he could manage to say.
For Chris's shirt front was beginning to get wet, seemingly of its own
accord. Round blotches of moisture appeared at her nipples, which
instantly became visible as the thin white fabric covering them became
soaked. The blotches expanded at amazing speed, spreading outward to
cover her entire chest. Within seconds the entire front of the shirt was
sopping wet and glued to Chris's torso. She continued to gyrate bellydancer style, her head thrown back, deaf to the drop in volume from the
audience as they gradually stopped their shouting to stare in disbelief.
Her fantastic breasts moved from side to side as she danced, gushing
away inside the T-shirt until the saturated fabric could hold no more.
As she flicked her upper body back and forth to the music, white
droplets began to fly free of the sodden cloth. As she always was during
a particularly powerful letdown, Chris was riding the crest of the
wonderful feeling of release, of almost orgasmic pleasure, that
squirting her milk provided. She was totally oblivious to her
surroundings, taken up completely in her own little pleasure dome.
"My God, that's milk!" someone near the front of the stage shouted. A
wild cacophony of exclamations, some rapturous, some disgusted, filled
the club. "I don't believe it!" "Have you ever seen anything like that
in your life?" "Oh, God, that's disgusting!" "Oh, man, I'm in love!" You
name it, someone was shouting it. From the crowd's reaction one would
have thought that an extraterrestrial stripper with three tits had just
come onstage.
The weird standoff between Chris and the stunned crowd lasted only a
few seconds more. Chris, in her reverie, felt the wetness covering her
upper body, smelled the musty sweet odor of her milk as the hot lights
tried to evaporate it. My clothing is wet, she thought instinctively. I
should take it off. She unconsciously grabbed the T-shirt at the waist
and in a swift motion pulled it over her head. With nothing to hold back
the flow, her bouncing boobs spouted forth, sending a white fountain
well into the first few rows of seats. People leaped up from their
chairs as if scalded.
At that moment, there was a wet crash as a seltzer bottle hit the
floor. Chris's eyes were closed, so she didn't see the man who dropped
it as he pounced upon her, his trembling hands grabbing for her bosom.
She suddenly felt a powerful arm around her waist, bending her backwards
painfully as it drew her forward. A probing, panting mouth sought out
one spraying nipple, while a hand like a steel trap closed on the other.
For a split second, Chris couldn't decide whether to scream or to give
herself over to the intensity of these additional stimuli. Her alcoholinduced stupor cleared instantly, and she opted for the former. She
brought her knee up hard, but the man was bent over frantically trying
to suckle her and so it missed its mark. Her fingernails raked across
the sides of the man's face, but he was so far gone with lust that they
had no effect. After what seemed like an eternity she felt two more
powerful hands on her as one of the club's bouncers tried to pull her
away. Another bouncer, a huge beefy fellow, pried her attacker's hands
away, picked him up like a rag doll, and threw him off the stage. He
landed on top of a table and sprawled unconscious on the floor.
There were screams, people running, men shouting. Chris was unable to
sort any of it out as she let herself be half-carried off the stage by

the bouncer. She felt someone, Sherri maybe, throw a towel over her as
she was herded through the surging crowd toward the dressing room area.
She heard a door close, and relative silence descended. She felt her
butt being placed rather unceremoniously into a chair. She blinked away
the last vestiges of her drunkenness and looked up to see Sherri and the
bouncer bending over her, concern on their faces.
"Are you all right, miss?" he asked, in a voice pitched comically high
for a man that size. Chris nodded slowly. "If you don't mind, then, I'd
better get back out there." The bouncer left, leaving Sherri behind. She
slowly straightened up, hands on hips, and fixed Chris with a withering
stare.
"Jesus Christ, lady, what the fuck do you do for an encore?" she
demanded, partly in jest and partly in anger mixed with relief. Chris
sat mutely for a few seconds, then began laughing and crying
simultaneously. Tears rolled freely down into her open mouth as she
tried to guffaw and sob at the same time. Sherri held Chris's shoulders
until she regained control of herself.
"I don't know what came over me out there," Chris said incredulously.
"You had done such a great job that I had to think of some way to top
you, and letting go was the first thing I thought of. I had no idea that
would happen! I was so drunk..." Her voice trailed off and she just sat
there, clutching the towel, shaking her head.
"You were cutting loose for the first time in God knows how long,"
Sherri said. "Who can blame you for getting a little carried away? You
were almost killed a couple of months ago, for chrissake. I think this
was just a subconscious attempt to yell 'fuck you' at the Grim Reaper."
"You think so? Maybe you're right. That certainly wasn't the old me out
there tonight, that's for damn sure." Chris sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"I was out there spraying milk on people! 'A little carried away'?
Jeez, I guess so! I think I'd better watch my alcohol consumption more
closely from now on. Gin and oxytocin don't appear to mix very well."
Sherri located their clothes and handed Chris hers. "I think we'd just
better get dressed and get out of here. The sooner we're clear of Decade
Eight, the better off we'll be."
A clean getaway was not to be, however. The two had just buttoned their
last buttons when the door opened again. This time the contest M.C. came
in, a jacket draped over his LET'S GET WET T-shirt. "I'd like a word, if
I could," he said somberly.
Oh, shit, here it comes, Chris thought. I'll bet he's called the
police. I wonder how this is going to get written up? She imagined
herself spending the night in jail, and felt her limbs go cold. She was
therefore very confused when the M.C. suddenly broke into a wide grin.
"I gotta tell you, that was hands-down, absolutely, no-bullshit the
goddamndest thing I ever saw." How many times have I heard that by now,
Chris thought. The man was still talking. "Most unique wet T-shirt
contest it's ever been my pleasure to have hosted. You and your friend
here really turned this place on its ear. First night open, too,
wouldn't you know." He reached into his jacket pocket and took out two
wads of bills. He handed the larger of them to Chris, the other to
Sherri. "Here's your prize money. Congratulations. I also have to tell
you, though, that the management has asked me to ask you never to
participate in a similar activity here again. You'd get us shut down for
sure! Just take the money and go home, please." He looked toward the
door. "It's pretty well calmed down out there, but if I were you, I'd go
out the back way." He started to leave, then turned at the door for a
last long look at Chris. "Goddamndest thing I ever saw," he said again,
and was gone.
Chris and Sherri didn't say another word to each other until they got
back to their apartment building, and even then it was just a cursory
good night. Chris was already beginning to feel the beginnings of a

hangover as she collapsed fully dressed into bed, one hand still
clutching her $250 first prize. She was going to have to think about
what had happened at Decade Eight this night, but later, later. She was
so tired. Within moments, she was snoring softly.
LACTOGENESIS XIII:
THE PHONE CALL
A thin film of sweat covered Christine's face. Her hair, where it
brushed against her neck, was also wet with sweat. Her breathing was
heavy, bordering on panting. Her breasts heaved and shook with the
effort. Her hips surged in a rhythm that was steadily increasing.
Faster, faster... Chris tossed her head back, grunting in synchrony with
the movements of her lower body. She was quickly building toward her
peak...
A tone sounded. The Stairmaster stopped speeding up and went into the
cool-down phase of the workout program. Chris groaned in relief as she
felt the burning in her legs gradually subside. She used the towel
draped around her neck to wipe away the sweat that threatened to drip
into her eyes. Not bad, she thought. I'll be maxxing this thing out
before long.
She heard the warbling of the telephone, but decided to let the
answering machine pick it up. She wasn't cooled down enough and feared
cramping if she suddenly stopped now. A different kind of tone sounded
as her recorded greeting ended and the machine awaited a response. It
was a couple of seconds in coming. The voice issuing from the speaker
was halting, almost tentative.
"Chris? Uh, hi, it's Carl. I'm, uh, I'm really sorry I haven't called
you before now. I heard about your accident and have been meaning to get
in touch, but business is really booming these days, and uh, well, you
know how it is. Anyway, I'm in town for a couple of days meeting with
some people about a new product line, and, uh, well, I'd really like to
see you while I'm here. Would you mind? I know it's been a long time,
but I'm not sure when I'll be in the area again. Boy, you'd think a
salesman would be used to answering machines, but I still hate these
things. Uh, I'm at the Sheraton until Tuesday afternoon. I'd sure like
to have dinner, talk, uh, whatever. Give me a call, OK? Hope we can get
together. Bye."
Chris hopped off the Stairmaster, crossed to the answering machine, and
replayed the message to make sure the voice was who she thought it was.
My God. Carl Banks, she thought. Back from the dead. Tail between his
legs, too, by the sound of him. Quite unbidden, Chris's memory called up
the file, up to now thought closed, on Carl Banks. He and Chris had met
at a health club, back when that was *the* place to meet "swinging
singles". Could it be almost three years? He was working as a
semiconductor salesman at the time; she was still at the paper editing
copy. Their relationship had been tempestuous, exhilarating,
spontaneous, and almost entirely physical. It had lasted five months
before he got an opportunity to move up the corporate ladder and took
it. He'd left for the other side of the country almost without a word,
and hadn't been in touch since. She smiled sourly when she replayed him
saying he was still a salesman. So much for upward mobility, she
thought. She remembered the pain -- she had been something of an oldfashioned girl then, a one-man woman, and even though there wasn't much
more than sex to their relationship, she had enjoyed it, and had not
appreciated the abrupt way it had ended.
Her finger hovered over the "erase" button as she considered what to do
about Carl. She noted with some satisfaction that there was no trace
whatsoever of any feelings for him; there would be no regrets if she

didn't return his call. Still, her curiosity was piqued. Whatever else
Carl had been, he had been pretty good in the sack, and it had been,
after all, a long time since Chris had gotten her ashes properly hauled.
The incident at the Decade Eight Club three weeks before had shaken her
up more than she'd thought. The attack by the crazed seltzer guy had
been too close to rape for comfort, enough so that she'd not been out
with a man since. Carl was a pretty safe bet. Chris hit the "save"
button instead and started getting ready to shower.
As the water cascaded over her and she ran the bar of soap over her
body, Chris suddenly realized that Carl would have no idea about what
she looked like now, or better still, what she could do. As far as he
knew, Chris was still a woman with a rather ordinary body and rather
ordinary sexual habits. Wait'll he gets a load of these, she thought
slyly. She squeezed her boobs playfully, causing a dribble of milk to
wash the soap suds from her nipples. She passed a hand over her babysmooth mons, remembering how Carl used to complain about getting her
pubic hair caught in his throat. Oh, now I've done it, Chris said to
herself, as her random hand motions and memories of how good it had felt
to bury Carl's cock in her pussy began to catch up to her. Might as well
finish the job...
Chris's shower was a hand-held water massage. She took it down from its
mounting bracket, dialed for a hard pulsing spray, and began playing the
shower head over her body. The jets of high-pressure water kneaded her
breasts like thousands of tiny fingers, tingling the skin from without
and starting the familiar tingling from within. The drops falling from
the dark red tips of her bosom turned gradually from the colorless
clarity of water to the opaque whiteness of mother's milk as she willed
the letdown to proceed. Chris leaned back against the shower wall,
causing her breasts to point slightly upward and sending a spray most of
the way up the far wall as she masterfully milked herself with her free
hand. She planted her feet at the corners of the small stall, bent her
knees slightly, and slowly guided the pulsating shower toward her naked
pussy, whose lips were now slightly puffy and whose clit now peeked out
from their uppermost junction. As the blasting water struck it, Chris
gasped from the force and redirected the spray for less direct contact.
In only a second or two she had found the right combination of pressure
and flow, and was well on her way to yet another satisfying orgasm. As
she neared the magic moment, she bent her head and brought one breast up
to her mouth (they were almost too firm to allow that). She encircled
the nipple with her lips and drank of herself, marveling at the warmth
and sweetness of her milk as she had on several previous occasions. As
it had in the past, this was enough to complete her journey to orgasm.
Her cunt poured forth its bounty, rivaling the shower in the intensity
of the flow. Chris's legs, weakened from her workout, could barely
support her as she shook with the force of the orgasm. She felt the
flood of juices running down them, to be immediately washed away by the
shower. As the peak passed, Chris released her nipple, which continued
to drip. She spent the next few minutes emptying both breasts -- the
shower was a good place to do that, even when she wasn't masturbating.
She did a good portion of this by suckling herself, as the workout had
made her thirsty. The last few ounces she expressed by hand. She allowed
herself another, less intense orgasm while doing this, then snapped out
of it when she realized she'd been in the shower for over half an hour.
My water bill's going to be unreal this month, she said to herself as
she turned off the water and reached for a towel.
She was still drying off as she walked through her apartment, heedless
of the open windows, to her telephone. She dropped the towel as she
picked up the phone book and looked up the number for the Sheraton. She
dialed it and asked for Carl's room, but he was not there. Probably down
in the bar trying to score, she thought scornfully. She left a short

message: "Carl. Chris. Welcome back. Yes, I'd love to see you. How about
tomorrow night for dinner? I'll come by your hotel at 7:30. See you
then." As she hung up, she caught a glimpse of her nude body in the hall
mirror, droplets of water still gleaming here and there on her skin.
Carl, lover, she thought, you are in for one hell of a surprise. Her
nipples began hardening again as she considered her plan of attack. She
looked down at them and noticed tiny white droplets appearing. She shook
her head and wiped them away with the towel. "This is ridiculous," she
said out loud.
As she dressed, she realized that even though she felt nothing for
Carl, she knew that the anticipation of getting him into bed was going
to make it a long day at work tomorrow. I can't believe how worked up
I'm getting over the prospect of shocking the crap out of this jerk, she
told herself. I have *got* to start meeting new people. Immediately a
part of her mind began working on how that would happen. She wasn't even
aware of it, but her subconscious had just started her down a path which
would take her places the old Chris would never have considered.
LACTOGENESIS XIV:
THE OLD FLAME, PART 1
Christine glanced up from her plate of fettucini carbonara to again
find Carl Banks's eyes locked on her. Again she smiled in response, and
again he grinned awkwardly and glanced away. So far everything seemed to
be working according to plan. Chris had worked hard to choose just the
right combination of clothing and makeup to allow just the barest hints
of her heart-stopping physical transformation to show through. She
wanted Carl to see that some changes had occurred since they'd last seen
each other, but she also wanted him to be constantly wondering just what
they were. His poorly concealed stares were telling her she had achieved
the desired effect. Since arriving at the restaurant, Chris had steered
the conversation, keeping it trivial, and sprinkling it with enough
veiled sexual references to keep Carl on edge and wondering whether he
was going to actually score with the girl he'd left flat almost three
years ago. Chris wanted to tease him, just enough to give him a hard-on
all through dinner. She wasn't a cruel person, though. She would jump
his bones before the night was over, but she was going to make damn sure
the sex was on her turf, on her terms.
The conversation had hit a lull when the food arrived, and Chris
allowed the silence to stretch out. Finally she leaned forward slightly,
in a calculated fashion so that her blousy clothing might reveal just a
bit more of the amazing curves beneath.
"Penny," she said with a smile.
"Nothing," he said flatly.
Chris sipped at her wine. "Come on, Carl, you forget how well we used
to know each other. How do you think we could be so good together in
bed? I know something other than computer motherboard sales figures is
circulating in that handsome head of yours. Out with it."
Carl paused, then frankly stated, "Well, I just can't get over how you
look. To be honest, I was expecting to have to be polite and overlook
scars, disfigurements, whatever. I'd heard you really got messed up when
that car hit you. Instead you look just amazing -- better than ever, in
fact."
Chris kept a smile on her face, but was frowning internally. As shallow
as ever, she thought. Relieved about not having to spend an evening with
the Elephant Woman, is he? Nice. And what's this "better than ever"
crap? What was I before, chopped liver? She decided to shift the evening
up a gear, before she lost interest in this jerk altogether.
"That's sweet of you," she lied. "I had a feeling you were undressing

me with your eyes." She leaned forward even more, deliberately allowing
her breasts to press against the fabric of her top, finally coming to
rest upon the tabletop. She said in a low, husky voice, "Why don't we
get out of here so you can do it with your hands?"
Carl's eyebrows shot up, and he had to concentrate to keep from choking
on his food. Always the smooth operator, however, he didn't miss a beat.
He immediately signaled for the check, and within minutes the two of
them were back at Chris's apartment. Chris was a little perturbed at how
readily he'd wanted to leave. She'd hoped to string him along a while
longer. He obviously wasn't interested in catching up on the last three
years -- he just wanted to get laid. She decided that was okay; that's
all she wanted, too. Why screw things up with a lot of excess emotional
baggage?
Chris tossed her purse on a chair and headed straight for her bedroom.
"Have a seat," she called over her shoulder. "Bar's still where it's
always been. Fix yourself a drink. I'll be right back." She heard the
clink of ice cubes as she closed the door and went around the room
lighting candles. She shut off the light and quickly stepped out of her
outfit. No beating around the bush, she'd decided. I'm going for the
throat... She'd chosen a forest green satin matching bra and panties.
The bra was just sheer enough for her areolae to be visible; the panties
were cut high on the hip and were diaphanous enough for it to be obvious
that her snatch was completely hairless. Her cleavage was deep and
inviting, her stomach flat and hard. She slipped her heels back on and
walked into the hallway, where she struck a deliberately seductive pose.
She said nothing, just waited for the bomb she'd just dropped to hit its
target.
Bulls-eye. Carl's face was the picture of amazement. His eyes flittered
up and down her body, looking for a place to rest. His drink tilted in
his hand and sent an ice-cold dribble of scotch and soda into his
crotch. You could practically see a plume of steam arise as he jumped
up, wiping at himself with his free hand. Chris suppressed a giggle.
"Wow," he sputtered. "Chris, is that really you? I don't remember this
at all! What did you have done? I thought there was a moratorium on
implants..."
What an asshole, Chris thought. It's a good thing I'm horny or I'd've
flushed him before we even got out of the restaurant. "It's all me," she
said instead. "One hundred percent natural. Just a late bloomer, I
guess." She walked over to him and without warning kissed him hard,
simultaneously taking the drink from his hand. Time to get him where he
lives. "Enough talk," she whispered as she mashed her breasts against
Carl's chest. "Let's fuck."
She led the shell-shocked Carl into the bedroom. In their previous
relationship, Carl had always been the aggressor. Chris's blatant
seductiveness and the shock of revealing the new body had put her in
complete control. She turned and unbuttoned his shirt as he fumbled with
his belt. She yanked his pants and boxers down together, and his cock
swung free. It looked like it had been hard for a long time, and precome had already wetted the glans. Just as I remembered it, Chris
thought. Not very long, even a bit below average perhaps, but nearly as
big around as her wrist. It had filled her quite satisfactorily three
years ago. How would it feel now?
She let her tongue trace a line along the lower surface of Carl's cock,
starting at the root. When she reached the arrowhead of the glans, she
slowly wrapped her lips around it. She swallowed him an agonizingly slow
half-inch at a time. Remembering some tips Sherri had taught her, she
relaxed her throat and allowed the shaft to skate along her palate. All
that practice with the bananas had paid off; she was able to completely
suppress the gag reflex. She took him right to the balls. Carl sucked in
breath through clenched teeth, and moaned loudly when Chris opened her

mouth even further and, with his cock firmly ensconced in her throat,
extended her tongue to lick his scrotum. "Where did you learn to give
head like that?" he murmured. Chris backed away at the same slow pace,
then began to move faster, sliding her mouth along Carl's shaft, keeping
pressure with her tongue. Her fist followed behind, squeezing and
milking away. She felt him getting even harder. Good, she thought. I
want to make you beg to come. I want to see the look on your face when I
cover you with my milk. She stole a glance upward and saw Carl's head
nodding back and forth. "Oh, man, oh, shit," he was babbling.
So far, so good...
LACTOGENESIS XV:
THE OLD FLAME, PART 2
Carl bent slightly and began unhooking Chris's bra. There were more
hooks than he remembered. The straps fell away, but her breasts were so
firm that the cups stayed in place. He began caressing them roughly,
grabbing and squeezing hard. Chris knew that one of her surprises would
be prematurely revealed if she allowed that to continue, so she
disengaged herself and gently removed Carl's hands. She led him over to
the bed, his spit-wet erection gently bobbing in time to his elevated
pulse. She lay back on the mattress and arched her back, pressing her
impressive bosom skyward. Carl was expecting her breasts to disappear
into her armpits when she lay down and was amazed when they didn't. He
was looking for surgical scars, unconvinced that these magnificent
mounds could be real, could actually be Chris. She took his hands and
placed one on each hip, silently instructing him to remove her panties.
He did so, and was again mildly shocked at the sight of Chris's naked
labia.
"Woman, I don't know what's brought on all these changes, but I like
it, I like it." Further talk was impossible as Chris grabbed Carl's head
and pushed it downward toward her waiting flesh. She was remembering how
she'd had to practically beg him to go down on her in the past; now he
couldn't complain about pubic hair in his mouth. Carl licked at her
tentatively, but when he tasted her musky sweetness, he went to her like
a starving man. His tongue parted her inner lips and curled about her
pearl-like clit as he swirled it in ever-faster circles. Chris's juices
began flowing, coating his chin and starting to run down his neck. Carl
slid his index finger along her slit, finding the entrance, and
inserting.
He curled his finger around and up, looking for Chris's G-spot. Another
finger joined it, then a third. Chris felt herself moving toward an
orgasm, but it was too soon, too soon. She needed to re-exert control,
so she again disengaged, sliding out from under him and guiding him
around until he lay on his back.
Chris swung one leg over Carl's hips and reaching behind her, grabbed
his cock and guided it to her drooling pussy. She rubbed the tip up and
down along her slit, letting herself open wide for him. In one smooth
motion she sat down on him, burying him to the hilt. The girth of his
shaft stretched her pussy, at first painfully, but as she continued to
lubricate, the sensation changed to one of intense pleasure. Chris
hadn't had a dick inside her for months, and as a result, she knew she
wouldn't be able to hold back very long. She began riding him, pulling
him out almost to the tip, then slamming back down. Using another tip
Sherri had taught her, Chris began to do her Kegel exercises,
alternately squeezing and releasing Carl's cock with her vaginal
muscles. She'd found that these exercises had intensified her orgasms
during masturbation, and she was eager to see their effect on Carl. That
was easy; Carl's head was tipped back and almost obscured by the pillow.

Only his nose and open, gasping mouth were visible. He began spouting
random obscenities as he too began building toward orgasm.
As she bounced upon him, Chris leaned over Carl, dangling her breasts
in his face. She raked her long nipples over his lips, feeling the milk
behind them pressing down, wanting to be released. She thought of rain
on a window, a single droplet running down the surface. In response a
single drop of milk, then another, appeared on her nipple and ran down
between Carl's parted lips. When the sweet liquid hit his tongue, Carl's
eyes opened wide, and he turned his head away.
"What the hell is that?" he demanded.
Chris straightened up, two thin lines of milk running down the lower
half of her breasts. She stopped bouncing, but continued moving her
hips, keeping Carl's penis in contact with her clit. "I have milk now,"
she said simply. "Isn't that fantastic? Want to see?" She cupped her
breasts and placed fingers at each areola, preparing to spray him down.
Carl threw his arms up in front of his face. "Shit, no!" he shouted.
"That's gross! Don't do that, please."
Chris felt disappointment threatening to wash away the wonderfulness of
the feeling coming from between her legs. She had hoped Carl might
appreciate her gift, but was not overly surprised to find it repelled
him.
Carl had never been much for bodily fluids, with the possible exception
of pussy juice. She was more concerned with the softening she was
beginning to detect in her cunt. There was no way Carl was going to get
away without her coming first, so she began the mental exercises to shut
down the flow from her breasts while starting up her vaginal
contractions again. After a few seconds Carl had forgotten all about
Chris's lactating breasts.
Chris clamped down hard on Carl, squeezing him as tightly as she could.
Her cunt was sopping now, and her pistoning motion was creating a frothy
mixture of her juices and his pre-come. She tilted her hips forward
slightly to increase the contact against her clit. The added pressure
was too much for Carl. "Oh, God, I'm gonna come!" he suddenly moaned.
Not yet, you're not, Chris thought through the buzz of her own
impending orgasm. She reached back and making a ring from thumb and
forefinger, clamped down at the base of Carl's cock, freezing his spunk
in mid-rise and causing his shaft to expand even further with trapped
blood. Carl yelped and began pleading with Chris to let go, but she
didn't hear him. The added swelling had provided just what she needed to
complete her journey. She arched back and gave herself over to the wave
crashing down on her. As she came, her flood of juice squirted out
around Carl's rod, instantly soaking his pubic hair and the bedclothes
beneath. Chris began bucking like a rider helpless on a bronco. Each
downward stroke produced another gush of liquid, spewing in time with
Chris's yells of delight.
Carl's reaction was immediate. He shouted incoherently and arched his
hips upward, throwing Chris off him. She lost her grip on his penis. Now
free of its bondage, Carl's cock fired a thick stream of jism into the
air. It landed on his stomach as Carl tried to wriggle free. "God DAMN
it!" he yelled. "You PISSED on me, you fucking bitch!" He leaped out of
bed and stood there, his entire lower half dripping, a long string of
come dangling from the end of his fast-shrinking penis. "What the fuck
are you DOING?!"
Chris had to scramble to keep from falling off the bed. She came up
fuming. "I was NOT pissing!" she yelled back. "I was COMING, you stupid
clod! What's the matter? Can't handle a sexually complete woman?!"
Carl hurriedly wiped himself off with the bedspread, then began
collecting his clothes. "I don't know what the fuck planet you came
from, but you sure as hell aren't the Chris I used to boff. What the
hell *happened* to you, anyway?"

"I grew up. I woke up. I'm not the submissive little mouse you used to
use for a fuck toy." She looked hard at him, struggling with his
clothes, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on his pants. What had
she ever seen in him? "Shit. Get out of here, Carl. I just realized I
don't ever want to see you again."
"No problem. I'm gone," he said, moving toward the door, shoes in hand.
He stopped at the doorway and turned to her. Angrily he said, "You know,
nobody's ever going to want to sleep with you with you spewing all that
shit. They're all going to run, just like me." He was off down the hall.
Chris heard him say "Stupid cunt," just before the door slammed.
Chris sat on the bed, trying to sort out her feelings. Her body was
complaining that Carl had interrupted it in mid-orgasm. Her breasts felt
like they were ready to burst. She was upset at the intensity of Carl's
negative reaction, and angry at herself for even having returned his
call.
She realized that she really was a different person now, and as far as
sexual liaisons were concerned, she was going to have to burn all her
bridges and start over fresh. Gone were all traces of the pre-accident
Christine. Sherri had already started her with some novel experiences -her frequent assists with Sherri's campaign to start lactating, for
example -- but it was up to her to find the kind of partner her new
sexuality demanded.
Chris looked at the wet sheets. Whoever it's going to be, they're going
to have to really like to get wet, she thought. She felt a momentary
pang of panic. Are there guys out there that will appreciate me and what
I can do? she wondered. Or will they all be like Carl, bolting as soon
as they see a drop of milk or a trickle of pussy juice? I don't know if
I could take that...
She wasn't about to let herself get depressed. There *must* be men who
get turned on by a human fountain, she told herself. If there's anything
I've learned from my years at the paper, it's that there are all kinds
of people in the world. I just hope there are a few of my type in town.
She looked at the door. "Good riddance, dickhead," she said aloud.
"I was just too much woman for him." She looked down at her swollen
breasts, felt the throbbing in her cunt. Well, she thought, no sense in
letting a good buzz go to waste.
With that, she opened her nightstand drawer, took out her vibrator, and
walked into another room, where her breast pump awaited. Chris didn't
come out of that room again for a long time.
LACTOGENESIS XVI:
THE BREAKTHROUGH
Christine fished her keys out of her purse and began unlocking the door
to her apartment. A muffled, unusual sound in the hallway caused her to
silence the jingling of the keys with her free hand so as to listen more
closely. Whsssh, pfff, whsssh, pfff, whsssh, pfff, it went, just above
the threshold of audibility. Where have I heard that sound before? she
wondered. She made the mental connection at exactly the same time as a
potentially drenching letdown reflex began in her breasts. She had to
slam down mental barriers and simultaneously press one forearm across
her ample chest to keep the flow of milk staunched. The sound she'd
heard was that of a breast pump going at full tilt. As part of her work
with making donations to the milk bank, she had conditioned herself to
release milk at full flow when using her own pump, so she was unprepared
for the aural cues provied by this second one. I need to brush up on my
control techniques a little more, she thought. She strained to hear,
trying to locate the source of the sound. Of course. It was coming from
Sherri's apartment.

Chris entered her apartment, went into her bedroom, and removed her
blouse and bra. Sure enough, the cups were damp. She walked into the
bathroom to rinse out the bra and to express some milk in order to
relieve some of the pressure. I am *not* going to come, she said firmly
to herself as the manipulations of her fingers along her rigid nipples
threatened to send her into orbit as they did so often. I have more
control than that; besides, I don't want to rinse out panties as well.
Rivulets of milk joined into a single stream in the sink and disappeared
down the drain as she worked. I need to think about something else,
Chris said to herself, as she felt her level of arousal rising unbidden.
I wonder how Sherri is doing with her "project". I haven't seen her for
several days, and the last time I did she was complaining of sore
nipples.
At least that means she's keeping up with it. It's been a few weeks,
should be any day now...
Chris was just blotting a last few drops from herself when the phone
rang. "Hi, hon, it's Sherri," the voice on the other end said. "Hate to
bother you, but could you come over for a minute? I need your expertise
on something."
"Right now?"
"If you could. It's kind of an emergency."
I'll bet she's having trouble with the pump, Chris thought. Those
things can be kind of persnickety. She threw her blouse back on and made
for the door. No time to hunt for a clean bra.
Sherri met her at her door clad in a terrycloth bathrobe that had been
hurriedly donned and was hanging open. She was naked underneath. Chris
caught a glimpse of red pubic hair, matted down with moisture. The robe
hung well out from her torso, pushed away from it by a pair of massive,
pendulous breasts. They were mostly covered, but Chris could still make
out a network of bright blue veins showing through the skin. Sherri was
not smiling.
As Chris walked into Sherri's apartment, she said, "Is it my
imagination, or are you gigantic? Has something happened since I've seen
you last?"
At that, Sherri did smile. "I'm up to an F cup now. Do you know how
hard it is to find pretty underwear in that size?"
"Do I take you to mean that things are...progressing?"
A twinkle appeared in Sherri's eyes. "Let's talk about that later. For
now, I've got a problem I'd like you to look at."
"You said it was an emergency. Are you all right?"
"That's what I need you to tell me." At that, Sherri pushed the robe
off her shoulders. Her breasts swung gently as the material fell away
from them. Each was at least a double handful, with plenty left over.
They were close to resting in Sherri's lap. The faint beginnings of
stretch marks were visible at their upper boundaries. Her areolae had
darkened almost to a chocolate brown, and were nearly three inches in
diameter. The nipples were just a raised area at the center of each
areola. Tiny blood vessels crisscrossed along the undersides of each
breast like spider webs. There was a lot to see here, but Chris's
attention was focused on the lower quadrant of Sherri's right breast,
which was flushed a deep, angry pink.
"Ooh, honey, that looks tender," Chris said sympathetically. She ran
her fingertips over the area and noticed that it was downright hot. She
palpated it gently, which brought a hiss of discomfort from Sherri.
Chris knew right away what was wrong. She looked up at Sherri, and a
broad grin formed on her face.
"Why you little so-and-so," Chris chided. "You've been holding out on
me! You have a plugged duct, my dear, which can only mean one thing."
Sherri was nodding furiously. She and Chris suddenly squealed in
delight and hugged each other, laughing. "How long since you started?"

Chris said when they broke their embrace.

"Only about three days ago. I didn't want to let you know until I was
sure. I pumped these babies day in and day out for weeks, got cracked
nipples, broke the pump once. I was this close to giving up when all of
a sudden the milk came in like gangbusters. Woke up in the middle of the
night Thursday night practically swimming in my own bed!"
"Are you sorry you did it?"
"Hell, no! Chris, I'm feeling so sexually charged up from this that I
can come from just walking in a pair of corduroy pants! I feel like the
Earth Mother herself. I mean, *look* at these things now. They're bigger
than my ex-husband's head! What a rush!
"Right now, though, I'm feeling pretty miserable. I just took some
Tylenols, but they haven't kicked in yet. I'm as engorged as hell, so
much so that the pump cups can't get a good grip on me." She looked
concerned. "Are you sure I don't have an infection or anything?"
"No, you've just got a little back-up there. Nothing an ice pack, a
little gentle massage, and a friend can't fix." Chris gently pushed
Sherri back to a reclining position on the couch. "I've been waiting to
do this for a long time," she whispered as she bent her head to Sherri's
ear. "Ever since you first nursed from me..."
LACTOGENESIS XVII:
THE FOUR FOUNTAINS
Chris brushed her lips lightly against Sherri's ear lobe, then used
them to lay down a trail of soft kisses down Sherri's neck, over her
collarbone, and down her chest. With the tip of her tongue, she played
"connect the dots" with the freckles that were sprinkled along her
breastbone. Sherri was already breathing heavily; her hands were
tousling Chris's hair as she hovered over Sherri's torso. Chris
hesitated at the midpoint between Sherri's heaving bosoms, then began
kissing her way toward the right nipple. Her tongue teased the small
bump of the nipple, swirling around it, trying to get it to pop up from
its hiding place. She could feel the nipple stiffen, but it did not
lengthen appreciably. She pursed her lips and surrounded it, and began
to suck gently. Sherri's grip on Chris's hair tightened, and Chris could
feel her begin to move her hips. Gradually Chris began to pull more and
more of Sherri's areola into her mouth and intensified her suckling. She
covered her teeth with her lips and began to apply pressure on the
lactiferous sinuses surrounding the nipple. That and the suction had the
desired effect: a high-pressure stream of liquid immediately shot into
her mouth. At the same moment, Sherri's hands left Chris's head; one
went to the breast Chris was suckling and began squeezing, the other
went straight to her cunt, from whence wet slurping noises began to
issue as she finger-fucked herself frantically.
Chris felt herself becoming aroused as she drank from Sherri's
distended breast. Sherri's milk was thinner and not as sweet as her own,
but its warmth and sheer volume were very exciting. One of Chris's hands
went to Sherri's other breast, which she expertly began to milk. She
didn't look up, but she could swear she could hear the squirts from that
breast striking the ceiling. The other hand went to her own mammaries,
which she began massaging through her thin blouse. Sherri stopped
squeezing her own boob and instead moved to Chris's blouse, which she
unsuccessfully tried to unbutton. Chris lifted her mouth from Sherri's
nipple, which had responded to Chris's sucking by becoming quite welldefined. Several tiny streams continued to shoot upward, catching Chris
full in the face. She shook her head, laughing, while she peeled off the
blouse. Chris's hands went to her breasts, and she began milking,
showering the supine Sherri with her ambrosia. Sherri responded in kind,

sending blast after blast skyward, striking Chris about the face and
chest. They giggled like a couple of kids with squirt guns as they
continued to shoot. For some minutes they soaked each other down,
laughing and squealing uncontrollably, until every square inch of their
skins was covered with white droplets and their hair was matted, and
still they continued to squirt. Impulsively Sherri sat up and embraced
Chris. Their milk-soaked tits pressed together, nipples rubbing, milk
continuing to flow, mixing together and running down their stomachs in a
thin white sheet.
"I want to come," Chris breathed into Sherri's ear, as they slid their
bosoms across each other, their mingled milk lubricating them.
Sherri laughed out loud. "Are you kidding? I think I've come a couple
of times already!"
She bent down to Chris's waist, unbuttoning her slacks. Chris wriggled
out of them and threw them across the room. As she slid back onto the
floor, Sherri followed her down, kissing her way down Chris's belly and
going straight to her cunt. She captured Chris's clit between thumb and
forefinger, massaging it while licking the area around it. Then, with
one motion, she sucked Chris's labia into her mouth while inserting her
tongue into Chris's vagina. She slurped away furiously for several
seconds while holding down Chris's bucking hips with her upper arms. She
then began licking Chris slowly, starting at her anus and moving up to
the tip of her clit in one long lick. As she felt Chris's thighs begin
trembling as she made her final approach to orgasm, Sherri began fucking
her with three fingers while at the same time flattening her tongue
directly on her clit and vibrating it back and forth. Chris screeched,
her vagina contracted, and a gout of fluid cascaded over Sherri's
fingers and down her arm. Giggling wildly, Sherri took her hand, filled
with Chris's juices, and began rubbing it all over herself.
Chris took that opportunity to turn the tables, pushing Sherri back
onto the floor. Sherri's pubic hair tickled Chris's nose as she ate her
out, shaking her head back and forth as she sucked Sherri's long clit
into her mouth. Sherri continued laughing, with complete abandon, as she
grabbed her breasts and squeezed the last few drops of milk out of them.
At that moment Chris came up and began rubbing one nipple against
Sherri's crotch, flicking it against Sherri's clit.
"Ooh, honey, just like that," Sherri cooed. "Your nipple's so big and
hard, it feels like a cock. Fuck me with it." And Chris did. It felt
like her nipple was more than an inch long as it disappeared into
Sherri's cunt and reappeared to once again tickle her clit. "Come in
me," Sherri growled. Chris took the hint and grabbed her breast just
behind the nipple. A blast of milk emerged, striking Sherri's clit dead
on. This was enough to bring Sherri off one more time, squirming and
squealing as Chris's milk oozed down her slit.
As they lay together on the floor of Sherri's apartment, desire still
hanging heavily in the air, Chris whispered, "I'll help you clean up
later." They started giggling again. In the spontaneity of the moment,
they had neglected to take into account the mess four breasts full of
milk could make. Wet spots covered the sofa, the carpeting...there was
even milk dripping from the ceiling. "Don't worry, I know just how to
get this stuff out."
"I'll just bet you do," Sherri murmured as she nuzzled Chris's neck.
"The only thing I'm worried about is letting you get away before I'm
done with you." She gently separated herself and stood up. "Don't you
move. I'll be right back." She walked toward her bedroom, droplets of
milk running down her body as her generous ass retreated down the
corridor. She was back in less than a minute, holding a gigantic doubleheaded dildo that had to be a foot and a half in length in one hand and
a tube of K-Y jelly in the other.
"Mmmm. I don't think we'll need that," Chris said, referring to the

jelly. She took the dildo from Sherri and proceeded to spray down its
entire length with milk. She and Sherri then positioned themselves with
their legs intertwined, each with a grip on one end of the dildo. In a
single, concerted motion, they inserted their respective ends into their
pussies. They moved against each other in a smooth pas de deux, their
hips rising in unison, the dildo bridging an ever-shortening gap between
them. Slowly, inexorably, the dildo disappeared inside them until they
were pussy to pussy, their clits rubbing together. The dildo was
completely buried. As if rehearsed, their hands went to their breasts,
and once again milk flowed. They looked like an erotic fountain as four
groups of tiny streams formed white parabolas, raining down on their
undulating bodies. Even their moans were in synch. Of course their
orgasms were simultaneous. Chris's secretions so completely lubricated
their cunts that the dildo simply popped out onto the floor, causing
gales of laughter to once again erupt from them.
Sherri sat up, cupping her breasts in her hands. "I never thought that
this would feel so good," she said. "I've been around the block a number
of times, but this has opened up a whole new street." She smiled and
took Chris's hand. "Now I've got some idea of what you've been going
through." She tentatively massaged the lower quadrant of her right
breast, and smiled again when there was no pain. "By God, lady, I think
you've cured me." Sure enough, the inflammation was already fading; all
that activity had unplugged the affected duct.
The intensity of their experience later took a long time to erase from
the floors, walls, and furniture. Chris and Sherri ended up going
through an entire bottle of upholstery cleaner that day.
LACTOGENESIS XVIII:
THE RESEARCH
Dr. Sheila Ellis, Christine's endocrinologist, had sounded excited on
the phone. Her research on Chris's hormone-induced transformation was
nearing completion, she had said. She was putting the finishing touches
on a scientific paper she was entitling "Spontaneous Galactorrhea and
Increased Graefenberg Spot Secretions as the Result of Head Trauma in a
24-Year-Old Nullipara" that was bound for the New England Journal of
Medicine, but was missing some key MRI data. Could Chris come down to
the hospital for one last series of tests? Chris had grudgingly agreed.
The only reason she had acquiesced to be Sheila's guinea pig was her
hope that the sexual tension that had existed between them ever since
Chris first anointed Sheila's office with her milk as the result of an
uncontrolled letdown would finally result in something. To Chris's
disappointment, however, Sheila had been the cool professional
throughout the several office visits Chris had made in support of
Sheila's research.
There had been the time when Sheila was collecting Data on Chris's milk
output. Chris had spent the better part of a day in the office being
milked repeatedly with a breast pump, filling bottle after bottle with
her sweet secretions. She had never received that kind of constant
stimulation before, and the result had been quite illuminating. For
hours Chris had been poised on the edge of orgasm, occasionally sliding
over the brink, and always coming back down not all the way, but to a
state of agitated arousal from which it was very easy to come again.
Over and over this had happened. Chris was virtually writhing in the
examination chair, moaning and cooing as wave after wave crashed over
her. After a few hours of this Chris was ready to start begging Sheila
to join her, or shut down the machine, or *something*. But Sheila had
maintained her professional detachment throughout, measuring the volume
in the bottles as Chris filled them, jotting the numbers on a clipboard,

and feeding Chris protein shakes through a straw to keep her from
getting dehydrated. Chris had slept for twelve hours that night.
On another occasion, Sheila had wanted to get some information on the
intensity of Chris's letdown reflex. She'd placed a topless and fairly
heavily engorged Chris on a chair in front of a black background and
instructed her to go through the mental exercises that would release her
milk at top velocity. High-speed cameras recorded the tiny jets as they
emerged and arced out across the room without Chris having to touch
herself at all. Tiny sensors attached to Chris's breasts had noted the
almost imperceptible electrical pulses associated with the contraction
of the muscle cells lining the milk sinuses that propelled the precious
liquid along. Chris had set a new distance record that day, and Sheila
had been notably impressed. As Sheila stood at the instruments, watching
their readouts, Chris was sure that she saw desire on Sheila's face -in the way her blink rate slowed, her pupils dilated, and the number of
times she'd moistened her lips. Just like that fateful day that was now
months in the past. It's all right, Sheila, I want it, too, Chris had
telegraphed. Alas, Sheila was not telepathic, nor did Chris wish to put
an invitation into words for fear she'd be wrong.
Then there was the incident with the moisture sensor. Sheila's purpose
that time was to follow the course of one of Chris's ejaculatory
episodes by means of a moisture sensor inserted in her vagina. Chris
remembered feigning vaginismus during the insertion process, contracting
her vaginal muscles so tightly that Sheila could not get the probe in
more than half an inch. She pretended to be extremely uptight about
having a foreign object inserted into her, something that couldn't be
further from the truth. Chris had relaxed only after Sheila had massaged
her mons while speaking soothing words. Her face had been only inches
from Chris's pussy, and she had to have smelled arousal in Chris's odor.
Still, she showed no outward sign that anything was out of the ordinary.
Chris remembered treating the probe like one of her vibrators, trying to
make herself come merely by rhythmically tensing and releasing the
muscles surrounding it. She had succeeded. The resulting torrent had
pegged the instrument and had even shorted it out when a blast of her
ejaculate struck the front of it. Sheila had been quick to unplug it;
otherwise, the experiment might have ended unhappily.
Chris had had tubes in her arms from which blood was taken for hormone
profiles during a lactation event. Sheila had been less than expert in
finding a vein, and the resulting discomfort had interfered with Chris's
mental control over starting and stopping her milk production. The
results of that experiment had been inconclusive. In that instance,
Sheila had seemed to warm up a bit, apologizing profusely for causing
her pain and taking extra care to dress the puncture wounds. Their eyes
had met briefly, but there was nothing but a doctor behind Sheila's.
Pulse monitors, oxygen meters, even tiny pressure sensors in tiny
collars that had encircled her nipples to measure their erectile
response -- in these last weeks Chris felt that she'd been probed by
every type of medical instrument known to man. In all that time there
were several instances where Sheila had stroked her hair before
beginning a procedure, soothing her anxiety. There had even been a quick
hug or two when a result showed particular promise. But it had all been
within the boundaries of professional decorum.
Now Sheila wanted to finish up with a magnetic resonance imaging scan
of Chris's thorax. Something about studying the distribution of glands
and ducts within the breast tissue, she'd said in her phone call. She'd
had to trade a favor or two for the use of the MRI instrument off hours,
which was why she'd asked Chris to come down to the hospital so late at
night.
The clock on the dashboard read 10:48 as Chris pulled her car into the
hospital parking lot. As she parked, the same thought she entertained

every time she went there resurfaced. Sheila wants me, she said to
herself. I can tell. Why doesn't she do anything about it? Doesn't she
know it would be all right?
Due to the lateness of the hour, most of the lot was empty. She'd
pulled to a back entrance, following Sheila's instructions. She'd said
the MRI lab was in that part of the building. Chris was puzzled at the
lack of lights that showed in the windows. Had Sheila forgotten their
appointment? Chris walked up to the large double door, tried it, and
found it locked. Should she knock? She peered inside, down the length of
a long corridor, which was empty. Chris began to feel uneasy. I can't
just stand out here, she thought. One hand went to her breasts, which
were beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Come good and full", Sheila had
said. "We want to get before and after pictures from this."
Just as Chris was about to turn back to her car, she heard the
unmistakable sound of high heels echoing from a side corridor.
LACTOGENESIS XIX:
THE EXAMINATION, PART ONE
To Chris's relief, the owner of those high heels turned out to be
Sheila. She appeared from a side corridor, dressed as always in a white
lab coat and carrying her clipboard. She was smiling broadly as she
unlocked the door, admitted Chris, and locked it again behind her.
"Sorry to leave you standing out there in the dark, but I wasn't sure
exactly when you'd be arriving," Sheila said. "Fortunately the MRI lab
is within earshot of the door, or we might have missed each other."
"I was beginning to wonder," Chris admitted. "Now, from your phone call
it sounded like this was the last thing you needed me for. Is that
right?"
"Should be, barring any complications with the scan. You did remember
not to express any milk before coming here, didn't you?"
"I'm as full as I allow myself to get without becoming too
uncomfortable," Chris replied. "I hope it won't be long before I can
relieve myself, though."
"Well, how long it's going to take will be largely up to you," Sheila
said cryptically. Chris was going to ask her what she meant, but by then
they'd arrived at the lab. Sheila used a key to unlock the door, stepped
in, and turned on the lights. Chris had never seen so much high-tech
gadgetry assembled in one place before. The setting was stark hospital
white. The MRI unit was a large, hollow cylinder with a motorized
platform extending out from it. It looked a little cramped in there. To
one side, behind glass, was the control panel. Sheila motioned to a
multi-paneled screen cordoning off one corner of the room.
"We need to get started right away. I had to do a lot of finagling to
get just a little time on this unit, so we need to get in and out fast.
If you would, go behind that screen and take off all your clothes.
We're going to do a whole-body scan first, so everything has to come
off. Even panties," she added parenthetically.
I wonder why? Chris thought as she began doing as she was told. Doesn't
this kind of machine see through clothing? She thought Sheila's request
was a little strange, but she just shrugged and quickly stripped naked.
"There's no robe in here," she called out.
"You won't need one. Just hop out here and onto the platform."
Chris walked across the room in her glorious birthday suit and lay down
on the platform. It and the room were cold; Chris's nipples were
painfully erect as a result, and goosebumps stood out all over her body.
"Why do you doctors always keep your workplaces so damned cold?" Chris
complained.

Sheila did not respond. Instead she took hold of one of Chris's ankles
and fastened a restraint around it. "Hey!" Chris shouted. "What are you
doing?"
"The procedure requires that you be absolutely still. We've found that
most patients can't lie still enough on their own. These'll make it
easier." Chris accepted that, and allowed Sheila to fasten straps across
both ankles and wrists, and one across her forehead, anchoring her upper
body to the platform.
"Comfortable?"
"As comfortable as possible under the circumstances, I guess."
"Good. I think we're ready to begin." Chris expected Sheila to
disappear behind the panel and press the buttons that would move the
platform into the MRI unit. Instead, she put down her clipboard and
stepped closer to Chris. She noticed the gooseflesh on Chris's skin and
placed a warm hand on her stomach.
"You poor thing. You really are cold. Let's get you warmed up." She
began unbuttoning her lab coat. By the time she reached the third
button, it became obvious that she was wearing nothing underneath. Chris
was astonished. "Wait. Wait a minute. Sheila, what's going on?"
"Oh, I think you know. You think that all the time we've spent together
was just to further my research, don't you? Do you honestly believe I
could just stand there and watch you squirting and gushing at session
after session and not be affected? I've seen how you look at me while
you were doing that. You were trying to get a rise out of me. You've
been teasing me. I think you've known that I've wanted you ever since I
first tasted your milk from my desktop, and you've been trying to get me
to show it. Well, you were right, and now is the time." Her lab coat hit
the floor, revealing a taut, athletic build. Sheila's breasts were quite
small, barely enough to require a bra. The areolae were almost
nonexistent, but from their centers protruded tan-pink nipples as big
around as an index finger and at least an inch long. The cold obviously
wasn't the only thing contributing to their size. Further down, past a
belly lean enough for the underlying muscles to be visible, Sheila's
hips flared wide, making for fleshy buttocks behind and a large, coalblack bush in front. Chris could see that her pussy lips were already
swollen, and pearls of moisture were just visible at their edges.
Chris realized how helpless she'd allowed herself to become, and felt
panic begin to well up inside. She had wanted to do something about the
electricity that had built up between her and Sheila, and now she was
getting her wish, but not as she had envisioned. She began to struggle
against the restraints, but was held fast.
"Sheila. You don't need to do this. Ever since I noticed your desire
for me, I've wanted something to happen. We can be together. Just let me
up from here."
"No, you've teased me for so long I thought I should have a chance to
do some teasing myself." She bent down and kissed Chris lightly on the
lips. Her tone became very gentle. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you.
Relax. I guarantee you'll enjoy this."
"Won't somebody hear?"
"Why do you think I had you come down this time of night? Everybody's
gone, don't worry. Just give yourself to me this one time. Believe me, I
only want to give you as much pleasure as you've given me."
Sheila began lightly caressing Chris's body. Her touch was so gentle,
her desire to please so genuine that Chris's panic soon began to drain
away. She had never experimented with being tied up before, but she had
been curious. Here's your chance to find out what it's like, she
thought. She relaxed against the straps holding her. Boy, I guess I
overdid it with her, Chris said to herself. Pushed a little too hard.
It's always the quiet ones who surprise you. Well, I guess you reap what
you sow. Here we go...

