LACTOGENESIS XXI
THE INVITATION
Chris and Sherri lay facing each other, nipples only
millimeters apart, the flush of a mutual orgasm fading from their
necks and chests. They were gently caressing each other, fingertips
blending the droplets and rivulets of breast milk which dotted their
bodies in the aftermath of their ardor into a thin film of moisture
which they rubbed like lotion into each other's skin. They had
noticed on several occasions that Chris's milk was thicker and whiter,
while Sherri's tended more toward a bluish tinge, like skim milk. A
new bead formed on Chris's nipple and began to run downward toward her
cleavage. Sherri leaned in and deftly caught it on her tongue before
it disappeared into that moist, velvety cleft. She smacked her lips
exageratingly, 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 volcanos, white lava trickling down their
considerable slopes. Sherri moved to finish sucking her dry, her hand
petting Chris's mons, still sticky-wet from her last ejaculation, in a
soothing rather than stimulating motion. Chris sighed deeply as she
felt the last ounces drain from her breasts. Sherri could empty her
more completely and more pleasurably than any pump could; and she was
pretty good at returning the favor. She shifted her weight and heard
the waterproof sheets between them and Sherri's bed crinkle softly in
response. She stroked Sherri's hair and languidly regarded the
ceiling as Sherri released her pulsing nipple and rested her cheek on
one fleshy pillow.
"I've really come to enjoy these times," Chris mused, "and I
have to admit that what we've been doing is unique and very special,
and you're about the most talented partner I've ever had..."
"But..." Sherri said. When Chris didn't respond right away,
she added, "Come on, hon, drop the other shoe."
"Oh, Sherri, what it boils down to is, I need a *man*. I know
that doesn't sound very 'Nineties', and I don't want to offend, but
even though I think this is great, most of the time I like the feel of
a little razor stubble on my neck or between my legs, a hairy chest,
wrapping myself around a good thick hard cock. You know what I mean,
don't you?"
"Of course, Chris, and no offense taken. I know women are
more the exception than the rule for you. Me, it's six of one and
half a dozen of the other." She sat up and looked down at Chris.
"You've had pretty rotten luck lately in the male department, haven't
you?"
"You said it. Ever since the paper ran that series on sexual
harassment in the workplace, my male coworkers have steered a wide
berth around me." She indicated her breasts. "I think these
basically scare the shit out of them. Anyhow, I think most of them
subscribe to that old adage, 'Don't get your pussy and your paycheck
in the same place.' As for chance encounters, forget it. I'm not
going to pay for spontaneity with a disease that could kill me. As
for the guys in my building, those who aren't gay or married run
screaming from the room when they find out I'm lactating." Sherri
frowned chidingly. "Okay, I'm exaggerating. Bottom line is, I think
my standards might be too high."
Later, as they soaped each other down in the shower, Sherri
suddenly said, "I think it's time for me to put my Yenta hat on."
"Oh, God, Sherri, the last thing I need is for you to play
matchmaker. What if our tastes in men don't mesh? Something like
that could ruin a friendship."
By way of admonition, Sherri tugged gently on Chris's nipples.
"Hey, it's not like I'll be trying to find you a husband or anything.
It just so happens that I'm seeing a guy that I think you would really
like. I'd like to introduce you, that's all. If there aren't any
sparks, no big woop. If there are, then we'll go from there."
As they were toweling each other off, Sherri picked up the
thread again. "His name's Jeremy, and unlike that jerk Carl you told
me about, he happens to think mother's milk is the nectar of the gods
itself. He can't get enough. I've been fantasizing lately about what
it would be like to share him with you. Might actually finally quench
his thirst. Whenever we get together, he drains me dry and just wants
more!"
"Sounds intriguing," Chris said. The sudden erection of her
nipples showed she wasn't lying. "Tell me more. What's he like?"
"Let's see. He's in his early thirties, kind of short, maybe
five-six, five-seven. Thin, but not skinny. Dark hair and eyes.
Hair everywhere, even on his shoulders. Has to shave twice a day.
Nice prick, seven inches easy. Nice sex drive, too -- he keeps up
with me pretty well."
"Better and better. What does he do?"
"Runs a travel agency. Very well connected. A lot of his
clients are upper-crust types, from the North Side. The kind of
people who just up and fly to the Riviera on a whim, you know?
They've lined his pockets well. Has a nice place on a few acres
outside of town."
"Personality?"
"He has one. Sharp wit, pleasant conversationalist. A bit of
a 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?"
LACTOGENESIS XXII
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY
PART ONE
"Hello?"
"Hi, Sherri. Chris. How's the costume coming?"
"All done. Will you be ready to leave in, say, fifteen
minutes?"
"I need a little help getting the last bit of makeup on. Can
you give me a hand?"
"No prob. Be there in two shakes of a cow's tail."
Chris hung up the phone and returned to the task of getting
into costume for Sherri's friend Jeremy's Halloween party-slash-orgy
which was scheduled to begin within the hour. She had racked her
brain all the previous week, trying to decide on a costume which would
fit Jeremy's requirement that it reflect some unique aspect of her
sexuality. In both Chris's and Sherri's cases lactation was the
obvious choice, but choosing an appropriate costume had been less
obvious. Sherri had chosen to go with self-effacing humor and dress
as a dairy cow, but Chris wanted something more subtle. Her
inspiration had come just a couple of nights before, as she was
viewing a late-night showing of the film "A Clockwork Orange" on cable
-- specifically, a scene in which Alex and his droogs are relaxing in
a futuristic bar, drinking glasses of milk laced with hallucinogenic
drugs. They refilled their glasses from the spouting breasts of white
plastic sculptures of nude women with exaggerated figures and wild
hair. Perfect, Chris had thought. The reference is a little obscure,
but that will make for a good conversation-starter. The man at the
costume shop was a little puzzled when Chris bought practically his
entire supply of Clown White stage makeup and an outrageously
voluminous white wig, but he knew better than to ask questions,
especially at Halloween. The only other thing she'd needed to
complete the costume was a white bikini bottom -- Chris wasn't about
to go to the party *completely* nude, just mostly so. The act of
smearing her body, and particularly her breasts, with the thick white
makeup cream had given her a slight sexual buzz, just enough to
increase her level of anticipation for the coming events of the
evening and dissipate what was left of her fear of the unknown. She
covered herself in white makeup from head to foot, which gave her the
illusion that she was actually wearing something when in fact her only
clothing was the bikini bottom. She had finished adjusting the huge
white wig and was putting on some over exaggerated 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
mischievously as he looked up into her face. His erection was
becoming more noticeable. "Of course, the fair milkmaid," he said. "I
have been waiting a long time to meet you. Sherri tells me you're one
of a kind." Chris could think of no response. Jeremy gave her a much
longer visual examination than he had Sherri. Chris felt her nipples
stiffen even more under his penetrating gaze. Finally he said, "Let
me guess. Clockwork Orange, right?"
