Article 32670 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis {breast, lactation, milk, mf, ff}
Date: 30 Aug 1994 01:03:01 -0400
LACTOGENESIS I
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 "do" reminiscent of Barbra
Streisand's, but shorter. Same color, though. Thank God, no gray
yet, but she's only 24, for crying out loud. Eyebrows maybe a bit too
thick, nose perhaps a bit too long, eyes... now stop that, she caught
herself. Always looking at the dark side. Now start again, and be
*nice*. Where were we? OK - face: I wouldn't call her 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 archeologists think when they unearth them? She stood in the
middle of the drive adjacent to Section B, doing a slow 360, searching
for the dented hatchback that made her Subaru different from all
others. She clutched her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely
aware of it. She was so intent on her search that only the barest
fraction of her mind heard the screeching of tortured tires and the
over-revving of an engine. She had just completed her full revolution
when the world exploded in a dark red fog.
Pain, and again dark red, becoming lighter. Awareness
returning frustratingly slowly, as if swimming up from very deep
water. Why won't my eyes open? Chris thought, but the words were
forming so slowly in her mind. Then a crescent of white light which
grew larger as her reluctant eyelids finally obeyed her commands. The
red fog cleared, leaving sparkles at the edges of her field of vision.
The first thing she focused on was a thin clear plastic tube snaking
its way upward to attach to an inverted bottle within which a steady
stream of bubbles arose. Instant recognition, and instant panic. An
IV unit. I'm in a hospital! What the hell... ? She tried to sit up
and was rewarded with the return of the red fog and a feeling which
must be what getting one's head impaled on a spike must be like. She
paused to take stock of her condition. Her head was wrapped tightly
in bandages; in fact, where she reached up to touch her face, all she
felt was cloth. No, just the nose and the upper jaw were covered.
Her lower jaw ached and her mouth felt like it was packed full of
cotton. She raised her arms into her field of view and saw a splint
on one hand and nothing on the other. Tentatively, she wiggled toes,
moved legs, flexed her back. Sore, but bearable. Her personal
inventory was interrupted by the smiling face of a young man bending
over her. The suddenness of his appearance startled her, and she
jumped slightly, which caused fireworks to go off behind her eyes. A
slight moan escaped her throat.
"Sorry," the doctor said. "I shouldn't be hovering like this.
Just checking my handiwork." Chris heard the scrape of a stool across
the floor as he sat down at her bedside. He paused a minute, as if
collecting his thoughts, then smiled again. "OK. Lots of questions.
First, you're in room 223 of Memorial Hospital. I am Dr. Frankenmuth.
That's '-muth', not '-stein'. I'm your doctor. Seems some maniac
trying to flee mall security with ten dollars' worth of shoplifted
doodads in his possession tried to mow you down in the prime of life."
Frankenmuth noted the fear building in her eyes and his manner
immediately changed. "You're hurt pretty badly, but we've put
everything back where it belongs. The worst injury was to your head.
Your EEG shows normal, but there was some fracturing. We had to go in
through the roof of your mouth to repair the damage. You'll be here a
couple of weeks, but you'll make a full recovery. We've given you
medication for the pain and to help you sleep. You're going to be
fine. I and a number of my colleagues will be checking in on you from
time to time, but for now, just rest." Chris was mildly surprised at
how easy it was to follow that advice.
LACTOGENESIS II
The 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 specter 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, amazed to see a veritable
fountain of fluid gush from her pussy, cover the doctor's hand, and
splash across the front of his white coat. Frankenmuth uttered a
wordless sound of surprise and scooted the stool back several feet.
Chris was shocked right out of what arguably had been the most intense
orgasm of her life.
"Oh, my God, Doctor, I... " Words suddenly failed her as she
clamped her legs tightly together.
"No, it's OK, really," Frankenmuth said as he looked down at
the stain on his coat. "I'd heard of female ejaculation, of course,
but I have to tell you, that's the damndest thing I ever saw."
"You don't understand, Doctor. I don't do this. This has
never happened to me before. I'm... I'm actually a little bit
frightened." Chris gathered the bedsheets tightly around her,
uncaring that a good portion of them was soaking wet.
For someone who had just provided a patient with an incredible
orgasm, Frankenmuth was quickly able to don his professional demeanor.
"Don't be," he said reassuringly. "Maybe we can find out what's going
on. Do you always achieve orgasm so quickly?"
"No. I often don't come at all. When I do, it usually takes
a while. And I *never* get this wet. Doctor, there have been other
things, too." She told him about the change she had noticed in her
breasts.
Frankenmuth rubbed his chin. "You know, I think I'm going to
have an endocrinologist look at you. There's a chance the bump you
took to the head has provided you with some fringe benefits." He
stood up and turned to leave, then realized what he must look like.
He removed his gloves, took off his coat, rolled it up under his arm,
and smiled again. This time there was a definite twinkle in his eye
as he left the room.