"Do it, Sheila. Take me," Chris whispered, with as much lust in her
voice as she could muster being tied down to a medical examining table.
As she expected, Sheila went straight to her breasts first. One could
hardly blame her; how could anyone resist their perfect, uplifted shape
and the ruby color and hardness of their crowning glories? Sheila used
both hands to encircle Chris's right breast. She bent low, staring in
anticipation at the nipple. When no milk was immediately forthcoming,
she attached her mouth to the nipple like a barnacle on a ship and began
sucking wildly.
"Ow, sweetie, gently, gently," Chris said. Sheila was sucking so hard
that she was causing pain. The fullness in her breasts began to give way
to that familiar tingling as the stimulus began to work its magic. Chris
somehow wanted to punish Sheila for the way she was being treated, so
she began thinking of deserts, cracked soil, dust...anything to keep the
milk from flowing. It was difficult; she had never had to hold back
against this extreme amount of stimulation. Sheila began squeezing
Chris's breast as if it were the udder of a cow. Chris gritted her teeth
against the overwhelming urge to drown Sheila, but not a drop emerged
from her nipples. A few seconds later, Sheila let go and stood up,
frowning.
"You said you were full," she pouted.
"You of all people should know that I have to be completely relaxed to
have a good letdown," Chris lied. "I'm not very relaxed right now."
Sheila smiled. "I know just the thing," she said huskily. Sheila moved
down between Chris's legs and firmly pried her knees apart. The ankle
restraints caused Chris to bow her legs somewhat unnaturally, but her
discomfort dissipated when Sheila's full lips began caressing Chris's
pussy lips. Her sharp tongue extended further, further...Chris's eyes
went wide. This girl could push her glasses up her nose with that thing
if she wanted to! The tip gently parted Chris's labia and hungrily
probed the entrance to Chris's womb. Slowly it began disappearing
inside. In spite of herself, Chris began moving under the onslaught of
this twisting serpent. She felt herself being filled up as if by a cock
with the ability to continually change its shape. It was a unique
sensation, one fully capable of making Chris forget where she was and
how she was currently configured. Sheila's tongue was fully extended up
inside her now, and her nose was tickling Chris's clit as she struggled
to breathe through it. Chris's breathing began to quicken, as did her
approach to orgasm. She barely had time to cry out a warning before her
swollen G-spot cut loose a downpour of juice, propelled by her spasming
vagina. The force of the contractions pushed Sheila's tongue out, and
the flood immediately following it struck her full in the throat. Rather
than gagging, though, Sheila's throat opened and she swallowed the bulk
of Chris's pubic tidal wave like college students chug beer.
Sheila wasn't about to let Chris come down right away. Her fingers went
to Chris's clit, where she began expertly massaging it. Chris's moans,
which were just beginning to diminish, immediately returned to their
previous volume. Not more than ten seconds later, Chris climaxed a
second time. The accompanying gush was less voluminous this time, but
was still sufficient to splash across Sheila's chest, flow down her
breasts, and drip from her turgid nipples.
LACTOGENESIS XX:
THE EXAMINATION, PART TWO
Sheila stood up and looked down at her dripping breasts. "Look, I'm
like you now." She began moving back up toward Chris's heaving chest.
"You should be pretty relaxed now."
Chris felt like the skin covering her bosom would split from the

pressure inside it. "Yes, oh, yes," she intoned. "Drink from me. Taste
me..." At that, thick streams of white liquid began welling up from
Chris's nipples, spilling down over the sides of her monumental mounds
to form growing puddles under each armpit. Sheila fell upon Chris's
breasts, licking and sucking as if it were her last meal. Milk ran
freely down Chris's body, off the edge of the examining table, and began
pooling on the floor. Sheila continued drinking, but there was more than
she could consume. All Chris wanted to do was to keep squirting, keep
squirting until there were no more fluids in her body at all. The fact
that she couldn't use her arms or legs only intensified the feelings in
other parts of her body. She came again solely from Sheila's
manipulations of her breasts, and this time she heard the splashes from
her cunt strike the hard floor. Her entire world was concentrated in her
brimming boobs...or was it? What was that new hardness between her legs?
Chris looked down at Sheila; both her hands were accounted for. She
looked further down and gasped aloud. There, expertly positioned between
her splayed gams, with a firm, healthy erection poised at her gaping
hole, was none other than her trusted physician Dr. Frankenmuth, looking
thoroughly unprofessional with his pants gathered at his ankles and the
reservoir tip of a condom dangling from the tip of his cock.
"My goodness, Christine, how you've filled out since you left us," he
growled lustily, as he slowly began pushing his way inside. "God,
Sheila, I could've sworn those tapes you showed me were doctored, but
now I know. Our little Christine is a true wonder." As he penetrated her
fully, his expression changed to one of pure bliss. "And she's as
fantastic inside as she is out." He began pumping, using long,
deliberate strokes.
A crowd of conflicting emotions chased each other through Chris's head.
Surprise at Frankenmuth's sudden appearance. Panic in that now it was
two on one, and she had no chance of escape. Renewed lust in that she
had fantasized about Frankenmuth ever since he and she accidentally
discovered her ejaculatory talents those months ago, and here he was,
inserting his penis into her. Chris knew somewhere in the back of her
mind that this could be thought of as rape, but she was so far gone from
the combination of Sheila's talented fingers and tongue that she
actually found herself welcoming Frankenmuth's hard cock within her. Her
vagina sucked him deeper inside, until his glans was kissing her cervix
at the bottom of each stroke. Frankenmuth's eyes betrayed his amazement.
The struggle to postpone ejaculation was beginning to show on his face.
It was a losing proposition.
"No! Not yet! Not so soon!" he cried, but Chris's cunt would have none
of it. Like a separate living entity, it squeezed and milked and sucked
at this invader, determined to extract its very essence. Frankenmuth
stumbled backward, pulling out at the same moment that the condom was
filling with his spunk. "Damn it! I came too soon!" Indeed, it couldn't
have been two minutes since Frankenmuth, who had been tipped off to
Sheila's plan by Sheila herself earlier that day, made his surreptitious
entrance, surveyed the scene, and decided to join the party.
Sheila giggled at Frankenmuth's frustration. "Aww, poor baby. Here, let
mama kiss it and make it better." She extricated herself from Chris's
bosom and padded over to where Frankenmuth stood, frantically stripping
off the sodden condom and almost taking the skin of his penis off with
it.
She immediately dropped to her knees, extended her prehensile tongue,
and began swirling it up, down, and around Frankenmuth's limp, semensoaked organ. Under attack from all sides, his dick had no choice but to
defend itself. Slowly it began to rise to meet the challenge. He began
humming a tuneless sound as his growing erection disappeared into
Sheila's mouth.
Chris struggled to get herself into a position where she could see what

was going on, but could not. Being so abruptly abandoned was frustrating
for her, as hot as she currently was. Her body was telling her that
there were still more orgasms available, more milk to be loosed. Again
she began straining against her restraints. She heard Sheila's frantic
slurping and Frankenmuth's humming, and was being slowly driven crazy by
it. "Mmm, Sheila, he sounds delicious," she said. "Can I share him with
you?"
"No, you stay put. He's all mine," Sheila said between sucks.
Frankenmuth, however, had other plans. Clearly he wanted a second shot
at Chris. With Sheila still connected to his cock, he leaned over to the
table and released one of Chris's wrist restraints. Chris quickly used
her free hand to unfasten the other three straps. When she swung her
legs around and stood up, several small puddles of milk that had pooled
on her upper body ran down her tummy, pussy, and legs. Frankenmuth shook
his head in disbelief at the sight. Chris walked up behind Sheila's
kneeling form, placed herself so that her knees touched Sheila's
shoulder blades, and looked deeply into Frankenmuth's eyes, saying "Here
I am. What's your pleasure?" without using words. He placed a hand on
each of her shoulders, bent his head, and began to suck on Chris's
nipples. He went from one to the other with amazing speed, so that it
felt to Chris like he was sucking both breasts at once. Her mammaries
responded with a renewed flow of milk. Frankenmuth would suck hard once
or twice, prompting a strong jet from her rock-hard nipple, swallow,
switch breasts, and be back in time to renew the stream just before it
slowed to a trickle.
"I don't know what's going on up there," came Sheila's muffled voice
from below, "but you've just doubled in size, darling. Keep it up,
Chris."
Chris began rubbing her cunt with one hand, then used the other to
replace it with one of Frankenmuth's. "Remember that day in the
hospital?" she reminded him. "Do it like you did it then." He took the
hint, turned his hand over, and used his thumb to begin stroking Chris's
clit. The angle wasn't the same as when she'd been sitting on the edge
of the hospital bed, but the effect was. Chris's legs began trembling,
and her knees buckled. The motion forced Sheila's body forward, causing
her to swallow Frankenmuth's cock to the hilt. He and Chris came
simultaneously. Sheila was hit with a double deluge -- one from above,
as Chris's come cascaded down into her hair, and the other from inside,
as Frankenmuth's second load blasted against her uvula. Unlike with
Chris, she was unprepared for this. She began choking as her gag reflex
was tripped.
Frankenmuth brought Sheila to her feet and held her while she struggled
to clear his come from her throat. "You OK, Sheila?" he asked. He felt
her nod against his chest. "Good, 'cause I'm still hard, and there's one
more orifice I wish to explore tonight." He led Sheila over to the
examining table, where he lay her down and immediately mounted her.
She responded immediately, bringing her hips up to meet his strokes. It
wasn't long before they, incredibly, forgot Chris was even in the room.
For a few seconds, Chris considered joining them, but decided against
it, seeing how small the table was. This conscious decision was enough
to disconnect her libido from her thinking brain, and a rational,
sexually satiated Christine emerged. It began to dawn on her that she
was standing in the middle of an MRI laboratory, naked and covered with
bodily fluids of several types, mostly her own, with probably a pint of
her milk scattered around the room, and two people she barely knew
locked in a carnal embrace on an examining table, completely oblivious
to her presence.
It was suddenly too weird for her. In that moment she knew she had to
get out of there, as quickly as possible, and not look back. She spied a
table along one wall containing some basic medical supplies. She grabbed

a handful of wipes and used them to towel herself off. She ran behind
the screen and began dressing as fast as she could. She heard Sheila and
Frankenmuth's moaning becoming more heated. She knew they'd be done
soon, and they'd be looking for her. She made a dash for the door and
was almost there when a flashing light caught her eye. She noticed that
the "start" button on the MRI unit's control panel was illuminated. The
machine was under power! A wicked thought crossed her mind, and she
walked over to the panel. Her hand poised over the button as she looked
through the glass at the two doctors lost in lust.
She began to feel the effects of having been hoodwinked by these two.
As the afterglow (they had been a terrific sexual experience) faded
completely, it began to be replaced by a sting of humiliation. Her trip
down here hadn't been a waste of her time, but she had been brought here
under false pretenses. She had, after all, been used as a tool to ignite
Sheila and Frankenmuth's passion for each other and then discarded while
still taken up in the heat of the moment. These two should pay some
small price for that. She looked down at the flashing button, and up
again at the MRI unit. The opening in that cylinder looked awfully
tight...
She slammed her hand down on the "start" button, which illuminated
several others. Chris found the one marked "transport" and punched it.
To her satisfaction, the table began moving toward the cylinder. The two
madly fucking people on it didn't even notice. Frankenmuth and Sheila
were completely intertwined in each other, as close together as they
could get. A very propitious thing, since they just barely cleared the
opening of the cylinder as the table disappeared into it. It was going
to be very difficult for them to get out of there.
Chris clenched a fist in a silent "yes!" gesture and made a beeline for
the door. It was just swinging closed behind her when she started
hearing surprised yells coming from the lab: "Ouch! Hey! What the hell?!
Chris? Where are you? What'd you do? Chris?! This isn't funny, move the
table back out! Chris!!"
She had made it to the main doors to the building when the shouting
started getting frantic. "Help, somebody! Get us out of here!"
She saw a maintenance man running toward her down the corridor. Working
hard to keep a straight face, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder in
the general direction of the lab. The man nodded and kept running. Chris
walked slowly and purposefully out to her car. Once inside its safe
confines, she started laughing, and didn't stop until she got home. I'd
like to be a fly on the wall at the next hospital staff meeting, she
thought.
She never saw Sheila Ellis or Dr. Frankenmuth again.
LACTOGENESIS XXI:
THE INVITATION
Chris and Sherri lay facing each other, nipples only millimeters apart,
the flush of a mutual orgasm fading from their necks and chests. They
were gently caressing each other, fingertips blending the droplets and
rivulets of breast milk which dotted their bodies in the aftermath of
their ardor into a thin film of moisture which they rubbed like lotion
into each other's skin. They had noticed on several occasions that
Chris's milk was thicker and whiter, while Sherri's tended more toward a
bluish tinge, like skim milk. A new bead formed on Chris's nipple and
began to run downward toward her cleavage. Sherri leaned in and deftly
caught it on her tongue before it disappeared into that moist, velvety
cleft. She smacked her lips exaggeratingly, savoring the sweet taste.
"Now I know why kittens are so crazy about milk," she said.
Chris rolled over onto her back, her still leaking breasts now looking

like miniature volcanoes, white lava trickling down their considerable

slopes. Sherri moved to finish sucking her dry, her hand petting Chris's
mons, still sticky-wet from her last ejaculation, in a soothing rather
than stimulating motion. Chris sighed deeply as she felt the last ounces
drain from her breasts. Sherri could empty her more completely and more
pleasurably than any pump could; and she was pretty good at returning
the favor. She shifted her weight and heard the waterproof sheets
between them and Sherri's bed crinkle softly in response. She stroked
Sherri's hair and languidly regarded the ceiling as Sherri released her
pulsing nipple and rested her cheek on one fleshy pillow.
"I've really come to enjoy these times," Chris mused, "and I have to
admit that what we've been doing is unique and very special, and you're
about the most talented partner I've ever had..."
"But..." Sherri said. When Chris didn't respond right away, she added,
"Come on, hon, drop the other shoe."
"Oh, Sherri, what it boils down to is, I need a *man*. I know that
doesn't sound very 'Nineties', and I don't want to offend, but even
though I think this is great, most of the time I like the feel of a
little razor stubble on my neck or between my legs, a hairy chest,
wrapping myself around a good thick hard cock. You know what I mean,
don't you?"
"Of course, Chris, and no offense taken. I know women are more the
exception than the rule for you. Me, it's six of one and half a dozen of
the other." She sat up and looked down at Chris. "You've had pretty
rotten luck lately in the male department, haven't you?"
"You said it. Ever since the paper ran that series on sexual harassment
in the workplace, my male coworkers have steered a wide berth around
me." She indicated her breasts. "I think these basically scare the shit
out of them. Anyhow, I think most of them subscribe to that old adage,
'Don't get your pussy and your paycheck in the same place.' As for
chance encounters, forget it. I'm not going to pay for spontaneity with
a disease that could kill me. As for the guys in my building, those who
aren't gay or married run screaming from the room when they find out I'm
lactating." Sherri frowned chidingly. "Okay, I'm exaggerating. Bottom
line is, I think my standards might be too high."
Later, as they soaped each other down in the shower, Sherri suddenly
said, "I think it's time for me to put my Yenta hat on."
"Oh, God, Sherri, the last thing I need is for you to play matchmaker.
What if our tastes in men don't mesh? Something like that could ruin a
friendship."
By way of admonition, Sherri tugged gently on Chris's nipples. "Hey,
it's not like I'll be trying to find you a husband or anything. It just
so happens that I'm seeing a guy that I think you would really like. I'd
like to introduce you, that's all. If there aren't any sparks, no big
woop. If there are, then we'll go from there."
As they were toweling each other off, Sherri picked up the thread
again. "His name's Jeremy, and unlike that jerk Carl you told me about,
he happens to think mother's milk is the nectar of the gods itself. He
can't get enough. I've been fantasizing lately about what it would be
like to share him with you. Might actually finally quench his thirst.
Whenever we get together, he drains me dry and just wants more!"
"Sounds intriguing," Chris said. The sudden erection of her nipples
showed she wasn't lying. "Tell me more. What's he like?"
"Let's see. He's in his early thirties, kind of short, maybe five-six,
five-seven. Thin, but not skinny. Dark hair and eyes. Hair everywhere,
even on his shoulders. Has to shave twice a day. Nice prick, seven
inches easy. Nice sex drive, too -- he keeps up with me pretty well."
"Better and better. What does he do?"
"Runs a travel agency. Very well connected. A lot of his clients are
upper-crust types, from the North Side. The kind of people who just up

and fly to the Riviera on a whim, you know? They've lined his pockets
well. Has a nice place on a few acres outside of town."
"Personality?"
"He has one. Sharp wit, pleasant conversationalist. A bit of a brownnosing type attitude, but that might be a result of the business he's
in. 'The customer's always right', you know the type. Not the most
brilliant guy you'd ever want to meet, but he's nice enough, and he's a
great lay. Come on, Chris, I don't have his damn resume with me. You
want to meet this guy or not?"
"I'm game. What do you propose, 'Yenta'?"
Sherri threw on a robe and began to gather up the sheets from the bed.
"Ever been to a good old-fashioned orgy?"
Chris was taken aback slightly by the question, even though that, as
far as sex was concerned, she'd grown to expect just about anything from
Sherri. "In this day and age? I thought those went out with Plato's
Retreat."
"This is very discreet. The group's fairly small, about 15 to 20 people
tops. Jeremy runs the show. Hand-picks the participants, makes sure
everybody's clean, and has a crystal bowl filled with condoms parked at
the front door. I've already mentioned you to him, and he's very anxious
to meet you. He's set up the next party for a week from Saturday, and
it's going to have a Halloween theme. We're to dress up in a costume
that exemplifies our special sexual talents and desires. Sounds like a
hell of a lot of fun. What do you say?"
"I don't know, Sherri. Sounds a little out of my league."
"I've been to a couple of these. They're very relaxed. No pressure to
fuck anybody you don't want to fuck. Jeremy's place is big enough so
that you can go one-on-one with somebody in a private room, or just sit
and talk somewhere else, or play strip Twister with a dozen people if
you want to. The people are very cool, very low-key. Hell, there was
even one time when nobody even got naked. We just sat around telling
stories and getting each other hot."
"But the idea of doing it with a total stranger, or two, or ten..."
"Hey, Chris, don't wimp out on me now. Ever since you and I first
started bumpin' uglies, you've been wanting me to help you broaden your
horizons. Look how far you've come already. You turned a wet T-shirt
contest into a near-riot; you've been strapped to a table and ravished
by a couple of sex-crazed doctors; you blew your old boyfriend away;
you've discovered what making love with a woman can be like; and you've
helped turn me into a lean mean lactating machine. Seems to me that a
simple Halloween orgy should be a natural progression. I haven't steered
you wrong yet, have I? You do want to meet eligible men, don't you?"
"I guess I do need to lighten up a little." Chris paused, her face
scrunching up as she struggled to make a decision.
"You're thinking about it too much," Sherri said. "This is not for your
head, it's for your gonads. Go with your gut."
"All right!" Chris burst out. "I'll do it. You just promise to get me
out of there if I start getting uncomfortable."
"I promise." Sherri gave Chris a quick hug. "This is going to be great.
This is a week from Saturday, remember. You should start thinking about
a costume."
"Do you have any ideas yet?"
Sherri went to her closet and opened it. Inside hung a partially
finished costume. It was still in its early stages, but the color
scheme, white with large black spots, made it clear what it was going to
be when Sherri finished it.
"Omigod," Chris laughed. "A *cow*?"
"Why not?" Sherri shrugged. "Seems only natural, don't you think?"

LACTOGENESIS XXII:
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY, PART ONE
"Hello?"
"Hi, Sherri. Chris. How's the costume coming?"
"All done. Will you be ready to leave in, say, fifteen minutes?"
"I need a little help getting the last bit of makeup on. Can you give
me a hand?"
"No prob. Be there in two shakes of a cow's tail."
Chris hung up the phone and returned to the task of getting into
costume for Sherri's friend Jeremy's Halloween party-slash-orgy which
was scheduled to begin within the hour. She had racked her brain all the
previous week, trying to decide on a costume which would fit Jeremy's
requirement that it reflect some unique aspect of her sexuality. In both
Chris's and Sherri's cases lactation was the obvious choice, but
choosing an appropriate costume had been less obvious. Sherri had chosen
to go with self-effacing humor and dress as a dairy cow, but Chris
wanted something more subtle. Her inspiration had come just a couple of
nights before, as she was viewing a late-night showing of the film "A
Clockwork Orange" on cable -- specifically, a scene in which Alex and
his droogs are relaxing in a futuristic bar, drinking glasses of milk
laced with hallucinogenic drugs. They refilled their glasses from the
spouting breasts of white plastic sculptures of nude women with
exaggerated figures and wild hair. Perfect, Chris had thought. The
reference is a little obscure, but that will make for a good
conversation-starter. The man at the costume shop was a little puzzled
when Chris bought practically his entire supply of Clown White stage
makeup and an outrageously voluminous white wig, but he knew better than
to ask questions, especially at Halloween. The only other thing she'd
needed to complete the costume was a white bikini bottom -- Chris wasn't
about to go to the party *completely* nude, just mostly so. The act of
smearing her body, and particularly her breasts, with the thick white
makeup cream had given her a slight sexual buzz, just enough to increase
her level of anticipation for the coming events of the evening and
dissipate what was left of her fear of the unknown. She covered herself
in white makeup from head to foot, which gave her the illusion that she
was actually wearing something when in fact her only clothing was the
bikini bottom. She had finished adjusting the huge white wig and was
putting on some overexaggerated false eyelashes when Sherri arrived.
"Jesus, you look like the ghost of Dolly Parton," she quipped.
"And you look like Elsie herself," Chris retorted, laughing. Sherri's
costume was of black and white cloth, in the pattern of a prime
Guernsey, complete with tail, ears, and six breasts which served as an
udder. The top pair were Sherri's own, protruding from holes in the
fabric and painted to match the two fake pairs immediately below. Sherri
was chewing a large wad of gum, obviously intended to simulate cud.
Once the two finished complimenting each other on their choices of
costumes, Sherri helped Chris put makeup on the part of her back she
hadn't been able to reach. She finished by dusting Chris with powder
that set the makeup so it wouldn't readily rub off. Chris then donned an
old long coat and white sandals that she didn't mind getting messy; and
they were off, driving carefully so as not to get pulled over. Chris
didn't want to have to explain her costume, or lack thereof, to a cop.
Sherri didn't bother to cover herself; she got a kick out of flashing
her "udders" at passing motorists all the way out to Jeremy's place.
"Some pad, isn't it?" Sherri asked as they pulled up to the house.
"Estate would be more like it," Chris commented. Indeed, Jeremy's digs
were absolutely palatial compared to Chris's humble abode. The house was
of white stone, a contemporary design, 5000 square feet easy. It sat in

the middle of a plot of land so large that the next door neighbors could
not be seen. Manicured hedges and a small reflecting pool with a
fountain (a Venus figure with water flowing from her breasts, Chris
noted) complimented the cobblestone paths leading to a huge double door,
which was illuminated with a blacklight. A suit of armor with glowing
red eyes in the visor stood guard.
Sherri rang the doorbell, then giggled when a recording of a
bloodcurdling scream replaced the expected "ding-dong". Suddenly the two
were bathed in blood-red light from overhead floods, and the doors
opened inward on very squeaky hinges, in classic haunted-house style.
There was no one in the doorway. Instead, a recording of a fairly good
Bela Lugosi imitation bade them enter. The entrance foyer and the
hallway leading away from it were darkened, illuminated only with a few
meager candles. Fake cobwebs brushed at them as they moved slowly down
the hall. At the far end, a robotic skeleton was beckoning to them,
pointing at another door. Chris could hear music and the hum of voices
in conversation behind it.
"This must be the place," Sherri said. "Ready?"
Chris steeled herself. Another step on the journey, she told herself.
How's this for self-discovery? I'm about to enter a room full of
strangers, clad in nothing but white makeup, and most likely have sex
with at least one of them. A year ago, who'da thunk it? Her id won the
battle with her superego: she removed her coat and stood there in her
brilliant white, almost-naked glory. Her nipples instantly responded to
the slight autumn chill in the air. In the unsteady light of the
hallway, she looked eerily magnificent. She draped the coat over the
skeleton's outstretched hand and said, "Let's do it."
Sherri knocked on the door. After a few seconds it opened to reveal
their host. Jeremy was as Sherri had described him: short but muscular,
chiseled good looks, and quite hirsute. He had a Kirk Douglas-like
dimple in his chin. It was hard to tell where his own body hair stopped
and that of his costume started. He was dressed as a satyr. Thick brown
"fur" ran in a stripe down his back and spread out to cover his lower
torso and legs. He had painted his exposed skin brown. Prosthetic horns
sprouted from his forehead, his ears were pointed Spock-style, and
makeshift hooves were on his feet. He held a drink in one hand and a
panpipe in the other.
Chris noticed none of this, however. Her eyes were riveted on his
penis, which hung freely down a good length of his furry thighs. It
began to stir as Jeremy beheld his two new guests. He had painted it
brown as well.
He stepped back and scanned Sherri up and down. He grinned broadly as
he said to her, "That's great. I love it. What a stitch." He leaned
closer and added, "I hope you're prepared to show us why you're dressed
like that."
Sherri smiled back. "Pervert," she said. She indicated Chris. "Jeremy,
I'd like you to meet my friend Christine."
He took Chris's hand and kissed it. His eyes shone mischeviously as he
looked up into her face. His erection was becoming more noticable. "Of
course, the fair milkmaid," he said. "I have been waiting a long time to
meet you. Sherri tells me you're one of a kind." Chris could think of no
response. Jeremy gave her a much longer visual examination than he had
Sherri. Chris felt her nipples stiffen even more under his penetrating
gaze. Finally he said, "Let me guess. Clockwork Orange, right?"
Chris sent a surprised look at Sherri. "Told you he'd know it," Sherri
said.
Jeremy stepped behind them and ushered them through the door. He
touched a button on the wall which muted the music and caused the other
guests to look in his direction. "Everyone," he announced, "this is
Sherri and Christine. They're here to make sure that you all have your

minimum daily requirement of dairy products." A few chuckles from those

who had gotten a good look at Sherri's costume. Most didn't understand
his reference, so Jeremy continued, "Never mind. I'm sure you'll find
out for yourselves later. Everybody is here now, so let the games
begin!"
Chris leaned close to Sherri and hissed into her ear, "Oh, great. Why
not tell the world? I don't want these people grabbing my boobs and
trying to milk them."
"Yes, you do, or you wouldn't have dressed like that," Sherri whispered
back. Chris was shocked, not because of what Sherri'd said, but because
she realized that she was right. When will I stop surprising myself? she
thought.
Jeremy placed himself between Sherri and Chris, put each arm around a
waist, and guided them toward the bar. Halfway there a woman in a black
leather B&D outfit sauntered up to Jeremy and without warning pinched
the head of his penis between black-nailed fingers. He didn't flinch.
"Well, Jeremy love, I guess we all know who *your* favorite is," she
said, and walked on. Chris wasn't sure what she meant until she glanced
downward. Jeremy was now sporting a tremendous erection that was
brushing the hair on his belly. When she was finally able to look up
again, she saw Jeremy wearing an ever-so-slight grin and arching one
eyebrow as if to say, "What did you expect?"
She glanced over to Sherri, who was also wearing an enigmatic smile,
only hers seemed to say, "He's all yours if you want him." She stole
another look at Jeremy's impressive manhood, and suddenly found herself
wondering if the body paint covering it would come off inside her.
Another movie cliche flashed through her mind: Bette Davis on a stairway
saying, "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride."
LACTOGENESIS XXIII:
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY, PART TWO
Jeremy made no attempt to conceal his erection, which was so engorged
that it was almost purple beneath the brown body paint. Chris was almost
embarrassed for him, but at the same time she could not deny that his
obvious arousal and the fact that she had brought it on were combining
to cause some erectile tissue on her body to become active as well. She
was almost alarmed at how horny she suddenly was. She consciously tried
to turn down her inner fire somewhat; after all, she had only just
arrived. There would be plenty of time for sex later. Right now she
wanted to take a look around.
Her first stop was the bar, which was manned by a hired bartender. The
woman's standard-issue uniform made her look completely out of place in
this venue. Chris ordered a raspberry ginger ale; after all, she was the
designated driver -- and she didn't want her senses dulled by alcohol.
Not tonight. She looked around for Sherri and noted wryly that she had
already left the room. Jeremy, however, was hovering nearby, unable to
leave Chris's side. She was amused to think that she had him completely
under her control. After pretending to ignore him for several minutes,
Chris finally took his hand and said, "Come on. Introduce me." They
began to mingle.
When Chris had chosen her costume, she was afraid that the degree of
nakedness it entailed would be too bold for Jeremy's friends. She saw
now that she had been mistaken. Several of the women were in comparable
states of undress. There was the inevitable Lady Godiva, but what made
her different was that her date was dressed as the horse. She rode his
back for a good part of the evening, clad in nothing but a very long
blond wig and high heels, which she repeatedly dug into her mount's
sides. The guy's definitely a masochist, Chris thought.

There was a Cleopatra, complete with a large, live boa constrictor

which served as a drape across a broad, deep chest sporting two doublypierced nipples. When questioned about the snake, "Cleo" frankly told
Chris that she used it to masturbate with. Chris spent a few minutes
trying to figure out how.
She then met "Irina", a woman of at least 50 who was naked except for
black leather gloves, knee-high boots, and face mask. She had a Doberman
pinscher with a studded collar on a short leash. The woman wore three
large dabs of peanut butter on her pancake boobs and very hairy pussy.
At one point during her conversation with Chris she sat on the floor and
let the dog lick her clean. Chris could swear the woman had an orgasm
during this, all the while keeping up her end of the conversation. Chris
was amazed. Where does Jeremy find these people, she thought.
Jeremy then introduced Chris to a fellow who was obviously a
bodybuilder. He had come as the Incredible Hulk. The bulge in his pants
which appeared as he stared at Chris showed that his musculature wasn't
the only thing incredible about him. Unfortunately, about all he could
say was, "So you're a milker, huh?" Not the most brilliant man she had
ever met, but that body...Chris felt her crotch begin to tingle as her
eyes traced his pecs, his lats, his delts, his glutes, his pubes...
As Jeremy introduced her to more and more people, Chris began getting
used to not making eye contact with any of the male guests. To a one,
they could not take their eyes off of Chris's body, resplendent in its
ghost-white makeup; perfectly shaped breasts with their upturned,
stiffened nipples; long, flat tummy; curvy, almost hemispherical ass;
and muscular, toned legs. She had never received so much visual
admiration at one time before, and it excited her. The excitement caused
her already high hormone levels to rise even further. She could feel
them working on both body and mind, stripping away inhibitions more
effectively than any exogenous drug and kicking her milk production into
high gear. She felt her nipples reaching maximum extension and the
warmth and pressure in her breasts that hovered just below discomfort.
She knew from experience that her bustline had temporarily increased in
size by more than an inch just in the last few minutes. It wouldn't be
long before she would have to grab the nearest man, jump his bones, and
soak him down.
Her prurient plans were thwarted when Jeremy decided to take Chris on
the "nickel tour" of the lower level. The main rec room, where the bulk
of the partyers was located, was connected by branching corridors to
several smaller rooms, most of which had closed and locked doors. Sounds
of passion emanated from behind each. Chris smiled inwardly when she
recognized Sherri's moans coming from one. Jeremy made a special point
of showing Chris one available bedroom which had obviously been
waterproofed; plastic covered everything. "This one's for later," was
all he would say about it.
A little further on they came upon a room whose sole furnishing was a
large round table with chairs. Several people were seated there, playing
a board game. Jeremy explained that the game was patterned after
Monopoly, except that sexual favors were traded instead of real estate.
A new game was just beginning, and one chair was available. Jeremy
seated Chris in it and left the room, saying something about going to
look for Sherri. His erection was still waving proudly as he walked out.
"Poor dear's going to get blue balls," a woman in a cat costume
immediately to Chris's left said. "When are you going to stop teasing
him?"
"Soon. I'm enjoying the attention," Chris replied.
"I'm jealous. Usually he circulates a lot more than this. He can't seem
to stay away from you."
"It's probably just the costume."
"I seriously doubt it." A beat, then, "Since you're a newcomer, why

don't you go first?"

Chris's token, appropriately shaped like a pair of breasts, landed on a
space which directed her to pick a card from one of the stacks and read
it aloud. Most of the spaces were like that, she noted. "'For the next
sixty seconds, do something sexual that you think no one else in the
room can do'," she read. She glanced at the people around her, noting
the look of anticipation on their faces, and suddenly it dawned on her.
This has to be a set-up, she thought. Jeremy had, after all, announced
in a backhanded fashion upon her and Sherri's arrival that both of them
were lactating. In retrospect, she realized that Jeremy had obviously
steered her to this room. It was suddenly clear that the people in it
had been hand-selected by him, and that they had been awaiting her
arrival. It was also clear that everyone at the table wanted a
demonstration of Chris's special talents. On top of all this, her
hormones were practically screaming that she provide one.
Far be it from me to disappoint my fans, Chris said to herself.
LACTOGENESIS XXIV:
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY, PART THREE
Christine gave herself over to the situation. She smiled and scooted
her chair back away from the table. She slid down into it, spreading her
legs slightly. With the tip of her index finger, she began to draw light
circles around each of her nipples. The circles widened until they
circumnavigated each breast. She then opened her hands, pressing inward
on her bosom and stroking downward toward the nipples. Over a dozen thin
streams of milk erupted forth as a result, spraying across the width of
the table. The men at the table groaned lustily in response; the women
squealed in delight. She tugged her nipples into inch-long erections,
each tug producing a fresh deluge of milk. As she milked herself, Chris
pivoted in her chair so as to make sure each and every person was hit by
the blasts. To her mild surprise, not one tried to escape getting wet.
On the contrary, they jostled each other for position, *trying* to catch
the streams on their bodies. They turned to each other, licking droplets
off each others' faces and smacking their lips.
"Sixty seconds. Time's up," she heard someone say, but the voice seemed
distant, strangely muted by the roar of the blood in her ears. There was
a collective moan of disappointment. "Like hell," she responded, and a
ragged cheer went up. Chris stood up, walked to the nearest man, and
guided his head to her still-flowing breast. With no prompting, he began
to suckle her deeply. The stimulation completed Chris's transformation
into an unthinking, purely sensual being. With a growl that rumbled deep
in her chest, she took the man's shoulders and took him to the floor.
His costume, that of a Roman gladiator, had an easily removed codpiece
which Chris tossed to one side to reveal a long, thin cock already
sporting a bright green condom. These people had come prepared. Chris
was running on pure instinct, adrenalin, and oxytocin now. She pulled
her bikini bottom to one side and unceremoniously engulfed the man's
erection with her soaking wet pussy. She began to ride him, spurred on
by the encouragements of the crowd around her, her head tossed back, her
eyes closed, her nipples still dripping milk onto the man's chest, her
voice grunting like a gorilla in heat.
She felt a pair of hands grab her head and guide it to a second,
thicker cock, which protruded from a Starfleet uniform belonging to a
man who looked very much like "Star Trek"'s Commander Data. Without a
thought she took it into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head
and plunging it deep into her throat. She felt soft lips (female?)
encircle each breast, sucking furiously, trying in vain to drain her
dry. She stroked the backs of the women suckling her as they struggled

to doff their costumes (the cat and her companion, a mouse) without
breaking contact. Her hands, however, were soon taken away and placed on
two more stiff pricks protruding from the pants of an "alien" (who had
glued a second, almost identically sized plastic prick above his own)
and a man in a Hannibal Lecter mask. Chris awkwardly began jacking them
off, trying to stay in rhythm with the "gladiator"'s cock buried in her
pussy. Six people were making love to her simultaneously, and still she
wanted more. She could feel the best orgasm of her life building, but it
seemed distant, unwilling to burst forth under anything but the most
intense stimulation.
She had her answer seconds later, as she felt a blunt, wet, throbbing
object probing her anus. She had never been penetrated anally before,
but that realization never reached her conscious mind. Upon that first
touch, she leaned forward, thrusting her ass outward, relaxing her
sphincter for the coming onslaught. The man who entered her, "Napoleon",
felt huge. He had slathered a condom with K-Y jelly, but his first
stroke still elicited a yelp of pain from Chris. He began to pull out,
but Chris shouted "No!" She relaxed a little more, feeling both cocks
sliding in and out of her, rubbing each other through the thin barrier
separating rectum and vagina. She began rolling her hips up and back so
that one penis was on a downstroke while the other was on an upstroke.
The cat and mouse began to nibble at her nipples, tugging at them with
their teeth. The cocks in her hands grew harder; the one in her mouth
began pulsing with the inevitability of ejaculation.
The men began coming. Hundreds of millions of spermatozoa ran down
Chris's arms as she finished jacking off "Hannibal" and the "alien".
Chris let go of "Data"'s cock just as it erupted, blasting a thick
stream of cum across her cheek to drip from one ear. The gladiator and
"Napoleon" followed only seconds later. Their penises seemed to swell
inside her just before exploding. She could feel the intensity of their
spurts even through the condoms they wore, and that was enough to bring
her distant orgasm raging to the forefront. She burst forth, spraying
cunt juice and milk everywhere as she gasped for air. The women suckling
her fell back, overcome by the sheer volume of fluid Chris was putting
forth. The gladiator's costume was ruined, soaked completely through.
Red dye mixed with Chris's juices and smeared the poor man's legs.
The intensity of Chris's orgasm drained every ounce of strength she
had. She collapsed forward, only semi-conscious. She felt several strong
hands guiding her to the floor, others stroking her hot skin tenderly.
She opened her eyes to see seven faces, five male, two female, smiling
down at her. They all looked up in response to applause that suddenly
had begun from the door.
Chris turned her head to see Jeremy and Sherri standing in the doorway,
applauding the show they'd just witnessed. Jeremy's erection was finally
gone. His limp dick was devoid of the body paint, and it shone wetly.
Sherri's costume was mostly gone; she wore only black panties and the
headdress portion. Her huge breasts, a different color from the rest of
her skin and looking very weird without the rest of the costume, jiggled
as she applauded; the nipples had drops of milk on them. It was obvious
what they had just been doing.
Jeremy made a quick gesture with his head, and without a word "Data",
"Napoleon", "Hannibal", the alien, the gladiator, the cat, and the mouse
left the room. Sherri quickly crossed to Chris's prone, semen-covered,
sweaty, white-streaked form, helped her shakingly to her feet, and
embraced her.
"School's out, hon. My little girl's all grown up now," Sherri said
into Chris's neck. There was pride in her voice. Chris, for her part,
was only slowly beginning to get her senses back. The enormity of what
had just transpired was beginning to dawn on her. She had transcended
yet another level of sexual awareness. She tuned in on her ravished

body; she felt her pulse in her cunt and ass, the cramping of the
muscles in her fingers, the teeth marks in her nipples, the taste of cum
on her tongue, the fatigue in her legs, the trickle of fluids down her
skin. They were delicious feelings, the feelings of complete release, of
the complete giving over of oneself to pleasure. She liked it. She would
have it again. Maybe even still tonight. She looked up at her host,
tossed the fake hair out of her eyes (how *had* that wig stayed on?),
and extended her hand to him. The look on Jeremy's face was a mixture of
adoration and blind lust as he led both women out of the room and down
the hallway, in the direction of the waterproofed bedroom, leaving badly
stained carpeting behind. His satyr's cock was beginning to stir again.
LACTOGENESIS XXV:
THE SHARING
Jeremy led Chris and Sherri back down the long hallway to the
"waterproof" room. Sherri left Jeremy's side to turn on lights, turn
down the bed, and close the door. Chris did not want to break contact
with Jeremy and hung on him even as they squeezed through the doorway.
She was still riding the wave of primal sensations that had resulted
from her having taken on, and satisfied, seven of Jeremy's party guests
at once, mere minutes before. Her skin, showing through now in places
where the white makeup had been rubbed off, still ran with a mixture of
bodily fluids that included saliva, semen, sweat, breast milk, and
perhaps even tears. Her white bikini bottom had disappeared, leaving an
outline where no makeup had been applied. Her whole body felt
accelerated into a new level of activity; it was one all-encompassing
erogenous zone, with every nerve ending tuned for sensuality. She
wondered if this is what those lab rats with electrodes implanted in
their pleasure centers must feel like as they stimulate themselves
continuously by pressing a switch over and over, forsaking even food for
non-stop sexual gratification, eventually dying of hunger and thirst
without even knowing they were starving. Jeremy's body was her sole
source of fulfillment now, and she wasn't going to let go of it even to
climb onto the bed.
Sherri was sitting Indian-style on the bed. Jeremy, with one smooth
motion, swept Chris off her feet and placed her gently on the bed,
placing her head in the cradle formed by Sherri's crossed legs. He
followed her down, suspending himself a fraction of an inch above
Chris's body, deliberately not touching her but close enough so they
could feel each other's heat. He used his lips and tongue to tease an
earlobe, working slowly downward and over to Chris's panting mouth,
which he covered with his own. She sucked his tongue hungrily into her
mouth, entwining it with her own, mashing her lips hard against his. Her
breath sounded loudly from her nostrils as Sherri caressed their heads
and necks, cooing softly.
Jeremy broke off the kiss and continued down Chris's neck and
collarbone, planting kisses as he went. He then pursed his lips and
touched one nipple oh so lightly, barely enough to register in Chris's
brain. The next touch, coming only milliseconds later, was incrementally
harder, as was the next, until Jeremy had an entire mouthful of Chris's
tit and was sucking as if he would pull it right off her ribcage. Chris
started making a keening noise as the pleasure and pain of this contact
combined in a new sensation. Jeremy suddenly released the breast, which
bounced back to its normal position and immediately unleashed a fountain
of milk skyward, catching Jeremy in the chest. Sherri oohed and aahed at
the spectacle, and immediately grabbed Chris's breasts, milking them
expertly, rolling the nipples between her fingers and leaning forward to
catch the multiple streams in her wide-open mouth. Her pendulous breasts

brushed Chris's lips as she did so, and Chris latched on to the
distended nipple blindly, like a newborn puppy. She felt Sherri's hot,
sweet milk cascade into her mouth and down her throat, filling her with
new energy.
Jeremy had now positioned himself between Chris's legs, propped up on
his muscular arms. The coarse "fur" of his satyr costume provided a
sharp contrast to the smooth nakedness of Chris's mound. She hissed
through clenched teeth, Sherri's pulsing, shooting nipple between them,
as he rubbed his aching cock, back to full erection, against the inside
of her thighs, stopping its upward motion just short of dividing her
labia. He hovered briefly at the gates of heaven, then plunged forward,
entering her effortlessly. She immediately contracted on him, almost
stopping him in mid-stroke with the intensity of the pressure she
applied. He groaned loudly in response. His cock felt as if in the grip
of an iron fist coated with hot honey. He pumped slowly, almost afraid
that she would push him out of her on the out-stroke -- she was that
tight. He reached behind him and grabbed Chris's legs, placing one on
each shoulder. She responded by lifting her ass off the bed and pulling
him even farther into her. He felt his balls slapping against the crack
of her ass as he moved.
Sherri leaned further forward, abandoning Chris's breasts for her cunt.
She massaged Chris's clit and touched Jeremy's cock when it appeared
from the recesses of Chris's womb on each stroke. Chris's pussy lips
enfolded Sherri's finger just as her other lips encircled Sherri's
nipple. Sherri bent her finger slightly so that her fingernail just
barely ran across Chris's clit. At that, Chris let go of Sherri's
nipple, screamed out her pleasure, and came in a gush that sprayed out
around the entire circumference of Jeremy's cock. Chris's back arched as
her orgasm continued, her pussy sucking wetly at Jeremy's pounding
prick, liquid pulsing out around him at each contraction. One orgasm
flowed seamlessly into the next as Jeremy's hips accelerated, their
motion sending pussy juice flying in all directions. He felt his own cum
rising, so he pulled out of Chris and fell backwards at the foot of the
bed, his pulsating erection pointed skyward. Chris and Sherri fell upon
it together, licking and sucking as if on a shared candy cane. Their
tongues met and swirled together as they ran up and down the length of
Jeremy's rod. Periodically one or the other of them would raise up just
enough to spray down their prize with milk, like topping on a sundae.
They finished Jeremy off by alternating deep throat sucks, coordinating
their plunges onto him like railroad workers driving a spike. He
exploded with a cry like that of a wild animal, sending a geyser of
spunk upward to coat the lips of both women.
Sherri snarled something about not letting him get away so soon. She
grabbed Jeremy's penis at the base and squeezed, trapping the blood and
not letting his erection deflate. She mounted him deftly, heedless of
his cries to take it easy, and began grinding her hips back and forth.
Chris moved up on her knees and straddled Jeremy's head, lowering her
still-dripping pussy onto his face. She and Sherri reached for their
breasts simultaneously and began spraying each other with milk. Seeming
gallons of white nectar sailed through the air in well-timed bursts, to
end as a myriad of pearly droplets along the faces, necks, and bodies of
the two women. Chris could feel Jeremy's tongue working wonders on her
clit, and knew she was close to coming again. She studied Sherri's face,
knowing from their times together when she was also close. Seeing Sherri
heading inexorably toward orgasm was enough to trigger her own, and they
came together, their cries merging into a sound the likes of which the
planet had never experienced.
Poor Jeremy chose that moment to try to inhale, only to be inundated by
another tidal wave from Chris's cunt. He began coughing uncontrollably.
Chris and Sherri immediately jumped off of him and rolled him on his

side so that he could more easily clear his throat. His ragged coughs
soon turned into spasms of laughter as he choked out, "What a way to
die!" The two women joined him, and soon all three were giggling
helplessly.
"You want to drown? There's more than one way, you know," Sherri said.
She rolled Jeremy back over on his back and began milking herself into
his mouth. Chris joined her, and soon it was all Jeremy could do to keep
swallowing fast enough to keep up with the downpour of milk. He began
making unintelligible sounds as he drank, and his penis rose to full
staff once again. Clearly he was finally living a lifelong fantasy.
Suddenly he reached out, took one breast of each woman, and shoved both
nipples into his mouth, sucking on both Chris and Sherri simultaneously.
They felt their nipples rub together in Jeremy's mouth, and felt the
jets of their milk intermingle. The feeling was indescribable, and so
erotic that both women's hands went to their pussies. They masturbated
urgently, coming again within moments. Jeremy erupted once more as well,
without any manual manipulation whatsoever. Even with their sexual fires
finally extinguished by all the liquids they'd secreted, Jeremy
continued to suckle, first on Sherri and then on Chris, for several
minutes, until they were finally emptied.
For a short while it looked as if Jeremy had gone to sleep. Finally he
sat up slowly, groaned slightly, wiped his mouth, and belched loudly.
Chris giggled; Sherri shook her finger at him in mock admonition. Jeremy
merely patted his slightly distended stomach and grinned like a Cheshire
cat.
Chris happened to glance at an ornate clock on one wall; it read 3:30.
Had she really been at this party for almost seven hours? She had never
undertaken such sustained sexual activity before, and it was finally
beginning to take its toll. She suddenly realized how sore her asshole
was, how thirsty and drained she felt. She looked at her companions and
suddenly realized how comical they all looked in the remnants of their
Halloween costumes. They laughed all through the shower they took
together and fell asleep in a heap on the huge circular bed in the
master bedroom, oblivious to the party which continued on around them
until well past dawn.
LACTOGENESIS XXVI:
THE PILLOW TALK
"Could you move a little, honey? My arm's falling asleep."
"Sorry, babe. That better?"
"Much. Thanks. Mmmm, I'd forgotten how nice snuggling can be after a
no-holds-barred session of lovemaking."
"The post-coital conversation. Definitely a must. Sure beats just
rolling over and going to sleep."
"You don't do that, do you?"
"How could I with somebody like you next to me?"
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
"You probably won't believe this, but there haven't been all that many.
Certainly none as unique as you."
"Jeremy, I want you to be honest with me."
"Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that."
"Don't worry. I promise I won't kick you out of bed, regardless of what
your answer might be."
"Fair enough. Ask away."
"Would we be doing this if I weren't lactating?"
"To be honest, probably not. Sherri would probably never have mentioned
you to me if you weren't, and I therefore never would have met you. Even
if she had mentioned you, I probably wouldn't have been intrigued enough

to have invited you to the party."

"I wanted you to be honest, but not brutally so."
"Sorry."
"'S okay. I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or should I say,
gift tits? You're right, I would never have met you if it weren't for
these 'talents' of mine. I should try to find the driver of the car that
hit me so I can thank him."
"Come on, Chris, you could have any man in the world, the way you look,
the things you can do, how sweet a person you are. There's nothing
special about me."
"Oh, yes, there is. After The Accident, after I came to accept my new
body and new sexuality, I vainly assumed the male world would beat a
path to my door. Truth was, the men I met were turned off by the fact
that I had milk. Made me seem too matronly, I guess. Hey, don't laugh!
Anyhow, you're different. I can't get over how much you get into it.
You're a breath of fresh air, you are. And not only are you the best lay
I've had in recent memory, you're actually a lot of fun out of bed, too.
I've missed that. A lot."
"Stop! You're going to give me a swelled head."
"I'd rather something else be swollen at the moment."
"You'll get your chance. You know I can't get enough of you."
"I'm surprised the milk bank hasn't called, wondering why my donations
have dropped off so drastically."
"I can't help it. Nectar of the gods, and all that. It's like a drug to
me. I never feel so good, so relaxed, as when I'm drinking from you.
Say, all this talk is making me thirsty again..."
"Mmmm. Ohhhh, your mouth feels so good on me. I just want to squirt
forever when you do that."
"I haven't drained you dry, have I?"
"Oh, no. There's plenty more in there. Just keep that up. Ooh, yeah,
just like that. I can feel the letdown starting."
"What's that like?"
"It's about the most wonderful feeling in the world, next to coming. I
get all tingly inside, like tiny pins and needles, and the warmth...but
there's more, too. It feels so peaceful, so relaxing, so...what's the
word I'm looking for? Nurturing? I don't know. I never feel such
tenderness toward you as when you're nursing from me. I can't quite
explain it -- maybe it's my maternal instincts kicking in."
"Just as long as you don't make me wear a diaper and talk baby talk."
"Don't get kinky."
"You don't think wet-nursing a grown man is kinky?"
"No, somehow I really don't. This feels infinitely right to me."
"Me, too. God, you're so beautiful. I'm so lucky to be able to
experience you on so many sensual levels. Not only do I enjoy you with
sight, sound, touch, and smell, but with taste, too. Your milk is so
sweet and warm..."
"And here it comes."
"Mmmmm, God, so good..."
"Drink of me, Jeremy. Drink deep. It's all for you. I'm your milkmaid.
As much as you want. There'll always be more."
"Mmmm. Ohh. I could die right now."
"Shhh, sweetheart, just drink. That's it. Nobody does that like you. It
feels so good..."
<<Jeremy suckles for several minutes, Chris quietly stroking his hair>>
"Tell me, Jeremy. If a lactating lady is all you crave, why didn't you
stay with Sherri?"
"Your milk tastes better."
"I'm serious."
"You must be -- you just dried up on me."
"Am I just a dairy cow to you?"