Chris sent a surprised look at Sherri. "Told you he'd know
it," Sherri said.
Jeremy stepped behind them and ushered them through the door.
He touched a button on the wall which muted the music and caused the
other guests to look in his direction. "Everyone," he announced,
"this is Sherri and Christine. They're here to make sure that you all
have your minimum daily requirement of dairy products." A few
chuckles from those who had gotten a good look at Sherri's costume.
Most didn't understand his reference, so Jeremy continued, "Never
mind. I'm sure you'll find out for yourselves later. Everybody is
here now, so let the games begin!"
Chris leaned close to Sherri and hissed into her ear, "Oh,
great. Why not tell the world? I don't want these people grabbing my
boobs and trying to milk them."
"Yes, you do, or you wouldn't have dressed like that," Sherri
whispered back. Chris was shocked, not because of what Sherri'd said,
but because she realized that she was right. When will I stop
surprising myself? she thought.
Jeremy placed himself between Sherri and Chris, put each arm
around a waist, and guided them toward the bar. Halfway there a woman
in a black leather B&D outfit sauntered up to Jeremy and without
warning pinched the head of his penis between black-nailed fingers.
He didn't flinch.
"Well, Jeremy love, I guess we all know who *your* favorite
is," she said, and walked on. Chris wasn't sure what she meant until
she glanced downward. Jeremy was now sporting a tremendous erection
that was brushing the hair on his belly. When she was finally able to
look up again, she saw Jeremy wearing an ever-so-slight grin and
arching one eyebrow as if to say, "What did you expect?"
She glanced over to Sherri, who was also wearing an enigmatic
smile, only hers seemed to say, "He's all yours if you want him." She
stole another look at Jeremy's impressive manhood, and suddenly found
herself wondering if the body paint covering it would come off inside
her. Another movie cliche flashed through her mind: Bette Davis on a
stairway saying, "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy
ride."
LACTOGENESIS XXIII
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY
PART TWO
Jeremy made no attempt to conceal his erection, which was so
engorged that it was almost purple beneath the brown body paint.
Chris was almost embarrassed for him, but at the same time she could
not deny that his obvious arousal and the fact that she had brought it
on were combining to cause some erectile tissue on her body to become
active as well. She was almost alarmed at how horny she suddenly was.
She consciously tried to turn down her inner fire somewhat; after all,
she had only just arrived. There would be plenty of time for sex
later. Right now she wanted to take a look around.
Her first stop was the bar, which was manned by a hired
bartender. The woman's standard-issue uniform made her look completely
out of place in this venue. Chris ordered a raspberry ginger ale;
after all, she was the designated driver -- and she didn't want her
senses dulled by alcohol.
Not tonight. She looked around for Sherri and noted wryly that she
had already left the room. Jeremy, however, was hovering nearby,
unable to leave Chris's side. She was amused to think that she had
him completely under her control. After pretending to ignore him for
several minutes, Chris finally took his hand and said, "Come on.
Introduce me." They began to mingle.
When Chris had chosen her costume, she was afraid that the
degree of nakedness it entailed would be too bold for Jeremy's
friends. She saw now that she had been mistaken. Several of the
women were in comparable states of undress. There was the inevitable
Lady Godiva, but what made her different was that her date was dressed
as the horse. She rode his back for a good part of the evening, clad
in nothing but a very long blond wig and high heels, which she
repeatedly dug into her mount's sides. The guy's definitely a
masochist, Chris thought.
There was a Cleopatra, complete with a large, live boa
constrictor which served as a drape across a broad, deep chest
sporting two 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 party-ers was located, was connected by
branching corridors to several smaller rooms, most of which had closed
and locked doors. Sounds of passion emanated from behind each. Chris
smiled inwardly when she recognized Sherri's moans coming from one.
Jeremy made a special point of showing Chris one available bedroom
which had obviously been waterproofed; plastic covered everything.
"This one's for later," was all he would say about it.
A little further on they came upon a room whose sole
furnishing was a large round table with chairs. Several people were
seated there, playing a board game. Jeremy explained that the game
was patterned after Monopoly, except that sexual favors were traded
instead of real estate. A new game was just beginning, and one chair
was available. Jeremy seated Chris in it and left the room, saying
something about going to look for Sherri. His erection was still
waving proudly as he walked out.
"Poor dear's going to get blue balls," a woman in a cat
costume immediately to Chris's left said. "When are you going to stop
teasing him?"
"Soon. I'm enjoying the attention," Chris replied.
"I'm jealous. Usually he circulates a lot more than this. He
can't seem to stay away from you."
"It's probably just the costume."
"I seriously doubt it." A beat, then, "Since you're a
newcomer, why don't you go first?"
Chris's token, appropriately shaped like a pair of breasts,
landed on a space which directed her to pick a card from one of the
stacks and read it aloud. Most of the spaces were like that, she
noted. "'For the next sixty seconds, do something sexual that you
think no one else in the room can do'," she read. She glanced at the
people around her, noting the look of anticipation on their faces, and
suddenly it dawned on her. This has to be a set-up, she thought.
Jeremy had, after all, announced in a backhanded fashion upon her and
Sherri's arrival that both of them were lactating. In retrospect, she
realized that Jeremy had obviously steered her to this room. It was
suddenly clear that the people in it had been hand-selected by him,
and that they had been awaiting her arrival. It was also clear that
everyone at the table wanted a demonstration of Chris's special
talents. On top of all this, her hormones were practically screaming
that she provide one.
Far be it from me to disappoint my fans, Chris said to
herself.
LACTOGENESIS XXIV
THE HALLOWEEN PARTY
PART THREE
Christine gave herself over to the situation. She smiled and
scooted her chair back away from the table. She slid down into it,
spreading her legs slightly. With the tip of her index finger, she
began to draw light circles around each of her nipples. The circles
widened until they circumnavigated each breast. She then opened her
hands, pressing inward on her bosom and stroking downward toward the
nipples. Over a dozen thin streams of milk erupted forth as a result,
spraying across the width of the table. The men at the table groaned
lustily in response; the women squealed in delight. She tugged her
nipples into inch-long erections, each tug producing a fresh deluge of
milk. As she milked herself, Chris pivoted in her chair so as to make
sure each and every person was hit by the blasts. To her mild
surprise, not one tried to escape getting wet. On the contrary, they
jostled each other for position, *trying* to catch the streams on
their bodies. They turned to each other, licking droplets off each
others' faces and smacking their lips.
