Article 65071 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XL: The Voyeur, Part One {milk, voy, breast}
Date: 22 Apr 1995 01:08:54 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XL
THE VOYEUR
PART ONE
Young Connor first noticed her in the laundry room of his
apartment building, sorting clothes from a large basket into three
open washing machines. Her familiarity with the surroundings
indicated that she was a fellow resident, and there was something
maddeningly familiar about her face, as if he had seen her before but
could not recall from where. But he was sure he'd not seen this
particular woman before; he would have remembered a body like hers.
She was wearing high-heeled sandals, short shorts, and a form-fitting
ribbed cotton-blend bodysuit that was tight enough to create a bas
relief of any underlying garments that might lie beneath on its
surface. There were none. Even though he was only in his early
teens, Connor had become an expert on whether any given woman's figure
was receiving support from beneath, regardless of the nature of the
overlaying outfit. The protuberant nipples easily visible through the
cloth and the slightly raised areoles around them that would not have
been discernible to a less trained eye were also a dead giveaway. In
fact, it was their perfectly centered position at the apex of each
firmly rounded breast and the degree to which they defied the pressure
created by the overlaying fabric to stand as tall as they did that
initially drew his eye to her.
He drank in her image as a connoisseur of fine wine might sip
a classic vintage. She was absolutely exquisite; the stuff of wet
dreams. Smoothly sculpted calves blended with muscular, but not
"bumpy" thighs. A deep crevasse in the material of her shorts marked
where the back of each thigh met with the wide, strong, teardrop-
shaped buttocks that so magnificently filled out her backside. In
front, the muscularity of her quadriceps crisply defined the V that
hid her southern femininity. Her shorts climbed almost to the bottom
point of that V, yet even with his sensitive vision Connor could not
see even a glimpse of a wayward hair peeking out - she must shave
often, and fairly closely. No sign of panties either. Hips that one
could easily rest hands upon flared out from a narrow waist. A ribbon
about that waist would form a perfect ellipse with a circumference of
no more than twenty-two or twenty-three inches. The bodysuit showed a
perfectly flat stomach; a well-placed dimple in the fabric suggested a
navel that was an innie rather than an outie. Directly above two
faint ridges that defined the lower margin of her ribcage dwelt two
breasts the likes of which provided inspiration for sculptors and
artists. His initial reaction to them had been - implants. How else
could they ignore gravity like that? Especially as large as they are
- each rivaled a canteloupe sizewise, but on this tall drink of water
they not so oversized as to invite snickers and pointed fingers. Upon
further examination, however, he was forced to recant. They were
*too* perfectly shaped. He was convinced that no plastic surgeon in
the world could have created such beauty. The way they sloped out and
down on top, up and out on the bottom, with those fantastic nipples
capping the junction of those two curves - that had to be the work of
a divine hand. The way they moved with her was perfect, too; they
didn't look like two hemispheres that were glued to her chest, as he
had seen so many implant jobs look. No, this girl was 100% natural,
right up to her broad, mildly curved upper chest, well-defined
collarbone, long neck, and short-coiffed head sporting eminently
nibble-able ears (he liked ears). Eyes to get lost in, breasts--
wasn't he just looking at her breasts? Yes, but his eyes kept being
drawn to them. There was something special about them besides their
splendid shape and size. What that could possibly be he didn't know,
but it added to his fascination.
Connor became instantly, strongly obsessed with this woman, as
teenaged boys are sometimes wont to do. He would make it his goal in
life to see what she looked like naked. It never occurred to him to
try to pursue her sexually. He was a voyeur by preference, and so was
perfectly happy to get his jollies from afar. Besides, she was too
old for him - she would only laugh at him. So he would be content to
follow her whenever he saw her, to try to catch a fleeting glimpse of
the curve of her breast backlit through a thin blouse, the outline of
pussy lips through a particularly tight pair of slacks. Maybe he
would even be resourceful enough to be in the right place at the right
time when she was in the changing room of their building's swimming
pool.