Chris sat in her bed, still not quite able to fathom what had
happened. Not even ten minutes had passed since she dared looked at
herself in the doorway mirror, and in that unbelievably short time she
had had a sexual epiphany unlike anything she had ever experienced. I
don't know what's going on, she thought, but I think I like it. I
wonder what other surprises are on the horizon. Wicked thoughts began
playing through her mind as she put her hospital gown back on and rang
for the nurse. She was going to need fresh sheets.
LACTOGENESIS III
Chris sat in the endocrinologist's office, watching
impatiently as Dr. Ellis ("call me Sheila", she had said) pored over
an imposing-looking stack of laboratory results. In the two weeks
since she'd left the hospital, she'd visited this office three times,
each time giving up what she thought was an inordinate amount of blood
for tests and submitting to microscopic goings-over of her ever-
changing body. At those times Chris had thought that Dr. Frankenmuth
had had a gentler touch -- or maybe that was because Frankenmuth had
been a man.
Chris thought back over those last two weeks. She remembered
getting dressed the day of her discharge from the hospital. It was
her first time in street clothes in almost a month. The outfit she
had worn the day of the accident was a total loss, of course, but her
neighbor Sherri had brought her outfits from Chris's apartment. Chris
had tried to put on her undergarments, and laughed out loud at the
result. She was still thin from the weight loss she'd experienced, so
the panties were loose on her, but the bra was ridiculously small.
She'd even checked the tag on it: sure enough, 34B. Her breasts had
swollen to 36C by that time. She had had to forgo the bra for the
trip home. She hadn't done that in some time, and reveled in the feel
of the fabric of her blouse teasing her nipples as she moved. By the
time she'd gotten home, they were so hard and sensitive they ached,
and she was sure she'd have to change those too-big panties.
That first day home had been a one-woman orgy. Consumed with
curiosity as to whether her gushing orgasm at the hands of Dr.
Frankenmuth had been just a fluke, Chris couldn't wait to attain the
privacy of her own apartment before seeing for herself. She'd thought
about it in the hospital but was afraid someone coming for yet another
blood sample would catch her in the act. She hadn't even unpacked her
valise before dashing into the bedroom, stripping off her clothes, and
going straight for her nightstand, where sure enough, the vibrator was
just where she had left it. It was one of those G-spot vibrators with
the bent tip, designed to hit that magic place within the vagina. She
remembered that it had felt better than a standard bullet-shaped
model, but she'd never achieved anything with it like the tsunami that
had happened in her hospital room. Maybe that would change.
She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt the
warmth and weight of her breasts as they pressed against her rib cage.
They didn't spread out much, not as much as they used to. Not only
were they getting bigger, they were getting firmer, too. She brushed
her fingertips against her nipples, which were now a full three-
quarters of an inch long and as big around as her little finger. A
pins-and-needles feeling spread from the tips of each breast, down her
tummy to her cunt. On impulse, she pinched both nipples between
thumbs and forefingers and tugged. The tingles intensified, and she
could feel herself getting wet. She began stroking, kneading,
squeezing her breasts. She was amazed at the feeling -- the flesh
didn't feel like what she was used to, and that was incredibly
exciting for her. She returned to massaging her nipples, tracing slow
circles around the wine-red areolae (they'd continued to darken during
her stay in the hospital). She could feel her hips beginning to rise
and fall of their own accord, so she clamped her legs tightly together
to intensify the slow burn that was beginning in her clit. She pulled
her nipples so hard that her breasts rose from their resting place,
and that put her over the edge. A wave of ecstasy rolled across her
body, and sure enough the floodgates opened. Her legs were pressed so
tightly together that her juice sprayed forcefully straight into the
air and down into the mattress. She opened her eyes to find
everything below her navel dripping wet. Oddly enough, her fingers
were wet, too. She looked down at her breasts and was mildly shocked
to find a yellowish fluid seeping slowly from her still hard nipples.
Her joy overcame her shock, though. She had just brought herself off
without even having touched her clit. That was *really* unusual for
her, and that first squirting orgasm hadn't been a fluke after all.
Somehow she was now able to ejaculate. Chris remembered having seen a
porn film featuring an actress named Fallon who shot juice from her
pussy, and remembered how she'd been convinced she was only peeing.
Now she knew better.