"Sixty seconds. Time's up," she heard someone say, but the
voice seemed distant, strangely muted by the roar of the blood in her
ears. There was a collective moan of disappointment. "Like hell," she
responded, and a ragged cheer went up. Chris stood up, walked to the
nearest man, and guided his head to her still-flowing breast. With no
prompting, he began to suckle her deeply. The stimulation completed
Chris's transformation into an unthinking, purely sensual being. With
a growl that rumbled deep in her chest, she took the man's shoulders
and took him to the floor. His costume, that of a Roman gladiator,
had an easily removed codpiece which Chris tossed to one side to
reveal a long, thin cock already sporting a bright green condom.
These people had come prepared. Chris was running on pure instinct,
adrenaline, and oxytocin now. She pulled her bikini bottom to one
side and unceremoniously engulfed the man's erection with her soaking
wet pussy. She began to ride him, spurred on by the encouragements of
the crowd around her, her head tossed back, her eyes closed, her
nipples still dripping milk onto the man's chest, her voice grunting
like a gorilla in heat.
She felt a pair of hands grab her head and guide it to a
second, thicker cock, which protruded from a Starfleet uniform
belonging to a man who looked very much like "Star Trek"'s Commander
Data. Without a thought she took it into her mouth, swirling her
tongue around the head and plunging it deep into her throat. She felt
soft lips (female?) encircle each breast, sucking furiously, trying in
vain to drain her dry. She stroked the backs of the women suckling
her as they struggled to doff their costumes (the cat and her
companion, a mouse) without breaking contact. Her hands, however,
were soon taken away and placed on two more stiff pricks protruding
from the pants of an "alien" (who had glued a second, almost
identically sized plastic prick above his own) and a man in a Hannibal
Lecter mask. Chris awkwardly began jacking them off, trying to stay
in rhythm with the "gladiator"'s cock buried in her pussy. Six people
were making love to her simultaneously, and still she wanted more. She
could feel the best orgasm of her life building, but it seemed
distant, unwilling to burst forth under anything but the most intense
stimulation.
She had her answer seconds later, as she felt a blunt, wet,
throbbing object probing her anus. She had never been penetrated
anally before, but that realization never reached her conscious mind.
Upon that first touch, she leaned forward, thrusting her ass outward,
relaxing her sphincter for the coming onslaught. The man who entered
her, "Napoleon", felt huge. He had slathered a condom with K-Y jelly,
but his first stroke still elicited a yelp of pain from Chris. He
began to pull out, but Chris shouted "No!" She relaxed a little more,
feeling both cocks sliding in and out of her, rubbing each other
through the thin barrier separating rectum and vagina. She began
rolling her hips up and back so that one penis was on a downstroke
while the other was on an upstroke. The cat and mouse began to nibble
at her nipples, tugging at them with their teeth. The cocks in her
hands grew harder; the one in her mouth began pulsing with the
inevitability of ejaculation.
The men began coming. Hundreds of millions of spermatozoa ran
down Chris's arms as she finished jacking off "Hannibal" and the
"alien". Chris let go of "Data"'s cock just as it erupted, blasting a
thick stream of cum across her cheek to drip from one ear. The
gladiator and "Napoleon" followed only seconds later. Their penises
seemed to swell inside her just before exploding. She could feel the
intensity of their spurts even through the condoms they wore, and that
was enough to bring her distant orgasm raging to the forefront. She
burst forth, spraying cunt juice and milk everywhere as she gasped for
air. The women suckling her fell back, overcome by the sheer volume
of fluid Chris was putting forth. The gladiator's costume was ruined,
soaked completely through. Red dye mixed with Chris's juices and
smeared the poor man's legs.
The intensity of Chris's orgasm drained every ounce of
strength she had. She collapsed forward, only semi-conscious. She
felt several strong hands guiding her to the floor, others stroking
her hot skin tenderly. She opened her eyes to see seven faces, five
male, two female, smiling down at her. They all looked up in response
to applause that suddenly had begun from the door.
Chris turned her head to see Jeremy and Sherri standing in the
doorway, applauding the show they'd just witnessed. Jeremy's erection
was finally gone. His limp dick was devoid of the body paint, and it
shone wetly. Sherri's costume was mostly gone; she wore only black
panties and the headdress portion. Her huge breasts, a different
color from the rest of her skin and looking very weird without the
rest of the costume, jiggled as she applauded; the nipples had drops
of milk on them. It was obvious what they had just been doing.
Jeremy made a quick gesture with his head, and without a word
"Data", "Napoleon", "Hannibal", the alien, the gladiator, the cat, and
the mouse left the room. Sherri quickly crossed to Chris's prone,
semen-covered, sweaty, white-streaked form, helped her shakingly to
her feet, and embraced her.
"School's out, hon. My little girl's all grown up now,"
Sherri said into Chris's neck. There was pride in her voice. Chris,
for her part, was only slowly beginning to get her senses back. The
enormity of what had just transpired was beginning to dawn on her.
She had transcended yet another level of sexual awareness. She tuned
in on her ravished body; she felt her pulse in her cunt and ass, the
cramping of the muscles in her fingers, the teeth marks in her
nipples, the taste of cum on her tongue, the fatigue in her legs, the
trickle of fluids down her skin. They were delicious feelings, the
feelings of complete release, of the complete giving over of oneself
to pleasure. She liked it. She would have it again. Maybe even
still tonight. She looked up at her host, tossed the fake hair out of
her eyes (how *had* that wig stayed on?), and extended her hand to
him. The look on Jeremy's face was a mixture of adoration and blind
lust as he led both women out of the room and down the hallway, in the
direction of the waterproofed bedroom, leaving badly stained carpeting
behind. His satyr's cock was beginning to stir again.
LACTOGENESIS XXV
THE SHARING
Jeremy led Chris and Sherri back down the long hallway to the
"waterproof" room. Sherri left Jeremy's side to turn on lights, turn
down the bed, and close the door. Chris did not want to break contact
with Jeremy and hung on him even as they squeezed through the doorway.
She was still riding the wave of primal sensations that had resulted
from her having taken on, and satisfied, seven of Jeremy's party
guests at once, mere minutes before. Her skin, showing through now in
places where the white makeup had been rubbed off, still ran with a
mixture of bodily fluids that included saliva, semen, sweat, breast
milk, and perhaps even tears. Her white bikini bottom had
disappeared, leaving an outline where no makeup had been applied. Her
whole body felt accelerated into a new level of activity; it was one
all-encompassing erogenous zone, with every nerve ending tuned for
sensuality. She wondered if this is what those lab rats with
electrodes implanted in their pleasure centers must feel like as they
stimulate themselves continuously by pressing a switch over and over,
forsaking even food for non-stop sexual gratification, eventually
dying of hunger and thirst without even knowing they were starving.
Jeremy's body was her sole source of fulfillment now, and she wasn't
going to let go of it even to climb onto the bed.