"That's a hell of a question, and one I hope I'll ever be asked again
as long as I live."
"Are you going to answer it?"
"Chris, honey, what do I have to do to convince you that you are a
waking dream to me? I can't get over how lucky I am to be here with you.
Believe me, I don't take our time together lightly, and I will do my
damndest to keep you with me. You are so special, so unique, not only
physically but in every other way as well. I'm not just saying this in
the heat of passion, although the way you look right now, with your
perfect body glistening like...whew! But believe me, Christine, at this
point in my life, you are everything I could ever want. What else do I
have to say?"
"I'm sorry. 'Once bitten, twice shy', you know."
"So you've told me. I hope I never meet this Carl guy. I'll only end up
cutting my knuckles on his teeth."
"You haven't answered my original question. Why didn't you stay with
Sherri?"
"I'll admit that I originally went after her because of her body and
because she was pretty blatant about the fact that she was lactating.
And she was great, a lot of fun. She's just so...brash. And loud. I
could tell early on that she only liked me because she'd never had
anybody with as much body hair as me. I was a new toy. We were good in
bed together, but that was all. That's not all I want from a
relationship, or haven't you guessed by now?"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry if I've turned this into 'True Confessions'. Why
don't you just kiss me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"Okay, why don't I start...here?"
"You know, I don't believe anyone has ever kissed my big toe before. I
like that."
"How about...here?"
"The inside of my knee? Yes, but not quite like that. It tickles."
"Does this tickle?"
"Now that you mention it, you could use a shave, oh hirsute one."
"Speaking of which, have I ever told you how much I love the fact that
you shave down there?"
"Don't tell me. Show me."
"You're so smooth. I can feel everything. I can taste..."
"Ssssss! Easy, darling. I feel especially sensitive tonight."
"You taste especially wonderful."
"Oh, God, is that your tongue? How do you *do* that? Ohhhhh, oooh,
you're making me so wet! Ah, ah, ah, yes, yes, ohhhhh yeahhh. Oh, my
God...how many fingers do you have in there? Feels like your whole
hand...no, don't stop, it feels fantastic...like you have two
tongues...oh, oh, ohhhh, mmmmm, God, I feel like I'm going to come
already...lick harder...harder...yes, yes, like that! Ohh! Ohhh!
OhhhhhaaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHH! AAAAAAIIIIEEEEEAAAHHHH! Oh, OH, OH! God, stop,
stop! I can't take it, it's too much, ooh, mmmm, mmmmmm, oooohh. Oh,
man. Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?"
"I took a course in college. Where did you learn to come like that? I
feel like I should wear scuba gear when I go down on you."
"Does it bother you?"
"Are you kidding? Next to your milk, this is like taking a bath in the
finest ambrosia."
"You've only primed the pump. Get on up here, you. I want you inside of
me."
"You have only but to wiggle that adorable butt of yours. Oh. My. God.
You feel like paradise itself."
"Oh, lord, you feel absolutely huge! I *love* it!"

"Move your ass. I love it when you move your ass around."
"I want to take all of you. Go deep. Like that. Ohh, yes."
"You are so hot. And tight."
"Suck my tits, Jeremy. Suck them!"
"You're like a human flood, gushing, squirting...God, it's so unreal.
So *primal*!"
"Our juices, our life's blood, mixing, mingling..."
"Covering me with your essence, giving yourself over..."
"Yes. Split me in half. Bury yourself in me. Become me..."
"Your milk. The water of life itself..."
"Your cum. The stuff of life as well...give it to me..."
"We exchange life when we fuck..."
"Fuck. Oh, yes, fuck. Fuck me!"
"Oh, Chris...oh, baby..."
"I want to melt into you. My milk, my cum, I'm becoming liquid, melting
into you...oh, faster, baby, make me melt..."
"Uunnh...unnhhhh..."
"Don't hold back. I want it! Oh, God, I'm coming...!"
"Aaah! Aaah! Ohh! Ohhohoho, yessss!!"
"Now! Now! Yes! Oh my gooooohhhhhAAAAHHHHHH!"
<<<They collapse together in a lake of milk, pussy juice, and cum -- a
long period while they catch their breath>>>
"Oh, boy, I am soaked!"
"MMMmmm, Jeremy, that was faaan-tastic."
"You really bring out the best in me. You are beyond belief."
"Care to go for three?"
"By all means. Just give me a couple of minutes. You know, I could
never do that before. That should tell you something about how special
you are."
"Why don't we try the shower this time?"
"Capital suggestion. Then let's change these sheets. You really should
consider Scotchgarding them. These dropcloths can get slippery."
"Jeremy?"
"Yes, hon?"
"I don't want this to end."
"I don't see any reason why it should."
"You mean that?"
"With all my heart. I know it's only been a couple of weeks, but...I
think there's a real chance that we could become soulmates as well as
bedmates."
"I'd like to think so, too, but...let's not rush anything, okay?"
"Okay. Sorry, I'm still caught up in the afterglow."
"It just might take me a little while, that's all."
"I understand. I think I'm going to enjoy wooing you."
"Wooing. That's a word I haven't heard in a long time. Sounds nice."
"Come on, kiddo. I'll scrub your back. By the way, how big is your
water heater?"
CHAPTER XXVII:
THE PROPOSITION
Candlelight flickered across the white tablecloth,
dimly illuminating two people seated across from one
another as they simultaneously drained their glasses of
the last of a bottle of vintage Merlot. The waiter had
just cleared the table, and the couple was waiting for
him to bring the dessert tray. Jeremy's eyes caught the
flickering light, glowing in obvious adoration of his
female companion. Christine read his face and felt

herself blush slightly.

"You know," Jeremy said in a voice pitched so that
only she could hear, "We need to do this more often. I
keep forgetting how fabulous you look with your clothes
on." Indeed, Chris was dressed to kill, or at the very
least maim. While not being particularly revealing
(though some cleavage was evident), Chris's form-fitting
dress was engineered such that wearing underwear would
have ruined its line altogether -- and so she did not.
As Jeremy continued to gaze at her, Chris felt the fabric
of her dress trying to resist the pressure placed on it
by her stiffening nipples. She felt a wave of warmth
sweep through her breasts, and she immediately reined it
in. This was a damned expensive dress, and she was not
about to stain it with milk. She had better control than
that.
God, she thought. He can make me soaking wet with
just a glance. Shame on me for letting him do that to
me. I promised myself I wasn't going to let my glands -any of them -- rule this relationship. She hoped her
bright smile disguised her discomfiture.
Since she and Jeremy had started seeing each other
seriously, Chris had noticed a moderate increase in the
magnitude of her sex drive. There was something about
Jeremy that made a strong connection with her libido,
making her more sensually aware. Being with him was an
aphrodisiac to her. Her body had responded accordingly.
She always had multiple orgasms with him, often five or
more per session. The feverishness with which he suckled
her stimulated her already high milk production to where
she could now put out close to three liters a day if she
so desired -- as much as a well-nourished mother nursing
triplets. Her bustline had grown another inch as a
result, to where Chris was now wearing 42DD bras.
Despite this increase, she was able to maintain full
mental control over her ability to lactate. Her
alabaster body still looked as if a stasis field enclosed
it so that neither time nor gravity could intrude. She
could bring tears to the eyes of any heterosexual human
male, but for some reason Jeremy was the only one she
wanted. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she
had a hard time envisioning herself being with anyone but
him.
For his part, Jeremy was living a fantasy come
true. His obsession with lactating women went back to
his fourteenth year, when he lived next door to a girl
who had had a baby at the tender age of 16. He would
watch her through the fence separating their yards as she
nursed the child while rocking in her back porch swing.
Once she caught him at it, but rather than yelling at him
or covering herself, she taunted him, flaunting her
naked, dripping breasts, daring him to come over and
taste her milk. Her boldness had shocked him at first,
but finally he took her up on her dare, and from that day
on he had been hooked. Now sitting across from him was a
woman who not only was the most incredible, perfect
sexual partner he had ever had, but someone whose gentle
ways and fun personality he had a hard time resisting.
Jeremy was falling for Chris, hard.
The way Chris was dressed, Jeremy knew he would be

unable to keep her body off of his mind, so he decided

not to fight it and steered the conversation in an
appropriate direction.
"Chris, do you still make donations to the milk
bank?"
Chris wasn't surprised at the question; she had
grown accustomed to his obsession and was even
occasionally thankful for it. "Oh, yes," she replied.
"Even with as much as you drink, there's still plenty
left over."
"How much do they pay you?"
"Pay me? Nothing. All of the milk at the milk
bank is donated."
"Do you have any idea how much they charge women
who use the milk?"
"Isn't it a charity deal? Doesn't it go to women
who can't nurse and can't afford formula?"
"Hell, no. These people make a lot of money
charging mothers far more than formula would cost. They
gladly pay it because of the benefits they feel they're
providing their babies by feeding them mother's milk
instead."
"How much money?"
"Let's just say you'd be appalled."
"Then these aren't needy people we're talking
about, I gather."
"I did some checking," Jeremy said. "Most of the
women who buy milk from this particular bank are wealthy
society types who don't want to 'ruin their figures' by
breastfeeding their kids themselves but still want to
give them all the benefits of it."
"How do you know this?"
Jeremy smiled. "I know a lot of them," he said.
"You meet an awful lot of people in my business. My
clientele is predominantly upper class folks, yuppies
with six- and seven-figure incomes who are beginning to
feel an intense nesting instinct. Seems that a lot of
these Type A career-minded types suddenly get an urge to
move out of their condos, buy a big house and spit out a
couple of kids before their biological clocks run down.
Naturally, I do all I can for these people. I charge
exorbitant commissions and I get away with it. In the
process, one hears a lot about how they intend to raise
their kids in a healthy environment, blah, blah, blah."
Chris was clearly upset. "Those sons of bitches,"
she spat. "They had me convinced that my donations were
going to low-income families in need, not to cater to the
politically correct whims of the rich and famous. Well,
that's the last drop they get from me!"
"What are you going to do with the milk, then?"
Chris was momentarily puzzled. Jeremy's eyes had
taken on a different kind of gleam, one she hadn't seen
before. "I don't know, throw it down the drain, I
guess."
"You'd be throwing away a gold mine."
"How so?"
Jeremy straightened up in his chair. He hesitated
a few moments, as if carefully framing what he was about
to say. Finally he said, in a conspiratorial voice,
"Promise you'll let me get all the way through this

before you condemn it."

Chris's puzzlement doubled, but she said, "I
promise." What was he on about?
"A couple of hundred years ago, it was considered
declass for a woman of substance to nurse her own child.
It just wasn't done. Many of those women tried to feed
their infants mashed grains and cow's milk, with fatal
results. Those with connections and a great deal of
money hired professional wet nurses, actively lactating
members of the working class, to feed and care for their
infants while they were off being seen in all the right
places. Two centuries later, not much has changed. I've
noticed that there's a real market for mother's milk
among these ladies who are too busy with their social
calendars to nurse their children themselves. They pay
top dollar. I figure, why should the bank be the only
institution to cash in on this? Chris, with my
connections and your talents, we could make a few extra
bucks on the side providing this service ourselves!"
Chris wasn't at all sure she liked that idea. It
sounded like she would be reduced to little more than a
dairy cow, doing nothing but sit around being milked all
day. She told Jeremy her objections.
"I would make sure that the number of people
involved wouldn't cause you to change anything you're
already doing. You're already donating -- what'd you
say? Two liters or so a day? That's enough to keep
about two babies well fed, more if their mothers
supplement with formula. By offering a few things the
milk bank doesn't, like anonymity for example, we could
command a premium. We're not talking quitting your day
job here, but it would mean a couple of hundred dollars a
week extra, at the very least. These ladies can afford
it. They'd even prefer it, probably. This way they'd
know all the milk was from a single donor and so was of
consistent quality and was free of the possibility of
contamination by drugs and the like. I'm sure they'd
jump at this."
Now Chris was intrigued. She had to admit that
making a little extra pocket money doing something that
came naturally, and was something she got nothing but
pleasure out of doing, seemed like a no-lose situation.
"What did you mean, 'at the very least'?"
Jeremy's smile got wider. "In all my dealings with
the upper class, one thing I've noted is that they're all
dying to be the first on their block to do the 'new
thing', the more obscure, outrageous, and maybe even
perverse, the better. People with money make up the most
unbelievable things to keep from being bored."
"So?"
"So...again, I've met all kinds in this business.
There are people out there, believe it or not, that have
tasted breast milk and consider it a great delicacy. I
know for a fact of some guys who would pay hundreds,
maybe even thousands of dollars, in order to keep a
couple of bottles of mother's milk in their refrigerators
at all times. We would cater to those people as well,
and make even more money than we would selling to upperclass mothers!"
"So I would be some weird kind of prostitute, with

you as my pimp?"
"Not at all. You would be a part-time, modern-day,
professional wet nurse, and I would be...gee, I guess I'd
have to call myself a lactation broker. You wouldn't be
nursing these men personally, unless of course you wanted
to..."
Chris had to admit that the idea had a perverse
kind of thrill to it. She would finally be using her
unique sexual talents to their fullest, with men who
would not only welcome them, but pay handsomely for them.
A far cry from her past experiences with men who
considered sampling her gift of milk as bordering on
cannibalism, to be sure. She felt her crotch dampening
and the warm rush of milk into her breasts returning.
She was very close to saying yes to Jeremy's proposition.
Jeremy was still talking, trying to sell the idea.
"You would still have your job at the publishers; in
fact, I'd recommend it at least until we know what the
market will be. We could bring Sherri in on this too; I
know she'd go for it. You would do as much or as little
as you wanted. You wouldn't have to meet any of the
clients if you didn't want to; I would handle that end.
I'd set up all the clients, keep the books, etcetera. We
can negotiate my share of the profits later." He winked
at that, but backpedaled when he saw Chris scowl. "I
wouldn't dare cheat my sole supplier!" She smiled at
that. "It would even be legal."
"Enough, already! You've convinced me it's worth a
try. This might even be fun. But I do still want to
keep my job, and as soon as I start resenting hooking
myself up to that pump, I'm out. These little milk
machines are mine, not yours, not 'the company's'. I
could have stopped lactating at any time over these last
months, but I have chosen not to because I love it so
much, and love how my life has changed as a result. As
soon as I stop loving it, that's it. The flow stops
there. I'm not a dairy. Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly, my darling," Jeremy replied. "Just as
long as you save some for me once in a while?"
"No problem there," Chris answered. "In fact, I
could use your help in that department right now. All
this stimulating talk has me ready to burst right here,
and I don't want to ruin this dress. Let's skip dessert
-- I'll serve you something nice and warm and sweet back
at home."
Jeremy's lust was almost palpable. "You'd better
stop talking or I won't be able to stand up without
embarrassing myself." His grin threatened to split his
face from ear to ear.
"Gar on, check please!"
LACTOGENESIS XXVIII:
THE FIRST CLIENT, PART ONE
"I don't know about this, Jeremy," Christine said, as she surveyed the
"setup" that Jeremy had placed in one corner of her kitchen. In the
intervening days since she had consented to his proposal that they make
use of her special talents to make money by starting a business

providing lactation services, Jeremy had taken the ball and run with it.
Now, where there used to be a spice rack, there was a separate phone
line coming through the wall with a state-of-the-art answering
machine/cordless phone combination, a line switching device, and a fax
machine hooked to it. Chris glanced at the business card Jeremy had
thrust into her hand. It read:
THE LAC-STATION, LTD.
Lactation Services
--Breast Milk Sales--Wet Nursing--Consultation--Etc.-Rates Negotiable call 555-MILK
"When Only Nature's Way Will Do"
He had just picked up two thousand of them from the local print shop.
Now he looked concerned. "Not getting cold feet before we even get
started, are you?"
"Not really. I just wasn't expecting...this." With a sweeping gesture
she regarded the whole picture -- not just the equipment and the cards,
but Jeremy's seemingly overzealous attitude.
Jeremy walked over to Chris and gave her a peck on the lips. "Don't you
worry about any of this. Promotion and scheduling is my department. You
just take care of production." He ran a hand across Chris's unbelievable
bosom, causing that tingling sensation to start up in it. Chris was
vaguely reassured to feel it, since it made her remember that her
hedonistic side really wanted to do this, really wanted to explore the
new sensual possibilities that "The Lac-Station" would provide. Now that
she was boycotting the local milk bank, she didn't want her daily
production to go to waste. Why *not* make some money from the situation?
As it was, Jeremy's near-constant stimulation of her breasts had kept
them fairly overflowing with milk for some time now -- what better way
to get rid of it (other than spraying him down with it, that is)?
Jeremy took the business card from Chris's hand and replaced it with a
fax, recently torn from her machine. "You didn't read this, I see," he
chided her. "I faxed this earlier today. It concerns our first client."
"Sorry, hon, I didn't notice it," she apologized. She scanned the paper
briefly. "Who are these people?"
"Friends of mine," he replied, smiling. "I thought it would be a good
idea to start off with someone familiar, someone I know something
about." He could see she wasn't interested in reading every detail, so
he decided to give her the short version. "Bill is 45 and already
retired from his investment firm. He made his money in leveraged
buyouts; now he lives on the proceeds from his stock investments. Spends
several hours a day on his computer. His wife Eleanor is 34, a product
of old money, silver spoon all the way. Probably wore Chanel diapers.
She's very well connected in the local social scene, so much so that she
doesn't want to be 'tied down' by their new arrival. Their son Thad is
six or seven weeks old, cute as a button. Eleanor has been nursing him,
but has decided that it's ruining her figure, her designer clothing, and
her calendar. She wants to continue to provide Thad with the benefits of
breast milk, but now that the immunological aspects are pretty much
overwith, she would like to use someone else's breast milk to feed him.
Now here's the kicker. She only wants someone who Thad likes."
"What do you mean?" Chris asked, puzzled. "Why should a seven-week-old
baby care who the milk comes from?"
"He doesn't, of course," Jeremy said. "Eleanor's weird in this regard.
She wants to be sure that Thad has a chance to meet and approve the
donor. I guess that if, upon seeing you and/or tasting your milk, he
starts to cry, then the deal's off."
"You mean she wants me to nurse him myself?"
"Just the one time. If he's comfortable with you, then Eleanor will be

too. From that point on she'll feed him your milk with a bottle -although I'll be willing to bet that Bill will get stuck with a lot of
the feedings while she's off galavanting around with her cronies."
"Jeremy, I've never nursed a baby before. I've hardly ever been around
babies. I wouldn't know what to do."
"Eleanor will talk you through it, I'm sure."
"I don't know..."
"Come on, sweetheart. I know these people. Eleanor's a little
eccentric, but they're basically regular folks. Most of our future
clients will be quite a bit less 'regular', I can assure you. This is
the perfect way to get our feet wet, so to speak. And, it's worth a
thousand a week."
"Good Lord. You're kidding."
"Eleanor must be desperate to get back to her social climbing. She
doesn't mind paying dearly for the privilege of hand-picking the donor.
She disguises it as concern for her child, but I'm sure this is just
another one of her ways of rubbing the rest of our noses in the fact
that she is filthy stinking rich."
"I don't have to babysit, change diapers, like that?"
"Nope. They have a nanny for all that."
"Great. Let's go take these people's money. When do we meet them?"
Jeremy smiled sheepishly. "In about a half hour. You should have read
the fax as soon as it came in."
Chris glanced at the clock, then gave herself a once-over in the fulllength mirror on the hall closet door. "I suppose I can be ready in
time. God knows I can spare the milk. There's hardly a time when I'm not
full, thanks to you." She hefted her breasts slightly and could almost
feel the milk sloshing about inside.
Jeremy walked up behind Chris and replaced her hands with his. "You
know you make me crazy when you feel yourself up like that." He began
kneading her boobs gently. His hands weren't anywhere near large enough
to completely contain them. Chris leaned back against him, feeling the
ridge of his rapidly growing erection press into the crack of her ass.
She felt her nipples stiffening at roughly the same rate as Jeremy's
penis. She began wiggling her ass up and down, which served to bunch the
material of her short skirt up at her waistline. Jeremy quickly reached
down to unzip his zipper and liberate his cock, which he began rubbing
against the material of her panties. His hands returned to Chris's
breasts, whose nipples were clearly showing through her blouse. She
began unbuttoning it frantically, afraid that if she didn't hurry, she'd
certainly stain it with the blast of milk that she felt building up.
Jeremy reached back down and roughly yanked Chris's panties down in the
back, exposing her lovely rounded ass. He moved his fingers down along
her crack and around, where they instantly became coated with Chris's
copious nectar. He used his wet hand to lubricate his cock, and then
swiftly entered her from behind. He had to stand on tiptoe to fully
penetrate her, as she was taller than he. This put him slightly off
balance, and the two of them pitched forward against the mirror. Chris
gasped at the force of Jeremy's entry, but was already wet and open
enough to accommodate him. Her breasts and cheek mashed against the
glass, sliding up and down as Jeremy pounded into her. Milk welled up
around her flattened boobs and flowed freely down the mirror. Jeremy
cupped his hands under her breasts and lifted her back away from the
glass. Torrents of milk splashed upward and outward, soon completely
obscuring their reflections in a web of tiny downward-flowing rivers.
Chris wanted to feel him deeper, so she leaned forward and rested her
hands on bent knees, effectively lowering her ass. Jeremy used the
increased leverage to sink himself to the hilt, driving the breath from
Chris's lungs. His hips became a blur as he repeatedly pulled almost all
the way out and then slammed it home again and again. After about two

minutes of this, Chris suddenly squealed and came, gushing her juices
both ahead and behind. Jeremy's pants were instantly soaked, as was the
carpeting at the bottom of the mirror. Jeremy followed within seconds,
mixing his own cum with hers into a frothy brew that coated both
partners' nether regions.
When Chris regained her breath, she looked over her shoulder at Jeremy,
then turned and quite unexpectedly punched him in the shoulder. "Drat
you anyway," she said. "Now we're going to have to change clothes and
clean up. You're going to make us late!"
"Do you have any left for the little guy?" Jeremy asked as he reached
for a handful of Kleenex.
"Are you kidding? By the time we get there the needle will be on F
again."
LACTOGENESIS XXIX:
THE FIRST CLIENT, PART TWO
When Jeremy rang the doorbell, the very chimes of Big Ben sounded deep
within the gigantic abode that housed Bill and Eleanor Overstreet, his
and Chris's first client. One of the double doors creaked open to reveal
a severe looking but not altogether unattractive woman in her early
thirties -- Eleanor, Chris figured. She was dressed smartly but casually
in a cerise silk blouse and tight white slacks -- tight enough to reveal
the remnants of a tummy which had held a baby not two months before. Her
dark blonde hair was pulled back so tightly that her skin was pulled
taut across her cheekbones, and she wore too much makeup. She wore a
conspicuously gaudy pearl-and-diamond necklace, and sported a wedding
ring that had to be five carats.
She fixed Jeremy with a displeased scowl. "You're a half hour late,"
she scolded. "Poor little Thad is practically starving." Indeed, in the
recesses of the hallways behind her, the yowlings of a hungry baby were
barely audible.
"A thousand pardons. We were...unavoidably delayed," he replied, with a
knowing look in Chris's direction. For her part, Chris's cunt was still
moist from the aftermath of the quickie she and Jeremy had shared only a
few minutes before. She hoped the clouds of Obsession she had sprayed
over herself were sufficient to mask the smell of sex.
Eleanor turned her laser-like glance to Chris. For a few moments, Chris
felt vaguely like a slave girl on the auction block, being subjected to
the probing stares of prospective buyers. She felt Eleanor's eyes
scanning her up and down, stopping, of course, at Chris's bustline.
Chris tried in vain to suppress the erection of her nipples as she
realized where Eleanor's eyes had rested. Dammit, she thought. If she
tells me to turn around, I'm out of here. Oh, well, caveat emptor, I
guess.
Without taking her eyes off Chris's tits, Eleanor said, "Well, she
certainly looks healthy and...qualified." Not even a hello, Chris
thought. Well fuck you too. She extended her hand. "My name is
Christine, Mrs. Overstreet. I'm happy to meet you." Eleanor's response
was to shift her gaze to meet Chris's eyes. She did not take her hand.
Jeremy interposed quickly, handing Eleanor a folder. "Speaking of
healthy, here are the medical records you requested. Flying colors all
around. A nutritional analysis of the sample is also in there. You
couldn't ask for better."
What the hell? Chris wondered. Medical records? Mine, of course.
How did he...? Jeremy must have more connections than he lets on. And
what sample? Did he milk me while I was asleep or something? Chris felt
slightly creepy at these new developments, but a slight buzzing in her

pussy told her she could still have fun here. Onward into the breach,
dear friends...
Without a word, Eleanor led them deep into the huge house to a large
family room, done completely in white. The increased volume of the
baby's cries indicated he was in an adjoining room. Rising from an
overstuffed chair to meet them was a very tall, very thin, mustachioed,
slightly balding man with a big smile, huge teeth, and graying temples.
"Jeremy, how the hell are you?" he boomed, pumping Jeremy's hand
enthusiastically. "Thanks for arranging this. I'm sure both Eleanor and
Thad will appreciate it a lot." He turned to Chris. Unlike his wife,
Bill Overstreet's attitude was warm and friendly. He took Chris's hand
to kiss it. "Chris. Hi. Jeremy's told us all about you. We're so glad
you've decided to help us out." He bent to kiss her hand but stopped
short when he felt his wife's icy gaze on him.
"Shall we get on with it?" Eleanor asked tersely. "Did Jeremy tell you
about our conditions?" Chris just nodded. "Good. Are you able to feed
the baby now?" Another nod. "Excellent. I'll be right back with him."
She turned on her heel and marched into the nursery.
After a few seconds of silence, Bill said softly, "I apologize for
Eleanor. Even though she really wants to stop nursing, I think she's
going to miss it more than she realizes. I think she's a little engorged
right now, and it's made her a little grouchy. She's really a very sweet
lady, and a hell of a mother." He seemed about to say more, but just
then Eleanor returned, carrying little Thad.
Chris rose to look inside the little bundle in Eleanor's arms, and
instantly fell in love. Thad was seven weeks old. He had a perfectly
round face, chubby cheeks, clear blue eyes presently swimming in tears
of hunger, and a full head of dark hair. He also had a loud clear voice,
which he was using to express his displeasure at being made to wait to
have dinner. Chris found herself unconsciously reaching to take him.
Eleanor reluctantly let her. As the baby settled into Chris's arms, she
felt a sudden rush of tenderness toward the child. She was momentarily
surprised at her emotionality until she remembered reading that the
hormones that regulate lactation also act to encourage feelings of
nurturing. She also felt another kind of rush as her breasts suddenly
swelled with a burst of milk production. It was almost as if they were
independently responding to the purpose for which they evolved, feeding
a baby. It was all Chris could do to suppress a letdown reflex that
would have brought the house down.
She looked down at the baby in her arms. Well, little fellow, this is
the moment of truth. Are you gonna buy me a new car or not? Thad took a
few seconds to focus on the strange face above him, but when he did, he
smiled a big toothless smile, cooed softly, and tried to snuggle against
Chris's warm bosom.
Eleanor's demeanor changed in that instant. She smiled almost sadly,
rested a hand on Chris's shoulder, and said, "This is going to work. I'm
so glad." She then guided Chris to sit with Thad in a high-backed chair
with a small footstool in front of it. This was clearly the place where
she had been feeding Thad, and she was clearly unhappy to be giving it
up to Chris. She looked forlornly at Bill, whose loving look seemed to
be saying, It's okay honey, this will be over soon, and you'll be back
at your bridge club in no time.
Chris looked helplessly at Jeremy, then Eleanor. "I...I don't know how
to do this..." she stammered, embarrassed.
"Jeremy told us," Bill said soothingly. "Don't be upset. We wouldn't
want anything to interfere with your...comfort. Eleanor will show you
what you need to do." He fell silent, his hands folded in his lap. It
was soon clear that both he and Jeremy intended to stay and watch.
Chris suddenly realized that she hadn't dressed properly for this; her
top did not button down the front. She would have to pull the whole

thing off over her head, which would leave her naked from the waist up.
Eleanor understood this as well, and took Thad back while Chris removed
her top. As her incredible breasts bounced into view, she heard a quick
intake of breath from Bill's direction. She glanced at him and was
almost disappointed to see a lack of reaction on his face. No wait, his
nostrils are definitely flaring, and he does seem to be fidgeting a
bit...
Eleanor was also trying to remain cool, but it was clear that she was
impressed with Chris's outstanding assets. Under her breath she
muttered, "And I was worried about ruining my figure."
Chris heard her. She said, "It's not too late to change your mind.
Breastfeeding is a great way to get back in shape after having a baby,
and all that stuff about your breasts shriveling away is a myth." She
looked at Jeremy and was surprised to see him staring murderously at
her.
He relaxed visibly when Bill said, "No, we've decided. Eleanor would
have to spend too much time close to home. That's just not compatible
with our lifestyle."
So why have the kid in the first place, Chris thought, but stayed
silent. Eleanor had removed the baby's outer wrap and placed him back in
her arms. The feel of his smooth warm skin against hers renewed those
nurturing feelings, and she felt her nipples become distended with warm
milk. A white droplet appeared at the tip of each.
Eleanor showed Chris how to position the baby so that he could get a
good shot at her nipple. As she moved it close, Thad seemed to smell the
milk, for he rooted in the direction of Chris's breast, found it, and
latched on with a vengeance.
Chris yelped in pain and surprise at such ferocity from such a little
guy. Eleanor immediately stepped forward. "He doesn't have enough of
your nipple in his mouth," she said. "He needs to be able to get part of
the areola in as well so that the flow can go unimpeded. Here, let me
help you." She deftly inserted her finger in the corner of the baby's
mouth, breaking the suction. As she removed her finger, Chris could
swear she felt it briefly caress her swollen nipple, sending an electric
shock through her tingling breast.
"Let's try again," Eleanor said.
Chris felt the pressure of the milk building behind her areolae and
quickly said, "Could I have a towel, first?" Bill instantly produced one
from the bar which Eleanor draped across Chris's lap.
Chris was convinced that her nipple was far too big and long for little
Thad to take the whole thing in his mouth, but on the second try, he did
just that, shoving it far back into his tiny throat. Chris's eyes went
wide as the baby began to suckle. She was totally unprepared for the
sucking power that little body contained. It was even harder than
Jeremy's in his most passionate moments. A flood of pleasure/pain
coursed over her, and she literally gasped. Eleanor only smiled
knowingly.
Chris's body responded with alacrity to this onslaught. She felt cunt
juice begin to trickle into the maxi-pad she was wearing while her
letdown reflex exploded in full force. A jet of milk sprayed from her
open breast, past the towel, and across the carpeting. Bill and Jeremy
both almost jumped out of their chairs. "Whoa!" Bill yelled. Eleanor
immediately picked up the towel and draped it over Chris's spouting
boob. Thad, incredibly, was equal to the task, gurgling and swallowing
rapidly, happily keeping up with the torrent of good milk Chris was
providing.
Chris was overwhelmed by the intensity of this experience. Her moment
of guilt at experiencing sexual arousal from the suckling of a baby
vanished quickly. This seemed the most natural thing in the world; why
shouldn't it be pleasurable? Babies would have starved to death if God

hadn't made nursing feel good. She remembered reading Masters and
Johnson, where they'd documented that some women achieved orgasm while
breastfeeding.
She knew in that second that she was going to join that elite group.
Her breathing began coming faster; she felt the maxi-pad swelling,
trying in vain to contain the coming flood. Her juices were pushing past
it, seeping around the edges of her panties, dampening her slacks. She
looked up with confusion and lust, and in that moment her eyes locked
with Bill's. She fixed on them, seeing his excitement, almost hearing
him telepathically urging her on to orgasm. He and Jeremy both had
visible erections. She knew she was going to come soon.
Come on, come on, come on, come on, Bill's eyes told her.
With a whimper, Chris shut her eyes tight and came like a freight
train. Forcing herself to refrain from screaming and thrashing about
with the baby in her lap only served to intensify the orgasm. She
snorted through wide-open nostrils, panting furiously, riding it out,
while Thad kept suckling, totally oblivious to his nursemaid's plight. A
dark stain spread outward across Chris's lap, around, and down into the
chair. The realization that she must be making a hell of a mess was
sufficient to snap her out of it, and she recovered quickly.
"Oh, my God, I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I had no idea that would
happen."
"That's quite all right. I'm sure it happens all the time," Bill
reassured her. "If it makes you feel any better, it happened to me,
too."
Indeed, there was a wet spot on his pants as well.
"If that had happened to me, I never would have decided to quit,"
Eleanor said.
"Are you sure it didn't, honey?" Bill asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at yourself."
Eleanor glanced down at herself. Sure enough, the entire front of her
blouse was soaked through. Watching Chris's arousal had triggered her
own letdown reflex, and it had been sufficiently strong to soak right
through her clothing.
"Oh, shit!" she cried, in most unladylike fashion. "This blouse is
ruined! Oh!" She dabbed at it with the towel before realizing it was
also soaking wet. She threw it on the floor in disgust. She plucked at
her dripping wet front and said frantically, "You're hired. Please
finish feeding Thad while I go change. Bill will finish up with the
particulars while I'm gone, won't you, darling?" Without waiting for an
answer, she hurried off down the hallway.
Bill smiled his toothy smile. "Sweetheart," he said to Chris. "If you
promise to do this more than just this one time, I'll double whatever
Eleanor has decided to pay you."
Chris looked at Jeremy, then down at the baby. He had detached himself
from her breast, so she placed him at the other one, and immediately
felt him latch on and begin draining her again. As she felt another
orgasm beginning, she said huskily, "Mr. Overstreet, I shall consider
it."
LACTOGENESIS XXX:
THE UPDATE
<<<Some months later...>>>
Christine pulled her new dark green coupe
into the parking lot of her local video outlet, turned off the engine,
set the parking brake, and climbed out. She spent a couple of seconds
admiring the sheen of the new car's finish and lightly caressing one
fender. She hadn't figured on being able to afford a new car for several

months more at least -- but that was before she and Jeremy had started
their lactation services business, The Lactation Station. Jeremy's
business savvy had rapidly built their client base to the point where
Chris was now making far more money from her breast milk (and activities
related thereto) than she was with her job as a journalist with the
local paper. She was continually amazed at these people's willingness to
spend Jeremy's deliberately exorbitant prices just to get a taste of
mother's milk -- for reasons ranging from the noble (feeding adopted
infants) to the perverse (ah, but those are the subjects of other
stories). She wasn't about to argue with him about those prices,
however; the law of supply and demand was clearly in control here, and
as long as she was enjoying herself (and boy was she ever) and her
pocketbook was benefitting, why rock the boat? She smiled, revelling
once again in her new-found prosperity. The novelty of her newly
improved income had not yet worn off, and she was delighting in the kind
of satisfaction lottery winners must feel. The weather was helping her
good mood as well. Winter was on the wane. This day's temperatures were
well above normal and bright sunshine was in abundance. Chris was
celebrating by wearing a thin pair of slacks, a T-shirt cropped just a
few inches below her magnificent bustline, open-toed shoes, the lightest
of jackets, and no underwear. A light, slightly chill breeze wafted up
the large opening at the bottom of her shirt created by her gravitydefying bosom, caressing her milk-filled breasts and maintaining her
nipples in a state of perpetual erection. The nip in the air felt
soothing on the skin of her breasts, which as the result of the
extensive lactiferous vascularization within was always warmer to the
touch than the rest of her body. It also heightened her awareness of her
breasts, which never required much, owing to the rampant hormone levels
in her bloodstream, still elevated although the head injury responsible
for Chris's extraordinary lactation and ejaculatory skills had occurred
almost exactly a year ago now. The temporary freedom from the confining,
concealing garments of winter was like heaven to the sensual being which
Chris's miraculous biochemical transformation had allowed her to become,
and Chris had every intention of taking full advantage of it. Now,
however, she had a rather mundane task before her. She was visiting the
video store to rent a couple of movies to help keep her occupied while
she was hooked up to her breast pump. Jeremy had presented her with a
TV/VCR combination that went nicely in the spare bedroom of her
apartment that had become essentially the Lactation Station's corporate
headquarters. She and Jeremy had converted the room into a mini-milk
bank via the addition of a top-of-the-line dual-action pump that
replaced the one Chris had been renting; a small refrigerator set to the
optimum temperature for the storage of breast milk; a second, smaller
one stocked with fortified beverages to keep Chris's fluid and nutrient
levels up (making as much milk as she did had an enormous metabolic
cost); a cabinet containing sterile bottles; a sterilizer; and a sealing
apparatus. In one corner was a file cabinet and a small desk upon which
sat the answering machine, telephone, and fax machine that had
originally resided in Chris's kitchen, and a powerful PC containing the
Lactation Station's records. A stereo system sat in another corner.
Classical artwork depicting nursing mothers (and the occasional nursing
adult) adorned the neutrally-colored walls. Central to the room was a
large, very comfortable recliner with built-in heat and massage. A
second cabinet nearby contained cleaning supplies, clean towels, and
sheets of a disposable absorbent material laboratories often use on
their benchtops to contain spills.
Chris used these to keep herself dry
during her milking sessions. These days such a session was done in the
nude, since Chris was always sure to have at least one and often several
orgasms in the course of emptying her breasts. The copious ejaculations
she always experienced when she came made the wearing of clothes foolish

and the use of the sheets, which she placed under herself on the chair,
a necessity. Because her proficient milk glands were quite good at
keeping up with the action of the pump, she could often draw off as much
as a quart of milk at a sitting, which could easily take 40 minutes or
more to accomplish. The addition of the TV/VCR was a welcome one, and
Chris was spending her "afterglow" time getting caught up on all the
movies she had been missing as the result of her very busy schedule.
Jeremy had agreed to handle scheduling, and he was a master at it.
Even though Chris was kept very busy, at no time did she feel rushed or
overwhelmed by the demands of her clients. She had leisure time whenever
she felt she needed it, and Jeremy's care with screening potential new
clients had been so perfect that she was still having great fun with all
of them. At no time had she ever felt like she was just a milk machine,
a dairy cow supplying the needs of a select few. She felt like what she
was, a wonderfully sensual, sexual, beautiful woman whose talents were
rare, special, and in great demand by people willing to change *their*
lives around to accommodate *her*. She was being treated almost like a
celebrity by these people. For the first time in her life Chris had an
inkling of what being a star must be like, without all the hassles that
often accompany immense popularity.
A large portion of The Station's
services dealt with providing breast milk to women who couldn't or
wouldn't nurse their infants but still wanted to provide their children
with the best possible nutrition. Over Jeremy's protests, Chris insisted
on charging a price that undercut the local milk banks, even though her
clients had the value-added advantage of knowing exactly what the source
of their babies' milk was. The sense of well-being this aspect of the
business gave her lessened the tedium that sometimes threatened her
milking sessions, despite the intense physical pleasure they always
provided.
The main money-maker for the business was, as one might
expect, the kinkier side, the side to which Chris, to her surprise,
found herself more and more attracted. These clients were the men and
women of the upper crust who could afford the high price of indulging
sexual fetishes that one generally does not have the opportunity to
experience at the level of casual contact at which those less fortunate
live out their lives. These were the professional hedonists for whom
money was no object. Jeremy delighted in milking them financially while
they milked Christine literally. The client list in this category was
longer than that in the other and actually accounted for most of Chris's
milk output.
The demand had become so great in this regard that Jeremy
had had to recruit other lactating women to join the staff of the
Lactation Station. Chris's neighbor Sherri was the first to sign up; she
rapidly proceeded to surpass even Chris's amazing output and devoted
herself to the business to such an extent that she quit her day job.
Another staffer, to Chris's initial astonishment, was Eleanor
Overstreet, The Station's first client. After Chris's first visit to her
house Eleanor had changed her mind about letting her own milk dry up and
had become such a prolific producer that she rapidly outstripped her
infant son's needs. She had considered donating the excess supply to the
local milk bank, but joined The Station instead when Jeremy informed her
of their unfair practices (which had convinced Chris to go in with him
on this project in the first place). Eleanor only supplied their private
milk bank, however, and wasn't involved in the seamier side of the
business.
Jeremy had only recently added two more women to the staff.
One, Janine, was a stripper Jeremy had met in a downtown bar some weeks
earlier. She had been giving him a table dance when Jeremy noticed a
drop of milk clinging to one of her nipples. He carefully questioned her
and found out that she was a single mother who was still nursing her
three-year-old daughter and who was dancing to supplement her meager
income. She mentioned that she had tried to wean her little girl a few
times but her breasts never got the hint and refused to dry up, causing

her enormous discomfort if she didn't nurse. When she heard that her
predicament could make her a lot of money, she jumped at the chance.
The
other woman was someone Chris had not yet met. Jeremy seemed very
secretive about her, and didn't talk much about her other than to say
she was part of the staff. He was spending more and more time with her,
which was beginning to annoy Chris, but she was far beyond depending on
only Jeremy for her sexual gratification. As far as Chris was concerned,
if Jeremy was schtupping this mystery woman, she could care less, as
long as she was disease-free. She didn't want to let Jeremy know about
that, though, since she enjoyed watching him squirm guiltily when she'd
make pointed inquiries about this woman. Chris would find out who she
was eventually. There was no hurry.
So with a staff of five actively
lactating women, The Lactation Station showed no signs of becoming one
of the vast majority of small businesses which fail within months after
establishing themselves.
LACTOGENESIS XXXI:
THE VIDEO STORE
Christine finished her mental mini-review of the events that had led up
to her being able to purchase the shiny new car beside which she was
standing. Her mind back on the present, she turned and entered the video
store. She was immediately aware of the stare the pimply faced teen
behind the counter fixed upon her as soon as she cleared the doorway.
After all, she was not dressed appropriately for the time of year, and
the material of her cropped T-shirt was revealing as much as it
concealed. She felt the erection of her nipples intensify, until even
the bumps of the Montgomery's glands that peppered her areolae were
visible through the fabric.
It must be the warm weather, she thought.
It's giving me a premature case of spring fever. I can't remember the
last time I got so horny over a kid half my age staring at me. Chris
felt her breasts rapidly filling and knew that she would have to make
her selection quickly and rush home, or else she would be forced to use
her mental control to shut down her milk production so as to avoid
discomfort, something she didn't like to do unless absolutely necessary.
She decided to pick out something particularly steamy to help get her
through the upcoming milking session, so she walked to the appropriate
section of the store and began looking at the selections. "9-1/2 Weeks"?
Seen it. "Two Moon Junction"?
Nope. "Red Shoe Diaries"? Been on cable already. "Like Water for
Chocolate"? Damn, it's out. There just doesn't seem to be anything here
that's hot enough for what I want...
Without really thinking about it,
Chris found herself heading toward the door at the back marked "Must Be
18 to Enter". Strange, she thought. I've never rented -- nor even seen - an X-rated movie before. I must be hornier than I thought. Even with
all of the sexual awakenings Chris had experienced since The Accident,
the world of adult film had not been one of them. She had been living
the experience without having to view it on a screen. Her curiosity at
what lay behind the door before her combined with her horniness to
create an unquenchable desire to find the most explicit video she could
and then spend the rest of the evening in her milking chair, watching it
over and over, masturbating furiously and setting new milk yield
records. Anything to help the orphans, she thought wryly.
As she opened
the door, she was surprised to find the room to be larger than she
thought it would be. Row upon row of cassettes with vivid packaging
greeted her. The room was dimly lit, and contained a faint smell of old
cigarette smoke. There was only one other person in the room. It was a
young man, perhaps 22 or 23, in a leather jacket and jeans, peering
intently at the shelves as if searching for a specific movie. How does

one possibly choose from all of this? Chris wondered. She chose one of
the racks at random and began looking at titles. She noticed immediately
that many were permutations of established movies and TV shows. "Sex
Trek: The Next Penetration"? Who thinks up this stuff? Chris wondered.
She then read a title that made her giggle out loud. The young man
jerked his head in her direction. His face had an embarrassed look on
it.
Chris felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at
you. Some of these titles are just so funny, that's all." The young man
appeared to accept this; he turned away to resume his search. Chris
noticed that he already had two cassettes in his possession. She was
suddenly seized with a strong desire to know what they were. What kinds
of videos turn guys on, anyway? she wondered. Maybe if I can see what
he's got, it'll help me pick out something for myself. Under the
pretense of continuing her own search for a title, Chris maneuvered
herself nearer to the young man. As she got closer, she noticed that he
was really quite handsome, not the trenchcoat-wearing stereotype she
always had imagined frequenting places like this. He had sandy hair, a
strong nose and chin, wire-rimmed glasses...What's a guy like this need
with porno movies? Chris asked herself. He looks like somebody who could
get the real thing anytime he wanted. He looks like somebody *I'd*
like...
She was almost standing next to the young man now. She noticed
as she sidled closer that he was stealing more and more frequent glances
at her, particularly at her chest. This knowledge caused her nipples to
become so hard they ached, and her breasts to flood with warm milk.
Finally she was close enough to make out the words on the cassette cases
the young man held in his hand, and what she read nearly made her wet
her panties. One movie was titled "Milk Mania", and the other
"Magnificent Milky Maidens". The guy was into lactation! What were the
odds of that? In that moment the hormonal onslaught won out; Chris knew
she had to have this man. A plan formed instantly, unbidden.
She waited
until he began to reach for another cassette (this one entitled
"Squirting Boobies III"), then she started to reach for the one
immediately next to it. As he once more glanced in her direction, as she
knew he would, Chris willed her breasts to begin leaking milk into her
T-shirt. Two dark stains immediately appeared over her finger-thick
nipples and began spreading rapidly. Chris withdrew her arm and pressed
it against her bosom. She had timed the incident perfectly. The young
man had seen it and was now opening staring.
"Oh, dammit," she said,
feigning dismay. "This always happens at the worst times." She
tentatively dabbed at her chest, deliberating making her boobs jiggle
slightly, then looked up into the young man's eyes, which were as wide
as they could possibly be. "I'm terribly sorry. I hope I'm not grossing
you out. It's just that I have so much milk that sometimes it just comes
out on its own. Oh, jeez, just look at me." She began flapping the front
of her shirt in an attempt to "dry" it, allowing the undersides of her
breasts to flash in and out of view. The two stains joined into a single
large one that spread out to cover most of her front.
Rivulets of milk began to appear on her exposed stomach. All the while
Chris apologized profusely, pretending to be upset over her "accident"
and frantic that it wasn't stopping. The young man stood transfixed,
unable to either move or utter a word. There was a sizable lump forming
in his jeans. Finally Chris asked him outright for a handkerchief. He
produced one from his back pocket and presented it with trembling hand.
Chris unfolded it and thrust it up inside her shirt, dabbing it across
her oozing nipples, fussing constantly, pretending to be embarrassed.
She had to be careful here, or she'd have an orgasm on the spot, and
that would be messy indeed. She decided that her little show had had the
desired effect, and so performed the mental ritual that shut down the
flow of milk. She began to hand the hankie back to him, then thought
better of it. "Oh, my, I've really gotten this wet. Tell you what, I'll

take it home and wash it, then I'll send it back to you. What's your
name and address?"
Finally the young man was able to speak. "It is all
right. You keep. I have others." His tenor voice was thick with a
European accent Chris didn't quite recognize. This guy was obviously not
from the neighborhood. "Well I don't usually take an article of
someone's clothing without knowing who it came from," Chris said,
smiling radiantly. She extended a hand. "My name's Chris."
"I am Uwe,"
he said, pronouncing it "oo-vay". His mouth then dropped open slightly
as he took her hand and realized that it was slightly damp with milk.
Chris took note of that reaction -- arousal, not disgust. Good.
She
zipped up her jacket to cover herself. "I think it's stopped now. I
apologize again. Believe me, I don't often meet men this way, especially
in a place like this!" "Please, do not say more. You do not offend. It
is...natural for this sometimes to happen, yes?"
"Well, yes, but I
usually have more control over it than this. Something must have
distracted me," Chris said, letting a gleam come into her eye. "I
couldn't help noticing your accent. Have you been in the States long?"
"Zwei Monaten. Two months," Uwe replied. "I am on holiday from Austria."
"Traveling alone?"
"Ja." "Austria, eh? I've always wanted to visi
t
Europe", Chris said. "Forgive me for saying so, Uwe, but this place
isn't exactly listed in the Michelin Guide."
He must have understood the
reference, for he appeared to blush, although it was difficult to tell
from his dark complexion. "Two months is long time without..." He let
his voice trail off.
There are times when poor command of a language is
good, Chris thought. There's not as much room for subtlety. She cut
through Uwe's building embarrassment by chuckling. "No need to explain.
I'm here for the very same reason," she lied. Uwe's eyes widened again.
"Excuse me, but I think that is not to believe," he said. "A woman so
beautiful as you should not have to..." Again he did not complete the
sentence.
Chris risked touching Uwe's arm. He did not flinch. "That's
very sweet of you. Are all the men of Austria as gallant as you?" Uwe
did not answer, but he did smile warmly. "You know, I've never met an
Austrian before. If I'm being too forward, tell me, but...if you'd like
some company to watch those movies with, I'd be happy to oblige."
"I do
not know what means 'forward', but I think I would like that," Uwe said.
She smiled again. Of course you would, she thought. What lactation lover
wouldn't jump at the chance to live out his deepest sexual fantasy? Uwe
wasn't so cautious about meeting strange women in strange places that he
would flatly turn down an opportunity like the one Chris was offering.
"Great! And here I thought I'd be spending the evening alone. Tell you
what. Let's pay for these and go over to my place. I, ah, need to change
my shirt anyway."
As Uwe followed her toward the front of the store,
Chris could not help thinking of a puppy, nipping and drooling at her
heels. For a moment she wondered if she wasn't doing something
completely crazy, taking advantage of a young man's fantasies like she
was, but her animal side was in full control now, and her only regret
became that this young man would probably pop his cork way too soon....
LACTOGENESIS XXXII:
THE FOREIGNER
Christine noticed as she drove home from the video store that Uwe's
rental car rode her back bumper much too closely. When they arrived at
her building, he was on the step directly behind her all the way up.
This is one eager beaver, she thought, and was amused instead of
annoyed. He wants to make sure not to lose me. Well don't worry, my
little Austrian strudel. The chain of events has already progressed past

the point of no return.