The session hadn't ended there, though. The vibrator had yet
to be touched. Chris turned it on and guided it slowly along her
waist and across the insides of her thighs, feeling the vibrations
merge with the trembling of her muscles. She reached her clit and
pressed the head of the vibrator just above the hood. Suddenly she
felt an overpowering urge to have that thing inside her. She flung
her legs wide and with a single motion buried it to the hilt in her
sopping wet snatch. The bent tip was facing forward, and Chris felt
it nudge a swollen area of tissue deep within her vagina. She came
immediately, and more forcefully than before. She felt hot liquid
splash along her calves as she rode the crest of the wave. When she
came down, she saw that the fluid from her distended nipples had
formed rivulets that coursed down into her armpits, and her bedclothes
were wet all the way to the foot of her bed. Lost in the wonder of
the fantastic and as yet unexplained changes that had happened to her
body, Chris masturbated for hours that day, eventually losing count of
her orgasms, each of which produced liquid both above and below, but
in ever-decreasing amounts until she was finally spent. And very
thirsty.
Those two weeks had brought on numerous repeats of this
activity. Chris was completely taken up in reveling in this new body
of hers, which had continued to change. She became more svelte; her
skin, loosened by the weight loss, tightened around a tummy that was
now washboard flat. Her hips became more defined. Her bush had
proliferated considerably, to the point where Chris decided to shave
it completely off. *That* had been quite an experience; she barely
had kept from nicking herself with her shaking hands. The sight of
her bald beaver had so excited her that she'd had three orgasms in
rapid succession from only the slightest of manipulations. By then
she had learned to put a plastic drop cloth on the bed. Her breasts
continued to change. They now leaked this same yellowish fluid more
often, not just at orgasm. They also continued to grow and get
firmer. Chris had had to make two trips to the store for bras as she
continued to outgrow them. She finally seemed to level off at 38D,
but she was having to use the last set of hooks and even those cups
seemed a trifle confining.
Her thoughts returned to the present, for Sheila had completed
her examination of the lab results and was looking up at her.
LACTOGENESIS IV
"This has been a truly fascinating case for me," Dr. Sheila
Ellis said in genuine awe as she regarded Christine across her desk.
"We both know you've never had a child, but if I didn't know better,
I'd swear your blood chemistry was that of a postpartum woman." With
the enthusiasm of a new med student, she launched into a long speech
punctuated by phrases like "This is going to make one hell of a
paper." Chris heard words like prolactin, alpha-lactalbumin,
progesterone, hypothalamus, lactogenesis, oxytocin. "Your body has
been fooled into thinking it has to feed a baby," Sheila said. Chris
was beginning to grow impatient. She had heard plenty of *how*, and
now she demanded to know *why*.
"As near as we can figure, something happened to your
pituitary gland as a result of the accident. Part of the surgery you
had was in that area of your skull, and although the pituitary is
buried pretty deep, it's possible that a piece of bone or other trauma
has disturbed the neurochemical connections between your pituitary and
the rest of your body. The hormones the pituitary produces have been
going crazy, and they've been what's triggered the changes in you.
Increases in breast size and vascularization, pigment changes in the
nipples and areolae, discharge of colostrum -- that yellowish fluid
that leaks from your breasts -- elevated serum prolactin... all of
these are consistent with stage I lactogenesis. Your breasts have
undergone a tremendous proliferation of secretory alveoli, lactiferous
tubules, and myoepithelial cells... "
Yeah, yeah, it's all Greek to me, Chris thought. I sure wish
she'd stop with the technobabble. She started fidgeting in her chair.
She was becoming rather uncomfortable. She had noticed a slight ache
in her breasts when she arrived at Sheila's office, and it had been
steadily growing worse. Now she was beginning to feel real pain, her
breasts felt even larger than ever (if that was possible), and she
began to feel like she might burst the confines of her bra. This was
new; it was also very disconcerting.
Sheila was in the middle of explaining how Chris's hormonal
changes had also triggered a proliferation of cell growth in her
Grafenberg Spot, which in turn was responsible for her ejaculations,
when she noticed Chris scrunching her shoulders together and wincing
slightly. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. My breasts really hurt all of a sudden."
"Let's take a look."
Chris hurriedly removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra. Her
breasts sprang free from their confinement but barely sagged at all
upon removal of their support. They looked absolutely huge to her --
could I really have once been a 34B? she thought absently. The skin
was stretched taut, and the veins beneath glowed purplish blue. The
areolae looked puffy and had small patches of dried colostrum on them.
Her nipples, now exposed to the cool air of the office, sprang to
life. Her boobs felt heavy and hot, and they *hurt*.
Sheila came around her desk and lightly ran one hand around
the side of one breast. She felt the heat, saw the distension, and
knew immediately what was happening. "You're engorged, my dear. Your
milk has come in." Chris wasn't surprised to hear it; she felt full.
All she wanted now was to be emptied. Despite the pain, she felt a
familiar stirring in her crotch. It had been fun watching the
colostrum leak from her breasts during her sexplay, but now she was
going to be able to gush liquid from her nipples, just as she had been
doing from her pussy. I'm going to be a damn human fountain, she
thought. She looked up at Sheila, who was still staring, almost
transfixed, at her chest. After a few seconds Sheila looked up into
Chris's eyes and saw an unspoken question, "What now?"