He found out what apartment she lived in (although, damnit,
her mailbox didn't have her name on it), and made it a point to be in
the area when she got home from work. He didn't get many chances to
see her, however; she seemed to spend a lot of time away and often got
home quite late at night. He had been content with sideways glances
in the common areas of the complex and the occasional passing by in
the hallways (God, how he loved the way her boobs jiggled when she
walked!), until one day when he had happened to be in the hall when
she dropped an armful of groceries she was carrying. With his heart
in his throat, he made the decision to assist her. She was wearing a
very loose blouse scooped low at the neck. When she stooped to begin
gathering the errant items, the material gaped far enough to reveal
the inner curve of her right breast, all the way down to the nipple.
He felt the blood leave his head and gather in his crotch as he
dropped down next to her and lent a hand, gathering cans while getting
a complete eyeful with the practiced veiled stare he had perfected
years before.
This was as close to nirvana as Connor had gotten in a long
time. What fantastic knockers this girl had! She could shame every
centerfold that resided in the footlocker at the back of his closet.
The shape, the size, the color, even the... what the hell? As he
continued to look, he saw the woman's eyes momentarily widen, and then
the most amazing thing happened. At the tip of that perfect nipple he
saw a droplet of thin whitish liquid form, then disappear as it rolled
down the lower half of her breast, out of sight. He had seen this in
one of the raunchier (and more dog-eared) mags he had under his bed -
this girl must have milk! This was better than his wildest fantasy!
As he was reeling with this revelation, the show suddenly ended. She
hurriedly collected the rest of the spilled goods, murmured some quick
thanks, and promptly vanished into her apartment. It was several more
seconds before enough strength returned to his legs to permit him to
rise and go off to his own room, where he spent the remainder of that
afternoon frantically beating off while his mother wondered whether he
was feeling well.
Today Connor happened to be in another part of the building
when he spotted his dream girl knocking on the door of a neighbor's
apartment. She was dressed for the swimming pool, with a thin robe
over what he hoped was a skimpy bikini, flip-flops on her feet, and a
towel thrown over her shoulder. He hid at the end of the corridor and
watched as she continued to rap on the door, growing impatient until
she finally yelled, "Come on, Sherri, the sun isn't going to wait for
us!"
"I'm almost ready! Keep your shirt on!" he heard a muffled
voice behind the door say.
"That's not what I'm planning!" replied the woman.
He watched the door open and her friend come out. She was
shorter, older, red-haired. Her robe could not hide a very large
chest. Wow, her friend's stacked too, he thought. What was that she
was holding? It looked like a sign which said "Pool closed for
maintenance". Why would she have that? Then it hit him. They were
going to hang that on the gate to keep other people out! The gate and
fence surrounding the pool were high and effectively sheltered it from
outside eyes - omigod, they were going to sunbathe nude! He was sure
of it. He had to beat them to the pool and find a place to hide
there.
He took an alternate route and to his relief found the pool
abandoned. He squatted down behind a group of bushes that formed part
of the landscaping around the inside of the fence, found a place to
get a good view unobserved, got comfortable, and waited.
Article 65072 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XLI: The Voyeur, Part Two {breast, milk, voy, ff}
Date: 22 Apr 1995 01:09:04 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLI
THE VOYEUR
PART TWO
Not more than a minute later the two women entered the pool
enclosure. "Oh, good," Connor heard the one named Sherri say. She
hung the sign on the gate, closed it, took a padlock out of the small
bag she had with her, and used it to lock the gate. They walked over
to two lounge chairs (good, they picked two that were directly in his
line of sight), put down their gear, and doffed their robes. He had
to keep from gasping aloud when they did. Both women were wearing the
tiniest bikinis imaginable. Sherri's covered more on top, but that
wasn't saying much; his dream girl's top was little more than two tiny
strips of cloth just wide enough in front to cover her nipples. Fully
eighty percent of her glorious bosom was exposed. Connor gently,
silently shifted position so that his growing erection wouldn't get
caught at an uncomfortable angle.
He watched them stretch out on the chairs, bottles of
sunscreen in their hands. "Mmmm, isn't this sun wonderful? First of
the season," said Sherri.