Sherri was sitting Indian-style on the bed. Jeremy, with one
smooth motion, swept Chris off her feet and placed her gently on the
bed, placing her head in the cradle formed by Sherri's crossed legs.
He followed her down, suspending himself a fraction of an inch above
Chris's body, deliberately not touching her but close enough so they
could feel each other's heat. He used his lips and tongue to tease an
earlobe, working slowly downward and over to Chris's panting mouth,
which he covered with his own. She sucked his tongue hungrily into
her mouth, entwining it with her own, mashing her lips hard against
his. Her breath sounded loudly from her nostrils as Sherri caressed
their heads and necks, cooing softly.
Jeremy broke off the kiss and continued down Chris's neck and
collarbone, planting kisses as he went. He then pursed his lips and
touched one nipple oh so lightly, barely enough to register in Chris's
brain. The next touch, coming only milliseconds later, was
incrementally harder, as was the next, until Jeremy had an entire
mouthful of Chris's tit and was sucking as if he would pull it right
off her ribcage. Chris started making a keening noise as the pleasure
and pain of this contact combined in a new sensation. Jeremy suddenly
released the breast, which bounced back to its normal position and
immediately unleashed a fountain of milk skyward, catching Jeremy in
the chest. Sherri oohed and aahed at the spectacle, and immediately
grabbed Chris's breasts, milking them expertly, rolling the nipples
between her fingers and leaning forward to catch the multiple streams
in her wide-open mouth. Her pendulous breasts brushed Chris's lips as
she did so, and Chris latched on to the distended nipple blindly, like
a newborn puppy. She felt Sherri's hot, sweet milk cascade into her
mouth and down her throat, filling her with new energy.
Jeremy had now positioned himself between Chris's legs,
propped up on his muscular arms. The coarse "fur" of his satyr
costume provided a sharp contrast to the smooth nakedness of Chris's
mound. She hissed through clenched teeth, Sherri's pulsing, shooting
nipple between them, as he rubbed his aching cock, back to full
erection, against the inside of her thighs, stopping its upward motion
just short of dividing her labia. He hovered briefly at the gates of
heaven, then plunged forward, entering her effortlessly. She
immediately contracted on him, almost stopping him in mid-stroke with
the intensity of the pressure she applied. He groaned loudly in
response. His cock felt as if in the grip of an iron fist coated with
hot honey. He pumped slowly, almost afraid that she would push him
out of her on the out-stroke -- she was that tight. He reached behind
him and grabbed Chris's legs, placing one on each shoulder. She
responded by lifting her ass off the bed and pulling him even farther
into her. He felt his balls slapping against the crack of her ass as
he moved.
Sherri leaned further forward, abandoning Chris's breasts for
her cunt. She massaged Chris's clit and touched Jeremy's cock when it
appeared from the recesses of Chris's womb on each stroke. Chris's
pussy lips enfolded Sherri's finger just as her other lips encircled
Sherri's nipple. Sherri bent her finger slightly so that her
fingernail just barely ran across Chris's clit. At that, Chris let go
of Sherri's nipple, screamed out her pleasure, and came in a gush that
sprayed out around the entire circumference of Jeremy's cock. Chris's
back arched as her orgasm continued, her pussy sucking wetly at
Jeremy's pounding prick, liquid pulsing out around him at each
contraction. One orgasm flowed seamlessly into the next as Jeremy's
hips accelerated, their motion sending pussy juice flying in all
directions. He felt his own cum rising, so he pulled out of Chris and
fell backwards at the foot of the bed, his pulsating erection pointed
skyward. Chris and Sherri fell upon it together, licking and sucking
as if on a shared candy cane. Their tongues met and swirled together
as they ran up and down the length of Jeremy's rod. Periodically one
or the other of them would raise up just enough to spray down their
prize with milk, like topping on a sundae. They finished Jeremy off
by alternating deep throat sucks, coordinating their plunges onto him
like railroad workers driving a spike. He exploded with a cry like
that of a wild animal, sending a geyser of spunk upward to coat the
lips of both women.
Sherri snarled something about not letting him get away so
soon. She grabbed Jeremy's penis at the base and squeezed, trapping
the blood and not letting his erection deflate. She mounted him
deftly, heedless of his cries to take it easy, and began grinding her
hips back and forth. Chris moved up on her knees and straddled
Jeremy's head, lowering her still-dripping pussy onto his face. She
and Sherri reached for their breasts simultaneously and began spraying
each other with milk. Seeming gallons of white nectar sailed through
the air in well-timed bursts, to end as a myriad of pearly droplets
along the faces, necks, and bodies of the two women. Chris could feel
Jeremy's tongue working wonders on her clit, and knew she was close to
coming again. She studied Sherri's face, knowing from their times
together when she was also close. Seeing Sherri heading inexorably
toward orgasm was enough to trigger her own, and they came together,
their cries merging into a sound the likes of which the planet had
never experienced.
Poor Jeremy chose that moment to try to inhale, only to be
inundated by another tidal wave from Chris's cunt. He began coughing
uncontrollably. Chris and Sherri immediately jumped off of him and
rolled him on his side so that he could more easily clear his throat.
His ragged coughs soon turned into spasms of laughter as he choked
out, "What a way to die!" The two women joined him, and soon all
three were giggling helplessly.
"You want to drown? There's more than one way, you know,"
Sherri said. She rolled Jeremy back over on his back and began
milking herself into his mouth. Chris joined her, and soon it was all
Jeremy could do to keep swallowing fast enough to keep up with the
downpour of milk. He began making unintelligible sounds as he drank,
and his penis rose to full staff once again. Clearly he was finally
living a lifelong fantasy. Suddenly he reached out, took one breast of
each woman, and shoved both nipples into his mouth, sucking on both
Chris and Sherri simultaneously. They felt their nipples rub together
in Jeremy's mouth, and felt the jets of their milk intermingle. The
feeling was indescribable, and so erotic that both women's hands went
to their pussies. They masturbated urgently, coming again within
moments. Jeremy erupted once more as well, without any manual
manipulation whatsoever. Even with their sexual fires finally
extinguished by all the liquids they'd secreted, Jeremy continued to
suckle, first on Sherri and then on Chris, for several minutes, until
they were finally emptied.
For a short while it looked as if Jeremy had gone to sleep.
Finally he sat up slowly, groaned slightly, wiped his mouth, and
belched loudly. Chris giggled; Sherri shook her finger at him in mock
admonition. Jeremy merely patted his slightly distended stomach and
grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Chris happened to glance at an ornate clock on one wall; it
read 3:30. Had she really been at this party for almost seven hours?
She had never undertaken such sustained sexual activity before, and it
was finally beginning to take its toll. She suddenly realized how
sore her asshole was, how thirsty and drained she felt. She looked at
her companions and suddenly realized how comical they all looked in
the remnants of their Halloween costumes. They laughed all through
the shower they took together and fell asleep in a heap on the huge
circular bed in the master bedroom, oblivious to the party which
continued on around them until well past dawn.