Once through the door, Chris indicated the sofa
across the living room from her entertainment center where Uwe was to
sit. She hurried into her bedroom to change her milk-soaked T-shirt. She
caught a glimpse of her naked bosom in the mirror and instantly
recognized the visual signs of oncoming engorgement. Poor Uwe is going
to get inundated, she thought. I hope he's equal to the challenge...
She
chose a bustier and an unbuttoned, see-through blouse as replacements
for the T-shirt. Provocative, yet easy to get out of. Her splendiferous
breasts threatened to spill out of their barely adequate restraints as
she returned to the living room. She stopped at the linen closet to
remove a small stack of towels, which she placed in an empty chair. Uwe
had not budged from his spot on the sofa, not even to remove his jacket.
He inhaled sharply when he saw the stack of towels. He's foreign, not
stupid, Chris thought. In Uwe's white-knuckled grip were the three
videocassettes he had picked out at the store. Chris saw a need to put
the nervous young man at ease. "Please, be comfortable," she said
soothingly. "Take off your coat. Can I get you something? A beer,
maybe?"
"Es tut mir...I mean, I am sorry," Uwe said. "I am
having...moths in the head?"
Chris laughed. "If you mean butterflies in
your stomach, don't worry. I won't bite unless you want me to. Why don't
you start one of the movies? That will give us something to talk about."
When she returned from the kitchen, "Squirting Boobies III" was just
appearing on the TV screen. Uwe was already riveted to the introductory
scenes, a rapid-fire montage of shots of women squeezing milk from their
breasts. A tinny electronic soundtrack started as the scene shifted to a
single woman, pretty but still carrying some post-pregnancy weight,
caressing a pendulous pair of stretch mark-covered breasts, eventually
(after what seemed to be an inordinately long time) coaxing a thin
dribble of milk from one of them. Chris found herself watching with a
sort of detached, clinical interest. She shouldn't have fed the kid just
before filming, she was thinking. Uwe, in contrast, was transfixed. By
the position of the lump in his pants, Chris figured he must be in some
discomfort. He tried to shift his weight unobtrusively to free his
growing erection. Chris decided not to try to help him...not yet,
anyway.
If this is getting his rocks off, he must *really* be into lactation,
she thought.
The scene shifted to another woman, a black woman with the
biggest pair of natural breasts Chris had ever seen. Their coal-black
areolae, each at least three inches in diameter, rested in her lap when
she wasn't fondling them. Within seconds after appearing onscreen, this
woman was squirting thick streams of milk into her own mouth while a
fully dressed man stroking an average-sized erection protruding from his
fly looked on. The scene went on for several minutes, during which time
the flow of milk showed no signs of abating. This finally produced a
response in Chris. A memory from the first few days after her milk had
first come in resurfaced. She remembered the taste of her own milk, how
she had actually been able to fill her stomach from drinking it, how
long it had taken her, and how, as orgasm after orgasm shook her, she
had wondered whether her breasts would ever stop squirting. She felt her
nipples threatening to burst out of the cups of her bustier, the hot
milk building up behind them, the juices seeping out from between her
pussy lips. She looked over at Uwe, who was still staring at the TV, now
absently rubbing an impressive swelling through his jeans.
"It's so
sweet and warm," Chris said, breaking a long silence. "You haven't lived
until you've tasted mother's milk. I used to wonder why so many men were
turned on by milky tits until I tasted it myself." They watched the
scene a little longer. "My, she sure has a lot...almost as much as me,"
Chris said. "In fact, watching this has made me feel full again." At
those words, Uwe was finally able to tear his gaze away from the TV and
onto Chris's chest. She responded by brushing back the material of her

blouse and lightly caressing the mounds that welled up from the cups of
the bustier. "They get so hot when they're producing," she said
seductively. Impulsively she reached out and grabbed one of Uwe's
trembling hands. "Here, feel," she said, firmly planting it across her
chest. At first Uwe, too shocked to move, did nothing. Then he ever so
gently began moving his hand, across, around, feeling the heat that was
the byproduct of the manufacture of milk that was going on just
millimeters beneath. Chris was immensely turned on by the tentativeness
of his movements. Jeremy was a veteran at this; his approach was
straightforward, while Uwe was clearly exploring, unsure of his next
move.
Chris found that very titillating. She moved his hand aside temporarily
and used the flats of her fingers to pull her breasts up and out of the
bustier. Her nipples popped forth, and a single drop of blue-white fluid
appeared at their tips.
On the screen, the man had undressed, and the
woman was soaking his erection down with her milk -- from a distance of
several feet. Again an old memory surfaced in Chris; she remembered
spattering her bedroom window while standing in the doorway to the room,
which had to have been ten feet away. She suddenly had the urge to do
that again. "I can do that," she said, referring to the video. "Watch."
Her fingers and thumb instinctively knew the correct positions to take
around and behind her areolae, knew the correct amount of inward
pressure to exert, to produce a cluster of fine, sharp, forceful streams
from her nipples. A moan of surprise and extreme arousal escaped Uwe's
lips. The milk formed a long parabolic arc, fanning out and striking the
full-length mirror on the far side of the room. Again and again she sent
jets of milk skyward as she related to Uwe how good it felt to be
releasing the pressure, how her nipples were tingling as the milk shot
through them. Suddenly she stopped spraying, turned to Uwe, and said,
"Would you like to taste?"
The look on Uwe's face told her she had just
granted his fondest wish. She repositioned herself so as to aim her
blasts into his open mouth. The force of the first one took him by
surprise; he almost choked as it struck the back of his throat. As Chris
continued to squirt, Uwe's mouth came closer and closer until his lips
finally locked onto her breast. He sucked hard, almost as hard as an
infant. Chris felt her letdown reflex intensify, and quickly bent her
head to catch in her own mouth the streams that began spontaneously
shooting from her free breast. The familiar taste immediately triggered
an orgasm which came up so quickly that Chris was completely unprepared
for it. She felt her cunt juice gush into her slacks and seep up into
the crack of her ass. The flow from her breasts increased until Uwe no
longer needed to suck to have his mouth filled to overflowing. The
action on the screen continued, but it soon paled against what was going
on in front of it.
Chris pushed Uwe back onto his back, swinging her
shoulders back and forth so that first one, then the other spewing
breast came in contact with his grasping mouth. He had her firmly about
the waist as she ground her saturated crotch against the fly of his
jeans. Somehow, a hand (whose?) unzipped the zipper, liberating an
uncircumcised cock that ranked among the longest Chris had ever felt.
Pausing just long enough to rip off her wet pants, Chris, quite simply,
jumped on top of Uwe. She promptly yelped and leaped back off as the
impact drove his cock all the way up inside her and bumped up hard
against her cervix. Not letting Uwe's mouth wander far from her spurting
nipples, Chris tried again, this time lowering herself slowly, feeling
inch after inch after inch after lovely inch slide up and in, feeling
her muscles squeeze and release as she pushed him further. She stopped
just short of bottoming out, and realized that at least two inches were
still outside of her. Jeremy was thicker, but Uwe was longer. She
realized in that moment that Jeremy's cock was the only one she'd had
inside her for a long time, and that she had forgotten how different one

man can feel from another. As Chris gyrated upon Uwe, she felt every
little difference there was to feel, and as she did, her orgasms came
thick and fast. She straightened up and threw her chin toward the
ceiling as she came like a Thompson gun. It almost felt to Chris as if
her uterus was being repositioned -- trying to get out of the way of
Uwe's impressive sword. Uwe's blue jeans turned a very dark indigo as
her ejaculate cascaded over them. Her breasts, now free from Uwe's grip,
sent pulses of whiter hind-milk over his head in rhythm with her vaginal
contractions. Uwe had probably come within seconds of beginning all of
this, but so much fluid was present that it was hard to tell what was
his and what was hers. All he could do was hang on, screaming to himself
in his native language that this was all there was in the world now,
while Chris released herself upon him. As the last orgasm (sixth?
eighth? who counts any more?) drained from Chris like a locomotive
speeding away into a foggy night, she looked down on her victim. He lay
motionless, his eyes tightly shut, his mouth gaping. He could have been
mistaken for dead except for his gasping breath. He babbled something in
German, then opened his eyes to meet Chris's. It was clear from the look
on his face that he could die then and have no regrets.
She hadn't seen
a look like that on Jeremy's face since they'd first started making
love. It warmed her at first, then saddened her, for it made her think
that perhaps she and Jeremy were reaching the beginning of the end. She
tried not to think about it. Instead she said, "What was that you said,
love?" He smiled weakly. "Wenn der Putz steht, liegt der Sechsel in
d'Erde."
"Meaning?"
Uwe paused, struggling with the translation as h
e
sat up and tried in vain to wipe all of the bodily fluids from his face
and what was left of his clothes. Finally he said, in very clear
English, "When the prick stands up, the brains go in the ground."
Chris's melancholy lifted immediately, and she began laughing heartily,
the action serving to shake the last few drops of milk from her bobbing
boobs. That phrase must be her mantra. Wasn't that very thing (the
female equivalent, anyway) that had caused her to just have sex with a
total stranger, now as those many months ago at the Halloween party? Was
Chris really a slave to her glands? Did she care?
She regarded the mess
they'd made of the room around them and suddenly realized that the
towels still sat neatly folded on the chair. Yep, the brains definitely
had gone into the ground.
"Oh, God, ain't that the truth!" she laughed,
falling onto Uwe's heaving chest and temporarily knocking the wind out
of him.
He recovered quickly. The other two movies went unviewed that
evening.
LACTOGENESIS XXXIII:
THE STAFF MEETING, PART ONE
Chris pulled up in front of Jeremy's home (she still called it an
"estate" in her mind -- she'd never gotten used to its size) ten minutes
late. Jeremy had called a staff meeting of The Lac-Station for that
evening, on fairly short notice, which was not like him. It was also not
like him to have it at his own house. A meeting of all six employees of
the company was quite rare, but when it did happen, Chris usually hosted
it since her converted spare bedroom had come to be regarded as the
company's headquarters. Chris had never been quite able to figure out
why that was, when Jeremy had so much spare room at his place compared
to Chris's apartment, which was tiny by comparison.
Chris was late
because she had just finished a milking session which took longer than
she thought it would. The movie she had been watching during it had been
a rather violent thriller, which might have caused some emotional
reactions that were counterproductive to good milk flow. She would

remember in future to listen to soothing music or watch a good mellow

romance or steamy X-rated film if she was in a hurry and had to drain
her breasts quickly.
She trotted up the stairs (too quickly -- her
expansive, unsupported bosom bounced almost painfully) and rang the
doorbell, which sounded a series of deep brassy tones. She smiled; it
didn't seem all that long ago when pressing that button had produced a
recording of a woman screaming. How many times have I been here since
the Halloween party? she wondered. Not very many. Jeremy usually likes
to come to my place. Probably because I'm better equipped to handle the
mess we usually make...
Chris was expecting to see Jeremy's welcome
smile behind the door and so was startled when a woman she'd never seen
before opened it. From the look on the woman's face, it was clear that
she recognized Chris but didn't seem to be too pleased about it. Chris
knew immediately that she was at a disadvantage, but she rallied
quickly. She realized that this woman must be the mysterious fifth lady
whom Jeremy had hired without consulting the others, the one none of
them had met in the several weeks that had elapsed since, the one Jeremy
declined to discuss even when pressed on the subject. Only a few seconds
of silence went by as the two women scanned each other, but in that
short time Chris learned a lot. The mystery lady was quite small, maybe
five feet seven, maybe even an inch or two shorter. Chris towered over
her. She looked to be in her mid thirties. She had short-cropped blonde
hair that clung tightly to her head, almost like a swim cap. Her eyes
were huge and almost turquoise blue, with just the slightest hint of an
almond shape; her cheekbones were high and wide; her mouth small and
thin-lipped. Her tiny ears also lay tight against her head. She was
beautiful in an elfin sort of way. Her frame matched her height -- she
might weigh eighty or ninety pounds. Her hips were so narrow as to be
almost boyish; her breasts were barely there, looking like little more
than exaggerated pectoral muscles. Fairly prominent nipples showed
through the fabric of her white dress. Jeez, attach wings to this girl
and she could be Tinkerbell, Chris thought. That's what I think I'll
call her.
"Come in, Chris," Tinkerbell said in the kind of voice Chris
expected: a thin, high soprano. "The rest of us are in the salon." The
way she said that last word -- just a hint of a French accent. Hmm.
What's this girl's story? Chris thought. Where'd Jeremy find her?
Tinkerbell led Chris through the house to the spacious enclosed back
porch that she had called the "salon". Sherri, Eleanor, and Janine were
sitting together on a huge overstuffed sofa, chatting amiably back and
forth. Jeremy sat in a large leather-covered lounger that looked almost
like a throne. A large plate of canapes sat on the glass-and-brass
coffee table. Sherri and Janine were drinking glasses of beer; Eleanor,
white wine; and Jeremy, what looked to be champagne. A second glass of
champagne sat on a small table next to his chair. It had lipstick on it.
Tinkerbell's. Upon Chris's entrance, Eleanor smiled and nodded. Janine
waved childishly, a huge grin on her face. Sherri put down her beer,
strode over and gave Chris a big hug, or at least, as big a hug as their
two outstanding bustlines would allow. "There she is! How are you, hon?
You know, the only thing I don't like about this job is being too busy
to see you. This guy really keeps me hoppin'...or should I say,
humpin'!" She laughed heartily. No one else did.
"Let's get started,
shall we?" Jeremy said in an all-business tone. "We've got a lot to
cover tonight. So much, in fact, that if you've made plans for later,
you should cancel them now." He indicated a nearby telephone. "But Jer,
what about my appointment tonight?" Janine asked.
"Don't worry about it.
Already taken care of," he said curtly.
"But if I don't...you
know...I'll get all..."
"I said don't worry about it. I've got it
covered," Jeremy replied, cutting her off.
What bug crawled up his ass?
Chris wondered.
"Shit, Jeremy, you know tonight's my night off," Sherri
said indignantly.
"I know, and I'll make it up to you. This is too

important."
Eleanor moved to the phone, talking more to herself than to
the others. "I should call our au pair and tell her I'll be home late,
tell her to feed the baby... How late, Jeremy?"
"Don't know yet."
"Wonderful." Eleanor scowled and began punching numbers.
"We have
four
things on the agenda this evening," Jeremy said. "The first one is
fairly trivial, so I'll get it out of the way now. I wanted to show you
all our new corporate logo." He got up and walked behind the sofa, where
an easel was set up. He picked up a large cloth-covered placard that was
resting there and placed it on the easel. "A friend of mine at Graphic
Descriptions designed it." Out of the corner of her eye Chris saw
Tinkerbell smile and nod slightly. She had curled herself up on the
floor, at the foot of Jeremy's chair, and was sipping her champagne. The
artist is probably one of her regulars returning a favor, Chris thought.
Who the hell IS she?? With a flourish, Jeremy flung away the cloth
covering. The revealed logo was in large white lettering on a blue
background. "The LAC-STATION Ltd.", it trumpeted in large rounded-block
lettering. Below, in smaller italics, "When Nothing But Nature Will Do".
Chris stared, then tried to keep from laughing as she realized that the
A's in "Lac-Station" had been replaced by milk bottles (that actually
said "MILK" on them), and that little cartoon droplets of milk were
coming out of the tops of the stems of the "L" and "N".
Sherri, as
expected, was first to comment. "Christ, Jeremy," she said derisively.
"You've got to be kidding."
Eleanor was next. "I'm not carrying business
cards with that printed on them. No way."
Janine piped up. "I think it's
kinda cute."
Jeremy looked at Chris, clearly waiting for her opinion. I
can't tell him how ridiculous it looks, she thought. I don't want to
hurt his feelings. "I don't know," she said tentatively. "This doesn't
look like the logo of an organization that wants to be taken seriously."
Jeremy and Tinkerbell exchanged a long look. Chris took this to mean
that these two had already decided for the rest of them that this logo
would be the one; they clearly hadn't expected any resistance. Jeremy
finally spoke slowly, saying, "Maybe I should have him keep working on
it."
Tinkerbell glared at him. Wrong answer, Chris thought. Where does
this chick get off trying to get her way here? Wait a minute, wait a
damned minute. She studied Jeremy's face, gauging his discomfort, and a
sudden realization hit her like a lightning bolt. He's pussy-whipped!
Chris shouted to herself. This bitch has him completely under her
control! What the fuck is going on here? Anger, disappointment, sadness
all swept over Chris at once. No wonder she hadn't seen much of Jeremy
lately. She'd thought his two businesses, real estate and the Station,
had been keeping him away. She suddenly knew the real reason -- that her
main man was in the thrall of a pint-sized prick-teaser with a body like
a boy and hair like a helmet. She suddenly hurt all over.
"It looks like
something a fucking novelty shop would use," Sherri said, heedless of
the silent drama before her. "I vote no."
"I'll remember that when this
becomes a democracy," Jeremy shot back. Sherri's eyes widened; she
hadn't expected that. "Okay, let's table this for now. We can't take any
more time with this." He took the placard back down, deliberately
avoiding Tinkerbell's withering stare as she tried to freeze the very
air around him with her disturbingly beautiful eyes.
Jeremy reseated
himself in his chair. As he did so, Tinkerbell stood up and moved to an
empty chair at the other end of the room, but not before refilling her
glass. He tried to ignored her, but wasn't doing a good job of it. Chris
could see his body language telegraphing "I'm sorry". Looking at no one
in particular, he said, "For the second item on the agenda, I'd like to
get your updates on how your various appointments have gone over the
last few weeks. You know, find out who the weirdos are, whether or not
we need to do some weeding out, whether you're still enjoying
yourselves, whether there's too much or not enough going on, etc., etc.

Storytelling time, ladies!"

Chris opened her mouth to speak, but Sherri
beat her to it. She set her beer down on the table with a loud noise and
said, "Oh, no you don't. Not so fast, my friend. I'm not staying another
second until I get something straight." She swiveled in her seat to face
Tinkerbell and addressed her directly. "Just who in the hell are you?
What are you doing here, and how is it that without saying three words
you seem to have taken over here?"
Bless you, my dear friend, Chris
thought.
Tinkerbell didn't respond other than to once again fix Jeremy
with an angry look. Jeremy rose from his chair and walked over to stand
behind Tinkerbell's chair. "Of course, how silly of me not to have made
introductions right away." He rested his hands on both of her shoulders;
she stiffened as he did so. "Ladies of the Lac-Station, allow me to
introduce Monique Marcoux. Your new executive vice president."
LACTOGENESIS XXXIV:
THE STAFF MEETING, PART TWO
Despite her irritation at Jeremy, Monique managed a thin smile upon her
introduction to the rest of the staff of the Lac-Station. It was not
returned by any of them. The predominant emotion evident on most of the
faces was confusion; on Chris's it was open hostility. "'Executive vice
president'? What do we need one of those for? We aren't IBM, for
Chrissake," Sherri said.
Eleanor joined in. "To bring in a total
stranger without consulting any of us and elevate her to a position of
such authority was rather presumptuous of you, Jeremy. If there is
indeed a need for such a position to be created, then the post should
clearly go to our co-founder, Christine." Chris, even through her anger,
was surprised. Eleanor was the last person she expected to come to her
defense.
"Yeah, what makes this Ms. Marcoux so qualified, besides the
fact that you're fucking her?" Sherri said venomously. Again Chris was
surprised; she thought she had been the only one to notice that aspect
of the situation.
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about me like I
wasn't even in the room," Monique said. Chris immediately took note of
the fact that she made no move to deny the accusation. "All right, calm
down, everybody," Jeremy said sternly. "One of the major reasons I
called you all here tonight was to make formal introductions. I didn't
want to make a big deal out of appointing Monique until we were sure it
was going to work out for her. The truth is, the Lac-Station has
succeeded beyond my wildest expectations. Even I had no idea how many
people have a thing for mother's milk. The demand for our services is
beginning to outstrip my ability to handle it. I'm sure you've certainly
noticed the steady rise in business." The women slowly nodded. Come to
think of it, it *has* been a while since I've had two nights in a row to
myself, Chris noted. I guess I've been having too much fun to notice how
hard I've been working on this. Her breasts actually tingled at the
thought.
Jeremy continued. "A couple of weeks ago I realized that I
needed somebody to take over for me. Now Chris, I want you to know that
you were the first person I considered for the job. But think about it
for a minute. First, it would require you to quit your job at the paper.
Would you want to do that?" Chris shook her head no. "I didn't think so.
Second -- and don't get pissed off -- you don't have the necessary
connections to make this work. I'm sorry, but you don't. You have to
have a kind of a dark side to make a business like ours run profitably,
and sweetheart, you have a naughty side, not a dark one. That's to your
credit."
Janine raised her hand. "Can I ask, then, what Monique's
qualifications are?"
"You may indeed," Monique said, rising from her
chair. "First of all, I've been a group leader with the cross-town
chapter of La Leche League for five years. I've also worked as a
lactation consultant at two hospitals and a free clinic during that

time. Up until about a year ago I also worked part-time in the very milk
bank that precipitated the formation of this company in the first place.
I think that qualifies me as an expert on the subject. Also, I have been
lactating for the past six years, even though my daughter was weaned
over three years ago. The simple fact is, I love the feeling of having
milk in my breasts; it makes me feel special, more... complete, perhaps
you'd say. In fact, I was getting worried that perhaps I was allowing
that aspect of my life to control my life to too great an extent. I was
finding myself excusing myself from my desk eight, ten, twelve times a
day to go express more milk, just for the rush I used to get from it. I
was concerned that I'd have to finally give it up, until I met Jeremy."
What has this turned into, a meeting of "Lactators Anonymous"? Chris
wondered scornfully.
"How exactly *did* you meet?" Sherri asked.
"Jeremy, resourceful fellow that he is, found out where several of us
meet for coffee after our LLL meetings," Monique explained. "He
approached our table, introduced himself, and began talking about the
Lac-Station. As he talked, I realized that it was exactly what I needed.
We talked about it over the course of several meetings, and about two
weeks ago he asked me to work for him."
"But why as executive VP?"
Eleanor asked
"Jeremy thought it would be a good idea if you had someone
you didn't know well take on the supervisory chores. Don't you agree
that it's usually more difficult to suddenly start taking orders from a
friend who's been promoted over you than it is to do so from a stranger
who comes in out of nowhere?" Chris had to admit she had a point. One
avoids a lot of resentment and loss of friendship that way.
"More
important than that, however," Jeremy added, "is that Monique has that
dark side that I mentioned earlier."
"That's right," Monique said, now
avoiding eye contact with the others. "It's not something I'm proud of,
but I think it'll help me help Jeremy run the company. I was -- and am - actually addicted to lactation, much as some people are addicted to
sex. At one point I was... excuse me, I didn't realize how difficult
this would be to say out loud... I was actually prostituting myself just
so that I could never lack for eager men to suck the milk out of my
breasts. It got to where I would do almost anything to feel that rush,
the tingle of the letdown, the release of the milk squirting out. I
began to develop some rather unsavory connections in what I now call my
'shadow world' to keep this going. As a result, I've learned a lot about
the secret desires -- yes, and perversions -- of the 'normal', everyday
person on the street. Jeremy seems to think this aspect of my
personality will help maintain a high level of activity for the
company."
"And my job will then be to act as a filter for the people
Monique brings to us," Jeremy quickly assured his staff. "I'll make sure
the true perverts, the criminal element, etc. never get through. I still
want the Lac-Station to be a high-class operation."
"Dammit, Jeremy, you
never let us have any fun," Sherri said sarcastically. She seemed to be
warming up to the situation.
"I'm not trying to take over, or bust up
what you have going here," Monique continued. "I'm hoping to be able to
help take us to the next level, that's all. I also hope to get to know
all of you better in the process. I really need this. All I'm asking for
is a chance and your cooperation." She sat down again, speech apparently
over. "You *are* fucking him, aren't you?" Sherri asked point-blank.
Before Monique could answer, Jeremy interjected, "That's none of your
goddamned business, Sherri."
"Okay, okay. Just curious. Easy there,
tiger," Sherri said soothingly. She aimed a wicked grin in Chris's
direction.
It's my business, though, Jeremy, Chris thought. She had to
restrain herself from saying that out loud. She didn't want to open that
particular can of worms at this time and place. This was something she
and Jeremy would have out privately later.
Janine, ever the camp
counselor, was determined to lighten the mood. "Well I for one am glad
to have another person on board. I was starting to spend too much time

away from my kid! Welcome, Monique." Her infectious good humor began to
spread among the others. Smiles began to appear. Monique relaxed
visibly.
"If you don't mind me saying, though," Janine went on, "you
don't really look like you could be making very much." She was referring
to Monique's figure, which more strongly resembled a barely pubescent
12-year-old than that of an actively lactating woman who had borne a
child. A quick review of the others showed them all to be fairly well
endowed. Sherri led the pack with her F-cup chest, followed closely by
Chris, who only looked as large because her breasts were extraordinarily
firm. Janine's rack was a solid 36D, while Eleanor's, although somewhat
smaller, was still fairly impressive. Monique sported mosquito bites by
comparison.
She only smiled. "That's a common misconception, Janine,"
she stated authoritatively. "People think that large-breasted women must
automatically make more milk. In reality, larger breasts usually contain
more fatty tissue, not necessarily any more glandular
structure...although from what Jeremy's told me, our own Christine is
probably a rare exception to that rule. Small breasts can make just as
much milk as large ones. They all respond to the law of supply and
demand. Since my personal demand is quite high, so has my output been.
You might be surprised to know that these can easily produce over 1500
cc per day."
Sherri snorted. "Bullshit," she said. "Those aren't big
enough to hold anything!"
Monique replied, "I probably empty my breasts
far more often than any of you. That's how I'm able to make as much as I
do. But you're right, Sherri, it doesn't take much for me to become
engorged. In fact," she said, looking down at herself, "all this talk
has got me going pretty well." Sure enough, the small swells under her
tight-fitting dress did look larger than they had when Chris had first
seen her. There might even be some dampness there, but it was difficult
to tell with the white material. She rose. "Will you excuse me for a
minute?"
Jeremy frowned. "You haven't forgotten the rest of the agenda,
have you?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't worry, Jeremy," she said. "I'll
be full again in fifteen or twenty minutes."
"Hang on there a sec,"
Sherri said to Monique as she prepared to leave the room. "I don't know
about the rest of you, but I think we're being handed a tall tale here.
I just can't believe those itty bitty titties can make a drop, let alone
a quart. I'd like to see you express right here, in front of all of us."
"Well, I don't know..."
"C'mon, La Leche leader. Don't you peopl
e do
this sort of thing all the time?"
Monique considered for a few seconds,
then sat down. She drained her champagne glass in one gulp, then said
with a smile, "All right. In the interest of better employee relations,
I'll do as you ask. Then will you get off my case, Sherri?"
"Deal."
"And
the rest of you. Would such a demonstration be sufficient to prove to
you that I am 'worthy'"? She said the last word while crooking her
fingers as if to simulate quotation marks.
All eyes in the room swung to
Chris. So it's up to me, huh? she thought. I could tell this girl to
screw off, but I can tell she's gotten under everybody else's skin. It
almost seemed to Chris as if their common bond of having milk-filled
tits had created a kind of sisterhood among the women in the room. This
must be why LLL is such a strong organization, she said to herself. I
wonder why I don't feel that connection to the others. She scanned the
others' faces. Jeremy's was practically pleading; Janine's and Eleanor's
were silently saying "We could use the help"; and Sherri's wore an
expression of "Oh, what the hell, why not". Monique's face held a look
of earnestness, of genuinely wanting to be a part of this group.
Suddenly Chris knew that she couldn't deny Monique that, even if she
were the person directly responsible for the growing chasm Chris knew
had formed between herself and Jeremy. She slowly nodded her assent.
Monique smiled widely, showing her perfect teeth. Without another word,

she started wriggling out of the top of her dress.

LACTOGENESIS XXXV:
THE STAFF MEETING, PART THREE
Monique's dress was soon bunched about her waist. In sharp contrast to
the women sitting around her, her breasts could barely fill an A cup. It
was doubtful she had ever worn a bra in her life. Yet they seemed to fit
her diminutive frame perfectly; if she had been more heavily endowed, it
would've ruined the pixyish line of her figure. Her areolae were barely
darker than the surrounding skin which looked as if it had never seen
the sun. They were large for such small breasts, about three centimeters
in diameter. The most striking feature were the nipples, which were not
particularly long, even when erect as they were now, but which were
quite fat, almost as thick as a man's thumb. They were crisscrossed with
tiny fissures that were brimming with a liquid that was quite undeniably
mother's milk. Monique showed no hesitation in baring her breasts before
a group of strangers. Chris suspected that such activity occupied a
substantial part of Monique's waking hours. I must try to sneak into a
La Leche League meeting sometime, she thought. I wonder if this kind of
thing goes on during them as well.
Monique held her empty champagne
glass under one breast. With the other hand, she stretched the skin on
either side of one areola, then pressed inward toward her chest wall
while squeezing and rolling her fingers and thumb forward. What little
breast was there was so incredibly firm that her fingers hardly dented
the tissue. The other women gasped as an amazingly thick stream
(actually the consolidation of at least a dozen tinier streams) of milk
gushed into the glass, filling it almost an eighth of the way just from
that one squeeze. She had to repeat the motion only a few more times
from each breast before the glass was completely full, and even then it
was clear from the rate at which her nipples continued to drip that
Monique herself was nowhere near empty.
When Chris could tear her eyes
away from Monique's display, she noted with some amusement that every
other woman in the room except herself had their forearms pressed
tightly against their bosoms in a classic move designed to stave off an
uncontrolled letdown reflex. Monique's squirting had undoubtedly
triggered a similar response in each of them. Chris, of course, had the
advantage of superior subconscious control of her reflex. She did notice
a little more fullness in her own tits, however.
When the other women
finally noticed their collective reaction, they all began laughing. It
was as if all the girls sharing an apartment suddenly realized that
their periods were synchronized. In that moment the bond among them
strengthened. Monique instantly ceased to be an outsider as she laughed
with them. Even Chris was not fully immune to the effect she was having
on the group. Sherri, who was clearly aroused from this (Chris
remembered that hers had been the only other set of lactating breasts
Sherri had ever seen besides her own), whistled and slowly shook her
head. "I'm ready for a piece of humble pie, girl. I would never have
thought in a million years that those little things could make so much.
How is it possible?"
"My doctor tells me that I have an unusually dense
concentration of glandular tissue in my breasts," Monique replied as she
casually dabbed her nipples dry with a napkin and began pulling up her
dress. "In fact, my breasts are almost all gland. Very little fatty
tissue. That's why my nips are so big -- there are a lot of ducts that
connect to them." She offered the glass. "Anyone care to taste?" There
were no takers, so Monique promptly drank her milk herself. Eleanor's
lip curled slightly in disgust. "That's why I've never considered
implants. There's so much intricate plumbing and innervation in there
that any attempt at surgery would probably sever the necessary

connections and dry me up for good, and I wouldn't like that." She stole
a quick wink at Jeremy, who smiled back.
Chris suddenly understood how
Jeremy could prefer Monique to herself. Her tiny stature made Jeremy,
who was small himself, feel taller. Jeremy was also absolutely obsessed
with lactating women -- he wouldn't have started the Lac-Station
otherwise. While Chris enjoyed her special talent very much, it was not
something that controlled her life. Although it had enriched her sex
life immensely, she knew she could live without it. One of the side
effects of The Accident had been her ability to completely control her
ability to lactate, down to shutting it down completely if she wanted to
(although she hadn't tried to do that for quite some time). As a result,
Chris never felt as if her breasts ran her life. Monique's very
existence, on the other hand, appeared to rotate about her milky boobs.
No wonder Jeremy was so enamored of her. Chris's anger toward Jeremy
gradually melted into indifference, perhaps tinged with a little pity.
There is more to life than milk, she thought. These poor people don't
seem to know that. I wonder if Jeremy could ever get off with a woman
who wasn't lactating. Probably not. For Monique's part, I'd be willing
to bet that she's one of those women that, if she were ever diagnosed
with breast cancer, would rather die than have a mastectomy. They're
made for each other. In that moment, Chris realized that her affair with
Jeremy was over. She was mildly surprised to be feeling relief rather
than sadness. It had been that way with Carl, too.
When she snapped out
of her reverie, Chris realized that the meeting had gone on without her.
The others were regaling the group with reports of recent encounters
with their various clients. Eleanor started off, speaking with pride
about her experience wet-nursing an infant who had recently had surgery
to correct a cleft palate. Its mother had been unable to keep her own
milk going while the baby recovered. Despite its disadvantage, the
little boy had thrived from Eleanor's rich milk. Chris smiled when she
spotted Sherri fidgeting. Her body language was clearly saying "Fine,
fine. Now let's get on to the juicy parts."
Sherri didn't have to wait
long. Janine was next. Her most recent assignment had been as a private
dancer for a bachelor party. The young men in question were the spoiled
progeny of very well-to-do parents.
They lived in a very exclusive fraternity house of a private university
outside of town.
LACTOGENESIS XXXVI:
THE RELUCTANT ONE
Jeremy finished scribbling a few notes and set his
pad aside to address the group. "I realize that the
assignments over the last few weeks have been, shall we
say, tedious to say the least." Sherri snorted. "I have
just received a new assignment that involves all of you,
and it's one I think you'll all get a kick out of."
"It's about goddam time," Sherri said in her
inimitable fashion. Chris silently echoed her
sentiments. She had told herself at the outset that she
would be involved with the company for only as long as it
was still fun. Lately it hadn't been, and she was on the
verge of quitting. She had decided that tonight would be
Jeremy's last chance to inject a little fun into the
proceedings; perhaps now that chance had come.
"Shall we cut to the chase, Jeremy dear?" said
Eleanor.
"Let me state at the outset that the coffers of our
little enterprise will be increased by a hefty five-digit

figure tonight," Jeremy said gleefully. "Our new client

is of the kind who hires people to wipe her ass with
hundred-dollar bills."
"A woman, then?" Eleanor said.
"Yes. She's here tonight, in fact, in another part
of the house, waiting for this meeting to end. I can
tell you nothing about her except that she is a wellknown figure in the entertainment business -- well enough
known that she wishes to keep her identity a secret, so
she'll be wearing a veil when you meet her, and she won't
speak at all. I don't want to hear so much as a snicker
out of any of you about that, clear?" He was looking
directly at Sherri, who shrugged assent. "She told me
she'd thought she'd done just about everything sexual
there is to do, so she was practically falling over
herself to contact us when she heard of our service.
What she's proposed for tonight is quite...unique, shall
we say. I think it could end up being our crowning
achievement so far."
"Wait a minute," Eleanor said. "Did you say
tonight? She wants to do whatever this is tonight?"
Jeremy nodded. "Jeremy, you know how I feel about this
sort of thing. I don't do kink, and you know it. I'm
leaving right now." She stood up. So did Jeremy.
"Don't you dare," Jeremy said, a pleading note
creeping into his voice. "The deal is for all of us, or
none. If you leave, you'll be responsible for losing us
a hell of a lot of money, as well as tarnishing our
reputation from here to kingdom come. This woman knows
everybody!"
"I don't care! I don't like you bringing us here
under false pretenses! This is not why I joined this
group!"
"There weren't any false pretenses! I told you
earlier to cancel your plans for tonight, and you all
agreed to do so, even you, Eleanor. Please, it's not that
kinky anyway! It's not like she's asking us to bite the
heads off bats or anything like that."
"What exactly are we being asked to do, Jeremy?"
Chris asked calmly but with ice in her voice.
"Throw her a shower," Jeremy said. "Literally."
That took a couple of seconds to sink in. Then:
"Oh, my God," from Eleanor, Sherri, and Janine
simultaneously.
"That's sick," said Eleanor.
"Far fucking out," said Sherri.
"Cool," said Janine.
"I have to admit, it sounds like fun," said
Monique.
Chris was pleasantly surprised at her own reaction.
It was immediate and visceral, as if someone had planted
an electrode directly into the pleasure center of her
brain and sent several volts through it. She was
reminded of the early days of her metamorphosis, when the
hormonal cascade precipitated by her damaged pituitary
gland was bombarding her unacclimated body with a flood
of new sensations, most of them thrilling. She
remembered how, when faced with a new sexual situation,
her reaction had been just like this instead of one of
uncertainty or disgust, as it would have been before The

Accident modified that aspect of her personality. Over

the following year, as her experience base grew, that
primal rush, the feeling in her gut and pussy and breasts
that she had likened to what one feels in the pit of
one's stomach when zooming down a roller coaster, had
happened less and less frequently, until she had almost
forgotten what it was like. Upon hearing the mystery
client's proposal, however, that old sensation resurfaced
like a bubble bursting as her endocrine system poured a
fresh batch of the hormones of arousal into her
bloodstream. It was enough to make her forget the
negative emotions that had weighed heavily on her since
her revelation concerning Jeremy and Monique earlier that
evening. Her enhanced libido decided it was time to have
some fun. What was it Uwe had said? Wenn der Putz
steht... For Chris, it was definitely time for the
female equivalent.
A memory of she and Sherri playing in her shower,
squirting milk all over each other while giggling in
orgasmic bliss, prompted a familiar dampening in her
crotch and a rush of blood to her tingling breasts. She
vigorously nodded her approval of the mystery client's
proposal.
Now all that was left was to change Eleanor's mind.
Chris knew what button to push. "You say it's sick, but
you don't mean that at all," she told her. "In fact,
I'll bet you're more turned on by the idea than any of
the rest of us."
"That's absurd. I find the very idea repulsive."
Eleanor's voice dripped with revulsion, but she made no
second move to leave. Chris took that to indicate that
she'd struck a nerve, so she proceeded.
"Then why did you join us in the first place?"
"To help the women and children who were being
cheated by the milk bank."
"That's the reason you're most comfortable with,
but it's not the main one."
"What are you talking about?"
"You were our first client, Eleanor. I still
remember your reaction when I first began to suckle your
son that night at your house. You were the very picture
of control, but as my own excitement grew, I could tell
that you too were extremely aroused by what you were
seeing. Your husband was creaming his pants, and you saw
the look on his face and it turned you on. When I
accidentally squirted all over your carpeting, your own
letdown kicked in and soaked your blouse. You pretended
to get all huffy about it, but I could see it in your
face -- you were close to coming yourself. The truth is,
Eleanor, that you joined us because you loved that
sensation and wanted more. You wanted to escape the
plain-vanilla sexual existence you felt trapped in.
That's why you didn't let yourself dry up in order to go
on playing your social butterfly role. You saw in me the
sensual side of lactating and wanted it for yourself.
You've been waiting for an opportunity like the one
Jeremy's just given you, but your white-bread upbringing
is getting in the way." Chris could tell by the deep
flush spreading upward from Eleanor's throat that her
words were hitting home. She decided to be less

adversarial. "You're with us, Eleanor. It's okay to let

go a little. We're all together in this; we share the
common experience. Everything we discuss, everything we
do here is held in the strictest confidence." She stared
at Jeremy during this last sentence, her glare saying,
Isn't that right, Jeremy? He nodded in response.
Chris crossed the room to sit next to Eleanor,
whose hands were now fumbling about in her lap. She was
clearly undergoing the classic internal conflict which
the media so often depicts as an angel on one shoulder
and a devil on the other. Chris lowered her voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "I'll bet that since you've kept
your milk, sex with your husband has never been better,
isn't that right?" Eleanor nodded yes. "You feel more
in touch with your body now, don't you?" Another nod.
"Not too long ago I was just like you, afraid to try new
things. It took an altercation with a car to broaden my
horizons. It'll be tougher for you, but the rewards are
definitely worth it. Your improved relationship with Mr.
Overstreet is a step in that direction. Woman does not
live by superego alone, you know. You've got to let that
id out once in awhile, or you'll just explode." Chris
patted Eleanor's hand. "And if that's not enough
incentive, just think of how this'll supplement that next
trip to Neiman-Marcus." That got a weak smile.
"It's not like I'd be cheating on my husband,"
Eleanor said.
"Probably no more than your husband's getting into
a circle jerk would be considered cheating on you,"
Sherri interjected. A puzzled look from Eleanor caused
her to add, "I'll explain that term later."
Eleanor looked at Chris. Her face was now so red
from embarrassment that she almost looked sunburned.
"I'll admit that the idea has its appeal," she confessed.
"I just didn't want anybody to think I was a pervert or
anything."
The other women smiled, and Chris said, "Do you see
any of the rest of us bolting for the door? How can
perversion exist where all are of the same mind?"
This last bit of logic appeared to cement the
argument. Eleanor looked up from her lap as the redness
drained out of her face. She turned to Jeremy and said,
"Well, love, how is this supposed to go?"
Impulsively the others leapt up from their seats
and rushed to give Eleanor a group hug. Jeremy slapped
his knee and exclaimed, "That's my girl!" When the
mutual displays of affection had subsided, Jeremy said,
"Our client is waiting in the spa at the rear of the
house. I've drained the jacuzzi to a little less than
knee-deep. That's where we'll be. Everybody ready?"
Enthusiastic nods and murmurs in the affirmative. Jeremy
picked up a house phone, dialed an extension, and after a
few moments said simply, "We're on our way." He hung up,
stood up, and gestured toward the door. As the women
filed out, Chris felt Eleanor take her hand and squeeze
tightly. She squeezed back reassuringly, as much to
quiet the butterflies in her own stomach as in Eleanor's.
She felt her breasts heat up with a fresh supply of milk
as she packed her own superego away for the night and
prepared to let the id monster out to play.

LACTOGENESIS XXXVII:
THE PREPARATION
The five women of The Lac-Station walked down a long hallway toward the
back of Jeremy's huge home, with Jeremy himself leading the pack. As
they walked they exchanged excited speculations about who their mystery
client might be and what exactly they would be asked to do to earn the
five-digit sum Jeremy had mentioned they would be paid this night.
Eleanor remained mute, her grip still tight on Chris's hand. This small
crowd exuded excitement; one could almost smell the pheromones in the
air or the sweet warm smell of the milk that had already begun leaking
from several of their breasts in response to the mutually elevated
hormone levels they were all experiencing. It was as if their separate
endocrine systems were galvanizing into a single entity that would
synchronize their upcoming actions and transform them into a unified,
purely sexual being. Even Jeremy was not immune to this; he was as
aroused as he could ever remember being, and was having trouble walking
because of the tumescence in his crotch that was so intense that it had
actually become painful. He was the victim of a chemical siren song that
his body was finding impossible to resist.
They reached a part of the house that was all tile and light colors.
Jeremy indicated a door. "Through there is the locker room and showers.
Our client has requested that you all disrobe and shower there, then put
on the robes she's left for you and go through the door at the far end.
I'll join you in the room beyond. Don't take too long!" He winked,
turned on his heel and continued off down the hallway.
Sherri pushed open the door and the rest followed her in. They entered
a miniature version of a well-appointed shower/locker room like one
might find in an upscale health club. At the front was a changing area
with roughly a dozen lockers, padded benches, and an area with two sinks
and a large mirror (fogged over at the moment). At the rear was a large
open shower area with four gold-plated shower heads, two on each facing
wall. The walls glittered with a mosaic of tiny turquoise and white
tiles flecked with gold leaf. The air was warm and thick with humidity;
it smelled lightly of disinfectant. The lockers were assigned, so each
went to her own and opened it. Inside each found a thick white towel, a
fluffy floor-length white terrycloth robe, a pair of sandals, hangers
for their clothing, and a small case containing various toiletries, each
tailored to the individual taste of their owner.
Sherri whistled. "Man, whoever this is sure did her homework." She held
up two small bottles from her toiletry case. "These are my favorites!"
"Feel these robes!" Janine marveled. "I'd love to cuddle up next to a
fire dressed in nothing but this."
"I'm sure you'll have that chance," Chris said. "Let's not keep our
benefactor waiting, shall we?" The high humidity caused Chris to want to
get out of her restricting garments, so she began disrobing. The others
followed suit. As they finished removing their last vestiges of
undergarments, something made them all stop cold. They realized that
this was the first time they had all seen each other in a state of total
undress. They gazed in mutual admiration at each other. To a woman their
skins were flushed with their arousal; their pussies glistened with
moisture; and nipples were erect and in most cases tipped with a droplet
of milk.
"My goodness, will you look at us!" Janine said.
"Indeed, I am impressed," Monique added.
This gathering was indeed one of superlative feminine architecture. The
added bonus of their all becoming engorged only added to the splendid

combination of curves and hollows. Breasts thrust out proudly, stretched

tight with the liquid within; shapely buttocks tensed with excitement.
Seeing themselves naked had only served to kick the level of arousal in
the room up a notch.
Chris walked into the shower, her own fantastic breasts so full and
hard that they didn't jiggle one iota with the slapping of her bare feet
on the tiled floor. She went from one shower head to the next, turning
them all on and directing the sprays toward the center of the room. Soon
steam filled the area. The women ran headlong into the downpour,
giggling as the needle-hard streams struck their bodies, which had been
made sensitive by their arousal.
Instead of soap, small crystal bottles filled with a golden liquid sat
in the soap trays. Chris poured the contents of one into her hand, and
instantly a warm, earthy, wonderful smell greeted her. The lotion's odor
was like that of wildflowers crushed beneath and mixed with the juices
of a couple wildly fucking in a green secluded meadow in early summer.
As she rubbed it into her skin, the fluid erupted into clouds of thick
lather that felt like liquid silk. The feel and smell of it had a strong
aphrodisiac effect; Chris felt her skin grow more sensitive to her touch
as she lathered herself up. She felt herself begin stroking her breasts
and pussy, but she also felt oddly detached, as if someone else were
controlling her hands. The effect was scary and incredibly erotic at the
same time. She couldn't help but go with it.
The mysterious potion was having the same effect on the others. They
had their heads thrown back and eyes closed as their hands roamed over
their bodies, turning the lotion into foam. Soon hands began moving from
their own bodies to others, and within moments all five women were
exploring each other with their fingers. As the rushing water rinsed
away the lather, mouths fell upon the newly exposed skin, licking and
kissing, occasionally playfully nipping. Hands caressed breasts, teasing
nipples and coaxing the occasional spurt of milk from them. Fingers
separated labia, briefly sliding across erect clits and causing their
owners' thighs to quiver and jerk involuntarily. A chorus of moans
formed a rich polyphony that reverberated from the hard walls of the
room. The warm water was causing many of the women to let down their
milk; it flowed and even sometimes spurted from their hard nipples,
mixing with the water and often disappearing onto an outstretched
tongue.
Soon Janine had Chris in a tight embrace, her hands each firmly
gripping a buttock, her face lost in the expanse between Chris's
breasts. Her muffled cries of disbelief at her own horniness were lost
in the sound of the rushing water and the moans of her colleagues. One
of Chris's hands was firmly ensconced in Sherri's pussy, capturing her
clit between her fingers; the other was doing the same to Monique.
Sherri and Monique were leaning across Janine's back, wildly Frenchkissing while their trembling hands tugged and twisted each other's
nipples, sending jets of milk across Janine's body that were quickly
washed away. Eleanor flitted around the outside of this tight knot of
squirming pulchritude, stealing kisses and caresses, licking or stroking
any projection or orifice that would come into view, all the while
masturbating with abandon.
The groans, laughs, and shrieks of their mutual passion rose to a
crescendo that drowned out even four shower heads at full blast. Five
women came, amazingly, at exactly the same moment, for a few seconds
almost mimicking the Buckingham Fountain as milk shot from their nipples
and juice flowed down their legs. In Chris's case, the water on the
floor beneath her was completely displaced by her ejaculate, which must
have been a record for sheer volume. Their orgasms (or was it a single,
achingly drawn-out one shared by them all?) fed off of each other -each woman was even more turned on by the sights and sounds of passion

emanating from the others, and so their cumming continued far beyond
their normal experience, until they collapsed in a heap on the shower
floor, gasping for air and coughing as water found its way into their
open mouths.
Chris was first to recover. "I knew we were horny, but this was beyond
horny," she panted. "I never believed in aphrodisiacs before, but I'm
willing to bet that whatever is in those bottles is the real thing. I
felt completely out of control of myself as soon as that stuff touched
my skin."
Eleanor nodded her agreement. "I never act that way. I felt like
something had taken over my body. Something wonderful, I might add."
"I hope our client will let us take some of this stuff home," Janine
said, as she fingered one of the exquisitely carved bottles.
"I would use it very sparingly, if I were you," Monique said. "We
emptied all the bottles, and look what it did to us."
"I think we've kept the lady waiting more than long enough," said
Sherri, pulling her wet hair back out of her face. "Even with what we
just did, I can't wait to get in there." She pointed to a door at the
far end of the shower room whose outline was just barely visible in the
pattern of the tiled wall.
They turned off the showers and padded back to the locker area, their
bodies dripping with water and a little milk, their skins reddened by
the heat of the shower and the aftereffects of the aphrodisiac lotion.
As they toweled themselves off, they continued giving each other looks
of affection and admiration of each others' assets -- no doubt a
lingering effect of the lotion as well. On impulse Janine stretched her
hand into the center of the room in the gesture sports teams use before
going out onto the field. One by one the women put their hands one atop
the other into the center of the circle, which they then broke with an
enthusiastic yell.
They hurriedly donned their robes and sandals, dabbed their pulse
points and cleavage with their individual perfumes and, with Sherri in
the lead, tentatively and with almost palpable excitement walked through
the shower area and opened the tiled door to the room beyond.
LACTOGENESIS XXXVIII:
THE MYSTERY CLIENT, PART ONE
The room into which they walked was small and cubical. Every surface
was covered with the same turquoise, white, and gold tiling as was in
the shower room. The main feature here was the jacuzzi, which was large,
round, deep, and recessed into the floor. Several levels of concentric
steps, wide enough to sit on, ringed the tub, which was only partially
filled. The jets were turned off. The air hung heavy with steam. It was
imbued with the odor of the aphrodisiac lotion, at just above the level
of detectability. As the women filed in silently, the vapor tickled
their brainstems just enough to restore their previous level of arousal.
Chris rolled her eyes when she felt her genitals and breasts start
tingling again, despite her best efforts to use her mental control to
suppress it. What are we letting ourselves in for? she asked herself.
Seated on cushions in the two far corners of the room were Jeremy and
the mystery client. They were both dressed in the same white robes and
sandals as the women. Jeremy smiled at them as they took seats along the
top step, completely encircling the jacuzzi. The client was sitting
rigidly in lotus position. Her head was completely covered with a widebrimmed white hat below which hung a dense white veil, gathered at her
throat, that totally obscured her facial features. The adornment looked
completely out of place among the bath attire everyone was wearing.
Chris tried to keep from giggling. The woman looked like a beekeeper.