Sheila turned back to her desk and picked up an empty coffee
cup. "I don't have a breast pump in the office; you'll have to pick
one up on the way home. We can express some of that milk, enough to
relieve the engorgement. Here." She handed Chris the cup. Chris
leaned forward slightly, placed the lip of the cup under one swollen
nipple, and squeezed. Nothing happened. She tried again with the
other breast -- same result. Geez, 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 areole. 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 areole 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 let-down reflex I have ever seen. You
must have shot ten feet." The good doctor was obviously beside
herself. Was she breathing a little heavily? Chris wondered as she
fumbled with her bra. Sheila smoothed the front of her white coat
(which had some small wet spots on it), chuckled slightly, and said,
"I think you've gone past stage II and are in full lactation." No
shit, Chris thought wryly.
LACTOGENESIS V
Dr. Ellis took a Kleenex, wiped off her chair, muttered
something about how long this was going to take to clean up, sat down,
folded her hands, and looked serious. "We need to discuss how you
want to handle this," she said.
Christine didn't like the tone in her voice, and instantly her
brain kicked into overdrive. She's right, she thought. What am I
going to do about this? Am I going to be making a mess everywhere I
go, spewing milk like a Guernsey cow? What if I'm traveling, or on
a date, or in a store, and I... what was the term Sheila used?...
"let down" like that? Am I going to be engorged all the time? Am I
going to have to wear those ugly nursing bras? Am I always going to
be washing milk stains out of my blouse? What are *guys* going to
think about this?
At the same time, another part of her was almost panicked.
Ellis is going to suggest something like surgery again to correct
this, or hormone therapy. She remembered a friend of hers who had
undergone hormone therapy to treat endometriosis. The drugs had
completely changed her personality, transforming her from a pleasant,
ordinary type to a weepy, bitchy bundle of nerves. Chris shuddered at
the prospect of becoming like that. Her body was screwed up enough
now; she didn't want Sheila or anybody else compounding the problem.
And did she really want to go back to her old body? No doubt when the
milk dried up, her breasts would return to their previous 34B, maybe
even less. They'd probably droop and be covered with stretch marks.
The calories that were going into making milk now would redeposit
themselves on her hips, and she would once again be a slave to her
Stairmaster. Hospital nurseries needed mother's milk; perhaps she
could donate hers. Lastly, dammit, she realized, she liked it!
*Really* liked it! Since her transformation began, her degree of
sexual fulfillment had been orders of magnitude greater than anything
she had previously experienced -- and she smiled inwardly when she
realized that this was in spite of the fact that she hadn't gotten
laid in months. Her orgasms were more intense, frequent, and yes,
even multiple now. She was beginning to open up to herself sexually,
too -- would she have shaved her pussy on a whim a year ago? She
thought not. Being able to give milk and to squirt at orgasm somehow
made her feel like she had attained a new level of physical and sexual
development almost as if she had been in "standby" mode all these
years and only now was becoming a fully functional sexual being.
After all, weren't tits *designed* to have milk? All the gushing,
squirting, and spraying was an exquisite form of release for her -- it
felt so much more *thorough* than what she had experienced before.
She also liked her profile in the mirror; she liked the feel of her
big new breasts, new baby-smooth mons, newly talented pussy. She was
sure that most guys would kill for a night with a woman who could do
the things Chris could now do. Besides, hadn't she read somewhere
that lactating tits were less likely to develop breast cancer than the
regular models? The decision was quickly made: Chris would keep
lactating as long as her extraordinary pituitary and mammary glands
would let her.
What Sheila said next made Chris wonder if she could read
minds. "I hesitate to recommend doing anything invasive at this
stage," she said. "It's possible that the pituitary is damaged somehow
-- we could do a MRI scan to see for sure -- but surgery in that area
is a tricky prospect, and there's a good chance we could do more harm
than good." Sheila paused for a few seconds, then continued.
"Obstetricians have been giving 'dry-up' drugs like bromocryptine to
postpartum women who didn't want to breastfeed for decades, but some
new studies indicate that they can be very harmful, and the FDA just
recently banned their use for that purpose. That leaves us with a
third option of doing nothing. Normally, if a lactating woman does
not drain the milk she produces, the pressure produces a feedback
mechanism that signals the machinery to shut down, and she dries up
within a few days. It's an uncomfortable few days during which
there's a lot of engorgement. Some women even develop a mild fever.
We could try that if you want, but frankly, the way your hormones are
raging, I doubt the feedback mechanism would work. You'd just be
miserable. Let me ask you this: does the prospect of producing a lot
of milk for the foreseeable future bother you?" Chris pretended to
mull it over for a while, then shook her head no. Sheila went on. "In
that case, I can put you in touch with the local milk bank regarding
donations if you'd like to do that. I've already mentioned a breast
pump; that will become one of your closest companions, I'm afraid,"
she added. Yeah, right up there with my G-spot vibrator, Chris
thought with amusement. "I can also give you the number of the local
La Leche League chapter; they can give you a lot of tips as to the
daily care and feeding -- pardon the pun -- of those lovely breasts of
yours." She handed Chris a slip of paper. "I want to see you
regularly over these next weeks and months. I'll be honest with you.