LACTOGENESIS XXVI
THE PILLOW TALK
"Could you move a little, honey? My arm's falling asleep."
"Sorry, babe. That better?"
"Much. Thanks. Mmmm, I'd forgotten how nice snuggling can be
after a no-holds-barred session of lovemaking."
"The post-coital conversation. Definitely a must. Sure beats
just rolling over and going to sleep."
"You don't do that, do you?"
"How could I with somebody like you next to me?"
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
"You probably won't believe this, but there haven't been all
that many. Certainly none as unique as you."
"Jeremy, I want you to be honest with me."
"Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that."
"Don't worry. I promise I won't kick you out of bed,
regardless of what your answer might be."
"Fair enough. Ask away."
"Would we be doing this if I weren't lactating?"
"To be honest, probably not. Sherri would probably never have
mentioned you to me if you weren't, and I therefore never would have
met you. Even if she had mentioned you, I probably wouldn't have been
intrigued enough to have invited you to the party."
"I wanted you to be honest, but not brutally so."
"Sorry."
"'S okay. I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or
should I say, gift tits? You're right, I would never have met you if
it weren't for these 'talents' of mine. I should try to find the
driver of the car that hit me so I can thank him."
"Come on, Chris, you could have any man in the world, the way
you look, the things you can do, how sweet a person you are. There's
nothing special about me."
"Oh, yes, there is. After The Accident, after I came to
accept my new body and new sexuality, I vainly assumed the male world
would beat a path to my door. Truth was, the men I met were turned
off by the fact that I had milk. Made me seem too matronly, I guess.
Hey, don't laugh! Anyhow, you're different. I can't get over how much
you get into it. You're a breath of fresh air, you are. And not only
are you the best lay I've had in recent memory, you're actually a lot
of fun out of bed, too. I've missed that. A lot."
"Stop! You're going to give me a swelled head."
"I'd rather something else be swollen at the moment."
"You'll get your chance. You know I can't get enough of you."
"I'm surprised the milk bank hasn't called, wondering why my
donations have dropped off so drastically."
"I can't help it. Nectar of the gods, and all that. It's
like a drug to me. I never feel so good, so relaxed, as when I'm
drinking from you. Say, all this talk is making me thirsty again..."
"Mmmm. Ohhhh, your mouth feels so good on me. I just want to
squirt forever when you do that."
"I haven't drained you dry, have I?"
"Oh, no. There's plenty more in there. Just keep that up.
Ooh, yeah, just like that. I can feel the letdown starting."
"What's that like?"
"It's about the most wonderful feeling in the world, next to
coming. I get all tingly inside, like tiny pins and needles, and the
warmth...but there's more, too. It feels so peaceful, so relaxing,
so...what's the word I'm looking for? Nurturing? I don't know. I
never feel such tenderness toward you as when you're nursing from me.
I can't quite explain it -- maybe it's my maternal instincts kicking
in."
"Just as long as you don't make me wear a diaper and talk baby
talk."
"Don't get kinky."
"You don't think wet-nursing a grown man is kinky?"
"No, somehow I really don't. This feels infinitely right to
me."
"Me, too. God, you're so beautiful. I'm so lucky to be able
to experience you on so many sensual levels. Not only do I enjoy you
with sight, sound, touch, and smell, but with taste, too. Your milk
is so sweet and warm..."
"And here it comes."
"Mmmmm, God, so good..."
"Drink of me, Jeremy. Drink deep. It's all for you. I'm
your milkmaid. As much as you want. There'll always be more."
"Mmmm. Ohh. I could die right now."
"Shhh, sweetheart, just drink. That's it. Nobody does that
like you. It feels so good..."
<<Jeremy suckles for several minutes, Chris quietly stroking
his hair>>
"Tell me, Jeremy. If a lactating lady is all you crave, why
didn't you stay with Sherri?"
"Your milk tastes better."
"I'm serious."
"You must be -- you just dried up on me."
"Am I just a dairy cow to you?"
"That's a hell of a question, and one I hope I'll ever be
asked again as long as I live."
"Are you going to answer it?"
"Chris, honey, what do I have to do to convince you that you
are a waking dream to me? I can't get over how lucky I am to be here
with you. Believe me, I don't take our time together lightly, and I
will do my damndest to keep you with me. You are so special, so
unique, not only physically but in every other way as well. I'm not
just saying this in the heat of passion, although the way you look
right now, with your perfect body glistening like...whew! But believe
me, Christine, at this point in my life, you are everything I could
ever want. What else do I have to say?"
"I'm sorry. 'Once bitten, twice shy', you know."
"So you've told me. I hope I never meet this Carl guy. I'll
only end up cutting my knuckles on his teeth."
"You haven't answered my original question. Why didn't you
stay with Sherri?"
"I'll admit that I originally went after her because of her
body and because she was pretty blatant about the fact that she was
lactating. And she was great, a lot of fun. She's just so...brash.
And loud. I could tell early on that she only liked me because she'd
never had anybody with as much body hair as me. I was a new toy. We
were good in bed together, but that was all. That's not all I want
from a relationship, or haven't you guessed by now?"
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry if I've turned this into 'True
Confessions'. Why don't you just kiss me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"Okay, why don't I start...here?"
"You know, I don't believe anyone has ever kissed my big toe
before. I like that."
"How about...here?"
"The inside of my knee? Yes, but not quite like that. It
tickles."
"Does this tickle?"
"Now that you mention it, you could use a shave, oh hirsute
one."
"Speaking of which, have I ever told you how much I love the
fact that you shave down there?"
"Don't tell me. Show me."
"You're so smooth. I can feel everything. I can taste..."
"Ssssss! Easy, darling. I feel especially sensitive
tonight."
"You taste especially wonderful."
"Oh, God, is that your tongue? How do you *do* that? Ohhhhh,
oooh, you're making me so wet! Ah, ah, ah, yes, yes, ohhhhh yeahhh.
Oh, my God...how many fingers do you have in there? Feels like your
whole hand...no, don't stop, it feels fantastic...like you have two
tongues...oh, oh, ohhhh, mmmmm, God, I feel like I'm going to come
already...lick harder...harder...yes, yes, like that! Ohh! Ohhh!
OhhhhhaaaaaaAAAAAAHHHHH! AAAAAAIIIIEEEEEAAAHHHH! Oh, OH, OH! God,
stop, stop! I can't take it, it's too much, ooh, mmmm, mmmmmm,
oooohh. Oh, man. Where did you learn to eat pussy like that?"
"I took a course in college. Where did you learn to come like
that? I feel like I should wear scuba gear when I go down on you."
"Does it bother you?"