How the hell can she see or breathe in that thing? she thought.
Despite of or because of its appearance, it was a perfect disguise.
There was no way any of them could even tell their client's hair color.
For now the voluminous robe hid her body well enough to not give
anything away. The client could be Dolly Parton and they wouldn't be
able to tell.
The women sat quietly while Jeremy outlined the "rules". It was all
right for them to talk amongst themselves, but they were not to ask the
client any direct questions. They would allow the client to touch any
part of their bodies, but they were not to touch her unless she
specifically requested through Jeremy that they do so. There were to be
no attempts to reveal her identity. Jeremy would remain in the room to
answer any questions or clarify any of the client's desires. Evidently
he and the client had worked out a series of signals ahead of time.
"And now if you would, ladies," said Jeremy, "Please remove your
clothing and stand in a circle in the jacuzzi."
They did as they were asked. They stood facing each other in their
glorious nakedness, nipples tight, skin beading with new moisture, the
aphrodisiac roiling in their nostrils and stimulating the most primal
areas of their brains. They tried to read the expressions in each
others' faces. Eleanor and Monique were standing almost at attention,
their chests rising and falling almost in unison with rapid breathing.
Janine was fidgeting like someone waiting for her doctor to come in and
start an examination, but she was smiling. Sherri was so worked up that
the muscles in her thighs were quivering; milk was already beginning to
run from her distended nipples, dripping into the water around her
shins.
Chris was experiencing mixed emotions: certainly strong arousal, but
that was induced; curiosity about the client; exhilaration at the
newness of it all; but there was also an undercurrent of humiliation, of
feeling as if she were reduced to being a slave to this mystery woman's
every whim. She had never had to be this submissive before, and though
most of her didn't like it, a small part of her was enjoying it because
it was a new aspect of her sexuality -- and discovering new aspects was
one of the main reasons why she had decided way back at her first visit
to Dr. Sheila's office to retain her ability to lactate rather than have
her initiate treatment to dry her up.
For what seemed like several minutes the client did not move or make
any sign of even being conscious. The women began glancing at each
other: why isn't anything happening? Let's get this show on the road,
said Chris silently. She was having to use her mental control to keep
her over-full breasts from becoming uncomfortable. Then she realized
that this was what the client was waiting for -- she wanted to make sure
that everyone was full of milk to bursting before beginning. She was
waiting for whatever weird chemicals she had put into the air to
complete their work on the women's bodies. The others weren't faring as
well as Chris. Some of them were beginning to use the palms of their
hands to wipe away errant drops of milk that were appearing at the tips
of their seemingly spring-loaded nipples. Sherri was flowing freely now,
twin rivulets of milk running down her stomach and legs. Her arousal was
so intense that she looked as if her legs would give out any minute as
she fought to keep her hands away from her enflamed clit.
Evidently the client realized Sherri's predicament, for she chose that
moment to stand and slowly walk down into the center of the circle. She
did a slow 360, facing each woman in turn, then opened her robe and let
it drop into the water. Her skin was a bronze color, not quite a deep
tan, but clearly darker than any of the others'. She appeared to be
about 5'5". She had a body that spoke of hours in the gym and a
percentage of fat in the single digits, with muscles that almost could
define her as a bodybuilder. Her breasts were of moderate size and stuck

straight out from her body. Tiny lines along the lower half of deep
brown areolae indicated implant surgery. No tan lines were evident. Her
buttocks were of carved granite, adorning hips very wide for the waspwaisted torso that rose from them. A wide gap showed between her lithe
thighs. Her smooth cunt looked as if it had never had hair. Her clit was
so large and erect that it almost looked like a tiny penis. A small gold
ring pierced it right through the middle. It was flushed deep red and
stood out proudly from its hood and the surrounding labia, which also
sported gold rings. This was one turned-on lady.
Janine and Eleanor raised their hands to cup their laden breasts. "No,
not yet," Jeremy said, and they lowered them again. The client went
clockwise around the circle, closely examining each of them in turn. Her
fingers, adorned with long nails (some set with small jewels) traced
their jawlines and collarbones, gently circumnavigated breasts,
collected droplets of milk from the tips of nipples, traced the V formed
by thighs and crotch, toyed with ringlets of pubic hair.
When she reached Sherri, she tarried a bit longer. She traced a webwork
of patterns over Sherri's quivering body, causing her breathing to come
in shudders. She crouched in front of Sherri, leaning so close that
Sherri could feel her breath on her hot cunt through the veil. She
reached around to cup Sherri's buttocks and trace a finger along the
crack of her ass, down to where she dipped into the moisture of Sherri's
honey pot. She stood and wiped the finger along a dent in the veil that
marked her mouth. "Oh, for the love of God," Sherri whispered, her eyes
pleading for release. The client seemed to understand. She reached down,
clamped her hands onto Sherri's weeping nipples, and pulled hard,
lifting the pendulous breasts clear from her body, rolling the nipples
as she pulled. Sherri immediately let out a long groan and came, her
knees wobbling from the impact of her orgasm and her hands trembling as
she fought to keep from pulling the client into an embrace.
The client lifted her hands, whose palms were laced with Sherri's milk,
to her face and inhaled deeply. One hand moved toward her cunt, but
stopped halfway. It was clear that she was not immune from the effects
of the vapor either.
After a few minutes of examining the others, the client moved toward
Chris. She stood before her, then glanced over her shoulder and gestured
at Jeremy in a complicated movement. "She wants you to know that she
thinks your body is absolutely magnificent," he translated. Indeed, it
sounded from inside the veil as if the client's breathing had quickened
slightly. Her hands hovered over Chris's incredible breasts, her flat
hard stomach, her voluptuous but still-slim frame that had been sculpted
by the miraculous combination of hormones her own body had produced as a
result of The Accident. Chris was intrigued by the fact that the client
did not touch her, but it seemed as if her own arousal were being
intensified almost more than if she had. The client's slender hands were
so close to Chris's breasts that they could feel the other's body heat,
but still there was no contact. Suddenly she straightened and dropped
her arms to her sides. Although it was difficult to tell through the
veil, it appeared as if she were looking straight ahead, eyes closed,
chin tilted upward slightly. It also looked as if someone had hit her
"off" switch. She was completely immobile.
Chris took that opportunity to lean in close, trying hard to peer
through the dense cloth. She could hear air hissing in and out of flared
nostrils, but even at a distance of a few centimeters she could not make
out any features of the client's face.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Chris asked Jeremy.
LACTOGENESIS XXXIX:
THE MYSTERY CLIENT, PART TWO

At Chris's words, the client emerged from her mannequin-like state and
made a few more gestures to Jeremy. Chris wondered if she were speaking
in sign language.
"She wants you to touch her as you saw her touch the others," Jeremy
said. "Use a gentle touch, and don't get too carried away."
The former request would be no problem, but the latter might prove to
be one. Now that the client stood only inches away from her, Chris could
detect a higher level of the aphrodisiac scent, as if she were using it
as a perfume. Chris's breasts began to ache as her glands fought to
produce even more milk against the pressure that was already inside
them. She wasn't used to that sensation, since she had always been able
to keep her production level under tight mental control prior to this.
She winced as her nipples, already at maximum erection, tried to become
even harder. She could feel her cunt juice flowing freely down the
insides of her thighs as she hovered on the edge of orgasm without even
having been touched.
Chris began tracing the curves and lines of the client's body as she
had seen her do with the others, using a touch just barely perceptible.
The client remained as motionless as she could, but Chris could detect a
faint trembling under her goose-pimply skin. As she used her fingers to
trace circles around the margin of the client's artificially enhanced
bosom, she was amazed to actually feel it swell beneath her touch.
Fascinated, Chris continued to caress the client's breasts, watching
them slightly inflate and become flushed until they were roughly a cup
size larger than they had been when she started. The nipples were also
amazing; under Chris's touch they had grown to an incredible size-almost the length of her pinky from second knuckle to tip, and about as
big around. They pointed not straight outward from the surrounding
breast, but downward, as if they had been trained to do so by having
weights hang from them. Chris wondered absently if that were indeed the
case; she wouldn't put anything past this veiled mystery woman.
At one point, as Chris lightly traced the client's collarbone and
progressed upward along her throat, the woman must have thought Chris
would try to unveil her, for as Chris's hands fluttered upward along her
neck, the client's own hands flashed out and took Chris's forearms in an
iron grip, jerking them away from her. Chris was shocked by the strength
in the woman's hands and the pain of her grip, which felt as if it would
crack the bones in her arm. She heard a soft whimper escape her own lips
and felt her knees buckle slightly. Chris's level of arousal remained
high despite the pain, making her wonder through the haze that washed
over her brain whether that was due to a heretofore unrealized streak of
masochism within her or just the aphrodisiac continuing to wield its
chemical influence over her glands.
"Hey!" Chris yelped. "I wasn't trying to see who you were! Honest to
God!" The client's grip did not lessen. "You're hurting me! Jeremy!"
"That's enough!" she heard Jeremy shout. "She was only carrying out
your instructions!" The pain in Chris's arms lessened only slightly.
Chris heard Jeremy rise from his cushion and begin moving toward them,
with the intent to physically remove the client if need be. He was
heedless of the fact that such an action would probably end the
evening's events then and there with no money changing hands. Chris
looked up at the client's covered face, read her body language, and
realized that the woman was in the throes of an intense, silent orgasm!
As it began to fade, so did her grasp.
"Jeremy, stop! It's all right," said Chris as the client released her
wrists, allowing her to stand up straight. Another two seconds and it
would have been too late. Chris rubbed her arms, where white streaks
that marked where the client's fingers had been were already turning
red.

The client turned to Jeremy, who now stood directly behind her, and
made a complex gesture. Again Jeremy translated. "She's just indicated
that she is now sufficiently turned on for us to continue. Ladies, take
your positions, please."
The client moved back into the center of the circle and stood with legs
spread and her arms extended above her head. The woman was so aroused
that it was actually possible to see her accelerated pulse in the
vibrations of the ring that pierced her clit. The five women surrounding
her moved closer, to within two feet or so, and cupped their breasts,
pointing ten swollen milk spigots at the client.
After what seemed like forever, the client nodded once, quickly. Jeremy
also did so. Sherri immediately planted her index and middle finger of
each hand on either side of her areolae and squashed her overloaded
breasts into her chest, releasing a high-velocity spray against the
client's body. She flinched as the milk splashed across her torso. Chris
followed, squirting with abandon with jet after jet of white ambrosia
arcing across the two feet separating her from the client, to join
Sherri's milk in growing droplets forming paths down her belly.
The other women joined in, completely enveloping the client in a shower
of milk, spouting from ten different directions, five different shades
of white mixing in rivers flowing down the client's body. As they
continued to loose their bounty upon the woman's trembling figure, moans
of varying pitch and intensity began to fill the room. The client's head
was thrown back, one arm dropping down, fingers seeking her pulsing
clit. Rather than diving directly into her pussy, they sought the rings
hanging from her pubes. Deftly, the client threaded her thumb through
all three rings and began tugging on them, stretching her labia and clit
in a way that had to be quite painful. The four free fingers formed a
cone which the client curved around, into, and up inside her gaping
vagina. She began pistoning her hand while continuing to diddle the
rings. It was a very unique masturbation technique.
Watching the client doing this caused renewed vigor in the other women,
who were now expressing milk as fast as their nipples could deliver it.
Milk flowed, poured, gushed, jetted, surged, streamed forth. The
client's veil soon became soaked and began to cling to her face. A
rather prominent nose, large mouth, and high cheekbones became
discernible, but the veil itself remained opaque. She gasped, screeched,
yelled, and howled as orgasm after orgasm shook her. She began to slowly
turn about in place to make sure every exposed inch of her became wet
with mother's milk.
Sherri now was using her upper arms to press her breasts together; the
pressure was sufficient to keep her nipples spurting. Her hands went to
her cunt where they fought themselves for entry into her dripping hole.
Monique continued to fire thick white ropes of creamy fluid at the
client long after her tiny breasts should have been empty. Janine was
giggling continuously as she expelled her milk, occasionally stopping to
tug hard on her nipples to keep her breasts stimulated. Eleanor's flow
had slowed to a trickle, but she seemed not to care as she continued to
squeeze and knead her breasts so hard that she had to be causing herself
pain.
Jeremy was leaning against the wall of the jacuzzi, his eyes
unblinking, his fist a blur as he pounded away on his cock, the glands a
deep, angry purplish red. Not content simply with his hand, he came up
behind Monique and began caressing her shoulders. She responded
instantly, pushing her ass back against his throbbing member. Jeremy
reached around to cup his hand in front of her breast, withdrawing it
when it was full of milk. He used this to grease his prick which he then
unceremoniously plunged into Monique's anus. She winced and grunted, but
did not miss a squirt. Jeremy fucked Monique's ass like an animal,
uncaring that the others were staring at him or that he might be causing

Monique discomfort. He wasn't though; she was clearing near coming from
the onslaught. Jeremy made some noises that sounded like a gorilla in
heat, then went rigid as he dumped his load into Monique's rectum. He
then staggered backward, his pole glistening and still dripping semen,
and sat heavily on the lowest step of the jacuzzi. Monique was hardly
affected at all. Chris's admiration for this wee slip of a girl
increased when she saw how deftly she had handled Jeremy's attack with
hardly an ill effect.
Finally, after probably fifteen minutes or so, the flow of milk
decreased in intensity to a point where it no longer drenched the
client. The shin-deep water in the jacuzzi was now indistinguishable
from the fluid still spraying (though not very far) from Chris's and
Sherri's breasts. The others had long since slowed to drops and
dribbles. The client had been masturbating throughout this period, and
had had probably a dozen or more orgasms. Jeremy had been able to rally
and take Sherri from behind as well, causing her to hit what had to have
been her sixth or seventh. Finally the aphrodisiac could do no more; all
the sensory nerves had been completely desensitized; there was no more
metabolic energy available for either sex or milk production. Exhausted,
the client fell to her knees with a loud splash; the women collapsed on
the stairs of the jacuzzi.
When Jeremy could finally catch his breath, he asked the client if she
was all right. She could only nod weakly, but she nodded yes. At that,
Jeremy turned to the others, thanked them, and requested that they all
leave, clean up, and help themselves to any bed in the house they
wanted. Chris found herself unable to argue; every cell in her body was
screaming for sleep. The time had come to pay the piper.
"What about her?" Sherri managed to say, pointing weakly at the fallen
client.
"She wants to take a milk bath now," Jeremy replied simply.
Chris and the others slowly climbed up and out of the jacuzzi; filed
silently back into the main body of the house (all too tired even to
shower again -- the thought of re-experiencing the aphrodisiac in the
lotion soap actually made them a little nauseous now); and collapsed on
the nearest soft surface they could find. They all slept for several
hours, awakening only with a loud pounding on the front door. It was the
police, responding to a call made by Eleanor's husband after she had
failed to return home the previous evening. Jeremy, ever the smooth
talker, defused the situation without the officers having to actually
observe five bedraggled, robe-clad women whose faces and bodies were
covered with a whitish residue that looked like dried milk.
As the officers departed and Eleanor rushed for a telephone, Chris
wondered how they would have phrased their reports had Jeremy been any
less of a bullshit artist.
CHAPTER XL:
THE VOYEUR, PART ONE
Young Connor first noticed her in the laundry
room of his apartment building, sorting clothes from a
large basket into three open washing machines. Her
familiarity with the surroundings indicated that she
was a fellow resident, and there was something
maddeningly familiar about her face, as if he had seen
her before but could not recall from where. But he was
sure he'd not seen this particular woman before; he
would have remembered a body like hers. She was
wearing high-heeled sandals, short shorts, and a formfitting ribbed cotton-blend bodysuit that was tight

enough to create a bas relief of any underlying

garments that might lie beneath on its surface. There
were none. Even though he was only in his early teens,
Connor had become an expert on whether any given
woman's figure was receiving support from beneath,
regardless of the nature of the overlying outfit. The
protuberant nipples easily visible through the cloth
and the slightly raised areolae around them that would
not have been discernible to a less trained eye were
also a dead giveaway. In fact, it was their perfectly
centered position at the apex of each firmly rounded
breast and the degree to which they defied the pressure
created by the overlying fabric to stand as tall as
they did that initially drew his eye to her.
He drank in her image as a connoisseur of fine
wine might sip a classic vintage. She was absolutely
exquisite; the stuff of wet dreams. Smoothly sculpted
calves blended with muscular, but not "bumpy" thighs.
A deep crevasse in the material of her shorts marked
where the back of each thigh met with the wide, strong,
teardrop-shaped buttocks that so magnificently filled
out her backside. In front, the muscularity of her
quadriceps crisply defined the V that hid her southern
femininity. Her shorts climbed almost to the bottom
point of that V, yet even with his sensitive vision
Connor could not see even a glimpse of a wayward hair
peeking out -- she must shave often, and fairly
closely. No sign of panties either. Hips that one
could easily rest hands upon flared out from a narrow
waist. A ribbon about that waist would form a perfect
ellipse with a circumference of no more than twenty-two
or twenty-three inches. The bodysuit showed a
perfectly flat stomach; a well-placed dimple in the
fabric suggested a navel that was an innie rather than
an outie. Directly above two faint ridges that defined
the lower margin of her ribcage dwelt two breasts the
likes of which provided inspiration for sculptors and
artists. His initial reaction to them had been -implants. How else could they ignore gravity like
that? Especially as large as they are -- each rivaled
a cantaloupe sizewise, but on this tall drink of water
they not so oversized as to invite snickers and pointed
fingers. Upon further examination, however, he was
forced to recant. They were too perfectly shaped. He
was convinced that no plastic surgeon in the world
could have created such beauty. The way they sloped
out and down on top, up and out on the bottom, with
those fantastic nipples capping the junction of those
two curves -- that had to be the work of a divine hand.
The way they moved with her was perfect, too; they
didn't look like two hemispheres that were glued to her
chest, as he had seen so many implant jobs look. No,
this girl was 100% natural, right up to her broad,
mildly curved upper chest, well-defined collarbone,
long neck, and short-coiffed head sporting eminently
nibble-able ears (he liked ears). Eyes to get lost in,
breasts---wasn't he just looking at her breasts? Yes,
but his eyes kept being drawn to them. There was
something special about them besides their splendid
shape and size. What that could possibly be he didn't

know, but it added to his fascination.

Connor became instantly, strongly obsessed with
this woman, as teenaged boys are sometimes wont to do.
He would make it his goal in life to see what she
looked like naked. It never occurred to him to try to
pursue her sexually. He was a voyeur by preference,
and so was perfectly happy to get his jollies from
afar. Besides, she was too old for him -- she would
only laugh at him. So he would be content to follow
her whenever he saw her, to try to catch a fleeting
glimpse of the curve of her breast backlit through a
thin blouse, the outline of pussy lips through a
particularly tight pair of slacks. Maybe he would even
be resourceful enough to be in the right place at the
right time when she was in the changing room of their
building's swimming pool.
He found out what apartment she lived in
(although, dammit, her mailbox didn't have her name on
it), and made it a point to be in the area when she got
home from work. He didn't get many chances to see her,
however; she seemed to spend a lot of time away and
often got home quite late at night. He had been
content with sideways glances in the common areas of
the complex and the occasional passing by in the
hallways (God, how he loved the way her boobs jiggled
when she walked!), until one day when he had happened
to be in the hall when she dropped an armful of
groceries she was carrying. With his heart in his
throat, he made the decision to assist her. She was
wearing a very loose blouse scooped low at the neck.
When she stooped to begin gathering the errant items,
the material gaped far enough to reveal the inner curve
of her right breast, all the way down to the nipple.
He felt the blood leave his head and gather in his
crotch as he dropped down next to her and lent a hand,
gathering cans while getting a complete eyeful with the
practiced veiled stare he had perfected years before.
This was as close to nirvana as Connor had gotten
in a long time. What fantastic knockers this girl had!
She could shame every centerfold that resided in the
footlocker at the back of his closet. The shape, the
size, the color, even the...what the hell? As he
continued to look, he saw the woman's eyes momentarily
widen, and then the most amazing thing happened. At
the tip of that perfect nipple he saw a droplet of thin
whitish liquid form, then disappear as it rolled down
the lower half of her breast, out of sight. He had
seen this in one of the raunchier (and more dog-eared)
mags he had under his bed -- this girl must have milk!
This was better than his wildest fantasy! As he was
reeling with this revelation, the show suddenly ended.
She hurriedly collected the rest of the spilled goods,
murmured some quick thanks, and promptly vanished into
her apartment. It was several more seconds before
enough strength returned to his legs to permit him to
rise and go off to his own room, where he spent the
remainder of that afternoon frantically beating off
while his mother wondered whether he was feeling well.
Today Connor happened to be in another part of
the building when he spotted his dream girl knocking on

the door of a neighbor's apartment. She was dressed

for the swimming pool, with a thin robe over what he
hoped was a skimpy bikini, flip-flops on her feet, and
a towel thrown over her shoulder. He hid at the end of
the corridor and watched as she continued to rap on the
door, growing impatient until she finally yelled, "Come
on, Sherri, the sun isn't going to wait for us!"
"I'm almost ready! Keep your shirt on!" he heard
a muffled voice behind the door say.
"That's not what I'm planning!" replied the
woman.
He watched the door open and her friend come out.
She was shorter, older, red-haired. Her robe could not
hide a very large chest. Wow, her friend's stacked
too, he thought. What was that she was holding? It
looked like a sign which said "Pool closed for
maintenance". Why would she have that? Then it hit
him. They were going to hang that on the gate to keep
other people out! The gate and fence surrounding the
pool were high and effectively sheltered it from
outside eyes -- omigod, they were going to sunbathe
nude! He was sure of it. He had to beat them to the
pool and find a place to hide there.
He took an alternate route and to his relief
found the pool abandoned. He squatted down behind a
group of bushes that formed part of the landscaping
around the inside of the fence, found a place to get a
good view unobserved, got comfortable, and waited.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:
THE VOYEUR, PART TWO
Not more than a minute later the two women entered
the pool enclosure. "Oh, good," Connor heard the one
named Sherri say. She hung the sign on the gate, closed
it, took a padlock out of the small bag she had with
her, and used it to lock the gate. They walked over to
two lounge chairs (good, they picked two that were
directly in his line of sight), put down their gear, and
doffed their robes. He had to keep from gasping aloud
when they did. Both women were wearing the tiniest
bikinis imaginable. Sherri's covered more on top, but
that wasn't saying much; his dream girl's top was little
more than two tiny strips of cloth just wide enough in
front to cover her nipples. Fully eighty percent of her
glorious bosom was exposed. Connor gently, silently
shifted position so that his growing erection wouldn't
get caught at an uncomfortable angle.
He watched them stretch out on the chairs, bottles
of sunscreen in their hands. "Mmmm, isn't this sun
wonderful? First of the season," said Sherri.
"Are you sure nobody can get in here?" asked his
dream girl.
"Positive. I've done this a lot. I'm kind of
surprised that our neighbors haven't complained more
about the pool being down for repairs."
"And nobody can see us, right?"
"Chris, will you relax? I'm an old hand at this."
Chris! Her name is Chris! Somehow just finally

knowing her name made Connor feel that much more excited
to be here watching her.
He watched, transfixed, as the two women removed
their tops. His breath caught in his throat as he saw
the full landscape of Chris's splendorous body come into
view. Perfect. Absolutely goddamned perfect. I can
die now, he thought. He couldn't stand it any more -he slowly unzipped his fly and liberated his hard-on,
which he started stroking absently.
"Well, if you're sure," Chris said, and arching
her back, slid off the almost non-existent bikini bottom
as well, revealing a completely hairless snatch. He
stopped stroking for fear of coming right there. He had
never seen a bald beaver before. Chris lay back,
slightly spreading her legs to let the sun in, and
giving him a perfect view of her naked pussy. Her
impossibly firm breasts rose upward as she lay back,
almost completely obscuring her head from Connor's
viewpoint. The sight was enough to cause a pleasant
ache to begin in his balls.
He watched as the women applied sunscreen to
themselves, following their fingers as they rubbed the
lotion into their exposed skin, observing how the flesh
of their breasts responded to their touch. As Chris
moved her hand across a nipple, he watched it bend
beneath it and then snap back upright after it passed.
That was too much -- with a barely controlled jerk he
spurted his load into a handkerchief, biting his lip to
keep from making a sound. Once he recovered, he
strained to listen to their conversation, which up to
now he had ignored.
Sherri had been talking, and Chris had been
laughing. Connor was soon ready to come again from what
the laughing was doing to those incredible boobs of
hers. There was a short silence, then Sherri spoke
again.
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
"Shoot," said Chris.
"Funny you should pick that particular word."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm curious about a particular talent of
yours."
"Which one would that be? I've got a million of
'em," said Chris with a smile.
"I've noticed that you can apparently squirt your
milk whenever you want, not just when you're excited or
engorged. True?"
"True. However did you come to know this?" Chris
sounded surprised.
"We used to spend a lot of time together, or have
you forgotten?"
Chris blushed. It made her wine-colored nipples
an even darker red. She reached across and stroked the
back of Sherri's hand. "Of course not. How could I?"
Sherri paused, then asked, "Can you teach me how
to do that?"
Chris did a double take. "I'm not sure. Why?"
A devilish smile crossed Sherri's lips. "This guy
I'm with right now? He likes me to tickle him while I'm
on top. He's got chest hair like a fucking bearskin

rug. I love to run my hands through it while I'm

fucking him. Trouble is, he also likes me to squirt him
while I'm riding him. Can't be squeezing my boobies and
doing all that other stuff at the same time. I need to
have my hands free."
Chris laughed again. (Oh God, stop doing that, he
said to himself. You're killing me.) "I see your
point."
"How do you do it?"
Chris lay back on the chair. "Well, I don't
really think too much about how I do it. It's just part
of the way I control my lactation."
Sherri shook her head slowly. "I'd almost give
one tit to know how to do that. Many is the time I've
embarrassed myself in a public place when my milk let
down unexpectedly. I have to take a jacket with me even
in hot weather to cover up with!"
Chris smiled sympathetically. "Well, I sort of
just concentrate on relaxing all the muscles in my upper
body. You know, like what they have you do in those
stress reduction tapes? I think of running water,
floating in a pool, that kind of thing. Pretty soon I
feel the reflex kick in, and the rest is automatic. To
stop, I think of the desert, water soaking into sand,
muscles contracting, flowers closing up at night. Works
every time. Here, watch."
Connor felt his eyes begin to sting, and realized
he'd been staring for some time. He blinked away the
tears that started to form so that they wouldn't blur
his view of what was to come.
He saw Chris settle deep into her chair, watched
the muscles in her neck and shoulders relax. He saw her
nipples lengthen and thicken and become moist. He saw a
wave ripple across the muscles of her stomach, and
suddenly her breasts erupted in twin geysers of milk,
launching branching streams of white high into the air.
The fountain continued for several seconds before
abating to a thin trickle. She hadn't even touched
herself.
With a muffled grunt, his whole body tensed and he
ejaculated a few drops of a second load into his sticky
handkerchief. He felt a charley horse form in his leg
and pinched his eyes tightly shut against the pain.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," he heard Sherri say. Amen,
sister. "Let me try." When he heard that, he forced
his eyes open again.
He saw Sherri go through the same relaxation
process as Chris. For a long time nothing happened,
then, as he stared, he saw dribbles of milk emerge from
Sherri's fat nipples and run down her pendulous hooters.
Chris sat up and applauded. Amazingly, Connor felt his
dick stir once more. That had never happened before.
"Not bad, not bad," Chris said. "We'll work on
your form later." They both laughed. He watched Chris
get up and kneel down next to her friend's chair. "You
know, I haven't tasted you in a long time. I kind of
miss that. Do you mind?"
Sherri raised herself to a sitting position.
"Please do," she said. "Otherwise I'll have to go
inside and pump, and I don't want to waste the rest of

this marvelous sun."

Connor couldn't believe what he saw next. He
watched Chris lean across Sherri and fasten her lips
onto one of Sherri's swollen nipples. He could tell she
was sucking on her and swallowing as fast as she could.
Sherri started moaning and reached for her other breast,
which she started squeezing. He saw stream after stream
of milk shoot out of Sherri's breast as she milked
herself and Chris continued to drink from the other
breast.
He felt a third orgasm building. He couldn't
believe he had anything left. As it continued to build,
he felt his head get light, his vision blurred....
He passed out.
With a crash he fell through the bushes to sprawl
out onto the deck.
The women screamed and leaped to their feet.
Hurriedly they threw on their robes and cautiously
approached his supine form.
Sherri bent down and peered at him. "Oh, shit.
It's only Connor."
"You know this kid?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, he lives in the building. I've caught him
peeping several times. I used to think it was cute, but
now the little shit's gone too far. Wake up, dickhead,"
Sherri said, kicking water from the pool into his face.
Sputtering, Connor came to and scrambled to his
feet. He started to run for the gate, then stopped,
realizing he was locked in.
"All right, you little fuck," Sherri said,
advancing on him with teeth clenched and hands on hips.
"This stops now. I ever catch you slithering around me
or my friends again, I'll come into your room while
you're asleep and Bobbitize you. Don't think I won't do
it, either. I ever find out you said anything about
what you saw here, and I'll make sure your parents find
out about your sordid little hobbies. Then I'll
Bobbitize you. You savvy?"
Embarrassed beyond the ability to speak, Connor
only nodded.
Sherri unlocked the gate. "Get the fuck out," she
hissed. Connor scurried out like a dog before a rolledup newspaper.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherri and Chris
looked at each other, then fell laughing into each
others' arms. When they finally recovered, Sherri said,
"Well, one thing's for sure -- we'll be in his wet
dreams for a long time to come!"
That night, as Chris sat in her milking chair,
hooked up to her pump, she thought about the young
Connor pounding his pud with visions of her dancing
through his puerile little brain. She realized that in
some small dark recess of her mind, she'd always wanted
to be the subject of a young man's masturbatory
fantasies. Now she knew that had come to pass. The
realization gave her a very satisfying orgasm and filled
the milk receptacle quickly.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:

THE PLANNING
Christine and Sherri sat at Chris's kitchen table,
each with a pint of Ben & Jerry's (New York Super Fudge
Chunk for Chris, Chunky Monkey for Sherri) and a
colorful stack of brochures in front of her. The
contents of each were ever-changing as they passed the
flyers and spoonfuls of ice cream back and forth to one
another. Outside the sky swirled with an unusually late
spring snowstorm, the wind carrying record low
temperatures with it.
Sherri pushed yet another brochure toward Chris.
"What about Switzerland? The Alps, those cute guys in
those leather shorts..."
Chris tossed her head in the direction of the
nearest window. "Take a look outside and tell me that
'beach' is not an operative word here," she said. "The
weather's been so shitty lately that warm water, warm
sand, and warm sun are the primary considerations." She
paused. "Why can't I convince you to come with me?"
"Honey, we've been through this. You need time
alone. We all do. Jeremy's been working us to death.
Lately I've been feeling more like a dairy cow than a
woman. The client he lined me up with last week damn
near sucked my nipples off, he was into it so much. I
need to give the old milk shakes a rest." This time
Sherri paused. "You know, I never thought I'd hear
myself say that."
Chris sighed. "Well, it's like I've been trying
to tell Jeremy for weeks now. There's more to life, and
more to sex, than just lactating. I can't believe how
obsessed he's gotten with the business. He looks at me
now, all he sees are these." She indicated her perfect,
fully functional breasts. "I tell you, Sherri, I'm
ready to hang it up."
"You? Yours don't hang at all." Sherri leaned
across the table and plucked at Chris's shirt, her own
milk-laden boobs brushing along the tabletop as she did
so. "You got an anti-gravity device hidden in there?"
That got a smile from Chris. "Well, I think Jeremy's
realized we're all starting to feel that way. That's
why he's springing for these vacations."
"Don't kid yourself," said Chris. "He knows what
side his bread's buttered on. He's not giving us time
off out of the goodness of his heart. Believe me, it's
purely business. He doesn't want his 'prime herd' to
burn out on him."
"You mean 'dry up', don't you?" said Sherri.
Chris didn't acknowledge Sherri's attempt at
humor. "Notice that he's only letting two of us go at a
time? Do you have any idea what the work load on the
others is going to be while we're gone? I almost feel
guilty taking this vacation."
Sherri thought for a minute. "This is ruining my
mood. Fuck Jeremy anyway."
"I'd like to, believe me," sighed Chris. "Monique
is handling that department very well on her own,
though." She stopped and shook her head. "No, I don't
mean that. It's really over between us. I guess it's
just been too long..."

"See? All the more reason to just go off

somewhere by yourself. You need to find some strapping
young stranger on a nude beach somewhere, drag him into
the jungle and fuck his brains out."
Chris smiled again, her good mood restored.
"Capital suggestion." She grabbed a handful of
brochures. "The question is, where?" She paged through
a few, pitching some into a nearby wastebasket. "You
absolutely sure you won't go with me?"
Sherri shook her head. "As much as I'd love to, I
have a feeling that we'd only remind each other of home
and The Lac-Station. I for one won't want to be talking
shop. Besides, Jeremy doesn't know this, but I plan to
pocket my vacation money. One of my clients has offered
to spirit me away to the Costa del Sol for a couple of
weeks, and I've decided to take him up on it."
Chris grinned broadly. "That's great! When do
you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow. I didn't want to go before
making sure you were taken care of, though. That's why
I brought you all these." She looked at the brochures
on the table. "You know, we're doing this too
scientifically. We've already eliminated everything
that's not beach and ocean, so why not just close your
eyes and pick one? Be impulsive! You're on vacation,
for chrissake!"
Chris sat for a few seconds, then suddenly reached
out, gathered up all the brochures, and with eyes closed
threw them into the air. When she opened her eyes
again, she saw that one particularly colorful one had
landed right in her lap. She and Sherri exchanged an
excited look. Chris thrust the brochure at Sherri. "I
can't look," she said. "You read it."
Sherri scanned the paper, a wide grin slowly
spreading over her face. She read silently for several
seconds, occasionally saying "Yes...yes..."
Finally Chris could stand it no longer. "Well?!"
she exploded. "Where am I going?"
Sherri held up the brochure. "Negril!" she said
happily. When she saw no sign of recognition from
Chris, her eyes widened. "I can't believe you've never
heard of it. It's in Jamaica!"
"Jamaica, eh? That sounds nice." Chris seemed
only mildly enthused.
"Nice?! Girlfriend, this place is fantastic!
Beautiful white sand, crystal clear water, ganja
everywhere..." Sherri pushed the flyer at Chris. "This
is one of those all-inclusive singles resorts, where all
you have to do is eat, sleep, drink, and fuck. It is
absolutely perfect for you, lady. Negril is THE most
laid-back place on the island, maybe in the whole
Caribbean! Believe me, this is the place!" She could
tell Chris was warming to the idea. She added, "And
best of all, it's expensive as hell. Jeremy's going to
pay out the ass for this. For example, did I mention
that this package includes a cruise on a big-ass boat?"
In her mind Chris had a vision of Jeremy with
pants around ankles, hands on knees, straining, bills
and coins shooting out of his butt. It made her laugh
out loud. It'd serve the bastard right. He did promise

to bankroll any two weeks they'd care to take...

"Sign me up!" she cried enthusiastically.
"All right!" Sherri yelled. "OK, right after we
book this sucker, we're going shopping. I know your
wardrobe doesn't contain the proper clothes for this."
She jumped up and headed for the phone.
Sherri started punching numbers but was suddenly
stopped by the feel of Chris's warm, firm breasts
spreading across her back as she hugged her from behind.
"Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," Chris
said softly. "You're my guardian angel."
Sherri put down the phone and turned in Chris's
arms to face her. Each had to lean back slightly to
accommodate the combined magnificence of their
bustlines. Sherri softly tousled Chris's hair and
lightly brushed her cheek. "Hey, somebody's got to keep
you sane. Might as well be me."
Chris looked down along Sherri's torso, down to
where their belt buckles touched. "You know, we're each
going to be gone for a couple of weeks. That's a long
time..." She reached up and unsnapped the topmost snap
on Sherri's shirt.
Instantly two wet spots appeared on that shirt,
each centered over a stiffening nipple. "Damn, girl,
you really know how to push my buttons," Sherri mused.
She leaned back to allow Chris to finish unbuttoning
her. As Chris's hands disappeared inside the open
shirt, gently caressing, hefting, tweaking, Sherri
leaned forward and nibbled at her earlobe, her own hands
seeking Chris's hardened nipples through her shirt.
"You're still going alone, though..."
She felt Chris's breath on her neck as she
murmured, "I'm going to miss you, but I wouldn't dream
of trying to change your mind..."
Sherri straightened up and lifted her breasts
toward Chris's mouth. Twin trickles of milk ran down
across her fingers, which were half-buried in the soft
flesh of her bosom, and dripped on the kitchen floor.
"Shut up and drink," she said. "Before we make too much
of a mess in here."
Chris only giggled softly. She knew that a mess
was inevitable. It always was with the two of them and
the copious fluids they produced...
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:
THE CRUISE, PART ONE
Christine pressed a crisp $5 bill into the
outstretched palm of the young man who had delivered her
luggage to her cabin. I'll bet I'm going to be running
into this one a lot during this cruise, she thought, as
she took note of the fact that his eyes never left her
chest throughout the transaction. Over the months since
The Accident and its subsequent physical manifestations,
which had caused the opposite sex's interest in her to
increase exponentially, Chris had learned to read the
hormonally driven behaviors of men quite well. She
could tell, for example, that this fellow had already

memorized her cabin number, was aware she was traveling

alone, and judging from where his eyes were riveted, had
not seen such a perfectly sized and shaped bustline as
her own in several Miami-to-Montego Bay runs. He was
going to be trouble. She was surprised at herself,
however, to discover that she was amused and not put off
by the porter's obvious gaping. Well, maybe there's a
little treat in store if he plays his cards right, she
found herself thinking. As she closed the door on him,
she shook her head and said aloud, "I must really be
getting into vacation mode." Indeed, the stirrings she
felt within as she entertained the notion of "treating"
the porter were considerably stronger than usual.
Reining in her libido, Chris decided to get familiar
with her cabin.
Sherri had taken care of all the arrangements and
the arguing with Jeremy about the price. Her
intercession on Chris's behalf had netted Chris one of
the better cabins on the uppermost passenger deck: very
spacious, comfortable, quiet, and well positioned away
from the cramped, busier, less luxurious lower decks. A
perfect place for "entertaining", Chris thought. As she
began unpacking her luggage, she periodically paused to
hold in front of her one of the new outfits she and
Sherri had picked out for this trip. She had packed
nothing from her existing wardrobe; everything, right
down to the racy Victoria's Secret lingerie, was going
to be showing up on Jeremy's Gold Card next month.
Last to come out of the suitcases was a small but
powerful breast pump and attachments, safely ensconced
in a fabric bag. Although she could have chosen,
through the use of her finely honed mental discipline,
to shut down her milk production for the duration of the
trip, she had decided instead that, if anything, she
might try to increase it. After all, this cruise line
was famous for its onboard food, which was available
nearly around the clock. She figured she would eat as
much and as often as she liked, and simply convert the
excess calories into milk. She hoped that she would
meet at least one man during the three days it would
take to reach Negril who would be willing to assist her
in this regard. The idea of "pumping and dumping" never
did appeal much to her.
By the time she had settled in, the "all ashore
that's going ashore" announcement had been made and
final preparations for casting off had been completed.
Chris took her place at the rail, confetti and streamers
in hand, and took part in the traditional "bon voyage"
sendoff, even though there was no one she knew waving
back from the pier. The crowd at the railing was so
thick that as it began to disperse, Chris found herself
being jostled somewhat violently. An errant elbow
caught her in her left breast, not hard enough to be
painful, but hard enough to make her realize how full
and heavy her breasts were. She realized that she had
not thought to shut down her lactation during the long
flight to Miami, the time at the airport, and the trip
from there to the pier. No wonder she was feeling
tender!
Chris returned to her cabin and jumped into the

shower with the intent to relieve herself by performing

her common practice of allowing the cascading hot water
to intensify her already awesome letdown reflex. Under
normal circumstances, the feeling of the increased flow
of milk blasting out of her nipples (at home she could
probably send the spray fifteen feet or more if the
shower wall weren't in the way) was enough for a
satisfying orgasm even without strategically directing
the flow from the shower head. But when she walked into
the small stall and noticed an unfamiliar type of
faucet, she realized suddenly that she hadn't been away
from home for an extended period since The Accident over
a year before. The strangeness of her surroundings
detracted from her enjoyment of emptying her breasts
somewhat, but she was still able to come twice from the
directed spray on her clit, each time challenging the
floor drain with the flood of juices pouring from her
pussy.
She moved from the bathroom into the main part of
the cabin, enjoying the delicious feeling of walking
around naked in a strange room. She dressed for dinner,
choosing a teal-and-white dress that was clingy and
provocatively cut, and whose design allowed only a pair
of French-cut panties as foundation. She knew from
examining a layout of the main dining room that her
assigned table was quite close to the Captain's Table.
In this outfit I should be able to catch the eye of an
officer or two, Chris thought with a twinkle in her eye.
I've never done it with a man in uniform before... The
thought made her breasts tingle anew.
As she made her way along the ship's corridors,
down the elevator, and toward the dining room, she was
awestruck at the size of this vessel, the Carib Mermaid.
She walked past the entrances to a nightclub that was at
least as large as most of those she frequented on land;
a casino rivaling those in Atlantic City for noise and
sparkle; a well-equipped health club; a duty-free shop;
two smaller dining areas; an arcade; a beauty shop and a
myriad of other services. The central "commons" area of
the ship was several decks deep. It resembled a small
shopping mall or a gigantic hotel lobby, sporting a
number of levels accessible by glass elevators. This is
one big damn boat, Chris marveled to herself. Sherri
sure knows how to pick 'em.
There was a short line at the entrance to the
surprisingly large main dining room as guests waited to
be directed to their assigned tables. Upon Chris's
reaching the head of the line, a too-young crewmember
escort waiting there broke into a wide grin, extended
his crooked elbow into which Chris slipped her gloved
hand, and personally escorted her to her table, which
for the moment was still empty. She noted with
satisfaction that few other women were being given such
preferential treatment. In full hunting mode now, she
used the time before the arrival of her tablemates to
scan the room. Sure enough, the Captain's Table was
only a few feet away. Several people, including a few
officers, were already seated. She must have been
putting out pheromones like crazy into a favorable
breeze, for the man she set her sights on, a fellow

worthy of the cover of GQ whose uniform suggested fairly

high rank, met her gaze within seconds of it alighting
upon him. He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling
slightly. He raised his champagne glass to her, cocking
his head as he did so. Chris immediately felt her
nipples straining at the flimsy fabric of her dress as
she smiled back with all the lust she could muster
without actually drooling on the tablecloth. Jeez, she
said to herself. Reel it in, girl! Who's running the
show here, anyway, you or your glands? She must have
been frowning, for when her attention once again focused
on her quarry, his attention had been diverted
elsewhere. She tried again to catch his eye, but in
vain. Dammit, she thought. Why did you have to pick
that moment to admonish yourself? Now you've blown it!
Within a few minutes the other occupants of
Chris's table arrived. They included an elderly couple
whose bronze skins told of many years chasing the sun; a
newlywed couple barely out of their teens who never
stopped touching each other; and a third couple who
looked like they were on a second honeymoon. I'll need
to have a talk with the cruise director, Chris said to
herself in disappointment. I'd have thought they'd seat
us singles together. She was just beginning to resign
herself to eating her dinner in silence when she felt a
light touch on her shoulder. She looked up into the
aquamarine eyes of the officer she'd been trying so hard
to interest these last several minutes.
"I don't mean to interrupt, but I couldn't help
noticing that perhaps an error has been made here," he
said in a rich New England baritone.
"I'm sorry?" said Chris, not comprehending.
"You appear to be traveling alone. We usually try
to seat singles at the same table so that they can meet
each other."
Not only is he gorgeous, but he can read minds
too, thought Chris.
She turned up the pheromones another notch and
smiled blazingly. "That's very kind of you to notice,
but I don't mind at all," she lied.
"Well, nevertheless, I'll be sure to speak to the
cruise director and get you reseated. In the meantime,
I would be honored if you would join me at my table."
He extended his hand in a very formal manner.
Chris took it and fairly floated to her feet,
letting one of the spaghetti straps of her dress fall
off of one shoulder as she did so. She allowed the
officer to guide her toward the Captain's Table, one
hand placed in the exposed small of her back. She
didn't even bother to say goodbye to the others at her
table.
As they arrived, Chris felt the eyes of the
important-looking guests there move to her. The men at
the table rose to their feet. The women tried to look
indifferent. Chris detected slightly raised eyebrows on
one or two of them. Mildly embarrassed, she smiled and
tried valiantly to suppress the vigorous erection of her
nipples brought on by the proximity of her target. The
officer pulled out the only other vacant chair at the
table beside his own. As he did so, he leaned in close

to her and whispered quickly, "In my haste to correct

the oversight, I neglected to ask your name. I have to
make your introduction and have no idea how to do it."
"My name's Christine," she whispered back.
"I'm Jonah Ballwin, Second Officer aboard the
Mermaid," he returned. "I'm charmed to meet you."
Not as charmed as you're going to be, thought
Chris.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:
THE CRUISE, PART TWO
Christine stood at the railing at the bow of the
ship, several stories above the water line, blinking
watery eyes caused by the wind generated by the movement
of the Carib Mermaid as she made her way toward the port
of Montego Bay. It was late, well past 1:00 am, on a
perfect, cloudless night. Chris was amazed at how many
stars were visible once one got away from the lights of
the mainland. Even though there was no moon, one could
easily see by the starlight, although mainly in dim hues
of bluish gray. Chris was wearing a thin billowy
sundress with nothing underneath and was reveling in the
sensations the cool breeze provided as the fabric
rippled across her amaranthine body. From this lofty
vantage point she saw no other people above decks at
all; those few passengers still up at this hour were at
the casino or nightclub. Chris felt like she had this
gargantuan ship all to herself.
Perched at the very front end of this boat as she
was, Chris was reminded of the old-fashioned figurehead,
usually the undraped torso of a lovely lady, carved into
the bow of classic wooden sailing vessels. She suddenly
felt an impulsive desire to be the Mermaid's figurehead.
With a quick glance around her to confirm she was alone,
she reached up and untied the strings holding her dress
around her neck and shoulders. The top fell away to
where the material was gathered at her waist. Chris
leaned out over the railing, arching her back and
throwing back her head in classic figurehead pose. Her
awe-inspiring breasts thrust forward, proudly defying
gravity by even curving slightly upward as she bent
back. The caress of the cool night wind felt good on
the hot skin of her bosom; the glands beneath had been
working overtime to compensate for Chris's increased
caloric intake -- the midnight buffet she had attended
earlier had been her fifth meal that day -- and were
once again filling the myriad lactiferous sinuses within
to capacity with warm, sweet milk. The breeze finally
lowered her skin temperature enough to raise goose
pimples and turn her nipples into twin 3/4" cylinders of
solid ruby. She recalled that she rarely displayed
herself out in the open like this, and when she did it
was usually in a controlled environment, like a fencedin swimming pool. The knowledge that she was now fully
exposed to both the elements and potentially to any one
of the thousand or so people aboard who might happen to
wander up to this particular lookout proved to be very
erotic for her. The three glasses of wine she'd

consumed at the buffet were definitely helping suppress

her inhibitions as well. Chris felt a coolness in her
crotch as the breeze penetrated the fabric of her dress
and tried to evaporate the moisture that was beginning
to collect there.
The sensations were so novel, and the situation so
unique, that Chris decided to run with them. As the
last of her inhibitions melted away, aided by the wine,
she retained just enough conscious sense to turn to the
port side railing so that the wind would not be directly
in her face. Leaning out over the railing with eyes
closed, chin lifted slightly, and tits outthrust, she
concentrated on the sound of the ocean far below
striking the bow of the ship -- millions of gallons of
water rushing past in a continuous, mighty surge. She
imagined herself surging with that kind of power, and
sure enough seconds later her breasts began spewing
forth torrents of hot milk. The wind caught the needlethin streams and blew them to a white mist that quickly
dissipated into the night. As the tingling of the
letdown intensified, Chris used her lacquered
fingernails to lightly stroke the long sides of her
aching nipples, stimulating the tiny muscles along her
milk ducts to contract even harder, pushing the streams
out with even greater force. Not content even with
this, Chris cupped her incredible boobs and began
tugging and squeezing in an attempt to increase the flow
even more. The small openings in her nipples had
reached capacity, however, so her actions only served to
increase the feeling of pressure inside her breasts,
which was sufficient to push her toward orgasm.
She felt her nectar start to run down the inside
of her legs, so she released one breast, gathered as
much material from her dress up around her waist in one
hand as she could, and planted her feet wide apart so
she would splash directly onto the deck. She let go of
the other breast, trapped both of them between her
forearms, and squeezed them together to keep the flow of
milk going at maximum. The index finger of her free
hand disappeared into the folds of her bald beaver,
sought out her slippery, engorged clit, and began a
vigorous circular motion. Chris held her breath to keep
from crying out as she mounted the final hill, and the
subsequent drop in oxygen to her brain took her
immediately into an orgasm of superluminary porportions.
Her nipples felt as if they would pop off from the
pressure of the milk rushing through them, and the force
of the flood from her pussy made a loud splat as it
struck the deck. Caught up in unreasoning ecstasy,
Chris actually forgot to resume breathing, and her knees
began to buckle. The night seemed to take on a reddish
hue, and as she began to faint, she felt something hard
strike her across the midriff. As consciousness began
to flicker out, she realized that it was the railing -she was beginning to pitch forward over it! She gasped
for breath and fought to regain control of her body, but
it was too late -- she felt herself in the grip of
gravity and in stark white panic realized she was about
to fall overboard!
In that millisecond she felt her head snap back as

a second impact across her middle jerked her violently

backward. When awareness returned she found herself
sprawled in a heap several feet back from the railing.
There was hoarse breathing in her ear and a strong arm
wrapped tightly about her at just below the level of her
breasts, which now pointed upward and were still
dribbling milk down their smooth slopes to soak into the
sleeve of that arm. She slowly realized that she was
not lying on the deck, but had landed on top of someone.
The breathing in her ear turned into a male voice
laced with concern. "Christine! Are you all right?" it
said.
How does he know my name? she thought, still badly
shaken. Wait, I recognize that voice... She looked
back over her shoulder, right into Jonah Ballwin's
bluer-than-blue eyes. She tried to speak, but realized
that she was still struggling to regain her breath.
Jonah had had to come from several feet away to keep
Chris from going over the railing, so his collision with
her had been a rough one. She nodded yes instead.
Jonah looked toward the railing. "God damn it!"
he swore with feeling. "I've always thought those
railings were too low! What were those stupid designers
thinking?!" He was practically trembling with anger and
adrenaline. He forced his eyes closed and took several
deep breaths to calm himself.
Chris reached up and stroked his cheek. "I
seriously thought I was going to die. Thank you." She
also looked toward the railing. "I don't know what I
was thinking, getting so close." She felt herself
blushing, the heat in her cheeks more noticable in the
cool air. "I guess I was caught up in the moment."
Is he blushing too? It's so hard to tell in this
light. "To be honest, so was I," she heard him say.
"This particular overlook is a little difficult to get
to, so not many passengers come up here. I often do
because the view is so spectacular. Tonight it was
particularly so." His eyes briefly flicked down across
Chris's body, which made her realize how fully exposed
she still was. Oddly, however, she felt no immediate
need to disengage from his grip and cover herself. The
wine must still be exerting some influence. Besides,
the salt air was definitely becoming nippy, and he was
nice and warm.
She snuggled a little deeper into his chest and
straightened one leg that had gotten caught at a funny
angle when they had tumbled to the deck. Smiling
mischievously, she said, "How long had you been standing
there?"
"Long enough," he replied. "Long enough to see
that you are the most incredible woman I have ever met.
If I hadn't seen what you just did with my own eyes, I
would never have believed it."
Chris blushed again. "Believe me, I don't do that
sort of thing every day."
"Then I feel doubly fortunate to have been here
when I was."
Chris shifted slightly, purposely pressing one
warm, firm breast into Jonah's side. "I wasn't done,
you know," she said seductively.