You would make a terrific research project in lactation without
pregnancy. You are definitely a rare find. Would you consider
helping out in that regard?" Chris was mildly surprised but answered
yes. "Great," Sheila replied happily. "Call me if you have problems,
otherwise, I'll see you in... two weeks," she said, glancing briefly at
her calendar. "Goodbye now." Sheila briskly walked over to a paper
towel dispenser, pulled out several, and began mopping up the puddles
of milk Chris had deposited on her desk.
Chris mumbled some thanks and stood up to leave, somewhat
perplexed by the suddenness of her dismissal. She thought she had
seen a twinkle in Sheila's eye similar to Frankenmuth's when he had
witnessed her sexual uniqueness. For a split second she had imagined
that there was more than just a professional interest there, but
evidently she was wrong. Chris had never been with another woman
before, but with everything that had happened, it seemed nothing was
outside the realm of possibility now. She thought it might be
interesting, and Dr. Ellis was actually fairly attractive. She shook
her head slightly as if to drive the thought out. Boy, do *you* need
to get your ashes hauled, she thought.
As she started to walk to the door, she felt a trickle of
fluid run down the inside of both thighs. Her panties were absolutely
glued to her. I guess I must have come after all, she thought. Thank
God I wore a skirt today. She stole a glance at the chair she had been
sitting on. Sure enough, there was a puddle there, too, and it
certainly wasn't milk. As she looked up again, she caught Sheila
dipping a finger into some of the milk on the desk, putting the finger
in her mouth, and smiling blissfully. Just then she caught Chris's
eye and turned away as if embarrassed. Chris smiled and left the
office. I am going to have *fun*, she thought as she approached her
car.
LACTOGENESIS VI
THE ADJUSTMENT
Christine came through the doorway of her apartment, loaded
down with grocery bags. She went straight to the refrigerator, opened
the freezer compartment, and began loading pints of Ben & Jerry's into
it. Four different flavors this time. Blast those guys for inventing
this stuff, she thought. It's more addictive than cocaine. She
smiled as she remembered all the hours she had had to spend on the
Stairmaster as a result of her addiction. She still used the machine
fairly often; she still enjoyed the endorphin rush from it, but at
least now she didn't *have* to use it. One of the fringe benefits of
her new ability to lactate was that she could easily turn all those
sinful calories back into milk instead of wearing them as fat. In
fact, Dr. Sheila had recommended that she increase her caloric 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, which 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 jetting 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 a
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 luster and smoothness to her skin, and with
the veins barely visible under the taut skin of her bosom, Chris now
looked almost as if she had been carved from fine Italian marble.
Chris was a very lucky woman. Instead of her run-in with a
reckless driver rendering her a twisted lump of broken flesh, it had
sculpted her into a heartbreakingly beautiful definition of
pulchritude. So why hadn't she had so much as a date, let alone a
sexual liaison, since the accident? Surely the guys at work had
noticed the change in her figure. She'd gained six inches along her
bustline; such a thing does not go unnoticed! She'd felt the eyes on
her in stores, on the street... was it that her incredible new figure
was actually intimidating men? Did they think she had been
artificially enhanced? What was the deal here?
Chris was thinking just such thoughts as she sat alone at her
kitchen table, with an open pint of Cherry Garcia in front of her,
when she heard her doorbell ring.
LACTOGENESIS VII
THE NEIGHBOR
Christine quickly replaced the ice cream in the freezer, and
hurried to the door. As she peered through the peephole, she felt a
pang of embarrassment. Standing in the hallway was her neighbor
Sherri, who had taken care of Chris's apartment while she was in the
hospital. Chris's embarrassment stemmed from the fact that in the
weeks since she'd been home, she had not once visited Sherri to thank
her for the work she had done to keep the place up and for generally
being the kind of neighbor most people wished they had. Her mind
raced as she tried to think of a proper apology. It was several
seconds before she realized she hadn't opened the door yet.
As the door swung open, Sherri held up a set of keys, which
she jingled. "Just returning these," she said. "Sorry I've taken so
long to get them back to you."
"Oh, Sherri, it's me who should apologize. Please, come in."
Chris stood aside to admit her neighbor, stammering out poorly
chosen words of apology as she did so. "I'm really sorry I haven't
been by to see you. I've been meaning to thank you for helping out
while I was hurt. The place really looked great, and I appreciate..."
Sherri simply waved one hand. "Listen, glad to do it. If I
were laid up like you were, with no family around to help out, I know
I'd want to have somebody keeping an eye on my place while I was gone.