"Are you kidding? Next to your milk, this is like taking a
bath in the finest ambrosia."
"You've only primed the pump. Get on up here, you. I want
you inside of me."
"You have only but to wiggle that adorable butt of yours. Oh.
My. God. You feel like paradise itself."
"Oh, lord, you feel absolutely huge! I *love* it!"
"Move your ass. I love it when you move your ass around."
"I want to take all of you. Go deep. Like that. Ohh, yes."
"You are so hot. And tight."
"Suck my tits, Jeremy. Suck them!"
"You're like a human flood, gushing, squirting...God, it's so
unreal. So *primal*!"
"Our juices, our life's blood, mixing, mingling..."
"Covering me with your essence, giving yourself over..."
"Yes. Split me in half. Bury yourself in me. Become me..."
"Your milk. The water of life itself..."
"Your cum. The stuff of life as well...give it to me..."
"We exchange life when we fuck..."
"Fuck. Oh, yes, fuck. Fuck me!"
"Oh, Chris...oh, baby..."
"I want to melt into you. My milk, my cum, I'm becoming
liquid, melting into you...oh, faster, baby, make me melt..."
"Uunnh...unnhhhh..."
"Don't hold back. I want it! Oh, God, I'm coming...!"
"Aaah! Aaah! Ohh! Ohhohoho, yessss!!"
"Now! Now! Yes! Oh my gooooohhhhhAAAAHHHHHH!"
<<<They collapse together in a lake of milk, pussy juice, and
cum -- a long period while they catch their breath>>>
"Oh, boy, I am soaked!"
"MMMmmm, Jeremy, that was faaan-tastic."
"You really bring out the best in me. You are beyond belief."
"Care to go for three?"
"By all means. Just give me a couple of minutes. You know, I
could never do that before. That should tell you something about how
special you are."
"Why don't we try the shower this time?"
"Capital suggestion. Then let's change these sheets. You
really should consider Scotchgarding them. These dropcloths can get
slippery."
"Jeremy?"
"Yes, hon?"
"I don't want this to end."
"I don't see any reason why it should."
"You mean that?"
"With all my heart. I know it's only been a couple of weeks,
but...I think there's a real chance that we could become soulmates as
well as bedmates."
"I'd like to think so, too, but...let's not rush anything,
okay?"
"Okay. Sorry, I'm still caught up in the afterglow."
"It just might take me a little while, that's all."
"I understand. I think I'm going to enjoy wooing you."
"Wooing. That's a word I haven't heard in a long time.
Sounds nice."
"Come on, kiddo. I'll scrub your back. By the way, how big
is your water heater?"
LACTOGENESIS XXVII
THE PROPOSITION
Candlelight flickered across the white tablecloth, dimly
illuminating two people seated across from one another as they
simultaneously drained their glasses of the last of a bottle of
vintage Merlot. The waiter had just cleared the table, and the couple
was waiting for him to bring the dessert tray. Jeremy's eyes caught
the flickering light, glowing in obvious adoration of his female
companion. Christine read his face and felt herself blush slightly.
"You know," Jeremy said in a voice pitched so that only she
could hear, "We need to do this more often. I keep forgetting how
fabulous you look with your clothes on." Indeed, Chris was dressed to
kill, or at the very least maim. While not being particularly
revealing (though some cleavage was evident), Chris's form-fitting
dress was engineered such that wearing underwear would have ruined its
line altogether -- and so she did not. As Jeremy continued to gaze at
her, Chris felt the fabric of her dress trying to resist the pressure
placed on it by her stiffening nipples. She felt a wave of warmth
sweep through her breasts, and she immediately reined it in. This was
a damned expensive dress, and she was not about to stain it with milk.
She had better control than that.
God, she thought. He can make me soaking wet with just a
glance. Shame on me for letting him do that to me. I promised myself
I wasn't going to let my glands -- any of them -- rule this
relationship. She hoped her bright smile disguised her discomfiture.
Since she and Jeremy had started seeing each other seriously,
Chris had noticed a moderate increase in the magnitude of her sex
drive. There was something about Jeremy that made a strong connection
with her libido, making her more sensually aware. Being with him was
an aphrodisiac to her. Her body had responded accordingly. She
always had multiple orgasms with him, often five or more per session.
The feverishness with which he suckled her stimulated her already high
milk production to where she could now put out close to three liters a
day if she so desired -- as much as a well-nourished mother nursing
triplets. Her bustline had grown another inch as a result, to where
Chris was now wearing 42DD bras. Despite this increase, she was able
to maintain full mental control over her ability to lactate. Her
alabaster body still looked as if a stasis field enclosed it so that
neither time nor gravity could intrude. She could bring tears to the
eyes of any heterosexual human male, but for some reason Jeremy was
the only one she wanted. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but
she had a hard time envisioning herself being with anyone but him.
For his part, Jeremy was living a fantasy come true. His
obsession with lactating women went back to his fourteenth year, when
he lived next door to a girl who had had a baby at the tender age of
16. He would watch her through the fence separating their yards as
she nursed the child while rocking in her back porch swing. Once she
caught him at it, but rather than yelling at him or covering herself,
she taunted him, flaunting her naked, dripping breasts, daring him to
come over and taste her milk. Her boldness had shocked him at first,
but finally he took her up on her dare, and from that day on he had
been hooked. Now sitting across from him was a woman who not only was
the most incredible, perfect sexual partner he had ever had, but
someone whose gentle ways and fun personality he had a hard time
resisting. Jeremy was falling for Chris, hard.
The way Chris was dressed, Jeremy knew he would be unable to
keep her body off of his mind, so he decided not to fight it and
steered the conversation in an appropriate direction.
"Chris, do you still make donations to the milk bank?"
Chris wasn't surprised at the question; she had grown
accustomed to his obsession and was even occasionally thankful for it.
"Oh, yes," she replied. "Even with as much as you drink, there's
still plenty left over."
"How much do they pay you?"
"Pay me? Nothing. All of the milk at the milk bank is
donated."
"Do you have any idea how much they charge women who use the
milk?"
"Isn't it a charity deal? Doesn't it go to women who can't
nurse and can't afford formula?"
"Hell, no. These people make a lot of money charging mothers
far more than formula would cost. They gladly pay it because of the
benefits they feel they're providing their babies by feeding them
mother's milk instead."
"How much money?"
"Let's just say you'd be appalled."
"Then these aren't needy people we're talking about, I
gather."
"I did some checking," Jeremy said. "Most of the women who
buy milk from this particular bank are wealthy society types who don't
want to 'ruin their figures' by breastfeeding their kids themselves
but still want to give them all the benefits of it."
"How do you know this?"