Jonah's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, should I have just

let you go over the side, then?" he inquired.
"Of course not, silly," said Chris. "But you
don't notice me wriggling about trying to get my dress
back on, do you?"
"I suppose I was sort of wondering why you
weren't."
Chris turned to face Jonah, in the same movement
pushing him back down to the deck. "Right now I owe you
a debt, and I'm the kind of person who likes to pay off
her debts promptly," she said as she started unbuttoning
his shirt.
"Excellent policy," Jonah said with a grin.
"Might I suggest, however, that we adjourn to someplace
more comfortable than this deck?"
As soon as he mentioned comfort, Chris realized
that she had skinned one of her knees, and in her halfnaked state, even through the false warmth of the wine,
she was getting cold. Hiking her dress back into
position, she asked, "I assume you have a particular
'someplace' in mind?"
Jonah got to his feet and helped Chris to hers.
"Indeed I do. Allow me to show you the Carib Mermaid
that most paying customers never get to see."
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE:
THE CRUISE, PART THREE
Christine let Jonah lead her off the observation
deck and down through several levels of the ship. She
was still a bit disoriented from the combination of
sensations still coursing through her body: pain from
the collision with Jonah which had resulted in his
saving her from going overboard, residual tingling from
the orgasm which had almost been her last, the remains
of the buzz from the wine she'd consumed earlier that
evening, and strong attraction, on several levels, for
this second officer of the Carib Mermaid. Prevailing at
the moment was gratitude for her rescue, but a close
second was how taken she was with how almost regal the
man was in his mannerisms, his politeness, the
seriousness with which he took his job, and his
undivided attentions toward her. Over dinner that
evening she had noted that he was good at hinting that
he had a naughty side without being outwardly crude,
which intrigued her. Her traffic-stopping body,
enhanced as it was by the cut of her dress, had clearly
made an impression on him then, and he had been able to
communicate his interest to her while the other guests
at the Captain's Table had no clue of the building heat
between them. Chris remembered how moist she had gotten
when that realization had hit her. There was no doubt
in her mind that Jonah must have seduced dozens of
female passengers before her, yet he made her feel like
she was the first. The fact that he was absolutely
gorgeous and she was extremely horny didn't hurt,
either.
Chris noted as Jonah led her through the ship that
the corridors were very narrow and unadorned. Piping

hung close overhead; paint was peeling from the walls;

and the lighting was dim. It was also eerily quiet;
true, it was late, well into the wee smalls, but she
expected to see at least a few other people up at this
hour. When she inquired about this, Jonah smiled.
"I wondered how long it would be before you
noticed something different," he said. "This ship is in
many ways like an old Gothic mansion. There is an
entirely separate set of corridors and hatchways that
the crew uses and the passengers know nothing about.
There are even entire sections of deck that are
inaccessible to our paying customers and which they
don't even suspect exist."
"Are you taking me to one of those now?"
"Very astute of you. You're about to see a part
of the Mermaid that very few people, even crew, see with
any regularity." He finished the sentence just as they
arrived at a bulkhead. Jonah undogged the hatch which
swung open, releasing into their faces a current of warm
moist air laced with the faint smell of cedar and
something else...lavender, perhaps?
Chris stepped through the hatch and into what was
so obviously a den of seduction that she had to keep
from laughing at the sheer audaciousness of it. The
room was multi-leveled, with an extensive bar along one
wall, a large raised area dotted with person-sized
pillows along another, and a wide, multi-sectioned
picture window (with curtains currently drawn) spanning
the long wall directly in front of her. Set in the
center of the room were not one, but two jacuzzis, both
bubbling furiously, but not so much that the thrumming
of the ship's engines could not be heard. Flower petals
danced on the bubbles. The ceiling was mirrored and
illuminated by a means not immediately obvious. The
walls and floor were covered with a deep red patterned
fabric, giving the overall feeling of a turn-of-thecentury bordello. Towels, robes, glasses, an ice
bucket, a bottle of asti spumante, a vase of roses, and
even a small dish containing what looked like marijuana
cigarettes stood at the ready.
"My God," said Chris. "You sailors don't believe
in subtlety, do you?"
"There's usually not enough time for that," Jonah
said honestly. "How long are you going to be aboard?
Three days, four at the most. Extended courtships
aren't generally practical under those conditions."
Chris pointed to the dish. "Are those what I
think they are?"
Jonah just cocked his head. "We do visit Jamaica
often, you know."
"Of course. Silly me."
Even though this was not Chris's idea of the most
romantic setting in the world, it was another new
experience for her, so she decided to go with it. She
walked into the room and up to the window, whose
curtains parted at her approach. They opened to reveal
that they were now at the stern of the ship. The view
was different from, but no less impressive than, that
afforded by the observation deck they had just come
from. She must have been staring out the window for

some time, for when she turned back, Jonah had already
opened the champagne and had poured two glasses. Chris
simply smiled, undid a couple of strategically placed
fasteners, and in a single motion stepped out of her
dress. The unusual lighting played across her
magnificent frame, accentuating the large upturned
breasts, the smooth mons, the flared hips, the wellturned thighs. Chris decided to play the part the
setting seemed to expect of her to the hilt. She pushed
her chest forward, half-lidded her eyes, and slid like a
reptile down into one of the jacuzzis. Jonah smiled
appreciatively, but didn't move toward her, as she
expected. Instead, he turned his back to her. Chris
blinked in surprise, wondering what was going on, but
relaxed and smiled when she heard the crinkle of the
foil covering on the bottle of spumante.
"I'm not thirsty yet," Chris said, trying to get
Jonah's attention. "I will be later though..."
Jonah glanced over his shoulder as he worked on
the bottle. "What do you think of our little nest?
Several crew members worked together to build it. This
used to be part of a cargo hold. I think the captain
knows it exists, but doesn't let on. Decent fellow, the
captain."
Small talk now, when I'm wet, naked, and ready?
thought Chris. What's with this guy? Maybe he just
needs a little persuading....
"There's plenty of room for two, Second Officer
Ballwin," she said. "I'm still a little sore from our
altercation on the deck and could use a good neck rub."
Jonah did turn at that, and when he did, Chris started
moving her body under the water, almost as a belly
dancer would on land. She would let parts of her
fabulous body become momentarily visible, then
resubmerge them. Her underwater dance was enough to
make a dead man come.
Still Jonah Ballwin kept his distance, smiling
blankly, soon returning to the business of opening the
bottle of asti spumante.
Chris couldn't believe it. She thought she was a
pretty good judge of when a man wanted her, and Jonah
had exhibited all the classic signs. Here she was
practically sending semiphore, and he stood unmoving.
Am I being rejected here? Is he gay? Is he teasing me?
All kinds of questions started going through her mind.
Well, I'll give him another sixty seconds to
finish opening that goddamn bottle, then I'm suddenly
going to get the mother of all headaches, Chris said to
herself. Is this rejection? I'd almost forgotten how
it felt, she thought, somewhat alarmed. Indeed, since
The Accident, she hadn't had anyone turn her down when
it came to sex. Maybe Jonah was trying to remind her
that nobody is irresistable. Now is no time for
lessons, she thought, somewhat annoyed. I don't need
this, especially on vacation.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX:
THE CRUISE, PART FOUR

"My, but you're showing remarkable restraint, both

here and on the observation deck," said Chris as she
continued to undulate just below the surface of the
jacuzzi. Occasionally a glimpse of magnificence would
appear for an instant and then vanish back into the
bubbles. "What do I have to do, throw myself at you?"
Jonah smiled and began to pour the asti spumante.
"Occupational habit, I suppose," he said. "Manners and
decorum where the guests are concerned...that's been
drilled into me ever since I first signed on to a cruise
ship. I guess I just have to be absolutely sure about a
guest's needs before taking action to avoid making any
mistakes."
"My needs should be obvious," Chris returned. She
arched her back so that her breasts broke the surface.
The water running off their exquisite curves was joined
by two thin white streams as she allowed her erect
nipples to ooze a bit of milk by way of invitation.
Jonah's training went out the porthole when he saw that.
He barely had time to put down the glasses before
jumping fully clothed into the jacuzzi, scooping Chris
up and hungrily fastening his lips around one glistening
nipple as she laughed her delight. Finally! she
thought. Nothing like a dairy treat to bring them
running... She rewarded Jonah by sending a gush of
sweet milk into his mouth, which he swallowed with a
moan of pleasure. Jonah awkwardly began removing
clothing and flinging it with a splat against the wall.
This was doubly difficult, first because the clothing
was wet and heavy, and second because he was attempting
to do it without removing his mouth from Chris's breast.
His entry into her was fast and totally devoid of
manners and decorum. Their frantic fucking soon doubled
the turbulence within the jacuzzi.
It was over soon, much too soon for Chris's taste,
but it had been spirited, and that was enough to create
a pleasant afterglow. Chris sipped her spumante,
settled back against Jonah's muscled chest and listened
to the panting in her ear slowly lessen. Strange how it
almost matches the rhythm of the engine noise, she
thought. Jonah is really in tune with the workings of
this ship. She realized that she was also breathing
hard; she had forgotten how exhausting making love in a
hot jacuzzi could be. The cold liquid hitting her
throat and exploding into fizz served to re-energize
her. Bubbles without, bubbles within, she said to
herself. Nice combination. Speaking of 'within'...
She gave Jonah, who was still inside her, a playful
squeeze with her vaginal muscles and felt him re-harden
in response. He reached around the girl in his lap,
vainly trying to contain a breast in each hand (there
was far too much there for him to hold), and returned
the squeeze, which this time sent twin jets of milk
several feet over the edge of the jacuzzi.
"Amazing," he said for the third or fourth time.
"And you say you've never had a baby?"
"No," she said. She craned her neck to try to
look at him. "Does it bother you that I'm somewhat of a
medical oddity?"

"No! No! I don't consider you an 'oddity' at

all. I never realized how much more -- is 'feminine'
still an acceptable word today? -- milky breasts are.
They're doing what they were designed to do -- how can
one not find sensuality in that?"
Chris smiled, snuggled deep into his shoulder, and
Kegeled him hard enough to elicit another deep moan.
"I'm so glad you said that," she said. "So many men are
-- how shall I put this -- less than enthusiastic about
my having milk. Even after being this way for more than
a year, I myself am still exploring new aspects of
lactating." As she said this, a new one entered her
mind. "Say, Jonah, can you turn off the bubbles for a
minute?"
"The switch is right here. I'm sorry, are they
getting to you?"
"No, I just want to see something."
The bubbles vanished. The surface of the jacuzzi
became calm. She slid Jonah out of herself, moved
around to the opposite side, facing him, and looked down
at her breasts, most of which were below the water
level. They would be bobbing slightly if they weren't
so firm. She allowed herself to feel the hot water
surrounding them, making them feel even heavier and
larger. She remembered reading how taking a hot bath
was recommended for women who had trouble with
engorgement, as it helps with letdown. She released her
mental control, and sure enough milk began pouring out
of her. She looked down to see what she had wondered
might happen: billowing white clouds of milk forming
around her bosom as it jetted from her nipples and began
dispersing in the water. She looked further down into
the water and saw clear tendrils drifting up from her
pussy and realized that her pussy juice was also seeping
out and mixing with the water, forming swirling patterns
like those that form when sugar is allowed to slowly
dissolve. The roiling clouds of milk and nectar spread
outward as Chris continued to pour herself forth. This
was another new post-Accident experience...and this one
was having the same effect as all the others, making her
horny again. She wanted to add a new experience, right
away...
"Quick, darling, turn the bubbles back on!" she
cried as she felt her level of arousal increase. As
soon as the jets sprang back to life, Chris straddled
one, letting the full force of the jacuzzi strike her
clit head on. She thrilled to the feeling of the high
pressure blasting across her clit, between her legs, and
up the crack of her ass. She came instantly, sending
more milk and pussy juice into the water with a force
rivaling that of the jets themselves. When she was
done, the water was foaming from all the protein that
Chris had injected into it. Jonah could only sit
dumbfounded, realizing only vaguely that some of his
semen had also just joined this unusual mixture. He
also felt very lightheaded. As reason returned he
realized that they had been in the jacuzzi for far
longer than the recommended time; both he and Chris were
risking heatstroke if they continued.
They climbed out and began toweling each other

off. "Chris, we dock in Montego Bay tomorrow morning,

and we ship out again the next day. I wonder, if you
haven't already made plans for tomorrow night, if you
would like to join me for a very special kind of party."
"A party sounds nice. What makes it 'very
special'?"
"Well, it's rather hard to describe what usually
goes on, but let us just say that one, games of chance
are involved, and two, a woman of your particular
talents would be a major center of attraction there."
"Now just what kind of woman does that make me?"
she said, letting a note of mock anger creep into her
voice. She was intrigued, but wanted to tease him a
little.
"When we're in port, several of us meet up with
some interesting local people for a little gambling and
a little entertainment not unlike what you've just
demonstrated."
"Some sort of kinky Caribbean-style orgy-slashpoker party, is that what you're inviting me to?"
"Not exactly, but that's not outside the realm of
possibility. Interested?"
Maybe it was the residual thrill from the new
experiences she'd just had that was making her crave
another, or maybe it was just being in "vacation mode"
that made Chris hesitate only a second or so before
agreeing to meet Jonah at a certain time and place the
next night.
Later, in his cabin, as she felt both sleep and
Jonah's arms encircle her, Chris wondered how it was
that Jonah knew how agreeable she would be to a
proposition that would put most women off almost
immediately. Are my pheromones that strong? Or is he
just that good? thought Chris just before the lateness
of the hour -- God, could it really be after four? -finally overtook her.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN:
THE ROAD TO NEGRIL
Christine, carry-on in hand, came down the
gangplank of the Carib Mermaid, blinking against the
brutal Jamaican sun despite a pair of dark sunglasses.
She was grateful for the cruise director's advice
concerning the application of sunscreen; she was sure
that without it she would fry in minutes. Even with the
blast-furnace heat, the bright day and sweet air were
refreshing and stimulating. As her feet touched the
ground, she realized that she was standing on soil that
was not part of the United States for the first time in
her life. She felt a thrill. Chris could hardly wait
to start the next phase of her vacation.
Clearing customs did not take as long as she had
anticipated, but she did wish the customs area had made
better use of fans. If this heat keeps up, I'll have to
consume my weight in pia coladas to keep cool, she
thought. She was just beginning to wonder what had
happened to the rest of her luggage when she happened to
spot it at the curb, being loaded into a large van with

the name of her resort emblazoned across the side. She

also saw three people, two men and a woman, waiting to
climb aboard. Chris recognized them as being fellow
travellers aboard the Mermaid, although she had not
formally met any of them.
The fellow driving the van was a local, a man
well-versed in the art of welcoming tourists. He
immediately put his passengers at ease, joking with them
and giving them the nickel tour as he spirited them off
to the west, away from Montego Bay, counterclockwise
around the coastline toward Negril. Chris couldn't get
over how lush everything was. She had no idea that
there could be this many shades of green. As they sped
along the main highway, frequently passing run-down
buses crammed with people and sloshing cans of spare
petrol, Chris wished the driver would slow down so that
she could better take in the scenery.
The driver was busy admiring the view as well, but
his was from the rear view mirror tilted down in Chris's
direction. At that moment the van struck a large
pothole, almost throwing all four passengers out of
their seats. Chris's large unsupported breasts bounced
sharply and heavily inside her tank top, reminding her
of how full they were after having converted many of the
calories she'd consumed in her last, undeniably decadent
breakfast aboard ship into mother's milk. The ache from
the jolt partially disguised the beginning tingles of a
let-down enough so that Chris could not prevent the
leakage of a few drops of milk from her suddenly erect
nipples before recognizing what was happening and
mentally shutting down the process. She stole a glance
down at herself; sure enough, wet spots had appeared on
the rose-colored fabric. Chris hoped that they weren't
noticeable.
But they were. As Chris returned to the window,
she suddenly felt eyes on her. She looked back to find
the two passengers sitting across from her doing that
trying-not-to-stare-but-can't-help-themselves look. The
woman appeared especially shocked, and was not hiding it
very well. She was a rather plain-looking brunette with
an unremarkable figure and a poor fashion sense. Chris
had a feeling that this woman was probably not going to
find what she was looking for on this trip. The man in
a straw hat sitting next to her was her male equivalent
to such an extent that Chris figured they were brother
and sister. Teaming up on the great adventure, eh?
Chris thought. He was openly staring at her. Chris
covered her protruding nipples with her forearm in a
practiced gesture, but this only succeeded in pushing
the luscious roundness of her breasts up above the
neckline of her top, widening the nerdy little guy's
eyes even further.
Chris was embarrassed, and she hated being
embarrassed. She was proud of her body; it was her most
prized possession, and she resented anyone who made her
feel otherwise. "Something I can help you with?" Chris
said with sufficient acid in her voice to startle
"Frick" and "Frack" (as Chris had mentally named the
brother and sister) into averting their stares to the
passing scenery.

"Forgive us," came a voice from the fourth

passenger, a fortyish man with leathery skin and graying
temples -- not extremely handsome, but certainly
passable. French Canadian, by his accent. "I am sure
none of us are accustomed to such sights."
Chris managed a thin smile. "I assume you mean
the scenery."
"Scenery, yes. Of course." He smiled back, then
glanced at Chris's arm nestled deep within the twin
wonders of her breasts. "Are you in any discomfort?
Shall I ask the driver to stop?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I apologize if I
shocked you. It's been a while since I last..." -- she
paused to find an appropriate way to phrase it -"...took care of this."
"Shocked? By no means. I find it
quite...intriguing, no? But I embarrass you. Let us
speak no more about it, eh?"
I'm filing this guy for future reference, thought
Chris. Polite, galant, and not altogether bad looking.
And he's "intrigued" by breast milk...
Suddenly Chris was seized by an urge to use this
opportunity to make "Frick" and "Frack" very
uncomfortable. She allowed her arm to drop into her lap
and even allowed a bit more milk to leak from her
breasts and slightly widen the spots on her tank top.
"No, I don't mind talking about it," Chris said.
"In fact, I rather enjoy it. But, if you'd rather
not..." She was talking to the Canadian, but her eyes
were fixed on the brother and sister, who were staring
out the window at nothing at all, trying to become
invisible.
"Not at all. I just did not wish to seem rude. I
am a bit confused, though. I don't see a baby with
you."
"My daughter is with her father in Europe," Chris
lied. Hell, she thought. I can be anybody I want to
here. "I breastfed her until she was four. I enjoyed
lactating so much that I decided to keep my milk after I
weaned her. I've been publicly campaigning for the
cause of breastfeeding ever since. Breast is best, you
know. Anyway, that was two years ago." She glanced at
the two across from her. "Frack", the sister, was now
doing nothing with her facial expressions to hide her
distaste.
"Forgive me again, but you do not appear to be old
enough to have a six-year-old daughter."
"You're sweet, Monsieur.."
"Please, call me Jean-Claude." The Canadian
extended a slender hand.
Chris swiveled in her seat to face the Canadian,
took his hand, pressed her shoulders back slightly, and
let her nipples come to full erection, pulling the
fabric of her top with them. She wanted to tease these
people until they begged for mercy. God, this was fun!
"So you enjoy having milk, eh?" Jean-Claude
continued.
"My, you are intrigued, aren't you. Yes, I enjoy
it very much. There's no feeling quite like it. I like
what it's done for my figure, and I love how it makes me

more aware of my own body. It's very sensual, very

earthy. It makes me sort of special, as my lovers would
be the first to say." She smiled inwardly as a snort of
disgust came from the direction of "Frack".
Jean-Claude cricked an eyebrow. The beginnings of
an erection were becoming visible in his khakis. "I
remember when my ex-wife nursed our son. She dried up
as soon as she stopped. How is it you are able to keep
-- what was the word you used? lactating? -- for so
long afterward?"
"Oh, you have to keep things stimulated," said
Chris. Unless you get your pituitary scrambled by a
speeding car, she added silently. "My lovers do a lot
in that department. Also, I belong to a sort of club
with other women like myself. We keep each other's milk
flowing as well." Strange that this last part, the most
outrageous of this story, is the truest part, she
thought. For a second she wondered what the other
members of the Lac-Station were doing, then immediately
put the thought out of her mind. No thinking about
work! she scolded herself. She looked again at "Frick"
and "Frack" and almost started laughing. Frick's fixed
stare out the window was beginning to glaze over. He
had removed his straw hat and placed it in his lap,
where he had one hand in a shorts pocket playing a
rousing game of pocket pool. "Frack" was practically
squirming in her seat.
Jean-Claude's eyebrow seemed permanently stuck in
the "up" position. "Even more intriguing. Isn't it a
lot of bother, though? My ex-wife always complained
about being uncomfortable, having to wear pads, leaking
at bad times..." He was placing an inordinate amount of
emphasis on the syllable "ex". Was he getting
interested?
"Yes, there are those things," said Chris. "Like
what just happened, for instance. But the pleasure far
outweighs the disadvantages." She leaned forward, which
deepened her cleavage and accentuated the wetness of her
top. Was Jean-Claude beginning to perspire, even in
this air-conditioned van? "The men I've been with say
there's nothing to compare with making love to a
lactating woman. It makes for some, shall we say,
interesting variations."
"I can only imagine," replied Jean-Claude, as he
wiped absently at his upper lip. "I have never had the
privilege, myself. My ex-wife never let me come near
her when she was nursing."
Chris sat back in her seat and made a show of
plucking the damp cloth of her tank top away from her
skin to help dry it. Poor Jean-Claude, she thought.
I'm doing this to get at "Frick" and "Frack" over there,
and you're getting caught in the crossfire. I may need
to reward you for playing your part so well. She smiled
seductively. "A pity. Well, you might still have a
chance, some day. You can never tell what fate may have
in store." She allowed more milk to leak out, and the
circles grew. "Oh, dear," she said with mock surprise.
"We should stop talking about this. It's making things
worse. Sometimes just thinking about my breasts is
enough to bring on quite a downpour..."

"All right, that's enough!" blurted "Frack".

"Don't you have any shame whatsoever? My word, the
nerve you have! That's...that's disgusting! And you're
upsetting my brother!" She looked nervously at "Frick".
She obviously could not tell that he was in the middle
of an orgasm he was not doing well concealing. He
grimaced rhythmically, his straw hat bouncing happily in
his lap.
"Forgive me a third time, but it appears he is not
at all very upset, unless it is about the condition of
his underwear," Jean-Claude said with a comical grin
that was intended to match the silly one that was slowly
spreading across "Frick"'s face. Chris laughed
heartily, letting her milky jugs jiggle invitingly. She
stifled it down to a chuckle after an angry growl and a
withering glare from "Frack".
There was no more verbal conversation in the van
for the rest of the trip to the resort, but enough body
language was used by Chris and Jean-Claude during that
time to fill volumes.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT:
THE HOTEL
The rest of the drive to the resort was
uneventful. An awkward silence pervaded the interior of
the van as "Frick" continued to glance nervously out the
window, shifting slightly in his cum-soaked shorts;
"Frack" stared bullets at Christine; and Jean-Claude and
Chris exchanged shy smiles. The driver's voice
announcing their arrival at the resort startled all of
them.
As they passed through the gate at the head of the
complex, Chris was dumbstruck by the sheer size of the
place. The main hotel building, at least twenty stories
tall, was just a small part of the overall resort; it
took several minutes to reach it from the gate. There
were smaller bungalows scattered throughout areas so
densely vegetated that they could be called minijungles. A large golf course dominated a large section;
tennis courts and what appeared to be a small shopping
center/swimming pool/spa combination sprawled across
another. The beach was not yet visible, but Chris
figured it must be huge.
The group split up as soon as they went through
the gigantic revolving door at the main entrance. Chris
located a restroom in the lobby and used the opportunity
to express a little milk (her verbal sparring with JeanClaude had gotten her quite excited) and change tank
tops. She then checked in, made arrangements to be
taken back to Montego Bay that night for Jonah's party,
and rode the elevator up to her room. She keyed the
door, stepped in, and immediately squealed with
pleasure. Her room was actually a suite, a thousand
square feet at least, furnished with every amenity a
hedonist could ever want -- far too many luxurious
appointments to list here.
"Way to go, Sherri," Chris said aloud. "Jeremy's
going to shit a brick when he sees the bill." Her

luggage arrived at her suite moments later, and she

busied herself with unpacking. She stopped to take a
break and walked out onto the huge balcony that extended
the length of both the main sitting room and the
adjoining bedroom. She was immediately struck by the
architecture of the hotel. The building was reminiscent
of a Mayan pyramid, with each successive floor smaller
than the one below it. Chris was on one of the top
floors, so the rest of the building spread out below
her. The beach lay beyond a dense grove of palm trees;
only a faint strip of blue ocean was visible above it.
The building was also vaguely horseshoe-shaped, with her
suite located at the bottom of the "U", so she could see
most of this side of the it. The balconies were
positioned along each floor so they were not stacked one
above the other. In this way it was possible for her to
look down upon most of the balconies on this side of the
hotel. Not much privacy that way, thought Chris. Did
the designers do that on purpose, so that people could
see each other? This is a singles resort, after all.
The idea is to meet lots of people...
Unconsciously she began scanning along the
building, looking for fellow guests. She was curious
about what kinds of people frequented a resort like
this. She knew that she probably wouldn't have picked
this place on her own. It was only because Sherri had
convinced her to choose a location more or less at
random, and then had made all the arrangements herself,
that Chris was here at all. Still, she felt the
visceral thrill associated with knowing that practically
anything she did here would be a new adventure for her,
and after all, wasn't that what had essentially driven
her entire existence, at least ever since The Accident
had opened new sensual vistas for her? Live it up, she
told herself. You're on vacation. You're here to get
rested, get drunk, get laid, get tanned, get away, get
pampered, get laid...did I say "get laid" twice? Guess
that says a lot for my priorities. Time's a-wastin',
girl. Might as well start sending out signals now.
Chris went back into the sitting room and over to
the bureau, upon which sat a bowl brimming with fresh
tropical fruit and an ice bucket with a small bottle of
champagne in it. She popped a wedge of passion fruit
(how appropriate, she thought) into her mouth, opened
the champagne, poured a glass, then blithely stepped out
of her clothes and walked stark raving gloriously naked
back out onto the balcony. The hot sun felt good on her
skin and was reflected back in the highlights of her
hair, in the drops of sweat that began to appear on her
forehead, and in the drops of milk that began to appear
at the tips of her long, hard nipples. She squinted
upward, looking at the undersides of the balconies above
her, actually hoping that someone -- male or female,
didn't matter which -- would see her standing there
broadcasting her availability and shout a greeting. She
was too near the top floors, though; there weren't very
many rooms above her, and what few there were appeared
empty.
"Still, how's this for brazen?" Chris said softly.
"God, sometimes I wonder if there's any end to what my

crazy mixed-up glands will drive me to do." She

chuckled to herself. "Jeremy would go ape-shit if he
could see me now." She sipped at her champagne, then
playfully dribbled some on her nipples. The cold
carbonation teased them, and they stiffened even more
and began to leak again.
A faint shriek snapped her out of her daydream.
Her eyes swung around, seeking the source. It was a
female voice, and the sound was not one of fear or pain,
but of surprised ecstasy. Chris glanced across the
length and breadth of the building, but could see
nothing. Another noise, this time a delighted giggle,
the same voice. Now Chris could zero in on it. She
tracked it to a balcony two floors below and to the left
of her, and what she saw almost made her drop her glass.
A broad, tanned, muscular back first greeted her
sight. When her brain next allowed her eyes to move,
she saw that it belonged to a nude male who was supine
over an equally nude female in the classic missionary
position. The woman's long blond hair spilled out
across the lawn chair she was splayed across; her large
breasts moving like gelatin molds on the San Andreas
during a 7.5. Her lover pounded away at her like a
jackhammer. She had three fingers of one hand in her
mouth, sucking on them like they were a cock,
occasionally screeching in pleasure as he hit her clit a
certain way. Boy her voice carries, Chris thought
absently through her growing arousal. She could see
sunlight reflecting off the man's wet rod as it
momentarily appeared from the depths of the woman's
pussy. She saw her legs come up and her heels press
down on his buttocks, pushing him deeper inside. He
drove on and on for what seemed like forever as Chris
watched the woman come once, twice, thrice in rapid
succession.
Chris felt her own thighs becoming slick with
juice as her cunt pulsed in response to what she was
witnessing. She was barely aware of the warm twin
trickles of white that careened from her nipples down
along the undersides of her swollen breasts and along
her stomach to be funneled by the V of her crotch into a
single stream that flowed down along her hairless labia
to mix with the nectar issuing therefrom. Absently, she
reached for a nipple, tugged it gently, and promptly
exploded in a surprisingly sudden orgasm. Fluids gushed
in multiple fountains from her body, splashing on the
balcony floor and arcing out like twin shower heads into
the warm Jamaican afternoon. Chris felt her thighs
trembling and, fearing a repeat of the incident on the
Mermaid, threw both hands out to steady herself on the
balcony railing. In so doing, she flung her champagne
glass over the side. Chris yelped and tried to catch
it, but it fell and shattered against the sloping wall
of the building below.
Chris's yelp and the sound of breaking glass were
enough to distract the couple sufficiently for them to
stop their wild fucking and look upward, right into
Chris's eyes. She was mortified, but managed to smile
weakly and wave to them. She was surprised when they
both smiled broadly and waved back.

"Hello up there!" the man yelled.

"Hi," Chris shouted back, though not nearly as
heartily. "I'm terribly sorry if I disturbed you."
"Far from it!" the woman said. "I was hoping
somebody was watching. We're really into that!"
"Did you enjoy it?" the man asked.
"Well, now that you've caught me, I might as well
confess. Yes, I did. That was really amazing." Chris
was blushing right down to her nipples.
"Say, you're really fantastic looking," the man
said. "Do you walk around naked all the time?"
Boy, people don't mince words at this place,
thought Chris. He did have her dead to rights, though,
completely nude and playing Peeping Thomasina. "No, I
really don't," she said. "Something about this place
really makes you lose your inhibitions."
"You said it!" the woman shouted. "I've been here
a week, and already I've done shit I wouldn't have
dreamed about back in Baltimore!"
"Hey, you want to join us?" the man said, his
erection beginning to return.
"Maybe another time, OK?"
"No problem! See you later!" With that, Chris
was dismissed. The two turned to each other and fell to
it again, as if Chris had never interrupted them at all.
Chris watched for another few minutes in total
amazement. As she watched the man penetrate the woman
anally while she drove a buzzing golden vibrator in and
out of her cunt, one thought repeated itself over and
over in her head:
I'm really going to enjoy myself here.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE:
THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART ONE
Christine examined herself in the full-length
mirror that comprised the closet door of the hotel
suite's bedroom, wondering whether the tight, beige
slacks and floral bikini top she'd just changed into
were appropriate. Jonah had told her to dress very
casually for the party in Montego Bay that evening.
"Don't wear anything you wouldn't mind getting beer
spilled on" had been his exact words. He had warned her
that this gathering was virtually certain to become
rowdy, raunchy, rude, and riotous. The recurrent
party's guests, mostly select crewmembers from the Carib
Mermaid and whatever other cruise ships happen to be in
port at the time, with some local ladies thrown in for
good measure, usually didn't consider the bash a success
unless several arrests for disturbing the peace and/or
lewd and lascivious behavior were involved. Ever the
gentleman, Jonah had described in painstaking detail the
highlights of the last such party he had been to,
roughly four months earlier, so as to give Chris an idea
of what she would be agreeing to if she accepted his
invitation. However, he had done so while they had been
furiously copulating in a jacuzzi, and so Chris was
fuzzy on most of the details, but she seemed to remember

him saying something about a woman who had a unique

method for turning bananas into projectiles, and
something else about a German shepherd, or was it a
German purser?
It sounded positively decadent, like something
that was custom-made for the sexual explorer that the
hormonal stew that constantly raged, albeit under tight
control, through Chris's bloodstream as a result of The
Accident had awakened within her. She was fairly
certain that Jonah would not have invited her had she
not inadvertently demonstrated her ejaculatory and
lactation talents to him while she thought she was alone
on the Mermaid's forward observation deck. Something
told her that the women at this party would all be there
because of some special sexual gift they possessed.
This intrigued and excited her to the point that she was
able to dismiss less intense feelings of exploitation
that threatened to ruin the sexual charge she felt
building up inside her. She took another look in the
mirror. Yes, the slacks were tight enough to
brilliantly accentuate her beautifully rounded ass; the
bikini top cupped just enough of her incomparable
breasts to tease but not give too much away. She
retrieved a thin jacket from the closet to protect
against the cool night breeze and was ready to go. Just
before leaving the suite she visited the bathroom long
enough to don a maxi-pad, since she had already started
to moisten in anticipation and didn't want to stain her
slacks with her liquid desire too prematurely. She
remembered when she'd bought those pads for a different
reason. She now used them exclusively to wick up her
copious pussy juice; she still had not resumed
menstruating.
She took a particular glee in the looks she got as
she walked briskly through the lobby, her jacket open,
her considerable cleavage flashing into and out of view
as she moved. Here I am in a place with more centerfold
types per square foot than anywhere except maybe
"Baywatch", and I can still turn heads, she thought with
satisfaction.
Outside the hotel she immediately began scanning
the parking area for the yellow taxi she had reserved an
hour before. She was mildly angry when she didn't see
one and was getting ready to go back into the lobby to
phone the cab company again when a loud beep turned her
around. The window of a green taxi rolled down and
Jonah Ballwin's winning smile appeared in it.
"I sent your taxi away," he explained as Chris
trotted toward the car. "I wanted to make sure you were
taken directly to the party and not on some wild goose
chase. Hop in." He opened the door from the inside and
Chris plopped onto the seat, her bosom jiggling slightly
as she did so. Jonah, of course, noticed instantly.
"Good Lord, you look fabulous," he said with genuine
admiration, tinged with lust. "You'll be the hit of the
party."
The taxi roared off as soon as the door was
closed, pitching Chris backward, directly into Jonah's
arms. The driver glanced into the rear view mirror and
cackled at the result of his handiwork. "Sorry, mon,"

he said.
"No you're not, not in the slightest," Jonah
replied. "Chris, this is Edward, an acquaintance of
mine. Although he drives like a maniac, we actually
couldn't be in better hands." Chris smiled a greeting,
which Edward returned in the mirror. She then turned to
Jonah, taking his hands in hers.
"I really am looking forward to this," Chris said,
somewhat breathlessly. Jonah looked particularly
delicious in his khakis and a muscle-enhancing polo
shirt -- a decidedly different look from the uniform she
was used to seeing him in. "In fact, I'm a little
surprised at myself as to how much. Even though I'm a
lot braver these days about such things as a result of
all the changes I've been through, I have to confess to
being a little apprehensive about what might happen
tonight. Promise me you'll never be far away." She
squeezed his hand tightly.
Edward answered for him. "Don't you worry, pretty
lady," he boomed. "My man Jonah is a gentleman of the
old school. He'd never let any harm come to one as
lovely as yourself. But if by some chance Jonah fall
down on the job, ol' Edward, he'll be around."
"You're coming to the party too?" Chris asked.
This time Jonah answered. "Edward is one of this
particular gathering's 'founding fathers', so to speak.
He's the designated driver, in fact. Rumor has it he's
had more fun with the guests in his cab than they did at
the party!"
"Hold your tongue, Jonah!" Edward said, laughing.
"Ol' Edward, he don't want all his secrets told right
away!"
"Well, Chris, I certainly understand your
apprehension," Jonah said, turning his attention back to
her. "Since a great deal of my job involves helping
people relax, I was fortunately able to anticipate your
nervousness and take the appropriate countermeasures."
"You're starting to talk like a naval officer
again," Chris chided as Jonah reached beneath the seat
and extracted a large thermos and two glasses. Before
Chris could say "margarita," Jonah presented her with a
large one, complete with salt around the rim of the
glass. "Ah, but this is more like the second officer of
a pleasure ship," she said as she sipped.
The ride from Negril back to Montego Bay was a
long one. The three people in the taxi chatted amiably
as the kilometers passed. Chris did not notice that
Jonah was very careful to keep her glass full, and as a
result she imbibed more than she thought she was. As
her comfort level increased, Chris related the story of
her trip to the hotel and her first contact with some of
her fellow vacationers. Edward's eyes widened as Chris
laughingly talked about her various milky emissions
during those episodes. A look passed between him and
Jonah that Chris didn't catch, but which nonverbally
said something like "This may be your best yet."
As they approached Montego Bay, Chris began to
notice that she felt a lot more "comfortable" than she
should be after only a couple of margaritas. She
recognized the sensation -- one of total calm rather

than intoxication. It was just like when she had gone

to an oral surgeon to have her wisdom teeth removed. He
had shot her so full of intravenous Valium that a
supernova could have gone off right in front of her and
she wouldn't have given a damn. She suddenly realized
that the drinks had been spiked; she had been
tranquilized. That son of a bitch, she thought. I said
I needed to relax, but I didn't need to be sedated!
Look at him -- he hasn't taken a single sip, the
bastard! Well, I feel too damn good to be pissed off,
but that's it for Captain Ballwin here.
Chris smiled at how easy her decision to dump
Jonah at her earliest opportunity had been. By drugging
her and thereby squelching any complicated emotional
internal struggle over her feelings for him that she
might ordinarily feel while considering a decision of
this type, Jonah had unwittingly hastened his own
dismissal. Still, Chris needed him to get into and out
of this party, so she decided to keep him around until
the end of the evening..
This second decision had come at a most propitious
moment, for just then Edward turned the cab down a
poorly lit Montego Bay side street to park in front of a
small restaurant whose partially burnt-out neon sign
read simply, "CAFE".
"We have arrived," Edward said needlessly.
Gird your grid, girl, Chris said to herself.
Feeling like I do now, I'm ready for anything. Now I
know why Valium is so popular.
CHAPTER FIFTY:
THE SAILOR'S SOIREE, PART TWO
"Where is everybody?" asked Christine.
"We be early a bit," Edward replied. "My man
Jonah here, he like being first to come and last to
leave."
"With any luck at all, good friend, I won't be the
first to come," Jonah cracked. Edward made the windows
of the taxi vibrate with his loud laughter. Chris was
only mildly amused; she was still upset with Jonah for
having spiked her margaritas with Valium -- or at least,
as upset as her tranquilized mood would allow.
"Come on, let me show you around," said Jonah, and
with that he practically dragged Chris by one wrist out
of the cab. Chris was a bit concerned by the amount of
time it took to get her feet firmly beneath her.
The threesome did not directly approach the front
door of the darkened cafe, but instead walked through a
very narrow alley around to the back. A particularly
smelly dumpster almost completely occluded a ratty
screen door over a heavy wooden one that marked the back
entrance. Jonah used both fists to pound out a
complicated rhythm on the doorjamb which was clearly the
entrance code. The inner door opened a crack. Chris
couldn't make out specifics in the dim light beyond, but
she could tell that whoever was guarding the entrance
was a very large person indeed. Jonah mumbled something
incoherent, but which sounded like French, and the door

swung wide to admit them.

As Chris took the screen door from Jonah, who
preceded her, she was not prepared for how strong the
spring on it would be. She let go of it too soon, and
the door slammed hard into her right side, her breast on
that side catching most of the impact. Chris's eyes
went wide with unexpected pain. That hurt, a lot! She
suddenly realized that both of her breasts were very
tender, and had swollen enough over the past hour or so
to cause the straps of her bikini top to begin to cut
into her shoulders. At first she discounted it,
thinking that while on vacation it wouldn't be possible
to maintain her normal schedule of draining her breasts
of their marvelous bounty, and so a little discomfort
was to be expected. Of course she hadn't been able to
bring along her milking chair or any of the other
accessories she usually used at home to keep her milk
flowing freely. All she had with her was a small handheld breast pump -- and that was back at the hotel. She
hadn't thought she'd need anything special; since having
left home she had relied on her mental control over her
lactation abilities to keep from becoming uncomfortably
full. It seemed now that her control was not doing the
job, and she was becoming painfully engorged. After a
second or two of puzzlement -- the last time she'd been
this over-full was that landmark first time in Dr.
Ellis's office -- she attributed it to having been
unknowingly pumped full of Valium, and so was
unconcerned. Besides, in her current condition, it was
biochemically impossible for her to be concerned about
anything. When the Valium wore off, she'd regain full
control, she was sure. Until then, she'd just have to
squirt hard and long at her earliest opportunity. As
she felt her right breast throb in time to her pulse,
she hoped that opportunity would not be long in coming.
As she entered the back room, she saw that indeed,
the person at the door was huge. He had to be close to
seven feet tall, with the frame of a world-class
bodybuilder. It almost bowled Chris over, then, when
she saw that atop this Arnold-like body was a head
sporting a face painted with outlandish cosmetics, a
beehive blonde wig, and baubles dangling from triply
pierced ears. Oh, brother, she said to herself. I
thought I was prepared for anything. Something tells me
this is going to be one weird night. A transvestite
bouncer. What's next?
She got her answer within a few seconds. After
greeting the bouncer, Jonah turned to Chris and said,
"Leslie here tells me there's practically no one here
yet. Why don't we take this opportunity to grab
something to eat? Experience has taught me that one
should not party on an empty stomach."
The suggestion started a rumble in Chris's
stomach, and so she nodded her assent. Jonah turned and
roughly slammed open a pair of double doors to his
immediate left, making quite a racket in the process.
"Enrique, you old son of a bitch, are you in here?" he
yelled simultaneously.
A thin reedy tenor voice immediately rebounded
from the large kitchen beyond the double doors. "Hey!

Fuck off, you gas-bloated spawn of a venereal wart!" it

said.
"Good to see you too, you spirochete," Jonah said
as he caught up in a bear hug a skinny, thickly
mustachioed man who suddenly appeared from behind a rack
of hanging pots and pans. Chris made a mental note.
She was seeing quite a transformation starting to take
place in her young Jonah. The veneer of the polished,
polite second officer was peeling away to reveal an
earthy, beer-swigging hedonist beneath. So far she was
intrigued by what she was seeing, but wasn't sure she'd
continue to like it as the evening progressed and the
party got wilder, as it was certain to do. She'd
already decided to blow Jonah off for having drugged her
-- she was beginning to see that she might have to do so
earlier than she'd originally thought.
Jonah broke the embrace and turned Enrique to face
Chris. "Enrique, this is the milker I told you about,"
he said.
What the hell kind of an introduction is that,
Chris thought. If I weren't so full of happy juice, I'd
be pissed. She was therefore surprised to hear herself
laugh. She extended her hand. "I've never been
referred to quite like that before," she said. "I think
I prefer Christine."
"Of course," Enrique said, kissing the back of her
hand. His mustache tickled. It was all Chris could do
to keep from drawing away in reflex. "Leave it to Jonah
to start getting crude before the first beer has even
been spilled."
"We're starved," Jonah complained. "Have you got
anything back here we can nibble on before the party
gets going? Besides Christine, I mean."
Enrique encircled Chris's shoulders with one arm
and was openly staring at her breasts. As always, when
she felt eyes on her bustline, her nipples became
instantly erect, pushing against the material of her
bikini top and making the straps dig deeper into her
shoulders. Without glancing up, Enrique made a vague
motion with the other hand and said, "A tray of stuffed
shrimp just came out of the oven. Help yourself."
Jonah promptly disappeared deeper into the
kitchen. Chris tried to follow, but Enrique held her
fast. "I'm wondering whether you could do me a great
favor before joining Jonah."
"That depends greatly on what it might be,"
replied Chris.
"I am currently working on a lobster bisque that
is already the best in these islands, but I'm looking
for something that will make it absolutely unique. I
have run a bit short of cream, and I was wondering if
you might be able to provide the missing ingredient."
Where Enrique was still staring left no doubt as
to what that ingredient might be. Chris tried to be
appalled at Enrique's forwardness, but the Valium and
her reconsideration of what this evening was all about
prevented her. In fact, she was surprised to feel the
mere suggestion of releasing her milk trigger the
familiar tingle which signalled a pending letdown. The
tingling grew rapidly in intensity until Chris knew that

her top would soon be soaked if she didn't try to close

down the letdown mentally. She invoked her usual
procedure and went wide-eyed when to her dismay it
failed to lessen the building sensation. She realized
that she had better do something fast.
She smiled and said, "I've always wanted to be
part of a culinary masterpiece. Lead the way, Monsieur
Chef."
Enrique responded with a lecherous grin and led
her through the large kitchen to a huge stove, atop
which was a large pot. The unmistakable smell of
lobster bisque steamed from it. Jonah was nowhere to be
found.
Enrique handed Chris a glass measuring cup and
indicated the door to a pantry off to one side,
suggesting that she could go there and express the milk
privately. Chris knew there wasn't time for that, and
decided to give Enrique a show. Wordlessly, she pushed
away the offered cup, reached behind her neck, and
untied the straps to her bikini top. As soon as it fell
away, her nipples grew to full erection and immediately
began dripping milk at a fairly rapid pace. Enrique's
lips peeled back from his teeth in shock at the view
before him.
Chris turned to the pot, which Enrique hurriedly
uncovered. The warm steam rising from it curled about
Chris's burgeoning boobs, which her height placed just
above the edge of the pot. The moisture and heat acted
just like a hot shower, kicking the letdown reflex into
high gear. Milk began streaming from Chris's nipples
even before she had a chance to begin milking herself.
The force of the twin blasts striking the inside surface
of the pot made the same sort of sound that milking a
cow into a metal bucket makes. Her milk made white
swirls in the bubbling surface of the bisque as it
poured in from above. Chris closed her eyes against the
rising pleasure of the release and began tugging hard on
her nipples, feeling her fingers grow slippery and milk
running along her hands and down her upper arms as she
worked. Somewhere in the fog of her building orgasm -Boy, this is a quick one, she thought distantly -- she
felt another pair of hands on her breasts and dimly
realized that Enrique was standing behind her, gently
trying to replace her hands with his own. She let her
arms drop to her sides as Enrique took over the task.
He was surprising adept at coaxing jet after jet of milk
from her throbbing breasts, squeezing and tugging as
fast as he could. The flow continued unabated for what
seemed like forever and was probably actually a good ten
minutes before Chris finally gave in to the orgasm she
had been trying to keep at bay. Enrique felt her
buttocks tighten and tremble against him as she
whimpered and shuddered and came, her breasts giving up
a final, amazingly long, solid arc of milk as her climax
reached its peak. The maxi-pad Chris had donned before
leaving the hotel just barely was enough to contain the
force and volume of her southern squirt. It was now
completely soaked and completely useless.
Chris came down quickly from the orgasm, blinked
her eyes open, and noted with some satisfaction that the

liquid level in the pot had risen appreciably. Her

wondrous, milk-slick breasts gleamed proudly in the dim
light of the kitchen, her nipples refusing to lose their
thick erection. Enrique, oddly, was now completely
ignoring Chris and was instead staring down into the pot
of lobster bisque, stirring it almost as if caressing
it, and frequently sampling it, his eyes closed in
gastronomic bliss. Chris knew then that Enrique's was a
food fetish, and vaguely wondered what other "unique
ingredients" might be in his other dishes.
Seeing Enrique's fixation on his bisque, she knew
that trying to communicate with him was pointless, and
so as she corralled her bosom back into the bikini top
(which miraculously was still dry), she looked around
for Jonah. She found the tray of stuffed shrimp Enrique
had mentioned, untouched. She wolfed a few down. There
was a tang in the stuffing she could not identify and
wasn't sure she wanted to. A quick inspection of the
rest of the kitchen could not turn up her escort. She
realized with a start that she was now on her own.
Briefly she considered using the opportunity to make a
strategic retreat, but remembered that had no money with
her. She would be alone at night in Montego Bay trying
to hitch a ride to Negril. Not a good idea. Besides,
her animal side, boosted by the lack of inhibitions the
Valium was still providing, was still growling within,
telling her not to miss the party but to become the hit
of it. She could already feel her breasts refilling.
The night was young. She decided to make it even more
memorable than it already was.
Chris found the double doors marking the entrance
to the rest of the cafe. She stood there for a few
seconds, then suddenly reached into her slacks, removed
the soaked maxi-pad, and threw it into a corner, where
it landed with a soggy splat. She took a deep breath,
stripped off her bikini top, and stuffed it into the
pocket of her windbreaker, which, unzipped as it was,
now only barely covered her upper body. Her tightened
nipples pointed the way as she stepped through the doors
and into the heart of the Sailors' Soiree. "Geronimo,"
she whispered.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE:
THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART THREE
What surprised Christine the most upon emerging
from the kitchen into the main room of the cafe was the
immediate increase in the ambient noise level. The
double doors through which she strode had to be
soundproof, because the racket that greeted her entrance
was sudden and almost mind-numbingly loud. Where did
all these people come from? she thought, mildly
confused. When we arrived there was almost no one here.
How long was I milking into that pot of lobster bisque
anyway? The clock on the wall was no help, since she
hadn't noted the time when they arrived, but it told her
that it was already well past ten p.m. The raucousness
of the crowd told her that she had already missed the
party's preliminaries.