I just wanted to drop by to see how you were doing. You look... er...
you look... uh, great." Chris suddenly realized that Sherri's gaze
was riveted on her breasts. Chris had chosen a body suit and jeans
that morning; the 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 so... so *different*... "
"Hey, no problem. Look, I had to do *something* to compete
with you. I couldn't let you get *all* the stares." They both
laughed, and the tension in the room was broken. Chris hadn't
exaggerated. Although Sherri was pushing 40, there was nothing in her
smooth, lightly freckled face to betray her age. Her slight frame had
thickened slightly over the years, but she still had a drop-dead
hourglass shape and a chest that turned heads. In fact, Chris had had
to borrow some tops from Sherri while she had retooled her wardrobe to
her new dimensions. They had fit quite well. As she motioned for
Sherri to be seated, Chris could see the questions in Sherri's eyes,
and decided to save her further embarrassment by beating her to the
punch.
"Little fringe benefit from the accident," she said simply.
"They tell me my pituitary gland got kicked into overdrive. I had no
idea that little thing could cause all this. If I'd've known this
would happen, I'd've jumped in front of a bus years ago."
"Well, from the looks of things, maybe you'd better give me
that guy's license number." More laughter. "Seriously, I can't get
over what's happened to you. You look, well, fantastic! I gather you
didn't have to take in any of the clothes I lent you. Even looks like
you might have me by an inch or two. Who'd've thought I'd have the
*second* biggest set in the building?" It was true. Until now, there
had never been a problem getting Sherri's underwear mixed up with
anyone else's in the laundry room. Anything with a tag that said
"38D" had to be Sherri's. Chris smiled. She had always admired
Sherri's slightly earthy, no-bullshit personality. Sherri was clearly
envious of Chris's new bustline, and was making no bones about it.
"Speaking of clothes, before I forget, I want to give you
those back," Chris said, as she rose and quickly strode toward her
bedroom closet. She quickly returned with a small handful of hangers
from which hung several blouses. "I meant to get them to you earlier,
but I had to send a couple out to get some milk stains removed. They
did a good job; you can't even tell... " She stopped herself. She
hadn't meant to say "milk". The stains had happened before Chris had
gotten conscious control over her ability to lactate. She'd gotten so
used to having milk that she hadn't thought about how other people
would react. Had she said too much already?
"That's OK. I thought you didn't like to drink... " Sherri
stopped in mid-sentence. Her pale features became even paler and her
big eyes widened to almost cartoon-character size. "You don't mean...
you don't mean those actually *work*?" The way Sherri put that, Chris
couldn't help herself. A quick, nervous spasm of laughter escaped her
lips.
She recovered quickly. "Yeah. They sure do. Pretty wild,
huh?"
Sherri was glancing around the floor, trying to find a place
to fix her gaze. Her eyes were still wide as she said, "Well, that
explains those funny rhythmical noises I've been hearing from in here.
You're using a pump, aren't you?"
Chris cursed inwardly. The walls in this building are thinner
than I thought, she said to herself. Maybe I'll have to do that in
the kitchen from now on. She looked up at Sherri, trying to think of
something witty to say. Suddenly she noticed how Sherri's demeanor
had changed. Her hands were clasping and unclasping in her lap; she
seemed to be fidgeting; her eyes were darting everywhere; and she
actually looked a little flushed. It didn't quite look like
embarrassment -- it looked like... My God, Chris thought. She looks
like she's *excited*! I'd best tread softly here...
"Are you all right? Should we change the subject?"
"Oh, no! No!" Sherri burst out. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't
have said anything. It's just that... " She glanced down, afraid to
meet Chris's eyes. "It's just that, I've always wanted to be able to
do that. It's been a long-standing fantasy of mine. I've always been
proud of these boobs of mine, and men have always appreciated them.
I've just been wanting to give them, and myself, more... " She looked
up. "Oh, boy, I've said too much. I'd better go... " She stood up
quickly.
"No, wait. Sit down, hon," Chris said soothingly. "I'm not
offended. Frankly, I'm intrigued, and flattered that you'd want to
confide in me like that. You know, I haven't really talked to anybody
about this except my doctor, and she's so *clinical* about it. Stay.
Let's talk. I'd like to get this off my chest."
She realized the double entendre just as Sherri did. The two
friends stared at each other for a few shocked moments, then dissolved
in helpless laughter. Chris knew in that moment she had found a
confidant, someone she could tell anything to.
LACTOGENESIS VIII
THE SECRET REVEALED
Christine and Sherri laughed for a long time over Chris's "get
it off my chest" line. As the laughter began to die down, Chris
impulsively reached out and hugged Sherri to her. She immediately
felt the unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of another woman's body
against hers. It was the first time Chris had had close physical
contact with another person since her body had changed. Sherri had
gone up on tip-toe, and Chris became acutely aware of her breasts
pressing against her own. Seventy-eight combined inches of mammary
tissue squashed together, creating a huge soft cushion any man would
have been more than happy to suffocate in. Chris found herself
holding the embrace longer than she thought she would have. It felt
soft and safe in Sherri's arms.