"Are you sure nobody can get in here?" asked his dream girl.
"Positive. I've done this a lot. I'm kind of surprised that
our neighbors haven't complained more about the pool being down for
repairs."
"And nobody can see us, right?"
"Chris, will you relax? I'm an old hand at this."
Chris! Her name is Chris! Somehow just finally knowing her
name made Connor feel that much more excited to be here watching her.
He watched, transfixed, as the two women removed their tops.
His breath caught in his throat as he saw the full landscape of
Chris's splendorous body come into view. Perfect. Absolutely
goddamned perfect. I can die now, he thought. He couldn't stand it
any more - he slowly unzipped his fly and liberated his hard-on,
which he started stroking absently.
"Well, if you're sure," Chris said, and arching her back, slid
off the almost non-existent bikini bottom as well, revealing a
completely hairless snatch. He stopped stroking for fear of coming
right there. He had never seen a bald beaver before. Chris lay back,
slightly spreading her legs to let the sun in, and giving him a
perfect view of her naked pussy. Her impossibly firm breasts rose
upward as she lay back, almost completely obscuring her head from
Connor's viewpoint. The sight was enough to cause a pleasant ache to
begin in his balls.
He watched as the women applied sunscreen to themselves,
following their fingers as they rubbed the lotion into their exposed
skin, observing how the flesh of their breasts responded to their
touch. As Chris moved her hand across a nipple, he watched it bend
beneath it and then snap back upright after it passed. That was too
much - with a barely controlled jerk he spurted his load into a
handkerchief, biting his lip to keep from making a sound. Once he
recovered, he strained to listen to their conversation, which up to
now he had ignored.
Sherri had been talking, and Chris had been laughing. Connor
was soon ready to come again from what the laughing was doing to those
incredible boobs of hers. There was a short silence, then Sherri
spoke again.
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
"Shoot," said Chris.
"Funny you should pick that particular word."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm curious about a particular talent of yours."
"Which one would that be? I've got a million of 'em," said
Chris with a smile.
"I've noticed that you can apparently squirt your milk
whenever you want, not just when you're excited or engorged. True?"
"True. However did you come to know this?" Chris sounded
surprised.
"We used to spend a lot of time together, or have you
forgotten?"
Chris blushed. It made her wine-colored nipples an even
darker red. She reached across and stroked the back of Sherri's hand.
"Of course not. How could I?"
Sherri paused, then asked, "Can you teach me how to do that?"
Chris did a double take. "I'm not sure. Why?"
A devilish smile crossed Sherri's lips. "This guy I'm with
right now? He likes me to tickle him while I'm on top. He's got
chest hair like a fucking bearskin rug. I love to run my hands
through it while I'm fucking him. Trouble is, he also likes me to
squirt him while I'm riding him. Can't be squeezing my boobies and
doing all that other stuff at the same time. I need to have my hands
free."
Chris laughed again. (Oh God, stop doing that, he said to
himself. You're killing me.) "I see your point."
"How do you do it?"
Chris lay back on the chair. "Well, I don't really think too
much about *how* I do it. It's just part of the way I control my
lactation."
Sherri shook her head slowly. "I'd almost give one tit to
know how to do that. Many is the time I've embarrassed myself in a
public place when my milk let down unexpectedly. I have to take a
jacket with me even in hot weather to cover up with!"
Chris smiled sympathetically. "Well, I sort of just
concentrate on relaxing all the muscles in my upper body. You know,
like what they have you do in those stress reduction tapes? I think
of running water, floating in a pool, that kind of thing. Pretty soon
I feel the reflex kick in, and the rest is automatic. To stop, I
think of the desert, water soaking into sand, muscles contracting,
flowers closing up at night. Works every time. Here, watch."
Connor felt his eyes begin to sting, and realized he'd been
staring for some time. He blinked away the tears that started to form
so that they wouldn't blur his view of what was to come.
He saw Chris settle deep into her chair, watched the muscles
in her neck and shoulders relax. He saw her nipples lengthen and
thicken and become moist. He saw a wave ripple across the muscles of
her stomach, and suddenly her breasts erupted in twin geysers of milk,
launching branching streams of white high into the air. The fountain
continued for several seconds before abating to a thin trickle. She
hadn't even touched herself.