The party had broken up into a series of miniparties, each with one of the cafe's very large circular
tables as its focus. People seemed to have gravitated
toward particular areas; there was very little traffic
between tables. Chris found herself to be essentially
the only "social butterfly" in the room. As she came
closer to the nearest table, she saw that each table was
a sort of miniature stage, with a different activity
going on atop it. It didn't take but a moment to
realize that each activity was intensely sexual in
nature. Another moment later Chris realized that even
though her incredible, bare breasts were in almost full
view, covered only by her unzipped windbreaker, her
state of undress was more the norm than the exception.
People were dressed (or not) in all manner of costume,
reminiscent of Mardi Gras or Carnaval. Feathers,
sequins, lame', rhinestones, beads, and gewgaws of all
descriptions dotted bodies all over the room, male and
female alike. I'm really underdressed, Chris thought,
then laughed aloud at her inadvertent play on words.
Her curiosity and her animal side drew her toward the
nearest table, from which very little noise was
emanating.
As Chris approached the first table, all she could
see were the backs of several men, all bent over and
clustered about the center of the table. A woman's head
and shoulders stuck out above the group; she was
evidently sitting on the tabletop. She appeared to be
nude. The look on her face was that of the cat who'd
eaten the canary. She was stroking the heads of two of
the many men who surrounded her. As Chris got close
enough to see through the crowd, she gaped. The woman's
breasts were of a size that the word "elephantine" was
barely adequate to describe. Each was at least the size
of a large watermelon; Chris couldn't think of anything
appropriate to compare them to exactly. Her areolae
were the size of saucers, and they were capped with
nipples the size and shape of upside-down cupcakes. The
men were busy quietly caressing and kissing these
monstrous mammaries, the ragged scars on which gave away
their artificiality. Some of the men were openly
masturbating. The woman had to be carrying gallons of
silicone inside her. She was sitting Indian-style, but
her lap was completely obscured by the huge globes of
tit-flesh that rested on it. Just at that moment one of
the men grunted and came, shooting an arc of semen onto
one immense nipple, just missing the cheek of another
man. The woman smiled and winked at Chris, who smiled
weakly in return, turned, and proceeded to the next
table.
Sitting atop the second table was a pair of nude
women, both dark haired, very thin, and fairly flatchested. As Chris approached and was able to make out
their facial features more clearly, she saw that they
were twin sisters. One was in the process of wiping the
last vestiges of what appeared to be shaving cream from
her crotch with a damp towel, which she handed to one of
the men who were sitting in a ring around the circular
table. She had evidently just finished shaving off her
pubic hair as her sister had also done. From the same

man the woman received two identical rubber penises

attached to flat rubber bases to which were glued
thatches of fake black hair such as what one might find
on a Halloween fright wig. She handed one to her
sister, then took from the man a large tube of what
appeared to be some type of adhesive. She and her
sister smeared copious amounts of this material on the
bases of their dildos, glued them to their naked pubes,
and adjusted them so that the penises pointed downward.
They then began taunting the men surrounding them,
stroking their "members" and cooing suggestive come-ons
at them. Chris surmised that they were simply waiting
for the adhesive to set before proceeding. From a safe
distance she watched as the women spat on their fingers
and used the saliva to lubricate their labia (although
from the looks of it, supplementary secretions were
hardly necessary). They then positioned themselves
crotch to crotch, facing in opposite directions, and
inserted their attached penises into the other's vagina.
With practiced precision they moved against each other,
the dildoes sliding out the same distance from each
gaping slit and then disappearing completely from view
as their pussies slammed together with a wet squishing
sound. Chris winced in sympathetic pain as she saw the
skin of their pubes where the penises were attached
stretch under the strain, particularly as the women
neared orgasm and clamped their vaginal muscles more
tightly around their toys. The men cheered them on.
The two nearest the panting mouths of the twins
liberated cocks glistening with pre-come which the women
promptly swallowed whole. Chris found herself stroking
her own bald cunt outside of her slacks as she watched.
Her animal side was telling her that she needed to stop
being an observer and start being a participant. Her
more rational side was almost ready to acquiesce, but
was insisting that a different forum be found. So she
moved on.
At the third table the centerpiece was a
transsexual who was receiving a blow job from a large
man wearing a wig and earrings. Chris recognized the
latter as the bouncer who had greeted them at the back
door of the cafe. In addition, two women were
frantically sucking on the transsexual's budding
breasts, which though developing nicely, had not yet
lost their masculine qualities. Definitely not my cup
of tea, Chris thought, and continued on.
At the fourth table a crowd of both men and women
was watching a man dressed in an oversized baby bonnet
who was lying on his back on the table as a nude, largebreasted woman was finishing smearing baby oil on his
shaved, erect penis that was ten inches long if it was a
millimeter. She then dusted the shining pork sword with
powder and finished fastening a large diaper around the
man. Chris marveled at the woman's strength as she then
lifted the man's upper body off the table and cradled
him in her arms. He made gurgling noises -- amusing to
Chris because they were supposed to emulate a baby's
vocalizations but had a baritone pitch -- and sought out
the woman's nipple, where he latched on and began
nursing avidly. Now this is a little more up my alley,

Chris thought as she made her way to the front of the

crowd. From her improved vantage point, Chris noticed
that the nursing part of the man's fantasy was just that
-- a fantasy. The woman was not producing any milk.
Chris decided she would do something wicked. She stood
up straight and opened her windbreaker, allowing her
magnificent milk machines to come into view. This
caught the woman's eye, and she smiled. The man looked
at Chris out of the corner of his eye but did nothing.
Chris then cupped her full breasts, squeezed, and shot
multiple streams of hot milk across the table, splashing
both participants. The man immediately sat bolt
upright, knocking the woman backward, and thrust both
arms out toward Chris, who merely laughed and quickly
backed away. The man fell into the crowd in his haste
to reach Chris, but by that time she had made good her
escape. I like nursing men, she thought, but I'm not
into infantilism. She realized too late that she
shouldn't have let only one squirt of milk go, because
now that stimulation had kicked her breasts into high
gear. She could feel them reaching maximum capacity and
knew she'd have to do something fast, even if it meant
revisiting Enrique's pot of lobster bisque and topping
it off with more mother's milk.
Fortunately, what eventually transpired at the
fifth table, which was off in a far corner, was enough
to make her end her search. Here was where Christine
would make her mark, where she would put on a sexual
show that would have people talking about the 1995 party
for a long time to come.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO:
THE FRIENDLY COMPETITION
Atop the fifth table was a stunningly lovely Thai
girl, probably just barely of legal age, although with
this crowd it was difficult for Christine to tell what
was legal and what (or who) wasn't. She was in the
final stages of an exotic dance, removing a sequinestudded G-string to reveal a pussy adorned with a Vshaped strip of painstakingly shaved pubic hair. Chris
was amazed at the size and fleshiness of the girl's
labia, the inner lips of which were large enough to
dangle down from her crotch and sway slightly as she
moved. Small, brightly colored baubles hung from them
by tiny clamps; the labia themselves were not pierced.
Intrigued, Chris moved closer.
The girl completed her dance to the appreciative
applause of the group that surrounded the circular
table. Chris was surprised at how much more quiet and
reserved this group was from the hooting, hollering
hordes that surrounded the other tables. The girl
smiled and sat, her heels close in to her butt and her
knees spread wide. Chris almost gasped at the sight
which was revealed by this action. The girl's cunt was,
in a word, cavernous. Nestled between a pair of perfect
thighs was a ragged, gaping hole which looked for all
the world like a train tunnel surrounded by raw meat.
As Chris watched, the girl contracted her vaginal

muscles. To Chris's amazement, the huge void between

the girl's legs started to shrink. The dangling inner
labia appeared to withdraw behind the outer lips, which
then closed over a ruby-red clit that was pulled back
under its hood like a turtle's head under its shell.
When the contraction was over the girl's pussy actually
looked like it might be slightly smaller than average.
Chris had never seen that kind of muscular
control. She prided herself on the strength of her own
pubococcygeus muscle, which she used to control the
force and velocity of her ejaculations and clamp down
hard on the cocks of her lovers, but she certainly
couldn't control the size of her vaginal opening to the
inordinate degree this young lady had just demonstrated.
Her intrigue began to turn into arousal; her animal side
knew that somehow, some way, she had to be part of what
was going on at this table. Her rationale side, now
just a distant flicker of its normal self, wondered why
this girl, out of all the unusual sexual activity
happening around her, should "pull her trigger", so to
speak. Was it the heightened sexual tension that was
resulting from her almost painfully full breasts? That
hardly seemed likely. How many dozens of times over the
past year and a half had she experienced this same
sensation of fullness without succumbing to it, ripping
her clothes off, and fucking and spraying down the first
man (or woman, for that matter) she saw? Why should it
be any different now? She searched for the signs of
residual Valium in her bloodstream and found none. The
drug Jonah (whom she still hadn't seen since they
arrived) slipped her had worn off unnoticed some time
before. Perhaps it was all the pheromones in the air -indeed, among the smells of tobacco and cannabis, beer
and food, the odor of raw sex hung heavy in the
atmosphere.
Chris became vaguely aware of fingertips caressing
her nipples into bullet-hard erections and realized they
were her own. Her windbreaker was in a pile on the
floor, leaving her naked from the waist up. She hadn't
remembered removing it. The girl on the table was now
staring directly at Chris, fondling herself and getting
very wet. The girl shifted her gaze to a man standing
near her. "Thirsty," she said, and pointed to an
untouched bottle of beer in the man's hand. He smiled
and handed it to her. Rather than placing it to her
lips and drinking, however, the girl rocked back on her
tailbone, folded her legs beneath her, and deftly
inserted the beer bottle into her cunt until only the
bottom half protruded. The crowd gasped; Chris's eyes
went wide. The girl then let go of the bottle, holding
it in place with her powerful muscles, and arched her
hips upward. The crowd watched in silent amazement as
the beer inside the bottle disappeared just as if
someone were chugging it. Within seconds the bottle was
empty. The girl removed it; her pussy lips closed
tightly behind it, keeping a full twelve ounces of beer
inside. She then motioned to a woman standing in the
crowd who was dressed in red satin outfit embroidered in
the Oriental fashion. Her companion, no doubt, Chris
figured. From seemingly nowhere the woman produced

three hard-boiled eggs, which the girl promptly

inserted, one by one, into her pussy. Not a drop of
beer was spilled; the eggs almost looked like they were
being sucked up into the girl's vagina. Chris, with the
last shred of her rational side that remained, was
thinking that this must be one of those Bangkok girls
she'd heard of, those girls that can open beer bottles,
smoke cigarettes, or carry razor blades with their
talented twats. Her animal side, far and away the most
prominent now, wanted to leap up on the table and add a
few ounces of breast milk to the mixture within this
girl's apparently bottomless cunt. It was just waiting
for the right opportunity...
The girl closed her eyes and with one index finger
teased open the uppermost portion of her lower lips,
exposing a glistening red clit which she began to
massage gently. Her hips began moving to some unheard
rhythm, rolling up and down like swells on the ocean.
One could almost hear everything inside her sloshing
about. The woman in the red satin motioned to the
people standing directly in front of the girl, warning
them that they might want to stand aside. Foam began to
appear around the girl's pussy lips. Suddenly the
muscles in the girl's abdomen tensed, and one of the
eggs shot out of her cunt and rolled off the edge of the
table. She arched her hips higher and fired the second
one in a long graceful arc where it struck a fellow
standing at another table in the back of the head.
Laughter erupted as he turned to try to find the source
of the missile. The girl then lay flat on the table and
brought her legs up near her head so that her genitals
were directed upward. She tensed, and with a loud
whoosh the third egg was propelled straight up at the
top of a column of froth as she ejected the beer from
her vagina in a single blast. One young gentleman did
not get out of the way fast enough and received the
falling column full in the chest, soaking him to the
skin. More laughter and another round of applause
followed. The girl sat up and bowed her head in
acknowledgement.
"Hell, I can squirt like that -- from three places
-- and I don't need any beer to do it," Chris muttered,
feeling a little jealous of this girl's talents and the
attention she was receiving. Here Chris was standing
with clearly the firmest, most shapely pair of breasts
and nipples in the room fully exposed, and no one was
giving her a second look. Since The Accident Chris had
grown used to being the sexual center of attention
whenever she unleashed her formidable mammaries, but
here such exhibitionism was commonplace.
She hadn't intended for her comment to be heard,
but several people standing in her immediate vicinity
turned to look at her. The girl on the table was once
again staring as well. I must have shouted it, Chris
thought.
"Sounds like a challenge to me," one of the men
said.
"I'd certainly like to see that," a female voice
piped up.
"How's about it, sweetheart?" came another voice.

The girl now had a look of defiance in her eyes.

"No need beer," she said challengingly.
The woman in red satin made her way around the
table to stand in front of Chris. "What about a little
friendly competition? Best squirter wins?" She turned
to the people around the table, rubbing thumb and
forefingers together. "Shall we make it interesting?"
Within seconds a pile of bills, mixed American and
Jamaican money, appeared on the tabletop. The girl
scooted over on the table and patted the area next to
her, indicating that Chris should join her.
Chris's rational side succumbed totally at this
invitation. She was running on full animal instinct
now, just as she had at the Decade Eight wet T-shirt
contest all those months ago. In seconds Chris was
completely nude, sitting next to the Thai girl, her bald
beaver already drooling in anticipation. Chris brought
her hands to her mouth, wet her fingers, and resumed
caressing her nipples. The coolness from the
evaporating moisture caused her erections to reach near
record proportions. It was all she could do to keep
milk from spurting out prematurely.
The two women began masturbating, each soon
becoming oblivious to the other and the crowd around
them. Chris couldn't help cooing and moaning as her
fingers found those touch points that through many hours
of self pleasuring she knew would bring her off quickly
but deeply. Her thumb ran circles around her clit as
two fingers explored the ventral wall of her vagina,
searching for the bump of swollen tissue that marked her
G-spot. The green tablecloth developed a dark stain
under Chris's ass as she got wetter and wetter. She
could feel milk beginning to run down the sides of her
breasts and along her rib cage as she leaned back to get
better penetration with her fingers. She dimly heard
some exclamations as the crowd saw this, and distantly
felt fingers scoop up the rivulets of milk as they
coursed along her skin, presumably to taste it.
Chris could feel the energy of the crowd surround
and permeate her as she built toward orgasm. She felt
them silently urging her on; she felt as if they were
with her and not her competitor. She heard the girl
hissing as she too approached orgasm, so she purposely
began moaning louder to drown her out. Her breasts felt
hot, stretched, as if they would pop. The milk sang in
her breasts, churning inexorably toward the gates of her
nipples, with the irresistability of a tidal wave. With
a loud yell she opened those gates, spouting geysers of
milk upward and outward as a river of molten desire
burst from her pussy just as Chris contracted her
muscles, heightening her orgasm and tightening the
stream of emerging pussy juice into a high-velocity
blast that caught a man who had purposely placed himself
in harm's way full on his extended tongue. He sputtered
slightly, not having expected that much volume, but
smiled and said in a loud voice, "Well, it sure ain't
piss!"
Chris didn't hear him. She collapsed back onto
the tabletop, her hands now frantically milking her
breasts, sending jets of milk that rivaled Old Faithful

in their height and volume into the air as she continued

coming. Juice dribbled from her trembling pussy as she
slowly began to resolve from the pinnacle of her orgasm,
one of her better ones in a long time.
Just as her milk began to slow to a trickle, the
girl next to her reached her zenith. With a keening
banshee wail she came, firing a thin, ropelike stream of
fluid from her pussy, which had once again reached
mammoth proportions as she slammed almost her entire
fist into it. The same man who had caught Chris's
ejaculate had his face down near the girl's cunt now as
well, but he drew back quickly just in time to be missed
by her stream. "Hey!" he yelled. "That came out her
pee hole! She's just pissin'!" Indeed, with the girl's
pussy spread so wide, it was easy to tell that her
ejaculate had a golden tint -- clearly urine.
The man who had made the initial suggestion of the
challenge took one of Chris's now limp, wet hands from
her heaving breast and thrust it into the air. "I
believe we have a winner!" he exclaimed, and a third
round of applause arose. Chris sat up slowly, smiled
her appreciation, and without another word dropped down
onto the floor where she quickly put her slacks and
windbreaker back on. As she collected the wad of bills
from the tabletop (I wonder how much is here, she
wondered), she saw that the crowd was already
scattering, off to find the next new thrill. Left
behind was the Thai girl, who was leaning against the
woman in red satin, her face showing close to tears, her
lower lip trembling. The woman was staring at Chris
with a look that could freeze helium. As Chris watched,
she motioned two large men over to her and began
whispering into their ears, occasionally glancing back
over at Chris with a deep scowl.
Chris, her wits fully about her again, began
looking about for Jonah or Edward. Something told her
it was time to leave the party, and the sooner the
better.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE:
THE ESCAPE
Christine walked over to the cafe's dimly lit bar
and grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins, which she
used to wipe off the droplets of mother's milk which
still adorned her face, neck and chest. She pulled her
open windbreaker aside and quickly surveyed her upturned
breasts. Drops of milk still clung to her thick
nipples. She dabbed them away, but they quickly
reappeared. I can't still be full after the show I put
on, she thought. Well, I can't be walking around
dripping like a leaky faucet. Let's see if this'll work
now...
She tried to ignore the cacophony surrounding her
from the party that was still going full blast in the
cafe as she invoked the mental discipline that she had
used to control her extraordinary milk production since
only a few weeks after The Accident. Thoughts of arid
places or a total lack of moisture, coupled with some

autonomic commands to her pituitary, hypothalamus, and

mammary epithelium that never reach a level of conscious
awareness were usually enough to stop the milk. Drier
than dry, Chris said to herself as she went into a high
alpha state of awareness. The surface of the moon. The
cold reaches of space where any liquid flashes to
molecules in the vacuum... Chris completed the exercise
and again looked down at her breasts. To her dismay
drops of milk were rolling off the tips of her nipples
and running down the lower slopes of her bosom. It
hadn't worked. She was sure that the Valium Jonah had
slipped her, which had interfered the last time she'd
tried to shut down, had long since worn off -- unless
that crafty bastard had also included a galactogogue in
the mix! She remembered from all the reading she had
done after the unexpected development of her
lactogenesis that there were drugs available which
stimulated milk production; they were sometimes used in
nursing mothers when all else failed. If her already
overzealous glands received a pharmacologic stimulus,
who knew what the result might be? Evidently she was
finding out. Yes, she could feel the familiar warmth
and heaviness in her breasts build fractionally just
within these last few minutes. She swore under her
breath, cursing Jonah for turning her into a human
dairy. She had no idea how long it would take for the
stimulant to wear off, but she didn't want to wait
around in this place while it did. She wanted very much
to be back in her hotel room, reclining in the whirlpool
tub, letting the milk stream into the warm water while
her body slowly returned to normal. For any other
woman, even an actively lactating one, that would still
be extranormal, but at least Chris's body would once
again be under her full control.
Chris blinked, startled by a loud rapping on the
bar. She looked up and found the bartender staring
quizzically at her, waiting for her drink order. She
asked for a mimosa. While she waited, she stuffed more
napkins into her windbreaker and zipped it up, hoping
that the makeshift "nursing pads" would stay in place
until she was able to be alone. She looked ridiculous
with the wads of paper making her large bust look
irregularly shaped, but she didn't care. The less
attractive she looked right now, the better. She
received her mimosa and began sipping absently while
scanning the large room for either Jonah or Edward. She
had still not seen either of them since the incident in
the kitchen. It was when she stopped searching with her
eyes and started with her ears that she was able to
filter the unmistakable sound of Edward's booming laugh
from the myriad of other sounds which filled the room.
She finally spotted him standing by the table that had
earlier showcased the twins and their stick-on toys.
She wondered why she hadn't seen him there before.
Chris began threading her way across the room
toward Edward, who was talking with several people and
had not yet seen her approach. She was less than a
dozen feet away when a very drunk woman stumbled and
fell directly in her path. Startled, Chris changed
direction abruptly and collided head-on with a large,

muscular man. She started to mumble an apology, then

realized that this was one of the woman-in-red-satin's
henchmen. He immediately fixed her upper arms in a
viselike grip which no amount of struggling would break.
He was joined by the other man Chris had seen the Red
Satin Woman talking to just after Chris had won her
contest with the Thai girl, who was obviously in the Red
Satin Woman's employ. Each took an arm and, oblivious
to Chris's struggles and shouts for assistance (which
were lost in the din), backed her against a nearby wall.
There the woman in red satin joined them, the same deep
scowl still on her face. The Thai girl was nowhere to
be seen.
"Look, if this is about the money I won, take it.
I don't care," Chris said. "It's in my pants pocket..",
and she tried to reach for it.
"Hold her, boys," the woman commanded, and Chris
found her arms gently but firmly pinned to the wall.
She tried to kick, but her legs were also held against
the wall by the two men's more muscular ones.
The woman stepped close enough to Chris to be
heard over the party. "Screaming or spitting won't
help, if you're considering those," she said. "The
people here will think it's just another kink." Chris
realized she was probably right, and stopped struggling.
"Looks more like the money's stuffed in your coat." The
woman ripped the zipper on Chris's jacket down, and the
napkins spilled out. Chris's naked bosom heaved with
her breathing, her breasts thrust out and apart by the
way her arms were positioned. With the napkins gone,
her nipples once again began leaking milk.
"What a little heifer you are," the woman said,
only partly with contempt. "But to business. I don't
appreciate what you did to my girl, humiliating her like
you did. I wanted to make sure you knew that."
"Just take the money. I meant no harm, believe
me."
"Oh, I know you didn't, which is why I'm going to
let you leave here in one piece tonight. Understand
this -- I don't ordinarily do so, and it's only because
I appreciate your considerable talents that I'm being
magnanimous."
"Then let me go so I can give you the money."
"All in good time, dearie. I plan on having a
little fun first." As she spoke, the woman took one red
satin gloved finger and traced the amazing curves of
Chris's breasts. Chris tried to pull away but was held
fast.
"Please..." she whispered, but she was not heard.
The woman turned and gestured to a young man
standing nearby. He disappeared into the kitchen to
return seconds later holding a tin can whose top had
been crudely punctured by something other than a can
opener. He handed the can to the woman, who approached
Chris with it.
"I happen to like chocolate milk myself," she
purred.
She tipped the can over Chris's tits, and a
drizzle of chocolate syrup came out. She targeted
Chris's nipples perfectly. The syrup mixed with the

milk that was dripping from them and flowed down her
boobs and stomach to where it began to stain her slacks.
The woman bent down and began to lick the mixture from
Chris's boobs and nipples. Despite her discomfort,
Chris couldn't deny that this woman had a talented
tongue. She began to become aroused in spite of
herself. She felt a new surge of milk welling up inside
her and soon was almost fully engorged. The woman
somehow seemed to sense this, for just as the drops from
Chris's nipples turned into streams, she sucked one
nipple deep into her mouth. Chris's breast instantly
responded, sending a jet of hot milk into the woman's
mouth. She drank greedily, stopping every so often to
alternate breasts and pour more syrup on the swollen
nipples. Whenever she released a nipple, milk sprayed
forward with such force and volume that it got the
attention of several people standing nearby.
"Come on, everyone, there's enough for all!" the
woman cried. Chris could only watch incredulously as
people actually began lining up to have a taste of her
chocolate mother's milk. Two by two the people came up
to her, waited until the woman had coated Chris's
nipples with chocolate, and then sucked hungrily,
getting at least a couple of mouthfuls before being
pushed away by the people behind them. Chris continued
to pour forth, even after several people had drunk their
fill. The sensation of all those different mouths
touching her, the different styles and intensities of
their sucking, was getting to Chris; she could feel her
pussy begin to get slick with juice. She was beginning
to fade into that familiar fog of pre-orgasmic bliss,
even as she continued to protest with as loud a voice as
she could muster.
Suddenly, Chris saw the woman in red satin get
shoved sideways with considerable force. She flew into
the crowd, and several people ended up in a heap on the
floor. Next she heard a heavy glass object shatter in
close proximity to her head, accompanied by a wet crunch
and milliseconds later a ragged scream of agony. Her
right arm was released. She glanced up to see one side
of the muscular man's face now a bloody pulp, pieces of
broken glass protruding sickeningly from it. With her
free hand she swung to her left and punched with all her
force at the other goon's testicles. He let go of her
other arm and crumpled to the floor. Chris was free.
Suddenly her arm was grabbed again, but this time by
Edward, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. In
his free hand he held the bloodied handle of what used
to be a beer mug.
The next few minutes were a blur to Chris. She
let herself be half-led, half-dragged out of the
restaurant by Edward, who threw her into the back of his
cab and took off in haste. Chris, in all the confusion,
thought she even heard gunfire in their wake, but wasn't
sure. Maybe it had just been the cab backfiring...
Soon the hum of the cab's engine was the only
sound. It was a huge relief from the constant blast of
sound that had assaulted Chris for the last few hours.
She sat up in the back seat and took stock of herself.
Her slacks were a mess of chocolate syrup, mother's

milk, and blood. She had blood on the side of her face
as well. None of it was her own, she was happy to learn
after doing a quick inventory. Her still naked torso
was smeared with chocolate and saliva. The money in her
slacks was gone. She looked like the sole survivor of a
Friday the 13th movie, and felt like it too.
"Thank you, Edward. You're a life saver," she
managed to croak out. Her throat was raw from all the
shouting she had been doing.
"You don't know the half of it," Edward replied
over his shoulder. "That woman, I've seen her. She
wouldn't have let you go so easy, not without drawing
some blood. I saw you just in time, I think." He
chuckled. "I guess it wouldn't have been the same party
if something like this hadn't happened tonight."
"Where the hell was Jonah during all this?" Chris
asked. She was angry at not having had a chance to
confront him.
"Playing strip poker in another room," Edward
replied. "My man Jonah, he got the gambling jones. He
probably was so into his game he didn't hear a thing."
He looked at Chris in the rear view mirror. "Jees, mon,
you look like the devil's whore herself. Now you just
sit back and close your eyes and let old Edward take you
back home."
"With pleasure," Chris sighed, sinking back in the
seat. "Thank you again, Edward."
"It's what I live for, dear lady," he said, and
chuckled again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR:
THE CLEARING
Christine stirred and began the process of
returning to the world of the living. Though she was
only now beginning to awaken, details began filtering in
despite her closed eyelids. Judging from her seated
position, she was still in the back seat of Edward's
cab. She moved her head and felt matted hair sticking
to her neck. She was still filthy, covered with the
residue from the party-turned-disaster away from which
Edward had abruptly spirited her. She must have dozed
off as the cab sped away back toward Negril. It must be
very late, or perhaps early the next morning.
Everything was strangely quiet; there was no sensation
of motion, no engine or wind noise. They must be
stopped somewhere. Maybe something's wrong, a flat tire
perhaps. She felt cold. She moved a little and felt
the seat back rub against bare skin. She must still be
naked from the waist up, a consequence of having been
forcefully removed from the party just before being
heavily damaged by the woman in red satin and her beefy
male cohorts. As Chris climbed up toward full
awareness, she noticed something else, some activity in
the vicinity of her breasts...
Her eyes snapped open; she let out a little yelp
and jerked backward. Immediately she felt a hand remove
itself from her left breast. It was Edward's. It was

wet with mother's milk, as were his lips and chin. When
he'd realized that Chris had fallen asleep, Edward had
pulled the cab over, climbed into the back seat, and
started fondling and even trying to milk her. His
clumsy attempts had been only partially successful; he'd
gotten some milk but had also awakened Chris.
"What is it about this place?" Chris cried
indignantly. "Is everybody here sex-starved or
something? Can't I exist here without somebody trying
to turn me into a human drinking fountain?!"
"Not looking like that, you can't," Edward replied
coolly, referring to Chris's state of undress and her
fully functional mammaries.
"I don't appreciate being taken advantage of,"
Chris said savagely. "Were you planning to rape me,
Edward?"
"No, sweet lady, no!" Edward said. "Old Edward,
he just wanted a little taste, that's all."
"Look, Edward, I appreciate what you did for me
tonight, and under other circumstances I might have
considered it. But this was too much. I'm burned out.
I've had it. Just take me back to the hotel."
"Now let's not be ungrateful. I could have left
you to the wolves without a second thought," Edward said
ominously. "Come on, girl, just let me have a little
taste of your sweet momma's milk. I don't want nothing
else..." He moved to try to pin Chris against the seat,
his hands again going after her breasts.
Chris braced her hands against Edward's shoulders.
"I...said...NO!!" she yelled, and at that locked her
legs around the lower portion of Edward's rib cage and
began squeezing for all she was worth. All those hours
on the Stairmaster back home were paying off -- Edward
was now caught in a vise from which there was no escape.
Chris could hear the breath wheezing from his lungs as
she compressed them.
"I'll break every rib you've got. I swear to God
I will," she said.
Edward's eyes began to bulge, and he had no air to
speak, but his face was defiant, and he again began to
grope at Chris's exposed bosom.
Chris gritted her teeth and squeezed harder. A
muffled popping noise soon followed. Edward threw his
head back and tried to yell, but only a weak gurgle
escaped his gaping mouth. He went limp, and Chris threw
him off of her. She fell out of the cab, picked herself
up and ran off down the road, leaving Edward writhing in
the back seat, the imperative to breathe causing him
agony.
Chris ran for several minutes until she'd rounded
a curve in the road and the cab was well out of sight.
Even though Edward was in no shape to pursue her, she
knew that she couldn't stay on the road, especially
half-naked and covered with someone else's blood. Dawn
was just beginning to break and she could begin to make
out her surroundings a bit better. A few meters ahead
was a clear though not very well-used trail that led off
into lush tropical growth. Taking a chance that the
trail would lead to shelter, she trotted off down it.
After a few hundred meters she slowed her pace.

The long, crazy night was beginning to take its toll.

Chris realized that she was absolutely exhausted. Her
unsupported breasts, which were beginning to fill with
milk again, were causing her pain from all the jostling
they'd taken during her run. Her face and hair, already
caked with dried blood, were streaked with sweat. She
fought back tears as fatigue, hunger, and the
realization that she was totally lost on an island a
thousand miles from home overtook her.
Somewhere in her growing despair a calm inner
voice welled up, telling her to just keep walking, at a
pace she could handle. The path had to lead somewhere.
There was bound to be something to eat in this botanical
treasure trove that surrounded her. If nothing else,
there was her own milk...
That thought made Chris realize how incredibly
thirsty she was. She sat down on a large rock next to
the path, bent her head, and tried to bring one of her
nipples to her mouth. But she was too engorged; her
breasts were so hard that she couldn't easily push them
up to her lips. Her neck started to get sore as she
strained to latch onto herself. I should be able to do
this, she thought frantically. I used to suck myself in
the shower all the time. She almost began to cry in
frustration until she remembered that all she had to do
was express enough milk to relieve the hardness in her
breasts. She sat back on the rock and began to milk
herself. The sprays hitting the broad leaves of the
plants around her made it sound like it was starting to
rain. Even with all that had just happened to her,
Chris was still able to experience the extreme pleasure
that milking always had provided her. It lifted her
spirits. Her breasts soon softened enough for her to be
able to suckle herself, which she did, deeply. There
was enough milk in both breasts to quiet the noise in
her stomach and the thirst in her throat. She even
almost reached orgasm as her lips tugged at her nipples,
drawing out the much needed nourishment.
Rested and satiated, Chris's predicament began to
look less hopeless to her. The morning had brightened
into a spectacular day. The jungle around her was green
and beautiful. Brightly colored birds were beginning to
appear in the trees, scolding Chris for invading their
privacy. And what was that sound in the distance?
Running water? God, I hope so, Chris thought, looking
down at her glistening nipples. I could really use a
bath...
She moved off down the path at a renewed clip,
following the increase in volume of the sound of the
water. A few minutes later the path abruptly ended at a
dense stand of palm trees. The water was roaring now -it had to be just on the other side. Chris picked her
way through the palm grove, stumbling repeatedly in her
haste to break through.
When she did, she stopped short, brought up by the
sheer spectacle of the scene before her. She had
entered a large clearing, almost perfectly circular in
shape. It was dominated by a large pool, one end of
which was bounded by a mossy stone outcropping about
twenty feet tall over which a small waterfall plunged.

A rushing stream exited the other end of the pool.

Large, smooth boulders, carved into a myriad of shapes
by the water, popped up here and there from the edges of
the water. There were huge flowers of unimagined
intensity of color dotting the shore, and set back near
the edge of the jungle were what looked like several
banana trees. The morning sunlight had turned the pool
into liquid silver. To Chris's abused, exhausted self
this was the Garden of Eden itself.
Almost without thinking Chris ran to the edge of
the pool, stripped off her ruined slacks, and scampered
out into the water, squealing with the coldness of it.
Her already large nipples snapped into dual cylinders of
diamond in response. Fortunately, at no point in the
pool was the water deeper than about chest level. Chris
waded toward the waterfall. She stood beneath the
crystalline cascade, feeling the depravity and horror of
the previous night's conclusion slide off of her and be
replaced with a clean, strong feeling of pure pleasure.
She sighed deeply.
The water was quite cold, so Chris moved to the
shore as soon as she was clean. She found a large flat
boulder which the sun had already warmed to a pleasant
temperature. She stretched out on it, reveling in the
sheer primal nature of this place. Her nakedness made
her feel like Eve before the apple, a creature
unencumbered by shame or modesty, at one with her
surroundings. She was totally unconcerned that she was
still lost, her immediate future still far from certain.
Chris had forgotten how quickly it can get hot in
Jamaica. The climbing sun began to turn the air steamy
and the boulder she was lying on uncomfortably hot. She
looked for refuge and saw another large smooth rock
nestled nicely in a hollow behind the waterfall. She
walked around to the rock outcropping from which the
waterfall sprang and found an easy entrance into the
hollow. The temperature under the waterfall was warm
enough for her to feel comfortable nude, but not so warm
as to be oppressive. The water falling in front of her
formed a jeweled curtain, and the roar of it was a
soothing sound, like white noise. The rock upon which
she sat had been sculpted and polished by the water into
a series of curves which seemed to mold themselves to
her body. The rock almost felt like it was radiating
its own heat, as if it were alive. Chris found herself
moving against it, rubbing herself against the bumps and
ridges which almost seemed to flow under her pressure.
She lay on her stomach, her face just inches from the
water, her breasts cupped by depressions in the stone, a
curved ridge of rock pressed up between her legs,
against her pubic bone. She began to undulate against
this ridge, feeling her naked mons rubbing along it, her
hardening clit unfolding from its hood, her labia
parting. The sides of the rock began to become stained
as her nether nectar began to flow down them. Likewise
the depressions cupping her breasts began to overflow
with milk as Chris gave herself up to the ecstasy of it.
This was masturbation on the most basal level, being
fucked by Mother Earth herself. Chris writhed on the
boulder, moving her hips against the ridge, wishing the

rock would sprout a stone dildo that she could impale

herself on. She came once, twice, thrice, four times,
seconds apart, barely able to maintain contact with the
rock as she shook with the force of her orgasms. Milk
and nectar spewed across the surface of the stone, which
was so smooth that it became slick. It was only when
Chris almost slipped off that she was jolted out of her
reverie.
She sat on the ground next to the rock, absently
twirling her finger in a puddle of breast milk that lay
in a depression on its surface. "My God, that was
amazing," she said aloud. "I've had lovers that were
like rocks in bed, but who'd've thought I'd ever find a
rock that was like a lover?" She stood up and surveyed
her glorious body -- it was dotted with white droplets,
and her nipples were still oozing. She decided to jump
back under the waterfall to rinse herself off. She used
her hands to divert some of the flow onto the rock to
wash it off as well. She stepped back out of the
curtain of water, closed her eyes, and leaned back to
squeeze the water out of her hair. She straightened up,
opened her eyes, and screamed.
Someone was standing in the entrance to the
hollow.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE:
THE INTRUDER, PART ONE
Christine gasped at the sight of the young man
standing in the entrance. He was close, barely three
meters away. How could she not have heard him coming?
Involuntarily her hands flew to cover her nakedness, but
the resplendence of her ripe body could not be so easily
hidden. She ducked down behind the weirdly shaped rock
she had just used as a masturbatory device, but
squatting down low as she did only served to make her
bald beaver that much more visible. She tried to bring
her legs together and succeeded only in barking one shin
against the rock. She grimaced out of a combined
feeling of pain, embarrassment, helplessness, and fear.
Her eyes were fixed on the ground, unable or unwilling
to meet those of the intruder.
For his part, the young man was rooted firmly to
the spot, unable to move as the result of having been
taken completely aback by the vision of unabashed
voluptuousness that had greeted his unprepared eyes,
which were now frozen open. He looked to be in his late
teens, with close-cropped hair and smooth skin as black
as human melanocytes could make it. His taut
musculature, which showed through frayed jeans cropped
at the knee and an unbuttoned white shirt, suggested
near constant physical activity. His legs were corded
with hard muscle, poised and ready to flee, but an
overload of other hormones was cancelling out the
adrenaline, rendering him a virtual statue.
Long seconds ticked by while befuddled brains
struggled mightily with the situation. The only sound
was the rush of the waterfall that formed one wall of

the enclosure. Chris's discomfort grew to the point

where finally it overcame her embarrassment, and she
stood up, tossing all pretense to the winds. The young
man visibly flinched as her full complement of assets
came into view. She was clearly the most amazing
specimen of undraped femininity he had ever had the
pleasure to witness. He made a half-hearted attempt to
shield his eyes, but his gonads wouldn't permit him. He
continued staring.
Fighting to keep from stammering, Chris haltingly
described her situation, explaining her presence and
state of undress. She wondered how much of her onewoman sex show the young man had seen prior to making
his appearance, then decided that the shock that still
registered on his face indicated that he had only just
arrived. She glanced around for her clothing as she
spoke, and finally found it, wadded up next to the edge
of the pool, very far out of reach. She wondered if
he'd let her retrieve it.
In equally halting fashion, the boy explained in a
heavily accented but understandable baritone how he'd
come to be here. He worked nearby, at one of the resort
hotels of Negril Beach. At the mention of that name,
Chris's heart leapt -- she was close to "home" after all
and wasn't as hopelessly lost as she'd thought. This
little spot of paradise was actually well known among
the hotel workers, who used it as a retreat when things
got a bit too hectic on the job. He explained that the
main building was just a kilometer or so away, on the
other side of the palm grove that surrounded the pool.
He had not meant to intrude, not expecting to find
anyone, much less a gorgeous naked woman, in what he
thought was his personal retreat.
Chris apologized profusely for her own intrusion,
and received a warm smile in return. The smile lit the
boy's? man's? face and for some reason which Chris was
unable to fathom, instantly transformed him into an
extremely desirable person. To her amazement, Chris
felt her inner animal stir once again, fed by the raw
desire the mannish boy's eyes were still exhibiting
beneath the veneer of strained politeness. His muscles
continued to ripple beneath his clothing, still waging
the internal fight-or-flight hormonal war, adding to his
desirability. The enclosed area was thick with
pheromones. Chris decided that the only way to break
the deadlock and get out of here was to try to gain the
upper hand, and the only way she could think of to do
that was to make use of her unclothed state rather than
to try to hide it.
She leaned against the rock (and almost slipped -it was still slick with her milk) in such a way that her
breasts thrust out and up, her ruby nipples presenting
themselves at full attention. She smiled and teased the
boy, telling him that he looked as if he'd never seen a
naked woman before.
He smiled awkwardly and denied her statement,
saying that in his line of work he was privileged to see
nude lady tourists every day on the beach, but he was
quick to add that none of them could hold a candle to
her.

Chris asked him point-blank if he liked her body.

His response was a furrowing of eyebrows that
seemed to say, "What's not to like?" His erection, a
huge one by the looks of things, also became more
prominent.
Chris suggested that perhaps her nudity was
causing the boy undue discomfort. She indicated her
clothing and suggested she retrieve it. She began
moving in its general direction, making sure her torso
swayed provocatively as she did so. She also made sure
her path took her within centimeters of the poor
paralyzed lad. Her exaggerated undulations caused one
foot to slip on the wet rock floor near the entrance,
and she pitched sideways. The boy's apparent paralysis
vanished in that instant as his arms shot out to break
her fall. Chris's arms involuntarily circled the boy's
neck as she tried to regain her footing.
In those first milliseconds of contact, a
multitude of biochemical stimuli and responses passed
between the two, far too quickly to register in their
conscious minds. Chris's first sensations were of
muscle and sinew, rigid yet mobile like animated bronze,
unyielding from her impact yet smooth to the touch. A
pungent whiff of nervous perspiration. A thrilling
sensation escalating rapidly to almost an ache, from
where one forearm and hand encircled her ribcage and
brushed the underside of a breast. Pins and needles
radiating downward toward her nipples as new milk rushed
from deep within down into her lactiferous sinuses.
Minute movement below as her inner labia were pushed
aside by the advance of her swelling clit. Nipples
undergoing a phase change from rubber to diamond.
The boy's first sensations were of wet hair
striking his chest and shoulder, a faint odor of
yesterday's shampoo still evident. Damp cool skin along
one side of his body, curves sculpted as from soapstone.
The firm sponginess of the underside of a breast, the
shape impossibly opposing gravity, the curvature
seemingly designed to maximize arousal in a male.
Buttocks flaring from dimpled sacroiliac striking his
thigh, a suggestion of rock beneath rubber beneath
satin, but more subtle than any. A wave of
disorientation surging from head downward as his blood
was redirected toward his pelvic region where it began
pooling and reinforcing certain structures.
He did not want to let go of her. She did not
move to free herself.
Something clicked inside Chris as her inner animal
took full control. She spun in his arms and locked her
mouth to his. His lips were much fuller than any other
man's she had ever kissed. Her own lips and tongue
seemed almost lost in them. She flicked her tongue past
teeth to seek its counterpart, found it, tried to
encircle it as it tried to do the same. Her breasts,
hardened now with desire and a fresh supply of mother's
milk, spread across his chest, warming it. His hands
slid down her spine, over her butt cheeks, squeezing and
separating them as they moved, down to the backs of her
thighs, where they clamped down and lifted her
completely effortlessly until her dampening crotch was

even with his navel. He moved his head from side to

side, his face disappearing and reappearing as her
breasts swept across it. The boy carried her as if she
weighed nothing at all out from under the waterfall, a
few meters beyond to a small, moss-covered hillock. He
tried to gently lay her down on the moss, but she would
not relinquish her grip on him as she tried to press her
breasts and hips ever harder against him. So instead he
sat on the moss, his face all but invisible inside the
canyon whose walls were Chris's bosom, her legs entwined
tightly about his waist. She felt her milk welling up
behind her nipples. She would feed him. Her desire
would become liquid and flow salty-sweet down his
throat.
Chris melted against this ebony sculpture of a
man, ready for the inevitability of what was to follow.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX:
THE INTRUDER, PART TWO
The young man's strength became even more apparent
as with one arm he lifted Chris off his lap while with
the other he quickly jerked down his pants, still in a
sitting position. His hand cupped her pussy as it moved
back up, and he got the sensation of his fingers
swimming in warm glycerine as her juice covered them.
As soon as her butt touched his lap again, he felt the
hot nectar slide across his thighs. His rigid dick was
so large it could not stand up straight but rather
paralleled one thigh. Chris's labia wrapped around it
like a bun around a hot dog. It felt to her as if she
were straddling a polished log. She began rolling her
hips along it, as if her cunt were trying to polish it
even smoother.
Moving from outside to inside was the primary
consideration for the young man now. With one strong
hand he lifted her ass off his lap while with the other
he positioned his cock to become the spike upon which to
impale her.
Chris, through the thickening fog inside her head,
realized what was about to happen and tightened her legs
around his waist. "Gently, gently," she whispered in
his ear. "Let me." She brought her legs around until
she was straddling his hips. She moved backward and
felt the head of his pole slide up across her anus and
perineum. When she felt it part the drooling lips of
her cunt, she lowered herself slowly, feeling it stretch
her slit wider and wider until she felt as if she were
birthing a child in reverse. She could almost feel her
uterus and cervix tipping forward to make more room for
this monstrous intruder. She couldn't remember the last
time she felt more full, and there were still a couple
of inches to go. When she finally was able to rest her
weight on his thighs, it almost felt as if the tip of
his dick would come out the top of her head if he were
to get any bigger. For a few seconds she sat quietly,
almost afraid to move for fear that something might
tear. Right now it felt indescribable, but she was on

that ragged edge of pain. She felt her insides

rearranging; a couple more seconds and she would be able
to accommodate some thrusting. For a change the
fullness in her breasts was a secondary consideration.
The young man couldn't wait a few more seconds.
His hands moved to Chris's hips; it became obvious that
he was getting ready to move her up and down on him
himself. Chris knew she wouldn't be able to handle
that, so she grabbed his head in both hands and forced
him to look at her. "Shhhh," she soothed. "You'll hurt
me, lover. Let me do this." She guided his head to her
warm breasts. Don't start sucking yet, she thought,
until I've told you what to expect...
Chris began doing Kegel contractions around the
young man's gigantic rod. At first it was difficult
because of how stretched the muscles were, but she could
feel the strength of the contractions increasing with
each repetition. To him it felt as if she were trying
to reshape his cock into something longer and thinner.
She kneaded him like a rope of dough, rippling along him
as if she were trying to take him even deeper inside
her. He lost his imperative to thrust; it felt like she
was doing it for both of them without either actually
having to move.
Now was not the time for a lot of words, so Chris
simply whispered, "I have milk. Taste me." Immediately
thick, soft lips encircled a nipple and it and most of
the areola disappeared into his mouth. Chris felt her
nipple lengthen and flatten as powerful suction and his
tongue pressed it against his palate. She gasped again;
this felt just like when a baby latched on to nurse.
Something told her she was not the first milker this
fellow had ever been with. He clearly knew the optimal
technique for drawing milk out of a woman.
Her breasts responding appropriately. A river of
milk issued forth from both, the uncovered breast
spouting past his ear and into the foliage beyond. She
began to squirm on his lap, spraying him down and
turning his skin into a polka-dot pattern of white on
black. He would not relinquish her breast, swallowing
rapidly and maintaining incredible suction. Chris felt
his cock trying to swell against the pressure of her
internal muscles and the counter-swelling of her G-spot.
Something had to give soon.
When it did it felt like a bomb had gone off
inside her. She felt his urethra expand rhythmically as
gouts of come blasted through it only to become
pressurized in the limited volume at the far end of her
vagina. Her own orgasm came quickly, doubling the
distance the milk shooting from her uncovered nipple
traveled. Her own ejaculate had nowhere to go; she was
plugged too tightly. The increase in pressure
immediately sent her off into another orgasm. The young
man was past his by this time, and the intensity of it
had rendered the head of his penis so sensitive that the
combined squeezing of her muscles and all that trapped
fluid became quite painful. He released her breast,
getting a faceful of milk in the process, and quickly
lifted her off his trapped tool. Chris yelped as her
insides were again forced, much more quickly this time,

to rearrange themselves with the rapid withdrawal. A

gushing was heard even above the roar of the nearby
waterfall as he removed himself and what seemed to be
quarts of combined ejaculate poured across his lower
half. The young man groaned loudly as his pummeled
penis flopped free.
It took a couple of minutes for them to recover.
The young man's cock twitched in time to his heartbeat,
a drop of come still dangling from its tip. Chris's
cunt was also throbbing to a similar beat, her vagina
slowly returning to its normal length and diameter. As
they cooled down, the young man nursed from her other
breast, draining it as efficiently as he had the first.
Chris was surprised that this action didn't send her
toward a third orgasm -- the first two must have been
powerful enough to satisfy even her apparently
insatiable inner animal.
When they finally disengaged, Chris found herself
with nothing really to say in the way of post-coital
conversation. This man-child was not only a complete
stranger, but a member of a completely different
culture. Other than basic sex, what else could they
have in common? Chris silently and gently untwined
herself from him, walked back under the waterfall to
rinse herself off, then went over to where her clothing
lay, and began to rinse it out in the pool. The young
man watched her quietly for a while, then went to the
waterfall, cupped his hands under it, and used the water
to wash the drops of white from his torso.
Chris was able to remove the majority of blood
from her slacks and windbreaker and put them on. It was
a struggle to squeeze into the wet slacks; her attempts
brought a smile from the young man. When she was
dressed (such as it was -- her breasts were still quite
visible), she told him the name of the hotel she was
staying at and asked if he would take her there. He
shook his head yes, and without another word led her off
down a different path -- one Chris had missed completely
-- leading away from the pond. Within less than fifteen
minutes the jungle gave way to beach, and Chris was able
to see her hotel several hundred meters down the strand.
She turned to thank her young guide, but he had already
set off in the direction of one of the other hotels.
All in a day's work for him, I guess, thought Chris.
It was only after she was safe in her own room
(she had been oblivious to the stares she got as she
padded, disheveled and half naked, across the hotel
lobby) that it occurred to Chris that she had just had
sex with a black man for the first time, and completely
on impulse at that. She was intrigued to realize that
once the inner animal had taken over, all considerations
of race had gone out the window.
Those were her last lucid thoughts as the events
of the last 24 hours finally caught up with her and she
fell asleep across the bed, still clad in the ruins of
yesterday's outfit, her amazing breasts exposed, rising
and falling with her soft breathing. Her exhaustion was
so complete that the horror of the last minutes of the
Sailors' Soiree did not intrude into her slumber.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN:
THE RETURN HOME
Christine dropped her carry-on onto the pile of
luggage that had gathered just inside the entrance to
her apartment, and sighed heavily. The floral print
dress she was wearing, a few souvenirs, some undeveloped
photos in the camera, and some very unusual memories
were now all that remained of her sojourn to Jamaica.
She was very glad to be home.
Chris had decided to stay only two more days in
Negril -- the amount of time it took to rearrange her
travel schedule -- following her less-than-optimal
experiences with Jonah Ballwin's party, the cab ride
back to Negril, and getting lost in the jungle. She'd
decided to convert her return cruise ticket into airfare
and cut short her stay at the hotel for fear Jonah or
Edward, or worse, the Woman in Red Satin or one of her
goons, would come knocking at her door. The carefree
vacation she'd planned had turned into anything but.
The stress of her adventures had played havoc with her
endocrine system, to the extent that she was having less
and less success controlling her lactation. At one
point during the flight back, a baby in the row ahead of
her started to cry, and instantly she'd found her blouse
clinging to her, wet through with breast milk. She'd
had to drape a magazine across her stupendous bosom and
retreat to the cramped lavatory, where she spent the
next half hour draining her overactive breasts into the
sink while her blouse dried out. She'd been grateful
that the blouse's color did not show dried milk very
well. Now she hoped that a return to normalcy in her
lifestyle would cause the same to happen to her mental
control over the sexual juggernaut The Accident had
transformed her body into.
The apartment smelled of potpourri, and was
immaculately clean, just as it had been after Chris's
return from her last long absence, which was her
hospitalization following The Accident. Silently she
thanked Sherri for keeping an eye on the place. At the
thought of her, Chris felt a little pang in her heart,
her breasts, and her cunt. Suddenly she realized how
much she had missed her friend and confidante. Part of
her wanted to run over to her apartment right that
second, but most of her was just too tired. She went to
her refrigerator and opened the freezer. Sure enough,
front and center was a pint of Ben & Jerry's with a note
shouting "WELCOME HOME!" in red marker attached to it.
Chris smiled and her eyes brimmed with tears of relief
at being back home in one piece and gratitude for
Sherri's thoughtfulness.
She plopped down at her kitchen table, ice cream
and spoon in hand, and reached for the "play" button on
her answering machine, which was blinking madly at her.
The counter read 22 messages. Gee, I hope Sherri
reminded Jeremy and everybody that I was going to be out
of town for a while, she thought. For a second she
considered just punching "erase" and blotting them all

out, but then reconsidered. Wearily she pressed the

button and waited while the tape rewound.
As she feared, the first seven messages, spaced
over two days, were from Jeremy. The first couple were
simple questions about some upcoming appointments with
Lac-Station clients. The next two were admonishments
about having missed those appointments. The next two
were quite angry, amounting to essentially "Where the
fuck are you?". The last one from him was basically
Jeremy firing her from the Lac-Station. The very next
message was from Sherri, who was apologizing for
neglecting to tell Jeremy about the vacation. She said
that she'd spoken to Jeremy and that all was forgiven.
Chris had mixed feelings after hearing those messages.
She hadn't liked the way Jeremy sounded. Maybe it was
time to leave the Station...
The next several messages were from old clients of
Chris's. Most of them were calling out of the mistaken
notion that she was sick; the messages were basically
get-wells. A few mentioned that they couldn't wait to
experience the taste of her milk once again before
hanging up. A couple were considerably more suggestive,
and one or two actually made her grimace in disgust.
She'd have to make sure someone else in the group got
them next time.
There were calls from all of the other staff of
the Lac-Station except for Eleanor, which didn't really
surprise Chris; she and Eleanor weren't really very
close. When she heard Genevieve's voice, Chris expected
another beratement (she and Jeremy were of the same mind
when it came to running the Station), but instead was
surprised when it turned out to be a good wish for a
happy vacation and a suggestion that the girls get
together informally after she got back. Several of the
messages that followed were of plans and counter-plans
for a welcome-back party, finally culminating in a time
and place two days hence that could accommodate
everyone's schedules.
The final message, timed only an hour before
Chris's arrival at her apartment, was from Sherri. It
started as an apology for having used the apartment for
a wild party the night before. Come to think of it,
Chris thought as she sniffed the air, I do smell
marijuana underneath that potpourri. She mentioned
having broken a vase that had been a gift from Jeremy.
Chris just shrugged and smiled. She laughed out loud
when Sherri promised to return the sheets from her bed
as soon as she'd finished laundering them. "The salad
oil is proving a little difficult to get out," she said.
Sherri's apology soon turned into an admission that she
missed Chris more than she thought she would, and then
she began going into exquisitely filthy detail about
what she wanted to do with Chris as soon as they could
be alone together. As Sherri described a favorite
activity of theirs -- pressing their four nipples
together and combining their streams of milk into a
single torrent rivaling Angel Falls -- Chris felt
herself getting wet. She freed her bosom just in time
for milk to begin dripping from her erect nipples. She
grabbed two hand towels from the sink and placed one on

her chair and the other on the table in front of her.

With the abandon born of being back in familiar, safe
surroundings, she masturbated lustily, replaying
Sherri's last message twice as she did so, forming her
words into visions of deliciously wicked couplings to
come. And come she did, soaking both towels
simultaneously with different fluids.
By the time she'd finished cleaning up, the pint
of Ben & Jerry's was gone, and all the phone messages
erased. Even though it was only the middle of the
afternoon, Chris was very tired from her travels. Her
body seemed to know it was back home and so could
completely relax. She'd take a quick nap, and then call
Sherri.
She was still asleep six hours later.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT:
THE REUNION
Christine glanced again at the scrap of paper on
the seat next to her, referring for the umpteenth time
to the directions Janine had given her to her apartment.
She looked up again just in time to catch the turnoff
that would take her to Janine's complex. She cursed
softly, for a number of reasons. First, she'd had to
make a sharp turn, causing the driver behind her to slam
on his brakes. Second, a rapid temperature drop and an
unexpected couple of inches of snow had slowed her
progress more than she'd anticipated it would. Third,
she was very late. Janine was hosting a little gettogether for the ladies of the Lac-Station that had been
scheduled to begin almost forty-five minutes ago. Chris
was running late not just because of the snow but also
because of a little accident she'd had. She'd come out
of the shower, walked naked into her bedroom, and sat
down on the bed next to the outfit she'd laid out there
for the party. As she bent over to pick a pair of
panties off the floor, she'd spontaneously let down and
squirted milk all over the dress she'd picked out.
She'd had to quickly rinse out the dress and select
another outfit. This kind of thing was happening to her
more and more often these days. Her ability to mentally
control her lactation was completely gone, and she was
beginning to understand what it must be like for
"normal" women to deal with having milk-filled breasts.
Her production rate seemed to have gone haywire, too;
she was never sure when she would next need to pump.
She'd finally decided that she needed to resume wearing
the nursing bras she'd bought when her milk had first
come in, before she'd learned to control it. She'd had
to dig deep into her lingerie drawer to find them, and
then she'd had to make a detour to the drug store to buy
some nursing pads. She hated how she looked now; the
unflattering bra ruined the line of her magnificent
figure, and the pads made her fantastic breasts look
strangely shaped. All this had made her late, which was
frustrating.
Mixed in with the frustration was a healthy dose
of concern about what was happening to her body. Why,

suddenly, was having milk starting to become more of a

hassle than the sensual, sexually liberating experience
it had been for almost two years? Had the galactogogue
that Jonah had slipped her along with the Valium during
the drive from Negril permanently screwed up her
endocrine system? (Had that really happened almost
three weeks ago now?) Why was she sometimes getting just
a couple of ounces during some milking sessions while at
other times she could extract half a liter? Why didn't
manipulating her breasts automatically cause her to
orgasm intensely as it had since the first few days
after The Accident? She was still coming almost every
time, which still meant at least a few orgasms a day,
but the frequency was beginning to noticably decrease.
She made a mental note to voice her concern to Sherri
when she next saw her.
The thought of Sherri immediately caused a flood
of warmth to rush through Chris's breasts and crotch.
She was slightly surprised at the intensity of the
feeling; she, who prior to The Accident had thought
herself a firmly entrenched heterosexual, now couldn't
wait to get Sherri into her bed. Chris had not had an
opportunity to see her since having returned from her
Jamaica trip, and she missed her friend and sometime
lover badly. She was also looking forward to seeing her
fellow colleagues again; a few she hadn't seen since
some weeks before the trip. In fact, she was not at all
sure of the status of the Lac-Station, which was a
secondary reason why she was so interested in attending
Janine's little kaffee klatsch.
She stole one more quick look at the paper with
the directions on it for the building and apartment
number. She found a parking spot and carefully climbed
the stairs to Janine's apartment. Her frustration at
being late vanished when she heard the laughter of her
associates through the door. She raised a mittened fist
to tap on the door, but it opened in mid-gesture.
Janine greeted her in a roomy sweater and skin-tight
slacks, with her trademark grin and a steaming cup of
hot cider, complete with cinnamon stick.
"When I heard footsteps on the landing, I just
knew it had to be you, darlin'. Come right in, we're
all here. Just toss your coat on the kitchen table and
join us in the living room. I'm taking this in before
it gets cold..." and away she went.
Chris did as she was invited. The living room was
dominated by two large sofas, facing each other with a
coffee table between them. Seated there were Eleanor,
Monique, Janine, and...Sherri. When Chris's eyes landed
on her, Sherri bounded up, rushed over, and caught Chris
up in a hug. The pressure of the embrace pushed the
milk in Chris's breasts near the fore, and absently she
hoped she wouldn't soak the pads quite this soon. An
electric charge shot from her pussy to her nipples as
she felt Sherri's body press into hers. It was all she
could do to keep the hug short and friendly and not just
melt into Sherri's arms in front of everyone.
"God, I've missed you," Chris whispered in
Sherri's ear.
"I hope you show me how much later on," she

whispered back. "Welcome back, hon," she said aloud.