It was Sherri who broke it off. "Oh, I shouldn't have
squeezed so hard, but I haven't laughed like that in weeks. Did I
hurt you?"
"No, don't be silly," Chris replied. "They're full, but it's
not like they're going to pop or anything."
Sherri sat down again abruptly. "Oh, Chris. Tell me what
it's like. Is it uncomfortable? Do you like it? Is it inconvenient
for you? Does it make you feel sexier?" A flood of questions
followed, and Chris answered as best she could, when she could get a
word in edgewise. She decided to be honest, and not hold anything
back. She told Sherri about the incident in Sheila's office, about
how much she enjoyed using the pump, even about how the letdown
sensation always enhanced her orgasms and how she was now able to
ejaculate. She found herself going into painstaking detail. She also
discovered that relating these experiences was proving to be extremely
arousing for her. She was reliving her sexual awakening. The
memories of how she had received the new sensations her body had
provided were actually reviving those sensations. She couldn't help
noticing Sherri's reactions, either. As Chris went on, Sherri
occasionally would reach up a hand to absently stroke a breast, or she
would rub her thighs together gently. The look on her face was one
which a man marooned in a desert would have when his eyes beheld a
drinking fountain. Finally, as Chris was describing a particularly
intense orgasm she had had in the shower, when the blasts of water,
vaginal juice, and breast milk had combined just before disappearing
down the drain, Sherri could contain herself no longer.
"Please, show me." She was almost begging. "I must see what
it's like. Show me, please, Chris."
Chris was so turned on by her own narrative that Sherri's
request actually sounded reasonable. Her excitement had cranked up
her hormone levels, and her breasts were in need of relief. Why not,
then? Without a word, Chris stood and walked to the kitchen cupboard,
from which she produced a large drinking glass. She walked back over
to the sofa, put the glass on the coffee table, and began unbuttoning
the top of her bodysuit. She pulled the stretchy fabric down over her
shoulders and allowed it to bunch at her waist, revealing a lacy,
sheer, half-cup bra that seemed to only barely hold its contents.
Chris unfastened the front clasp and the cups swung to the sides like
the gates of heaven. She thought she heard Sherri gasp as her bosom
came into full view.
"Oh, Chris, they're beautiful." Sherri suddenly leaned
forward to touch her neighbor's swollen breasts. Gently, almost with
a feather touch, Sherri's hand traced the smooth curves, brushed the
extended nipples with butterfly-wing tenderness. Chris found herself
moaning softly, captivated by the softness of Sherri's touch and how
totally electrifying it was. She felt a hard coolness in one hand and
opened her eyes to find that Sherri had pressed the glass into it.
She looked up and met Sherri's eyes, which wordlessly were pleading Do
it, do it.
Chris placed the rim of the glass along the lower margin of
her left areole. With her left hand she pressed in and down, and was
immediately rewarded with a gush of milk. The thin fluid streamed
freely, pulsing anew with each press from Chris's fingers. The glass
began filling quickly. Sherri sat transfixed, her eyes never
blinking. Her hands were busy however; one rubbing a tit while the
other was buried between her legs, fluttering like a wounded bird
against the fabric covering her pussy.
Through the buzzing of pleasure in her head, Chris felt the
now unequal pressure on her chest, and almost unconsciously switched
breasts. Now her right breast sprayed hard and long into the glass,
while a thin dribble continued from her left breast, dripping onto her
thigh. Chris knew that if she continued, the glass would soon
overflow, so she started the mental exercise that would slow the flow
without taking away the pleasure. As the bluish-white jets from her
turgid nipple became slow droplets, Chris felt Sherri grab the glass
away.
Sherri was like a woman obsessed. "I *have* to taste this. I
simply must... " Her words were cut short as she thirstily slurped at
the contents of the glass. Without taking the glass away, she began
murmuring, "Oh, God, it's so sweet and warm. I had no idea how
good... " Her voice sounded strangely hollow as she spoke through the
bottom of the glass. Abruptly she stopped drinking, lowered the
glass, and stared at Chris with a look that practically screamed
"please". Somehow, Chris knew what Sherri wanted, and somehow, she
welcomed the idea. Sherri quickly dropped to her knees next to Chris,
leaned forward, and fastened her lips to Chris's dripping nipple.