With a muffled grunt, his whole body tensed and he ejaculated
a few drops of a second load into his sticky handkerchief. He felt a
charley horse form in his leg and pinched his eyes tightly shut
against the pain.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," he heard Sherri say. Amen, sister.
"Let me try." When he heard that, he forced his eyes open again.
He saw Sherri go through the same relaxation process as Chris.
For a long time nothing happened, then, as he stared, he saw dribbles
of milk emerge from Sherri's fat nipples and run down her pendulous
hooters. Chris sat up and applauded. Amazingly, Connor felt his dick
stir once more. That had never happened before.
"Not bad, not bad," Chris said. "We'll work on your form
later." They both laughed. He watched Chris get up and kneel down
next to her friend's chair. "You know, I haven't tasted you in a long
time. I kind of miss that. Do you mind?"
Sherri raised herself to a sitting position. "Please do," she
said. "Otherwise I'll have to go inside and pump, and I don't want to
waste the rest of this marvelous sun."
Connor couldn't believe what he saw next. He watched Chris
lean across Sherri and fasten her lips onto one of Sherri's swollen
nipples. He could tell she was sucking on her and swallowing as fast
as she could. Sherri started moaning and reached for her other breast,
which she started squeezing. He saw stream after stream of milk shoot
out of Sherri's breast as she milked herself and Chris continued to
drink from the other breast.
He felt a third orgasm building. He couldn't believe he had
anything left. As it continued to build, he felt his head get light,
his vision blurred... .
He passed out.
With a crash he fell through the bushes to sprawl out onto the
deck.
The women screamed and leaped to their feet. Hurriedly they
threw on their robes and cautiously approached his supine form.
Sherri bent down and peered at him. "Oh, shit. It's only
Connor."
"You know this kid?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, he lives in the building. I've caught him peeping
several times. I used to think it was cute, but now the little shit's
gone too far. Wake up, dickhead," Sherri said, kicking water from the
pool into his face.
Sputtering, Connor came to and scrambled to his feet. He
started to run for the gate, then stopped, realizing he was locked in.
"All right, you little fuck," Sherri said, advancing on him
with teeth clenched and hands on hips. "This stops now. I ever catch
you slithering around me or my friends again, I'll come into your room
while you're asleep and Bobbitize you. Don't think I won't do it,
either. I ever find out you said anything about what you saw here,
and I'll make sure your parents find out about your sordid little
hobbies. *Then* I'll Bobbitize you. You savvy?"
Embarrassed beyond the ability to speak, Connor only nodded.
Sherri unlocked the gate. "Get the fuck out," she hissed.
Connor scurried out like a dog before a rolled-up newspaper.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherri and Chris looked at
each other, then fell laughing into each others' arms. When they
finally recovered, Sherri said, "Well, one thing's for sure - we'll
be in his wet dreams for a long time to come!"
That night, as Chris sat in her milking chair, hooked up to
her pump, she thought about the young Connor pounding his pud with
visions of her dancing through his puerile little brain. She realized
that in some small dark recess of her mind, she'd always wanted to be
the subject of a young man's masturbatory fantasies. Now she knew
that had come to pass. The realization gave her a very satisfying
orgasm and filled the milk receptacle quickly.
Article 65873 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XLII: The Planning {breast, milk, ff}
Date: 26 Apr 1995 00:39:35 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLII
THE PLANNING
Christine and Sherri sat at Chris's kitchen table, each with a
pint of Ben & Jerry's (New York Super Fudge Chunk for Chris, Chunky
Monkey for Sherri) and a colorful stack of brochures in front of her.
The contents of each were ever-changing as they passed the flyers and
spoonfuls of ice cream back and forth to one another. Outside the sky
swirled with an unusually late spring snowstorm, the wind carrying
record low temperatures with it.
Sherri pushed yet another brochure toward Chris. "What about
Switzerland? The Alps, those cute guys in those leather shorts..."
