This is a very long story, over half a megabyte [577K]. It is also now an old story. I've seen it dated from September 1997 to January 1998. But the only author I've found it attributed to is "Trek Fiend." So I don't know who wrote it, and it is posted at various websites. If anyone is complaining about copyright violations, I haven't heard. Originally, all I had here were chapters 3 through 20 complete, but the full story, as far as I can tell, in 62 chapters, is here now. I have literally taken years to format the whole thing in HTML; and I still can't say that I have read every part of it carefully. Anyone hostile or uninterested in erotica should read the Pornography Intro Page or the extended discussion of Decadence.

Christine, our heroine, is hit by a car, with some head trauma. This, it turns out, has surprisingly set off the hormones that induce lactation. All sorts of things can happen with brain injuries, as are detailed by Olive Sacks and others -- although he hasn't considered cases of trauma inducing something like this. I like this better than the theme of "moral improvement by brain damage" (cf. Harrison Ford in Regarding Henry [1991]). The erotic key here, of course, is lactation, "Galactorrhea." One thing we miss without knowing the author is whether the details about lactation are the result of research or experience. In those terms it would be nice to know if the sensations experienced and reported by Christine, and her ability to control her responses, somewhat, just with the right state of mind, are themselves the result of research, experience, or perhaps even just fantasy. The whole thing, of course, is fantasy, but such questions arise about the real physiology and psychology involved. If this reflects the real experience of the author with breast feeding, that would add something to the impression we get. The only breast feeding woman I've known who reported on her response denied that there was anything erotic about it, despite what she had heard about it herself. But I didn't ask whether she had ever had an erotic response from her breasts at all, as many women do not. Others certainly do.

At a time, or in a culture, where female breasts are of such sexual significance, it is surprising that lactation itself exists only in a margnizalized and fetishized section of erotica. One could easily miss, indeed, from references in public culture, that lactation even exists. Breast feeding itself seems unnerving to many people, and activists have worked to get laws passed to prevent breast feeding women from being hassled in public places. They also want such laws to apply to private places, like restaurants, but, of course, this is simply part of the general attack we have seen on private property and voluntary relationships, where the morally indignant wish to impose their behavior in places where they don't have to be and on people who don't want to be with them. When it comes to breast feeding, this would, on the other hand, be their loss, but then, as I said, the very idea of milk coming from breasts seems unnerving to many people.

It is even unnerving to many women, who find the idea of an infant, let alone a husband or lover, sucking at her nipples so repellent that the phenomenon of the "bottle-fed" child has been familiar for decades. On the other hand, some women have actually been arrested for "child abuse" just because they breast fed their children for "too long." This constitutes "child abuse," one is left to infer, because long nursing (four years or so) is taken to be unnecessary and unnatural, so that the mother must be prolonging it just because it is sexually arousing for her, which constitures a sexual exploitation of the child. These sick fantasies of the child abuse Nazis at least serve to make this point:  The erotic potential of lactation and breast feeding would seem to be great. Lactating breasts usually have swollen up much beyond their ordinary size. A woman who has breasts full of milk has a kind of discomfort and urgency to nurse or express milk that could well be seen analogous to the need of an excited male to ejaculate; and the analogous fluids are both white. Milk, on the other hand, is of its nature suited to ingestion. People drink cow's milk all the time without finding that disturbing, but it is only in very specialized erotica again that one sees anyone drinking human milk, rather than human semen (which is a pornographic staple). One might think of this as rather turned around. So here we have the counter-attack of the female breast, in its full functional glory.


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, 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 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 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.


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.


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.


"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 distention, 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 needle-thin 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.


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.


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.


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...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 skin-tight 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 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 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.


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.


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 imposing-looking 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.


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: &mbsp;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 short-sleeved 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.


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!


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 bottle guys. "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 belly-dancer 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 alcohol-induced 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.


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 old-fashioned 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 baby-smooth 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.


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 pre-come 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 ached 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...


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 guided it between her legs and placed his mounth onto her yielding 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 who 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.


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..."


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 well-defined. 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 slidtheir 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 double-headed 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.


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 and 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 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.


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 gooseflesh 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.


"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, coal-black 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.


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, semen-soaked 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.


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."


"He has one. Sharp wit, pleasant conversationalist. A bit of a brown-nosing 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?"



"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."


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 doubly-pierced 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.


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.


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 lunged 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.


"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."


"'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."



"Okay, why don't I"

"You know, I don't believe anyone has ever kissed my big toe before. I like that."


"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 many fingers do you have in there? Feels like your whole, don't stop, it feels 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..."


"Don't hold back. I want it! Oh, God, I'm coming...!"

"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."


"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?"


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...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 upper-class 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.

"Garçon, check please!"


"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:

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 full-length 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."


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."


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 gravity-defying 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.


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?"


"Austria, eh? I've always wanted to visit 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....


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."


Uwe paused, struggling with the translation as he 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.


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 even, 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' 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."


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 people 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?"


"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.


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.


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 well-known 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.


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 French-kissing 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.


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 wide- brimmed 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 wasp-waisted 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.


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 glans 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 clearly 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.


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 form-fitting 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.


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."


"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 rolled-up 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.


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...


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.


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 fenced-in 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 needle-thin 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 half-naked 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."


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-the-century 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 well- turned 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.


"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-slash-poker 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.


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 pi¤a 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.


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 mini-jungles. 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 Jean-Claude 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.


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.


"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 hand-held 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.


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 mini-parties, 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 flat-chested. 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, large-breasted 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.


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 sequine-studded G-string to reveal a pussy adorned with a V-shaped 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.


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.


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.


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 one-woman 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.


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.


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.


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 get- together 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 Lac-Station 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-plus-year-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 Lac-Station'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 Lac-Station 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.


The get-together at Janine's apartment had broken up fairly early. Even though the subject of the Lac-Station'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 Lac-Station.

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.


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 now-basketball-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.


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-of-control boobs of mine for a few weeks more."

As it happened, a few weeks was an underestimation.

  1. 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.

  2. 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...

  3. 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.

  4. 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.

  5. 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.

  6. 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.

  7. 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.

  8. 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!

  9. 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.

  10. 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.

  11. 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 near-rape 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 inch-long 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.

  12. 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.

  13. 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.


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".


The (Two) Human Breasts


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