Jeremy smiled. "I know a lot of them," he said. "You meet an
awful lot of people in my business. My clientele is predominantly
upper class folks, yuppies with six- and seven-figure incomes who are
beginning to feel an intense nesting instinct. Seems that a lot of
these Type A career-minded types suddenly get an urge to move out of
their condos, buy a big house and spit out a couple of kids before
their biological clocks run down. Naturally, I do all I can for these
people. I charge exorbitant commissions and I get away with it. In
the process, one hears a lot about how they intend to raise their kids
in a healthy environment, blah, blah, blah."
Chris was clearly upset. "Those sons of bitches," she spat.
"They had me convinced that my donations were going to low-income
families in need, not to cater to the politically correct whims of the
rich and famous. Well, that's the last drop they get from me!"
"What are you going to do with the milk, then?"
Chris was momentarily puzzled. Jeremy's eyes had taken on a
different kind of gleam, one she hadn't seen before. "I don't know,
throw it down the drain, I guess."
"You'd be throwing away a gold mine."
"How so?"
Jeremy straightened up in his chair. He hesitated a few
moments, as if carefully framing what he was about to say. Finally he
said, in a conspiratorial voice, "Promise you'll let me get all the
way through this before you say anything."
Chris's puzzlement doubled, but she said, "I promise." What
was he on about?
"A couple of hundred years ago, it was considered declasse'
for a woman of substance to nurse her own child. It just wasn't done.
Many of those women tried to feed their infants mashed grains and
cow's milk, with fatal results. Those with connections and a great
deal of money hired professional wet nurses, actively lactating
members of the working class, to feed and care for their infants while
they were off being seen in all the right places. Two centuries
later, not much has changed. I've noticed that there's a real market
for mother's milk among these ladies who are too busy with their
social calendars to nurse their children themselves. They pay top
dollar. I figure, why should the bank be the only institution to cash
in on this? Chris, with my connections and your talents, we could
make a few extra bucks on the side providing this service ourselves!"
Chris wasn't at all sure she liked that idea. It sounded like
she would be reduced to little more than a dairy cow, doing nothing
but sit around being milked all day. She told Jeremy her objections.
"I would make sure that the number of people involved wouldn't
cause you to change anything you're already doing. You're already
donating -- what'd you say? Two liters or so a day? That's enough to
keep about two babies well fed, more if their mothers supplement with
formula. By offering a few things the milk bank doesn't, like
anonymity for example, we could command a premium. We're not talking
quitting your day job here, but it would mean a couple of hundred
dollars a week extra, at the very least. These ladies can afford it.
They'd even prefer it, probably. This way they'd know all the milk was
from a single donor and so was of consistent quality and was free of
the possibility of contamination by drugs and the like. I'm sure
they'd jump at this."
Now Chris was intrigued. She had to admit that making a
little extra pocket money doing something that came naturally, and was
something she got nothing but pleasure out of doing, seemed like a
no-lose situation. "What did you mean, 'at the very least'?"
Jeremy's smile got wider. "In all my dealings with the upper
class, one thing I've noted is that they're all dying to be the first
on their block to do the 'new thing', the more obscure, outrageous,
and maybe even perverse, the better. People with money make up the
most unbelievable things to keep from being bored."
"So?"
"So... again, I've met all kinds in this business. There are
people out there, believe it or not, that have tasted breast milk and
consider it a great delicacy. I know for a fact of some guys who
would pay hundreds, maybe even thousands of dollars, in order to keep
a couple of bottles of mother's milk in their refrigerators at all
times. We would cater to those people as well, and make even more
money than we would selling to 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.
"Garcon, check please!"
LACTOGENESIS XXVIII
THE FIRST CLIENT
PART ONE
"I don't know about this, Jeremy," Christine said, as she
surveyed the "setup" that Jeremy had placed in one corner of her
kitchen. In the intervening days since she had consented to his
proposal that they make use of her special talents to make money by
starting a business providing lactation services, Jeremy had taken the
ball and run with it. Now, where there used to be a spice rack, there
was a separate phone line coming through the wall with a state-of-
the-art answering machine/cordless phone combination, a line switching
device, and a fax machine hooked to it. Chris glanced at the business
card Jeremy had thrust into her hand. It read:
THE LAC-STATION, LTD.
Lactation Services
--Breast Milk Sales--Wet Nursing--Consultation--Etc.--
Rates Negotiable call 555-MILK
"When Only Nature's Way Will Do"
He had just picked up two thousand of them from the local print shop.
Now he looked concerned. "Not getting cold feet before we
even get started, are you?"
"Not really. I just wasn't expecting...this." With a
sweeping gesture she regarded the whole picture -- not just the
equipment and the cards, but Jeremy's seemingly overzealous attitude.
Jeremy walked over to Chris and gave her a peck on the lips.
"Don't you worry about any of this. Promotion and scheduling is my
department. You just take care of production." He ran a hand across
Chris's unbelievable bosom, causing that tingling sensation to start
up in it. Chris was vaguely reassured to feel it, since it made her
remember that her hedonistic side really wanted to do this, really
wanted to explore the new sensual possibilities that "The Lac-Station"
would provide. Now that she was boycotting the local milk bank, she
didn't want her daily production to go to waste. Why *not* make some
money from the situation? As it was, Jeremy's near-constant
stimulation of her breasts had kept them fairly overflowing with milk
for some time now -- what better way to get rid of it (other than
spraying him down with it, that is)?
Jeremy took the business card from Chris's hand and replaced
it with a fax, recently torn from her machine. "You didn't read this,
I see," he chided her. "I faxed this earlier today. It concerns our
first client."
"Sorry, hon, I didn't notice it," she apologized. She scanned
the paper briefly. "Who are these people?"
"Friends of mine," he replied, smiling. "I thought it would
be a good idea to start off with someone familiar, someone I know
something about." He could see she wasn't interested in reading every
detail, so he decided to give her the short version. "Bill is 45 and
already retired from his investment firm. He made his money in
leveraged buyouts; now he lives on the proceeds from his stock
investments. Spends several hours a day on his computer. His wife
Eleanor is 34, a product of old money, silver spoon all the way.
Probably wore Chanel diapers. She's very well connected in the local
social scene, so much so that she doesn't want to be 'tied down' by
their new arrival. Their son Thad is six or seven weeks old, cute as
a button. Eleanor has been nursing him, but has decided that it's
ruining her figure, her designer clothing, and her calendar. She
wants to continue to provide Thad with the benefits of breast milk,
but now that the immunological aspects are pretty much over with, 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."
LACTOGENESIS XXIX
THE FIRST CLIENT
PART TWO
When Jeremy rang the doorbell, the very chimes of Big Ben
sounded deep within the gigantic abode that housed Bill and Eleanor
Overstreet, his and Chris's first client. One of the double doors
creaked open to reveal a severe looking but not altogether
unattractive woman in her early thirties -- Eleanor, Chris figured.