Chris tossed her head in the direction of the nearest window.
"Take a look outside and tell me that 'beach' is not an operative word
here," she said. "The weather's been so shitty lately that warm
water, warm sand, and warm sun are the primary considerations." She
paused. "Why can't I convince you to come with me?"
"Honey, we've been through this. You need time alone. We all
do. Jeremy's been working us to death. Lately I've been feeling more
like a dairy cow than a woman. The client he lined me up with last
week damn near sucked my nipples off, he was into it so much. I need
to give the old milk shakes a rest." This time Sherri paused. "You
know, I never thought I'd hear myself say that."
Chris sighed. "Well, it's like I've been trying to tell
Jeremy for weeks now. There's more to life, and more to sex, than
just lactating. I can't believe how obsessed he's gotten with the
business. He looks at me now, all he sees are these." She indicated
her perfect, fully functional breasts. "I tell you, Sherri, I'm ready
to hang it up."
"You? Yours don't hang at all." Sherri leaned across the
table and plucked at Chris's shirt, her own milk-laden boobs brushing
along the tabletop as she did so. "You got an anti-gravity device
hidden in there?" That got a smile from Chris. "Well, I think
Jeremy's realized we're all starting to feel that way. That's why
he's springing for these vacations."
"Don't kid yourself," said Chris. "He knows what side his
bread's buttered on. He's not giving us time off out of the goodness
of his heart. Believe me, it's purely business. He doesn't want his
'prime herd' to burn out on him."
"You mean 'dry up', don't you?" said Sherri.
Chris didn't acknowledge Sherri's attempt at humor. "Notice
that he's only letting two of us go at a time? Do you have any idea
what the work load on the others is going to be while we're gone? I
almost feel guilty taking this vacation."
Sherri thought for a minute. "This is ruining my mood. Fuck
Jeremy anyway."
"I'd like to, believe me," sighed Chris. "Monique is handling
that department very well on her own, though." She stopped and shook
her head. "No, I don't mean that. It's really over between us. I
guess it's just been too long..."
"See? All the more reason to just go off somewhere by
yourself. You need to find some strapping young stranger on a nude
beach somewhere, drag him into the jungle and fuck his brains out."
Chris smiled again, her good mood restored. "Capital
suggestion." She grabbed a handful of brochures. "The question is,
where?" She paged through a few, pitching some into a nearby
wastebasket. "You absolutely sure you won't go with me?"
Sherri shook her head. "As much as I'd love to, I have a
feeling that we'd only remind each other of home and The Lac-Station.
I for one won't want to be talking shop. Besides, Jeremy doesn't know
this, but I plan to pocket my vacation money. One of my clients has
offered to spirit me away to the Costa del Sol for a couple of weeks,
and I've decided to take him up on it."
Chris grinned broadly. "That's great! When do you leave?"
"Day after tomorrow. I didn't want to go before making sure
you were taken care of, though. That's why I brought you all these."
She looked at the brochures on the table. "You know, we're doing this
too scientifically. We've already eliminated everything that's not
beach and ocean, so why not just close your eyes and pick one? Be
impulsive! You're on vacation, for chrissake!"
Chris sat for a few seconds, then suddenly reached out,
gathered up all the brochures, and with eyes closed threw them into
the air. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that one
particularly colorful one had landed right in her lap. She and Sherri
exchanged an excited look. Chris thrust the brochure at Sherri. "I
can't look," she said. "You read it."
Sherri scanned the paper, a wide grin slowly spreading over
her face. She read silently for several seconds, occasionally saying
"Yes... yes..."
Finally Chris could stand it no longer. "Well?!" she
exploded. "Where am I going?"
Sherri held up the brochure. "Negril!" she said happily.
When she saw no sign of recognition from Chris, her eyes widened. "I
can't believe you've never heard of it. It's in Jamaica!"
"Jamaica, eh? That sounds nice." Chris seemed only mildly
enthused.