Chris inhaled sharply at this new sensation. This was not
some inanimate plastic cup applying a suction like the vacuum of space
itself, this was a live, warm, human being. Her body reacted
intensely to the feel of skin on skin, a feeling it hadn't experienced
for months, and never in this incarnation. Sherri sucked like a
starving woman, and Chris's breast responded in kind. Sherri's
breathing became erratic as she tried to handle a flow so strong that
she could barely swallow fast enough. Her right hand went up to
fondle Chris's free breast, and for a moment Chris lost her mental
hold, allowing fresh milk to cascade over Sherri's kneading fingers
and down her arm. Sherri's left hand was firmly entrenched in her
crotch, her fingers a blur as she masturbated right through her
clothing. As she neared orgasm, Sherri's mouth lost its grip on
Chris's nipple. Milk still blasted forth, hitting the back of
Sherri's throat as she opened her mouth wide to scream forth her
pleasure. Her orgasmic yell became a choking cough as the milk went
down the wrong pipe, but Chris was too far into her own orgasm to hear
it. She felt the maxi-pad between her legs swell with the liquid
being poured into it, and the extra pressure that created heightened
the sensation even more. Her body was actually trembling as she
reached for a tissue to dab some errant drops of milk from her pulsing
nipples. The maxi-pad had reached its limit, and a dark spot was
forming on her jeans. Sherri's outfit fared little better.
LACTOGENESIS IX
THE FAVOR
Sherri coughed a few more times, then straightened up, her
eyes watering. She accepted tissues, which she used to wipe off her
mouth, throat, and hands. "Christ almighty, that was unbe-fucking-
lievable," she mused. "I don't come like that, even with a cock in
me. You are truly a wonder, you are."
Chris sat very still, numbed by what had just transpired. She
had just had an orgasm as the result of an encounter with another
woman, something that just a few short months ago she would have
considered unthinkable, repulsive even. It slowly dawned on her that
the hormonal changes had affected not only her body, but her mind as
well. She suddenly felt as if a great stone gate had been torn away
from a hidden place in her psyche, allowing a whole new world of
possibilities to be entertained. Is this what it's like when a blind
person regains her sight? Chris thought. In a rush, she grabbed
Sherri's head and pressed it to her still-wet chest, tears beginning
at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you, Sherri, thank you," she
repeated over and over. "You have no idea what you have just done for
me. If there's any way I can repay you... "
Sherri allowed herself to be rocked in Chris's arms,
blissfully unaware of what she was talking about. Through her post-
orgasmic glow, however, she clearly heard Chris's last sentence. Her
eyes brightened as she sat up, took both of Chris's hands in hers, and
said, "Actually, there is something... "
Chris blinked away the tears and smiled. "Honey, after that,
you can have anything your lil' ol' heart desires."
Sherri wasn't smiling, and there was a look of earnestness on
her face. "I'm serious here," she said. She paused a few seconds as
if framing a very important question. "Chris," she said finally, "I
want you to show me how to do that. I want *my* tits overflowing.
After seeing what it's like, I just realized I've never wanted
anything so much in my life. Teach me how to get milk in these
babies. Please."
Chris sat back against the sofa. She had not been prepared
for this. She began refitting her bra and bodysuit as she tried to
think of how to respond. Presently she said, "Sherri, I don't think
this is anything I can *teach* you. You forget, I had to get my head
practically smashed in for this to happen. This is a fluke, a one-
in-a-million thing. My doctor's still not sure why or how I'm still
like this, or how long it will last. There are just too many unknowns
here."
Sherri's shoulders drooped and her face fell. "I know, I
know," she said resignedly. "I shouldn't have asked such a silly
thing. I guess it was just the tail end of my orgasm talking. Forget
I said anything." Chris was surprised; Sherri was genuinely
disappointed, and seemed almost on the verge of tears. Chris couldn't
let such a marvelous sexual experience end on such a note.
"Now hold on a minute, I didn't say it was impossible. You
know, I've been doing a lot of reading lately, trying to figure out
what's going on in this body of mine, and I seem to remember... hey!"
Chris jumped up and hurried over to her bookshelf, from which she
extracted an 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.
LACTOGENESIS X
THE NIGHTCLUB
Christine stood in the hallway outside Sherri's apartment.
She rang the doorbell, then checked her watch. 9:07 pm. She glanced
down at herself to take final stock of her appearance. She and Sherri
were going to a nightclub to drink and talk; she wasn't in the mood
for cruising the place for cute guys. She was dressed accordingly:
an understated outfit, characterized by loose-fitting fabric that de-
emphasized her figure. She didn't want some drunk asshole slobbering
all over her chest tonight. God, she thought, I feel like I'm going
on a blind date or something. Relax! It's only Sherri; this is only
going to be a couple of girls out on the town. She reconsidered. It
was never again going to be "only Sherri", not after what had happened
in Chris's apartment earlier that day.
The door opened to reveal Sherri brushing her hair. Chris's
eyebrows arched when she saw what Sherri was wearing. The phrase
"hunting outfit" came to mind: high heels, sprayed-on slacks, a
form-fitting 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 ambiance.
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.