"Gosh, Chris, you don't look as tan as I thought
you'd be," Janine said. "Did it rain in Jamaica?"
"No, I just didn't get to lay out as much as I
would have liked," Chris replied. "As beautiful as
Jamaica was, I'm kind of glad to be back, snow
notwithstanding."
She seated herself next to Sherri and accepted a
cup of cider from Janine. "I'm also glad you're all
here today. I have been wondering what's up with the
business. I've been back more than two weeks and
haven't gotten a single call from Jeremy. My fridge is
almost at capacity with bottles of milk. Is he pissed
at me for having spent so much of his money on the
vacation?"
The other women passed looks back and forth, as if
waiting for someone else to be the first to speak.
Chris noticed immediately. "What? Am I fired? Is that
it?"
"No, not at all," said Monique. "Not exactly,
anyway."
The silence grew and became awkward. "Well, come
on, you guys," said Chris. "I'm a big girl."
Finally Eleanor spoke up. "Well, there's no easy
way to say it, so I'll just say it. I'm afraid the LacStation is no more."
Chris almost choked on her cider. "Wha-aat? I
was only gone a couple of weeks! What happened?"
"It was nobody's fault, really," Monique stated
flatly. "We've all just...developed other agendas,
that's all."
"What Monique is trying to say is that one by one,
we've all decided we don't want to do this any more,"
Eleanor said. "I for one was getting pretty disgusted
with all those twisted people Jeremy kept introducing me
to. I joined the group really for just one purpose -to provide milk to mothers who couldn't nurse at a price
that undercut the milk banks. If I had to do the
occasional kinky, but expensive, thing to keep that
price low, I considered it a minor evil. Finally I
decided that Jeremy was asking too much, and my husband
didn't appreciate it much, either, so I left the group."
Addressing Monique's frown in her direction, Eleanor
added, "I acknowledge that I was the first to leave, but
I categorically deny causing the demise of the company."
"I wasn't accusing you," Chris said softly.
"No, you weren't," Eleanor said sharply, staring
at Monique.
"Well, what did cause it?" asked Chris.
"I suppose I was next to go. You see," Janine
said, blushing slightly, "I've met someone."
The other women, except Monique, smiled. Chris,
knowing of Janine's situation as a single mother, was
very pleased. "Who's the lucky fellow?" she asked
enthusiastically.
"His name's Geoffrey. He started out being a
client," Janine replied. "He was a patient at the
hospital, in for a heart transplant. Poor guy's only
31, but his heart was a mess. I couldn't even begin to
pronounce what he had. Anyway, he was having a lot of

trouble with rejection -- I mean his immune system went

crazy after the operation. His doctors had read a study
in which patients who are immuno... immuno..."
"...compromised," Eleanor assisted.
"Right. ...can benefit from having mother's milk
as a part of their diet during recovery."
Eleanor chimed in. "Evidently the idea is that
these people have immune systems that are kind of like a
newborn's, so why not provide the same kind of thing
that they use to get strong?"
Chris shrugged. "Sounds reasonable." She turned
back to Janine. "Well? So?"
"Well, anyway, I became one of Geoff's milk
donors. One day I decided to visit him in the hospital,
and took him some myself. He started off by telling me
he preferred the taste of my milk over all the others -as if he could tell," Janine said, giggling.
"We got to talking, and before too long we'd told
each other our life histories. We started kinda dating
right there in the hospital. I got to where I was
seeing him a couple of times a day." She blushed again.
"I even started nursing him -- seemed kinda silly to go
home, pump the milk, and bring it back. Well, that
turned us on so much we actually did the deed right
there in his room, even though he wasn't supposed to do
anything stressful. The rest, as they say, is history.
We're in love. I couldn't see myself basically turning
tricks for Jeremy now that Geoff and I are together."
"I'll bet Jeremy was pissed when you told him,"
Chris said.
"Yeah, he was. My timing was lousy. Eleanor had
just quit the day before," Janine said. "But screw
Jeremy. I'm in love for the first time in years, to a
guy who loves me, my kid, and my milk. Couldn't ask for
a better situation, especially since the doctors have
given Geoff a clean bill of health."
"So that's why the company's kaput? Couldn't
Jeremy find two replacements?" Chris asked.
"Three," Sherri said. "I quit too."
Chris was dumbfounded. That seemed impossible.
Sherri, with her wild and wooly sexual style, was
perfectly suited for the kinkier aspects of working for
the Lac-Station. She had been the only one of the five
of them who had had to work really hard to induce
lactation: Janine and Eleanor had had babies; Monique
apparently had some sort of physiological predisposition
toward galactorrhea; and Chris, of course, had had The
Accident. Sherri had been so turned on by Chris's
having milk that she'd embarked on an arduous regimen
that had paid off admirably, to where Sherri's 40-plusyear-old breasts were producing milk like a 20-year-old
mother of twins. Lactating had become the centerpiece
of Sherri's sexual existence, and Jeremy had been
providing her with every conceivable means to exercise
her new talents. How could she just quit?
"I got my reasons, which I'm not going to talk
about right now," Sherri said, also staring at Monique,
and Chris realized she'd voiced her question out loud.
"Yes, I'll admit I was very upset with all of you
for just backing out on Jeremy like you did," said

Monique petulantly, ever Jeremy's defender. "But I've

since come to realize that you have every right to quit
any time you want to. Jeremy and I have decided to
carry on, just the two of us, unless that is, you want
to continue, Chris? You were, after all, the LacStation's charter member."
The question took Chris by surprise. Until just a
couple of minutes ago, she had assumed that she would be
taking up her duties at the Lac-Station again at any
time. Now it sounded like there really wasn't any LacStation any more, and suddenly that was not a bad thing.
Her decision was immediate, and easier than she thought
it would be.
"No, I don't think so. I went on that vacation to
get away, and now I find I don't want to come back.
I'll be honest, Monique, Jeremy was a lousy boss. He
just didn't know how to treat his employees very well.
Throwing me over for you didn't help much, either, but
to tell the truth, he felt more like my pimp than a
partner in a business." There were murmurs of assent
from Eleanor, Janine, and Sherri. "I think it was
inevitable that we each found something better and moved
on."
"And what have you found that's so much better?"
Monique asked pointedly.
After a moment's thought, Chris said, "I guess, my
personal freedom."
"Amen, girl," Sherri said, raising her cup. The
others raised theirs in toast, and after a few seconds,
Monique raised hers as well.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE:
THE OTHER REUNION
The get-together at Janine's apartment had broken
up fairly early. Even though the subject of the LacStation's demise had not come up again after Chris had
announced that she, too, would not be returning, the
fact was that the only thing these five ladies had in
common was lactation. After they found there wasn't
much else for them to talk about, they'd finished their
cider and went their separate ways. It was very likely
that none of them would ever see each other again,
although Chris secretly hoped that she'd be invited to
Janine's wedding if she and Geoff were ever to get
hitched. Janine's childlike demeanor had been one of
the bright spots of Chris's association with the LacStation.
Now she and Sherri sat on the edge of Sherri's
bed, each unbuttoning the other's top. It was something
they always did whenever they made love, and they fell
into the routine easily. As they undressed, Chris asked
Sherri again why she'd quit Jeremy's organization.
"Two reasons, actually," Sherri said as she slid
Chris's blouse off her shoulders. "First is that I'd
had my fill of Jeremy. All that money he was getting
from us was turning him into a real prick. Second, I've
decided to move on to something else."

"What do you mean?" Chris said, as she removed

Sherri's shoes.
"You really didn't expect for me to stay on the
same kink forever, did you? I'm not all that into milk
any more."
"I'm shocked," Chris said, and she was. "After
how hard you worked to get your milk to come in, and to
maintain it?"
"That's part of it. It was a lot of work, not
like for you," Sherri said. "I developed more clogged
ducts, each time more painful than the last, and even
though I loved the feeling of having milk, I decided the
hell with it. I'm still making a little bit, but I've
mostly dried up now."
"Can I ask what your latest thing is?" Chris
asked.
"You'd probably think it was too weird," Sherri
said, a little shyly.
"Hey, it's me, remember? The girl who squirts top
and bottom? The one who survived the sailors' party?
How weird could it be?"
"Golden showers," Sherri said.
"Whoa. That is a little weird. How did this
happen?"
"One of the clients was into it. Hell, it wasn't
that much of a stretch for me. Mother's milk is a
bodily fluid too, after all, and the way you cum it was
sort of like getting peed on."
"I see your point."
"I loved getting drenched by you," Sherri said
into Chris's ear, as she began to unhook her bra. "This
way I can be with guys and still get drenched.
Different kind of liquid, is all."
Chris shook her head wonderingly. "You are
something else, lady."
"Shut up and drench me."
"All in good time, my dear," Chris said, stroking
Sherri's cheek with the back of her hand. "We need to
take care of a little something first."
Chris shrugged out of her new Olga nursing bra.
It was much more elegant an undergarment than the ugly
generic types she had been wearing until recently, but
it was still a nursing bra. Chris had had to begin
doubling up on the nursing pads lately, so she'd had to
buy an F cup to make room for them. Even with the Olga
bra, her bustline still looked lumpy and ludicrously
huge. Four soaking wet pads fell out of the bra as it
hit the floor. Sherri's bra joined it seconds later.
In almost exact synchrony, both women, now nude,
extended their arms upward and stretched like cats in
the warm sun, reveling in the freedom of
clotheslessness. Milk evaporating from Chris's nipples
cooled them into twin pegs of ruby, surrounded by
areolae the color of a fine cabernet. The skin of her
bosom, normally pale and marbled with the miraculous
vasculature that provided the raw material for her milk,
was flushed pink, partly from ardor and partly from
engorgement. The areolae were so puffy from the
pressure behind them that the bumps of the Montgomery
glands which were usually so prominent were almost

missing altogether.
"I need to be drained a little before we get too
carried away," Chris continued. "I'd like to be able to
really enjoy this, and I won't if my boobs are causing
pain."
Sherri gently cupped Chris's burgeoning breasts.
She blinked at the warmth they were radiating. "Poor
baby! I've never seen you so full."
"I'm up to three quarts a day now," said Chris.
"It's a vicious circle. Ever since I lost my mental
control, I have to pump more often to relieve the
buildup. The more I pump, the more I make. It's
getting ridiculous."
"I've got just the thing," Sherri said with a
mischievous grin. Taking Chris by the shoulders, Sherri
guided her to sit with her back against the headboard
and placed pillows under each forearm. Stretching
across Chris, Sherri opened the drawer of her
nightstand. Her ass was just below Chris's face. Chris
caught the exhilarating odor of damp pussy as Sherri
slid by in front of her. Impulsively she leaned over
and nipped Sherri on her left butt cheek. Sherri
yelped, then giggled. From the drawer she withdrew two
containers, one a squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup and
the other one of those clear plastic bears filled with
honey. She sat up and displayed them, rocking them in
her hands, the grin still wide on her face.
Chris cocked an eyebrow. "What's this?" she
asked.
"Well, quite frankly, I'm tired of just the one
flavor," Sherri said. "You've got two nozzles there,
why not a new flavor for each?" With that, she popped
open both bottles and leaned toward Chris.
"But your sheets..." Chris protested, but judging
from her closed eyes and parted lips, the protest had no
teeth.
"I'm into golden showers now, remember?" Sherri
replied. "Do you think a little mess would bother me?"
Sherri dripped chocolate syrup onto Chris's right
nipple and honey onto the left. The sensation of the
thick liquid oozing along and down her hot breasts
caused a surge of milk to flow into the sinuses behind
her nipples, and they began to drip. Sherri eagerly
caught the driblets of milk on her tongue, swirling them
together with the syrup.
"I've always loved chocolate milk as a kid,"
Sherri said between licks. She drizzled some syrup
directly into her mouth, then fastened her lips around
Chris's swollen areola and began to expertly suckle her.
Chris flooded milk into Sherri's mouth, but she did not
swallow it immediately. Chris could see that she was
mixing it with the syrup in her mouth first.
For the next several minutes, Sherri consumed
several ounces of mother's milk from Chris's spurting
bosom. Chris was hard put to stay sitting upright; she
squirmed with pleasure as the milk flowed out of her.
The sheet where she was sitting was becoming slippery
with her pussy juice. Finally her breasts had softened
enough to where she could raise her weeping nipples to
her own mouth. Sherri held the spouts of the syrup and

honey above them and dripped the liquid confections down

over the nipple they now shared between them, a tongue
on either side, lapping up the milk mixture like hungry
kittens. The feel of two tongues at once on her pulsing
paps was electric; Chris moaned loudly and began to
slide down from her sitting position.
"If you want to get drenched, now's the time," she
panted. Quickly Sherri moved around to lie on her back,
her own pendulous breasts flowing back onto her upper
arms. Chris straddled her face, her hands smearing
chocolate and honey together with the milk that
continued to flow from her breasts all over her upper
torso, enjoying the sensation of being deliciously
messy. Uncaring of how much of a further mess she would
make, she began expertly milking herself, her hands
sliding on her sticky skin from her chest wall all the
way down to the tips of her nipples, squeezing out every
last drop in a tight torrent that made a loud noise
against the headboard. At the end of each stroke she
would tug hard on her nipples, which would cause her
pussy to spasm with delight. When she finally came, it
was in buckets. Sherri's long mane of red hair caught
the brunt of it. She slathered away at Chris's fleshy
labia as the deluge blasted from it, her face and neck
becoming slick with saliva and love lava. When she
finally came up to place a very wet kiss on Chris's
sticky lips, she looked as if she had just come out of
the shower.
Chris pushed Sherri back down on the bed and began
massaging her clit with a still-erect nipple. Sherri
began thrashing about, making her clit a moving target.
Chris then inserted the nipple into Sherri's vagina and
renewed her milking until she had filled Sherri's space
with sweet mother's milk. She then began lapping it up,
her tongue occasionally encircling Sherri's clit, as it
oozed out, mixed with Sherri's juices. Sherri was
helpless under this treatment, and within seconds arched
her hips upward as she too exploded in orgasm.
They held each other for several minutes
afterward. To their surprise, when they tried to
separate, it was very difficult, since the syrup and
honey, breast milk and pussy juice, had combined to form
a very effective adhesive!
It took almost an hour in the shower for them to
get clean. But then again, they didn't spend that
entire time simply washing.
CHAPTER SIXTY:
THE LAST STRAW
A quilt with squares consisting of every
conceivable shade of green and criss-crossing
geometrical shapes passed in slow review across Chris's
vision. The quilt was a wrinkled one, shadows of the
wrinkles cast by a low late afternoon sun introducing
even more shades of green into the palette. Yes,
thought Chris peacefully, from this altitude the
countryside does look like a wrinkled quilt. The merest
wisp of cloud passed near enough to touch but

insubstantial enough not to register on her fingertips.

The air was warm even though Chris knew she had to be
several thousand feet up. She accepted this
inconsistency as easily as the fact that she was
airborne without benefit of any plane, glider, or other
manmade device, with the calm belief in the impossible
that comes from being in a dream. This was one of
Chris's most common dreams, flying slowly, soundlessly
above a large expanse of bountiful farmland. Her brain,
never having experienced floating in reality, concocted
a convincing facsimile. She knew she was dreaming, and
welcomed the feelings: the security that she would not
fall, the peace of the total silence. She always seemed
to awaken more refreshed from this kind of dream than
any other.
As she floated along, admiring the landscape
below, she became vaguely aware that she was nude. She
remembered other dreams of being naked in public places,
but never before had that aspect crossed into her
current dream scenario. Chris ran her hands over her
body, for the umpteenth time thanking whatever powers
there were that had sculpted such feminine perfection
from the ruin of The Accident. She spread her arms and
legs wide against the warm sky, and slowly spun through
a lazy spiral. As she completed the turn and was again
facing the ground, she felt a strange sensation in her
breasts, as if gravity had suddenly started tugging
harder on them. She frowned as the sensation
intensified until it felt as if an invisible force was
trying to pull her breasts off her chest. It was soon
joined by a feeling of pressure inside, similar to how
she felt when becoming engorged with milk, but stronger.
To her horror, she saw her bosom begin to expand as if
being inflated. The tugging from outside and pressure
from within continued to build, crossing the threshold
into pain. Chris tried to cross her arms over her nowbasketball-sized tits, but something held her arms
pinned to her sides. Tears stung her eyes as her
breasts continued to expand, growing beyond watermelons
in length and girth, with nipples the size of jelly
jars. Their huge bulk soon began pressing back on her
rib cage, shortening her breath. Panic joined with pain
as her bosom threatened to become as large as she was
tall. Finally, her increase in mass overcame whatever
dream power was keeping her aloft, and she abruptly
began plummeting, screaming, earthward.
Chris's eyes snapped open and her bed rocked with
the spasm her body gave as she jerked awake. She was
immediately confused by conflicting sensory information:
she knew she was awake and lying on her side, yet the
feelings of pressure and pain she'd had in the dream
persisted, though greatly diminished. It was like
falling asleep with the radio on, hearing a song in your
dreams, and awakening to hear that same song playing.
As awareness increased, she came to know that her sheets
were absolutely wringing wet. For a startled moment she
thought that perhaps in her terror she had wet the bed
(for the first time since toddlerhood), but upon
throwing back the covers, she saw that her nightshirt,
sheets, and pillow were saturated not with urine, but

with breast milk. Her breasts still ached from

fullness; she stripped off the nightshirt to see them
still running with milk.
Chris sat on the edge of her bed, hugging herself
hard across the chest to slow the flow. She felt tears
well up as her fatigue and utter frustration at having
lost control over her lactating bosom caught up with
her. She wept at the loss of the joy and satisfaction
that having her very special abilities had once
conveyed. Instead of getting superlative sexual
gratification from being able to lactate in quantity, of
having a shape worthy of the centerfold of any men's
magazine you'd care to name, of being able to ejaculate
volumes of hot fluid in a burst of orgasm rivaling the
eruption of a supernova, of being able to fuck any and
all comers right into the ground, Chris now felt as if
her body had betrayed her, turning all that had made her
special into a curse.
Sobbing gently, Chris threw her sheets and
nightshirt into the hamper, stepped into the shower, and
used the hot spray to help her empty her breasts. Her
spirits were bolstered by the fact that she did indeed
still get a bit of a sexual buzz from doing this, but
not enough to overcome the shock of waking up drenched
in one's own bodily secretions. After drying off, she
surveyed herself in the mirror. Her red-rimmed eyes
seemed to add years to her life. Her swollen breasts
were no longer beautiful to her; even though still firm
and well-shaped, they looked somehow old, beaten up, as
if a dozen babies had suckled from them for years. The
average male would not have seen anything untoward; to
him Christine would still be a stunning goddess whose
body defied gravity, worthy of total sexual devotion and
capable of being his ultimate wet dream, but Chris knew
her body better than anyone, and now had finally
realized that things had gone too far.
It was still dark; her alarm clock read 3:40 am.
Chris was too tired to make up the bed with fresh
sheets, too tired even to put on a fresh nightshirt.
She grabbed up the relatively unscathed bedspread from
the floor and headed out to the living room, intending
to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the couch.
As she lay back she became aware of the weight of her
breasts on her chest and realized that sleeping nude
might not be a good idea. She fumbled in the dark back
into her bedroom and sleepily donned a nursing bra that
she had pre-stuffed with pads. As she dragged herself
back into the living room, she caught a glimpse in the
mirror again, nude except for a ridiculous nursing bra.
The sight thoroughly disgusted her.
"That is the last straw," she murmured as she lay
down. "Tomorrow I start seeing what I can do to shut
these things off." As the enormity of her decision
started sinking in at the same rate sleep began to
overtake her, she added to the close darkness, "But not
before I have one last all-out..." And she was asleep.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE:
THE THINGS CHRIS DID

Christine awoke and was greeted by a sharp twinge

in her neck. She was unused to sleeping on the sofa.
The nursing pads in her bra were sopping wet, despite
the fact that she had crammed two into each cup before
going to sleep a mere four hours before. She remembered
hearing, through her connections with the now-defunct
Lac-Station, that some overproducing mothers actually
put entire disposable diapers into their burgeoning
bras. She made a mental note to pick some up later that
day. She thought about the mess in her bedroom and
dreaded having to clean it up. That thought was
immediately followed by a strengthened resolve to have
this over with and to pursue a means to dry her milk up
-- involution, to use the formal term. But this
resolution was superceded by a stronger one. Before
giving up the unique aspect of her sexuality that her
lactation ability provided her, Chris would have one
last great extended sexual indulgence, making use of her
milk in ways she had not yet experienced. This would
take some creativity; in the two years since The
Accident Chris's sexual exploits had been many and
varied -- there was little she hadn't tried in that
time. She would need some suggestions, and there was no
one she knew more sexually creative than her friend and
occasional lover Sherri.
Chris strode over to the phone, unheeding of her
rather comical look -- nude except for a nursing bra
whose cups were open and flapping about as she walked.
She almost savagely punched out Sherri's number and
tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Sherri to
answer. After almost twenty rings, she finally heard
someone pick up.
"This had better be pretty fucking important,
goddammit," came a sleepy but angry voice over the
receiver.
Chris suddenly realized that it was only 7:30, on
a Saturday morning. "Hello to you too," she said. "I'm
really sorry; I didn't realize how early it was."
"Baby, what's wrong?" Sherri replied, all traces
of indignation gone from her voice. If Chris was
calling this early on a Saturday, something must be up.
In the background, Chris heard a masculine groan and a
rustle of sheets. Oops, she thought.
Chris hurriedly related her experience of the
previous night and her decisions both to dry her milk up
and to go out in a blaze of glory before doing so. She
was surprised at how close to tears she was. Deciding
to shut down her magnificent milk factories was, in her
mind, tantamount to something as momentous and
shattering as deciding to put a pet to sleep. There
were the same feelings of loss and "necessary evil"
involved. She didn't want to become sexually "ordinary"
again, but the price of remaining "unique" had become
too high.
Sherri was expectedly sympathetic. "Welcome to
the club, sweetheart," she said. "Losing your ability
to control whether or not your breasts made milk put you
in the same boat with all of us 'normal' lactating
women. We can't just start and stop like you could. If

you're really serious about drying up, the best advice I

could give you is not to go cold turkey. I tried that
and was miserable. I was so engorged that I couldn't
stand even the touch of a silk blouse. I got a fever
and had to spend days with an ice pack strapped to my
chest. No, if you want to do it, do it gradually.
Start by cutting back very slowly on your pumping
sessions, maybe eliminating one every other day and
spacing the others out appropriately. Then eliminate
another, and another, until you can just quit without
too much discomfort. If it's true that whatever
happened to you in Jamaica made you into a just-plain
overproducer, then your body should respond normally to
the old law of supply and demand." There was silence
for a few seconds, then Chris heard Sherri sigh loudly.
"I know that this decision was difficult for you, but
I'd be less than honest if I said I wasn't going to miss
the fun of draining your breasts in all kinds of
interesting ways. You tasted so sweet, too...I'm sorry.
I'm not making this any easier."
"Well, hon, you won't have to give it up right
this second," Chris said, and told her about the second
part of her decision.
"Well shit fire, lady, now you're talking! You
have definitely come to the right slut. Let me take
care of a few things here and I'll meet you for
breakfast. We'll talk about it over a couple of monster
cinnamon rolls." There was another pause. "You know,
this could take a while to exhaust all the
possibilities."
"I'm prepared to spend as much time as it takes,"
Chris said firmly. "I can live with these out-ofcontrol boobs of mine for a few weeks more."
As it happened, a few weeks was an
underestimation.
The First Thing Chris Did: Chris had only
occasionally partaken of her own milk, and then usually
while masturbating. Her lovers had all mentioned that
it was sweet and warm, rather like sweetened condensed
milk thinned out to the consistency of skim. Chris
decided that before her milk was gone forever, she would
drink as much of it as she could, or until she got tired
of it. She took to saving out a couple of bottles
extracted from her still multiple-times-daily milking
sessions and keeping a supply in her refrigerator. She
used it on her cereal, in her coffee, and occasionally
she would pour herself a large tumbler and just swig it
down. After a few days of this she decided she liked it
better warm than cold, and so took to suckling herself
when she felt full rather than hooking herself up to her
breast pump. Over the two years she had been lactating,
her breasts, though still high, voluminous, and firm
enough to make any centerfold jealous, had softened
sufficiently to allow her to get her nipple and areola
into her mouth. She soon found a suction and rhythm
that drained her breasts most efficiently while
providing the maximum sexual pleasure. Her biggest
difficulties were A) keeping her nipple in her mouth
while orgasming (as she usually did while suckling
herself) when all she wanted to do was throw her head

back and howl in pleasure, and B) keeping the fountain

from her free breast contained. By the end of the week
she was hardly using the pump at all.
The Second Thing Chris Did: Chris remembered
Janine mentioning that she enjoyed cooking topless,
particularly the feel of warm steam rising from a pot of
boiling water, for example, on her full bosom. Chris
started doing this, and took it a step further: she
began incorporating her breast milk into recipes. She
found that it made a superior pudding and excellent
cream sauces. As an ironic twist, she even made a
lobster bisque with it. Her only difficulties here were
that the warmth from the stove often helped trigger a
hellacious letdown which would turn her on so much that
she would have to get herself off right then and there - this sometimes resulted in a neglected (and therefore
burnt) entree as she stood spurting into the kitchen
sink. There was also an unfortunate incident involving
spattering grease from frying bacon...
The Third Thing Chris Did: Sherri, well aware
that Chris's sexual status was about to change, began
asking to bed her more often than usual. Although she
had gone through involution several weeks earlier,
Sherri's pendulous mams still produced a small amount of
thin fluid. One of her and Chris's favorite bedtime
activities became assuming a position in which the two
women would lie with their heads facing opposite ends of
the bed. They were each sufficiently endowed that in
this position they could suckle each other
simultaneously while fingering themselves to orgasm.
Chris would have to work hard to draw even a few drops
from Sherri, but the harder she sucked, the more Sherri
liked it. In Sherri's case, satisfaction could only be
obtained if her entire fist was buried in her cunt, and
on several occasions she would have a butt plug firmly
in place at the same time. Chris, on the other hand,
preferred a lighter touch; her clit was so sensitive
that she would be able to come just from having a
feather tickle it while Sherri slurped greedily at her
free-flowing nipples. The only disadvantage to this
practice was that when Chris would come, as she did
numerous times per session, her copious ejaculations
would soak harmlessly into a large towel specially
positioned for that purpose. Sherri would have
preferred getting them full in the face, but she could
not nurse and get squirted at the same time. Chris
would occasionally compromise by sitting up and bending
over Sherri as she ate Chris out, squirting milk down
onto her face and head. This way when she came, Chris
would drench Sherri with milk and pussy juice
simultaneously, and this would almost always send Sherri
over the edge, often without her having to touch herself
at all.
The Fourth Thing Chris Did: As might be expected,
Sherri had several ex-lovers who had been bitterly
disappointed when Sherri had decided to stop lactating.
With Chris's permission, Sherri gave her number to these
gentlemen, and within hours Chris started getting phone
calls. She would get briefed on each guy from Sherri,
finding out in advance what kinds of things he was into.

The first gentleman, a husky fellow named Jim, liked tit

fucking. Chris was rather surprised to realize that in
all this time she had never done that particular thing.
She discovered that she enjoyed it very much. Her
generous bosom provided more than enough of a tunnel for
Jim's fat cock, and her milk provided ample lubrication.
Her favorite aspect of this was when, in the throes of
passion, Jim would grab her breasts in an effort to wrap
them ever more tightly together around his pistoning
pole. This would invariably produce a geyser of milk
which would splash across his hairy chest and even
occasionally strike the ceiling. Chris hadn't been used
to much rough handling of her precious mammaries, but
she found that she rather liked Jim's manipulations.
She enjoyed sitting across the room from him, trying to
hit his open mouth with her sprays. It was a difficult
target since Jim was usually jacking off furiously at
the time and so could not keep still. Chris was most
gratified when she could squirt him while keeping her
hands on top of her head, with only the force of her
letdown reflex propelling the milk over the fifteen or
so feet that separated them during this exercise.
The Fifth Thing Chris Did: Realizing that her
milk supply would soon be gone, Chris indulged a certain
scientific curiosity she'd had about her abilities ever
since she stopped helping Dr. Ellis with her research.
One Saturday she retreated into her second bedroom,
which was still set up as her "milking room", made sure
the refrigerator was stocked with provisions, hooked
herself up to her pump, and remained hooked up for the
entire day. The pump threatened to overheat, but kept
up a steady rhythm, stopping only when Chris had to use
the john, which wasn't often considering that her excess
fluids were being drawn off in other ways. She tried to
keep tabs on her orgasms, but lost count after twenty.
She soon became so disoriented from the constant high
level of arousal she was experiencing that after about
six or seven hours she was almost zombie-like, lying
almost motionless, hypnotized by the cadence of the
pump, visibly trembling every so often as another orgasm
hit, a steady dribble of milk being extracted from her
besieged nipples. The pump finally gave up the ghost
and came to a noisy halt after thirteen straight hours,
at which time Chris had shattered her old one-day
production record by almost a liter and had produced God
only knew how much ejaculate. She also had succeeded in
dehydrating herself despite a steady influx of protein
drinks and spent most of the next day in bed trying to
get her electrolytes back in line. Her peerless bosom
also needed to recover; red rings from the pump cups
were visible on her breasts for several days, and her
nipples were so sore that she needed to apply lanolin
cream to them for almost a week afterward. The
experiment put her behind schedule with her involution;
her body, confused by the sudden increase in demand,
stepped up milk production again for a few days, and
Chris became painfully engorged on more than one
occasion. As for the excess milk, she decided to make a
gift of it to Connor, the fellow who had spied on her
and Sherri as they indulged themselves by the swimming

pool. Chris had a soft spot in her heart for the

constantly horny young man -- after all, who wouldn't
enjoy being the center of an adolescent sexual fantasy?
One morning she substituted a gallon of milk left
outside Connor's apartment by the milkman with a gallon
of her own milk, most of which had come from that single
session. She wondered whether he would be able to tell
the difference.
The Sixth Thing Chris Did: Elliott was the second
of Sherri's referrals. He preferred having sex at his
own place, for one obvious reason: His bedroom was set
up in an unusual manner. Instead of a bed, two loosely
woven mesh hammocks, one above the other in bunk-bed
fashion, hung from heavy hooks set into the walls. The
hammocks were adjustable such that, when both were
occupied, the top person would lay suspended only
millimeters above the lower one. Elliott enjoyed lying
face down in the top hammock, his penis protruding
through the mesh. When all rope tensions were just
right, he could penetrate his partner without having to
touch her with any other part of his body. Chris turned
the tables on Elliott, requesting that she be allowed to
be in the top hammock. He had to adjust the ropes so
that the hammock was strung on a slight angle so that
Chris's cunt could envelop his cock properly, but the
new arrangement worked very well. Chris's breasts were
too large to poke through the mesh. The pressure of the
web of rope that encircled her areolae when she put her
weight on it worked just like her own fingers with
respect to the manual expression of breast milk. As she
fucked Elliott from above, her nipples, protruding down
through the mesh, jetted milk at their maximum flow
rate, quite effectively drenching the hapless young
man's top half within seconds. His bottom half became
sodden mere moments later when Chris's orgasm deluged
him with hot pussy juice. Chris enjoyed that particular
orgasm in that it was the first time in two years she
had been able to lie on her stomach while making love.
In a normal bed the pressure on her milk-filled boobs
from the weight of herself and her partner was usually
uncomfortable enough to be distracting.
The Seventh Thing Chris Did: Figuring that her
figure would return to its pre-Accident proportions once
she stopped lactating, Chris decided she would show it
off more during her Last Fling (she was taking to
thinking of those words as being capitalized). The
weather cooperated beautifully, growing steadily warmer
as the weeks passed into summer. Chris stopped wearing
her nursing bra and went back to being sans underwear.
She began wearing shorter skirts and lower necklines.
Her perpetually erect nipples turned heads with
increasing frequency. She still suffered from
occasional inappropriate letdowns, but instead of hiding
them or acting embarrassed, she tried to make the most
of the situation. Once while walking briskly through a
park, the jiggling set off a letdown which drenched the
front of her tank top. As she continued to walk, the
breeze began evaporating the milk, causing her nipples
to harden even more. Overtaken by the feeling, she
simply sat down on a park bench, closed her eyes, and

masturbated by performing Kegel exercises, not touching

herself in any way. Needless to say, her clothing was
saturated above and below when she finally came. She
camouflaged the huge stains on her clothes by joining a
small group of people who were cavorting in the park
fountain, wetting herself so thoroughly that everyone
who saw her after that simply assumed she had fallen in.
On another occasion she was sunbathing nude on the
balcony of her apartment, uncaring who might see her.
She felt the sun warm her breasts, stimulating them to
release their bounty. She allowed it to happen,
spraying milk over the railing to the walkway below.
She heard a surprised yell, and realized that someone
down below was getting sprinkled. Recognizing the
voice, she got up from her lounger and went to the
railing. Peering up at her was young Connor, who was
still acting as her constant shadow whenever she was in
the public areas of the apartment building. His face
was dotted with white. Her physical assets in full view
of him, she leaned over the railing and waved to him,
her superlative breasts still dripping with milk. His
eyes threatening to explode from his skull, Connor
raised his arm and weakly waved back. He licked off
some of the droplets of milk that had landed on his
lips, and instantly recognized the taste. The
realization that he had recently, and quite unknowingly,
consumed a gallon of Chris's own milk was too much for
him. A dark spot appeared on his khaki shorts over the
lump that marked his straining erection just before he
fainted dead away.
The Eighth Thing Chris Did: Chris knew that
Sherri enjoyed being wetted down with all manner of
bodily secretions during sex: semen, female ejaculate,
mother's milk, and lately, those of the "golden"
variety. Although Chris could not bring herself to
indulge Sherri in the lattermost fetish, she did suggest
that the two of them get messy in a different way. One
night, instead of bringing honey to drizzle over her
nipples, Chris brought two huge bottles of vegetable oil
and a large plastic dropcloth to their lovemaking
session. The sensation of all that mammary tissue
sliding over and around itself was new to Chris. The
lack of friction was exciting in that it caused her to
focus more strongly on the feelings in order to get the
same level of arousal that she was used to without the
oil. It took her longer to come, but when she did, the
orgasm lasted much longer than usual, rolling up to a
high but rounded peak before dying away over a period of
what seemed like minutes. At session's end, the two
women were coated with an emulsion of mother's milk and
vegetable oil that Sherri jokingly commented could be
made into a servicable salad dressing with the addition
of a few spices!
The Ninth Thing Chris Did: One evening, while
fucking Jim's brains out, Chris suddenly jumped up out
of bed and went to stand before the full length mirror
in her bedroom, beckoning Jim to join her. She
instructed him to penetrate her from behind as they
watched themselves in the mirror. As Jim drove into her
ass, he reached around and grabbed Chris's breasts. In

a flash of inspiration, Chris guided his hands as she

allowed her milk to flow, quite legibly writing "Chris
was here" in milk on the mirror. The quickly melting
words were soon obliterated by the white shower which
followed as Jim's talented tool propelled her to yet
another double explosion of fluids.
The Tenth Thing Chris Did: Chris never forgot the
intense stimulation she received from actually nursing a
baby. Suckling adults was one thing -- they were doing
it for their own pleasure and so did not have the
urgency that an infant, who does it out of the primal
urge for survival, did. She was amazed at the powerful
suction (and incredible orgasms) such small mouths could
produce. Once she'd gotten past the awkwardness of
being sexually stimulated by a baby, she'd grown to
enjoy breastfeeding. One evening she had an opportunity
to babysit twins, about four months old. Their mother,
an acquaintance of Chris's from work who was unaware of
her abilities, had left bottles of her own breast milk
in the refrigerator for Chris. Aware that the twins
might not take to a strange pair of breasts, Chris
anointed her nipples with some of the bottled milk so
that they would recognize their mother's unique chemical
signature. Chris had never nursed two babies
simultaneously, and being unused to handling two at
once, had a little difficulty at first. Using the
"football hold", where each baby was essentially tucked
under an armpit, she was able to position them
appropriately. Smelling their mother's milk on Chris's
oozing nipples, they latched on with a vengeance. Chris
almost passed out from the intensity of having two
little powerhouses pulling away on her at once. It felt
as if her nipples and areolae were being stretched out
like rubber bands by the action of the hungry twins. It
was all she could do to keep the babies positioned
properly while she trembled with orgasm after orgasm,
completely drenching the bath towel she had shoved under
her skirt. Her reverie was broken only when one of the
twins started to splutter and cry, the victim of a
torrent of milk she could not swallow fast enough.
Fortunately the twins' parents were out for most of the
evening, and the little ones had ravenous appetites, so
Chris had an opportunity to repeat the experience before
the parents came home. She made sure to dump out the
bottles to give the proper illusion.
The Eleventh Thing Chris Did: One of the toughest
decisions Chris ever had to make regarding a sexual
activity was with respect to whether or not to try
bondage and discipline. While assertive, Chris did not
consider herself domineering, and ever since her nearrape at the Sailors' Soiree' and her experience with
Drs. Ellis and Frankenmuth, the idea of being restrained
during sex had not held much appeal. However, her
resolve to try more new things before her Final Fling
was over was too strong, and so she sought out Sherri
for some advice on the subject. Her response was to
bring in two more "referrals", and the four of them went
to town. Sherri lent Chris some latex outfits, which,
because they were too small for Chris, lent outrageous
proportions to Chris's body when cinched up tight. The

men brought their own. Much as she tried, Chris could

not get into disciplining these fellows. The most
pleasure she was able to derive from the experience was
when she would stand over them, her breasts protruding
from cutouts in the rubber outfit, as the men groveled
at her feet, begging to catch the drips of milk that the
tight outfit were squeezing from her breasts on their
tongues. She found that the most fun she had was being
tied to the bed, helpless to stop the other three as
their hands and tongues explored her body. Sherri,
knowing what buttons to push better than anyone, waited
until she knew Chris was so engorged that she was ready
to explode, then stimulated a letdown that almost
brought the house down. Chris squirmed on the bed, her
breasts erupting skyward as the other three simply stood
back and watched while masturbating lustily. The geyser
of milk continued for a full two minutes, waving back
and forth as Chris writhed under Sherri's ministrations,
before slaking off to a dribble, like magma from an
underwater fissure. Then one man took to each breast
while Sherri buried her face in Chris's bald cunt. Not
being able to use her hands suddenly caused an image of
Sheila Ellis to reappear in Chris's mind. She was again
in the NMR examining room, strapped down on the table,
with Sheila standing over her, her body glistening with
Chris's dual secretions. The memory of Sheila's inchlong nipples being moved teasingly back and forth across
her lips triggered a fresh flow of juices, surprising
all three people working on her with the volume of it
after all that had already transpired that night.
The Twelfth Thing Chris Did: Sherri's apartment,
being in the same building as Chris's, was laid out in
very much the same way. Chris knew that the balcony off
of Sherri's bedroom had a sliding glass door on it, just
as hers did. One early evening, as the two were about
to make love, Chris darted out onto the balcony, stark
naked, and slid the door shut behind her. As Sherri
stood in front of the door, wondering what she was up
to, Chris began a slow, sinuous dance out on the
balcony. As the tempo of the dance increased, Chris
began to stimulate herself, slipping a finger into her
pouting pussy and licking off the dripping juices,
squeezing drops of milk from her diamond-hard nipples.
Sheila reached for the door handle, but Chris gestured
for her not to. She then began to press her naked body
against the glass, spreading her full hot boobs against
its coolness. They began to release their contents
forcefully. The milk squirted out and around her
flattened bosom and cascaded in white sheets down the
glass. Chris ground her mons against the door, smearing
it from below with her sticky secretion. Sherri pressed
her body against the other side, her tongue flicking out
to trace patterns along the glass. Separated by only
those few millimeters, the two women undulated against
the door, each daring the other to be the first to pull
the handle open. Sherri finally succumbed, jerking the
door open and grabbing Chris's wrist in one quick
motion. She practically carried Chris to the bed and
went at her with unusual vigor. They almost wore out
the double-headed dildo that night.

The Last Thing Chris Did: ...was to notice a

discharge from her vagina one morning. The nature of it
was sufficiently different from her normal almost
constant state of moistness to cause her concern. A
visit to her gynecologist confirmed it: Chris had
contracted a sexually transmitted disease from one of
Sherri's referrals. She had been pretty careful in the
past to insist on her partners' wearing condoms, but in
these last weeks of total sexual abandon she had
abandoned caution as well, and was now paying the price.
One aspect of her treatment was complete abstinence, and
so, quite against her will, Chris's Final Fling ended as
abruptly as it had begun. Fortunately for our heroine,
her program of slowly cutting back on the frequency of
draining her breasts was coming to a close at the same
time, even having been delayed by her recent
"experiment". To Chris's immense relief, her body
responded as expected, slowly reducing its output of her
ivory ambrosia over time. Within three months after her
initial decision, Chris's days as the most amazing
milkmaid in recent medical history had come to a quiet
end.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO:
THE END
Christine smiled tentatively at the woman standing
in front of her, and the woman smiled back in kind. She
allowed her gaze to move slowly along her body, taking
note of small details she didn't ordinarily scrutinize.
Let's start at the top, she thought. I like what she's
done with the hair, a very short style reminiscent of
Major Kira's on "Deep Space Nine", but a touch longer.
Thank God, no gray yet, but she's only 31, for crying
out loud. Eyebrows maybe a bit too thick, nose perhaps
a bit too long, eyes...now stop that, she caught
herself. I thought you stopped doing that years ago.
Now start again, and be nice. Where were we? OK -face: I wouldn't call her her drop-dead gorgeous, but
she hasn't broken the changing room mirror or
anything...hey! What did I just tell you, she
admonished herself again. She'd been satisfied with the
repair work the surgeons had done, and God knows the
opposite sex had had no objections over the intervening
seven years. She was not here to reminisce, however.
So let's get down to it, shall we? She let her eyes
move further downward to examine the bikini she was
trying on. Summer's on the way, melanoma be damned.
I've got to get some color into this whiter-than-white
skin, she thought. Actually, I do look pretty damned
good in this...
The spaghetti straps of the halter top moved
smoothly over a well-defined collarbone and down past a
small mole on the left pectoral and a tiny strawberry
mark on the right to plug into the two triangles of
fabric which made the suit just barely legal in public.
Her lip curled slightly as she thought of how difficult
it had been to find something that fit properly -- she

hoped that this would have to be the last place she

tried. Not exactly a plain old garden-variety 34B, with
plenty of matching suits around. Depending upon the
article of clothing, she could be considered a very full
C or just barely D cup. She'd had to concentrate on
stores that offered separate tops and bottoms so she
could find something that fit. Shouldn't complain, she
said to herself. Sherri has an even worse time finding
clothes with that enormous chest of hers. Impulsively
she removed the top and took a good long look at
herself. Back when I was a 34B I would have passed a
pencil test, she thought, but after all these have been
through, they still hold up well. The wine red nipples
still pointed straight out from her chest, and slightly
away from each other. Thank God for good ligaments,
Chris thought. What will these look like in forty
years? She cupped her breasts briefly, but withdrew her
hands quickly. Boy, they're sensitive again today, she
thought, as a quick bolt of warmth shot from them to her
groin and her nipples responded with alacrity. Almost
like the old days. She stepped back from the mirror and
completed the visual tour. She noted in passing a
couple of extra pounds around the waist -- nothing some
more time on the Stairmaster wouldn't take care of -- if
only she didn't love Ben & Jerry's so much. A slight
look of chagrin crossed her face as she noted some wisps
of pubic hair peeking out of the sides of the suit. If
I buy this, I'll need some Nair, she thought. Hell,
maybe I'll just go back to shaving it all off -- I
actually liked being completely nude. She didn't give a
second thought to her legs. That same Stairmaster had
sculpted them into a perfect blend of bone, muscle, and
just a hint of fat, just enough to smooth the lines out.
Her legs and the firm butt they were attached to used to
be her best feature, but for the past seven years her
bustline had been what people noticed first. And this
suit made good use of it. A quick breath, a sharp nod.
She'll take the suit. Good thing, since today was The
Day, and she had sworn to make a purchase before end of
business, so as not to break with tradition.
Every year at this exact time Chris shopped for a
new bikini in order to acknowledge the anniversary of
The Accident. Seven years ago today, after having
bought a new bikini, she had stepped out of this very
mall, into a bright late spring sun, only to be mowed
down by a speeding car driven by a shoplifter trying to
escape police. Even after all this time she wasn't sure
whether to curse or thank that driver. The side effects
of her injuries had caused her pituitary hormones to go
crazy, causing her breasts to grow and spontaneously
lactate to an extent so unusual that she had been the
subject of a medical study that had won its author a
position as chief researcher at a prestigious medical
center. Sheila never did even so much as thank me,
Chris remembered. Chris had also developed the ability
to ejaculate upon orgasm, an ability which she retained
to this day, albeit without the spectacular volumes of
fluid she could generate in her heyday. Her breasts had
also decreased in impressiveness once she'd stopped
lactating, but they were still considerably larger than

their pre-Accident proportions and despite the years,

were every bit as firm. The fact that she still
retained most of the advantages of the Accident was the
reason she celebrated every year by treating herself to
a new swimsuit.
She emerged from the revolving door of the main
mall entrance and smiled as the bright sunlight caused
her to blink rapidly and begin searching her purse for
her sunglasses. Even the weather's the same today, she
said to herself. She hadn't gone ten meters before she
realized she had forgotten where she'd parked. Mall
parking lots are the bane of my existence, she thought.
She stood in the middle of the drive adjacent to Section
B, doing a slow 360, searching for the dented back
bumper that made her Miata easy to identify. She
clutched her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely
aware of it. She was so intent on her search that only
the barest fraction of her mind heard the screeching of
tortured tires and the over-revving of an engine. She
had just completed her full revolution when deja vu
gripped her like a vise. Panicked, she spun about
again, searching for the source of the sound, and was
infinitely relieved to see a car speeding away several
aisles down. "God, that was too weird", she said aloud
as she stood recovering from the effects of an
adrenaline surge.
Back at her apartment, Chris tried on the bikini
again, this time to see how it would go with the other
beachwear she had in her closet. Her experience in the
parking lot -- the certainty she'd felt that she was
about to do it all over again at the hands of yet
another crazed driver -- had served to stimulate her
memory, and she found herself going over those two years
during which her entire lifestyle had been ruled by the
incredible sexual urges and abilities The Accident had
bestowed upon her. Chris stood before her full-length
mirror, resplendent in her tiny swimsuit, but her mind
was elsewhere: Her living room, where Sherri had
suckled her for the first time. Jeremy's palatial home,
where a decadent Halloween party was her first exposure
to the world of sexual excess. The hospital, being a
guinea pig for Drs. Ellis and Frankenmuth. The creation
of the Lac-Station, and the recruitment of other
lactating women into that organization. The mysterious
first client. The various seductions she'd performed.
The pivotal trip to Jamaica where the dark side of sex
caused her to begin questioning her new lifestyle. The
decision to steer her life back into some semblance of
normalcy. The case of VD that had brought her
promiscuity to a screeching halt.
As her experiences of those two years marched
across her brain, Chris was surprised at the intensity
of her memories of the physical sensations involved.
Over the past five years she had grown so accustomed to
her post-lactation body that she'd completely forgotten
how much higher her level of arousal had been during
that time, and how much more powerful her orgasms were.
Now that she was plumbing the depths of those
experiences, her somatic memory surged forward, and she
was swept with sexual feelings that she had thought were

gone forever. She opened her eyes and saw her image in
the mirror, with face, throat and upper chest flushed
pink, her ribcage expanding with her quickened breath,
nipples poking smartly through the fabric of the bikini
top, and a surge of moistness becoming noticable at the
crotch of the bikini bottom. Before she knew what she
was doing, Chris was out of the swimsuit, the two
fingers of her right hand flying to her pubic region.
Suddenly the feel of hair down there seemed wrong, alien
somehow. As she furiously vibrated her fingers across
her swollen clit, memories of herself squirting like a
fountain from breasts and cunt, drenching her lovers
with sweet secretions while lost in indescribable
feelings of release, filled her head. In seconds she
was coming with such force that her legs gave out from
under her, and she landed with a thump on her pussy
juice-coated behind. She blinked uncomprehendingly at
her image in the mirror, sitting splay-legged before
her, its quivering, drooling pussy still pulsing with
each heartbeat.
I haven't come like that in years, Chris thought,
when rational thought was again possible. Could it be
that I've missed it that much? Her next thoughts came
to her in such a jumble that she was unable to sort them
out, and so she gave herself over to instinct. She
found herself moving into the second bedroom, which had
long since been converted into a study. She opened the
closet, which had remained closed for years, and therein
found a stack of boxes. Inside one, she knew, was the
super-duper breast pump that she had seen fit neither to
repair nor dispose of. Inside another was her
collection of breastfeeding and lactation treatises,
untouched for half a decade. She pulled that box out,
opened it, and started tossing books aside until she
found the one she wanted. Paging furiously through it,
tearing pages with her urgency, she found the chapter
she was looking for, read it like an Evelyn Wood
graduate, carried the book to the phone, hit the speed
dial button, and waited for an answer.
"Sherri? Hi, hon, it's me. Listen, are you
sitting down? I've got a crazy idea for you..."
She spoke excitedly, hurriedly, at times
incoherently, for a few minutes, hung up, got dressed,
and left the apartment with such haste that one would
think it was on fire.
The book she had so urgently consulted was left
open to a chapter that might casually interest a normal
reader, but that for Christine had ignited new passions
and old dreams that were suddenly, tantalizingly
irresistable.
Its title? "Re-lactation and Induced Lactation".