"Nice?! Girlfriend, this place is fantastic! Beautiful white
sand, crystal clear water, ganja everywhere..." Sherri pushed the
flyer at Chris. "This is one of those all-inclusive singles resorts,
where all you have to do is eat, sleep, drink, and fuck. It is
absolutely perfect for you, lady. Negril is THE most laid-back place
on the island, maybe in the whole Caribbean! Believe me, this is the
place!" She could tell Chris was warming to the idea. She added,
"And best of all, it's expensive as hell. Jeremy's going to pay out
the ass for this. For example, did I mention that this package
includes a cruise on a big-ass boat?"
In her mind Chris had a vision of Jeremy with pants around
ankles, hands on knees, straining, bills and coins shooting out of his
butt. It made her laugh out loud. It'd serve the bastard right. He
did promise to bankroll any two weeks they'd care to take...
"Sign me up!" she cried enthusiastically.
"All right!" Sherri yelled. "OK, right after we book this
sucker, we're going shopping. I know your wardrobe doesn't contain
the proper clothes for this." She jumped up and headed for the phone.
Sherri started punching numbers but was suddenly stopped by
the feel of Chris's warm, firm breasts spreading across her back as
she hugged her from behind. "Sometimes I don't know what I'd do
without you," Chris said softly. "You're my guardian angel."
Sherri put down the phone and turned in Chris's arms to face
her. Each had to lean back slightly to accommodate the combined
magnificence of their bustlines. Sherri softly tousled Chris's hair
and lightly brushed her cheek. "Hey, somebody's got to keep you sane.
Might as well be me."
Chris looked down along Sherri's torso, down to where their
belt buckles touched. "You know, we're each going to be gone for a
couple of weeks. That's a long time..." She reached up and unsnapped
the topmost snap on Sherri's shirt.
Instantly two wet spots appeared on that shirt, each centered
over a stiffening nipple. "Damn, girl, you really know how to push my
buttons," Sherri mused. She leaned back to allow Chris to finish
unbuttoning her. As Chris's hands disappeared inside the open shirt,
gently caressing, hefting, tweaking, Sherri leaned forward and nibbled
at her earlobe, her own hands seeking Chris's hardened nipples through
her shirt. "You're still going alone, though..."
She felt Chris's breath on her neck as she murmured, "I'm
going to miss you, but I wouldn't dream of trying to change your
mind..."
Sherri straightened up and lifted her breasts toward Chris's
mouth. Twin trickles of milk ran down across her fingers, which were
half-buried in the soft flesh of her bosom, and dripped on the kitchen
floor. "Shut up and drink," she said. "Before we make too much of a
mess in here."
Chris only giggled softly. She knew that a mess was
inevitable. It always was with the two of them and the copious fluids
they produced...
Article 82532 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XLIII
Date: 15 Jul 1995 01:51:25 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLIII
THE CRUISE
PART ONE
Christine pressed a crisp $5 bill into the outstretched palm
of the young man who had delivered her luggage to her cabin. I'll bet
I'm going to be running into this one a lot during this cruise, she
thought, as she took note of the fact that his eyes never left her
chest throughout the transaction. Over the months since The Accident
and its subsequent physical manifestations, which had caused the
opposite sex's interest in her to increase exponentially, Chris had
learned to read the hormonally driven behaviors of men quite well.
She could tell, for example, that this fellow had already memorized
her cabin number, was aware she was traveling alone, and judging from
where his eyes were riveted, had not seen such a perfectly sized and
shaped bustline as her own in several Miami-to-Montego Bay runs. He
was going to be trouble. She was surprised at herself, however, to
discover that she was amused and not put off by the porter's obvious
gaping. Well, maybe there's a little treat in store if he plays his
cards right, she found herself thinking. As she closed the door on
him, she shook her head and said aloud, "I must really be getting into
vacation mode." Indeed, the stirrings she felt within as she
entertained the notion of "treating" the porter were considerably
stronger than usual. Reining in her libido, Chris decided to get
familiar with her cabin.