She was dressed smartly but casually in a cerise silk blouse and tight
white slacks -- tight enough to reveal the remnants of a tummy which
had held a baby not two months before. Her dark blonde hair was
pulled back so tightly that her skin was pulled taut across her
cheekbones, and she wore too much makeup. She wore a conspicuously
gaudy pearl-and-diamond necklace, and sported a wedding ring that had
to be five carats.
She fixed Jeremy with a displeased scowl. "You're a half hour
late," she scolded. "Poor little Thad is practically starving."
Indeed, in the recesses of the hallways behind her, the yowlings of a
hungry baby were barely audible.
"A thousand pardons. We were...unavoidably delayed," he
replied, with a knowing look in Chris's direction. For her part,
Chris's cunt was still moist from the aftermath of the quickie she and
Jeremy had shared only a few minutes before. She hoped the clouds of
Obsession she had sprayed over herself were sufficient to mask the
smell of sex.
Eleanor turned her laser-like glance to Chris. For a few
moments, Chris felt vaguely like a slave girl on the auction block,
being subjected to the probing stares of prospective buyers. She felt
Eleanor's eyes scanning her up and down, stopping, of course, at
Chris's bustline. Chris tried in vain to suppress the erection of her
nipples as she realized where Eleanor's eyes had rested. Damnit, 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 areole 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
areoles and quickly said, "Could I have a towel, first?" Bill
instantly produced one from the bar which Eleanor draped across
Chris's lap.
Chris was convinced that her nipple was far too big and long
for little Thad to take the whole thing in his mouth, but on the
second try, he did just that, shoving it far back into his tiny
throat. Chris's eyes went wide as the baby began to suckle. She was
totally unprepared for the sucking power that little body contained.
It was even harder than Jeremy's in his most passionate moments. A
flood of pleasure/pain coursed over her, and she literally gasped.
Eleanor only smiled knowingly.
Chris's body responded with alacrity to this onslaught. She
felt cunt juice begin to trickle into the maxi-pad she was wearing
while her letdown reflex exploded in full force. A jet of milk
sprayed from her open breast, past the towel, and across the
carpeting. Bill and Jeremy both almost jumped out of their chairs.
"Whoa!" Bill yelled. Eleanor immediately picked up the towel and
draped it over Chris's spouting boob. Thad, incredibly, was equal to
the task, gurgling and swallowing rapidly, happily keeping up with the
torrent of good milk Chris was providing.
Chris was overwhelmed by the intensity of this experience.
Her moment of guilt at experiencing sexual arousal from the suckling
of a baby vanished quickly. This seemed the most natural thing in the
world; why shouldn't it be pleasurable? Babies would have starved to
death if God hadn't made nursing feel good. She remembered reading
Masters and Johnson, where they'd documented that some women achieved
orgasm while breastfeeding.
She knew in that second that she was going to join that elite
group. Her breathing began coming faster; she felt the maxi-pad
swelling, trying in vain to contain the coming flood. Her juices were
pushing past it, seeping around the edges of her panties, dampening
her slacks. She looked up with confusion and lust, and in that moment
her eyes locked with Bill's. She fixed on them, seeing his
excitement, almost hearing him telepathically urging her on to orgasm.
He and Jeremy both had visible erections. She knew she was going to
come soon.
Come on, come on, come on, come on, Bill's eyes told her.
With a whimper, Chris shut her eyes tight and came like a
freight train. Forcing herself to refrain from screaming and
thrashing about with the baby in her lap only served to intensify the
orgasm. She snorted through wide-open nostrils, panting furiously,
riding it out, while Thad kept suckling, totally oblivious to his
nursemaid's plight. A dark stain spread outward across Chris's lap,
around, and down into the chair. The realization that she must be
making a hell of a mess was sufficient to snap her out of it, and she
recovered quickly.
"Oh, my God, I'm sorry," she blurted out. "I had no idea that
would happen."
"That's quite all right. I'm sure it happens all the time,"
Bill reassured her. "If it makes you feel any better, it happened to
me, too."
Indeed, there was a wet spot on his pants as well.
"If that had happened to me, I never would have decided to
quit," Eleanor said.
"Are you sure it didn't, honey?" Bill asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look at yourself."
Eleanor glanced down at herself. Sure enough, the entire
front of her blouse was soaked through. Watching Chris's arousal had
triggered her own letdown reflex, and it had been sufficiently strong
to soak right through her clothing.
"Oh, shit!" she cried, in most unladylike fashion. "This
blouse is ruined! Oh!" She dabbed at it with the towel before
realizing it was also soaking wet. She threw it on the floor in
disgust. She plucked at her dripping wet front and said frantically,
"You're hired. Please finish feeding Thad while I go change. Bill
will finish up with the particulars while I'm gone, won't you,
darling?" Without waiting for an answer, she hurried off down the
hallway.
Bill smiled his toothy smile. "Sweetheart," he said to Chris.
"If you promise to do this more than just this one time, I'll double
whatever Eleanor has decided to pay you."
Chris looked at Jeremy, then down at the baby. He had
detached himself from her breast, so she placed him at the other one,
and immediately felt him latch on and begin draining her again. As
she felt another orgasm beginning, she said huskily, "Mr. Overstreet,
I shall consider it."
LACTOGENESIS XXX
THE UPDATE
<<<Some months later...>>>
Christine pulled her new dark green coupe into the parking lot
of her local video outlet, turned off the engine, set the parking
brake, and climbed out. She spent a couple of seconds admiring the
sheen of the new car's finish and lightly caressing one fender. She
hadn't figured on being able to afford a new car for several months
more at least -- but that was before she and Jeremy had started their
lactation services business, The Lactation Station. Jeremy's business
savvy had rapidly built their client base to the point where Chris was
now making far more money from her breast milk (and activities related
thereto) than she was with her job as a journalist with the local
paper. She was continually amazed at these people's willingness to
spend Jeremy's deliberately exorbitant prices just to get a taste of
mother's milk -- for reasons ranging from the noble (feeding adopted
infants) to the perverse (ah, but those are the subjects of other
stories). She wasn't about to argue with him about those prices,
however; the law of supply and demand was clearly in control here, and
as long as she was enjoying herself (and boy was she ever) and her
pocketbook was benefitting, why rock the boat?
She smiled, revelling once again in her new-found prosperity.
The novelty of her newly improved income had not yet worn off, and she
was delighting in the kind of satisfaction lottery winners must feel.
The weather was helping her good mood as well. Winter was on the
wane. This day's temperatures were well above normal and bright
sunshine was in abundance. Chris was celebrating by wearing a thin
pair of slacks, a T-shirt cropped just a few inches below her
magnificent bustline, open-toed shoes, the lightest of jackets, and no
underwear. A light, slightly chill breeze wafted up the large opening
at the bottom of her shirt created by her 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.