Sherri had taken care of all the arrangements and the arguing
with Jeremy about the price. Her intercession on Chris's behalf had
netted Chris one of the better cabins on the uppermost passenger deck:
very spacious, comfortable, quiet, and well positioned away from the
cramped, busier, less luxurious lower decks. A perfect place for
"entertaining", Chris thought. As she began unpacking her luggage,
she periodically paused to hold in front of her one of the new outfits
she and Sherri had picked out for this trip. She had packed nothing
from her existing wardrobe; everything, right down to the racy
Victoria's Secret lingerie, was going to be showing up on Jeremy's
Gold Card next month.
Last to come out of the suitcases was a small but powerful
breast pump and attachments, safely ensconced in a fabric bag.
Although she could have chosen, through the use of her finely honed
mental discipline, to shut down her milk production for the duration
of the trip, she had decided instead that, if anything, she might try
to increase it. After all, this cruise line was famous for its
onboard food, which was available nearly around the clock. She
figured she would eat as much and as often as she liked, and simply
convert the excess calories into milk. She hoped that she would meet
at least one man during the three days it would take to reach Negril
who would be willing to assist her in this regard. The idea of
"pumping and dumping" never did appeal much to her.
By the time she had settled in, the "all ashore that's going
ashore" announcement had been made and final preparations for casting
off had been completed. Chris took her place at the rail, confetti
and streamers in hand, and took part in the traditional "bon voyage"
sendoff, even though there was no one she knew waving back from the
pier. The crowd at the railing was so thick that as it began to
disperse, Chris found herself being jostled somewhat violently. An
errant elbow caught her in her left breast, not hard enough to be
painful, but hard enough to make her realize how full and heavy her
breasts were. She realized that she had not thought to shut down her
lactation during the long flight to Miami, the time at the airport,
and the trip from there to the pier. No wonder she was feeling
tender!
Chris returned to her cabin and jumped into the shower with
the intent to relieve herself by performing her common practice of
allowing the cascading hot water to intensify her already awesome
letdown reflex. Under normal circumstances, the feeling of the
increased flow of milk blasting out of her nipples (at home she could
probably send the spray fifteen feet or more if the shower wall
weren't in the way) was enough for a satisfying orgasm even without
strategically directing the flow from the shower head. But when she
walked into the small stall and noticed an unfamiliar type of faucet,
she realized suddenly that she hadn't been away from home for an
extended period since The Accident over a year before. The strangeness
of her surroundings detracted from her enjoyment of emptying her
breasts somewhat, but she was still able to come twice from the
directed spray on her clit, each time challenging the floor drain with
the flood of juices pouring from her pussy.
She moved from the bathroom into the main part of the cabin,
enjoying the delicious feeling of walking around naked in a strange
room. She dressed for dinner, choosing a teal-and-white dress that was
clingy and provocatively cut, and whose design allowed only a pair of
French-cut panties as foundation. She knew from examining a layout of
the main dining room that her assigned table was quite close to the
Captain's Table. In this outfit I should be able to catch the eye of
an officer or two, Chris thought with a twinkle in her eye. I've
never done it with a man in uniform before... The thought made her
breasts tingle anew.
As she made her way along the ship's corridors, down the
elevator, and toward the dining room, she was awestruck at the size of
this vessel, the Carib Mermaid. She walked past the entrances to a
nightclub that was at least as large as most of those she frequented
on land; a casino rivalling those in Atlantic City for noise and
sparkle; a well-equipped health club; a duty-free shop; two smaller
dining areas; an arcade; a beauty shop and a myriad of other services.
The central "commons" area of the ship was several decks deep. It
resembled a small shopping mall or a gigantic hotel lobby, sporting a
number of levels accessible by glass elevators. This is one big damn
boat, Chris marveled to herself. Sherri sure knows how to pick 'em.
There was a short line at the entrance to the surprisingly
large main dining room as guests waited to be directed to their
assigned tables.
Upon Chris's reaching the head of the line, a too-young crewmember
escort waiting there broke into a wide grin, extended his crooked
elbow into which Chris slipped her gloved hand, and personally
escorted her to her table, which for the moment was still empty. She
noted with satisfaction that few other women were being given such
preferential treatment. In full hunting mode now, she used the time
before the arrival of her tablemates to scan the room. Sure enough,
the Captain's Table was only a few feet away. Several people,
including a few officers, were already seated. She must have been
putting out pheromones like crazy into a favorable breeze, for the man
she set her sights on, a fellow worthy of the cover of GQ whose
uniform suggested fairly high rank, met her gaze within seconds of it
lighting upon him. He smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling slightly.
He raised his champagne glass to her, cocking his head as he did so.
Chris immediately felt her nipples straining at the flimsy fabric of
her dress as she smiled back with all the lust she could muster
without actually drooling on the tablecloth. Jeez, she said to
herself. Reel it in, girl! Who's running the show here, anyway, you
or your glands? She must have been frowning, for when her attention
once again focused on her quarry, his attention had been diverted
elsewhere. She tried again to catch his eye, but in vain. Damnit, she
thought. Why did you have to pick that moment to admonish yourself?
Now you've blown it!
Within a few minutes the other occupants of Chris's table
arrived.
They included an elderly couple whose bronze skins told of many years
chasing the sun; a newlywed couple barely out of their teens who never
stopped touching each other; and a third couple who looked like they
were on a second honeymoon. I'll need to have a talk with the cruise
director, Chris said to herself in disappointment. I'd have thought
they'd seat us singles together. She was just beginning to resign
herself to eating her dinner in silence when she felt a light touch on
her shoulder. She looked up into the aquamarine eyes of the officer
she'd been trying so hard to interest these last several minutes.
"I don't mean to interrupt, but I couldn't help noticing that
perhaps an error has been made here," he said in a rich New England
baritone.
"I'm sorry?" said Chris, not comprehending.
"You appear to be traveling alone. We usually try to seat
singles at the same table so that they can meet each other."
Not only is he gorgeous, but he can read minds too, thought
Chris.
She turned up the pheromones another notch and smiled
blazingly. "That's very kind of you to notice, but I don't mind at
all," she lied.
"Well, nevertheless, I'll be sure to speak to the cruise
director and get you reseated. In the meantime, I would be honored if
you would join me at my table." He extended his hand in a very formal
manner.
Chris took it and fairly floated to her feet, letting one of
the spaghetti straps of her dress fall off of one shoulder as she did
so. She allowed the officer to guide her toward the Captain's Table,
one hand placed in the exposed small of her back. She didn't even
bother to say goodbye to the others at her table.
As they arrived, Chris felt the eyes of the important-looking
guests there move to her. The men at the table rose to their feet.
The women tried to look indifferent. Chris detected slightly raised
eyebrows on one or two of them. Mildly embarrassed, she smiled and
tried valiantly to suppress the vigorous erection of her nipples
brought on by the proximity of her target. The officer pulled out the
only other vacant chair at the table beside his own. As he did so, he
leaned in close to her and whispered quickly, "In my haste to correct
the oversight, I neglected to ask your name. I have to make your
introduction and have no idea how to do it."
"My name's Christine," she whispered back.
"I'm Jonah Ballwin, Second Officer aboard the Mermaid," he
returned. "I'm charmed to meet you."
Not as charmed as you're going to be, thought Chris.
Article 64619 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XLIV: The Cruise, Part Two {milk, f ejac, m/f, exhib}
Date: 18 May 1995 02:41:32 -0400
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
THE CRUISE
PART TWO
Christine stood at the railing at the bow of the ship, several
stories above the water line, blinking watery eyes caused by the wind
generated by the movement of the Carib Mermaid as she made her way
toward the port of Montego Bay. It was late, well past 1:00 am, on a
perfect, cloudless night. Chris was amazed at how many stars were
visible once one got away from the lights of the mainland. Even
though there was no moon, one could easily see by the starlight,
although mainly in dim hues of bluish gray. Chris was wearing a thin
billowy sundress with nothing underneath and was reveling in the
sensations the cool breeze provided as the fabric rippled across her
amaranthine body. From this lofty vantage point she saw no other
people above decks at all; those few passengers still up at this hour
were at the casino or nightclub. Chris felt like she had this
gargantuan ship all to herself.
Perched at the very front end of this boat as she was, Chris
was reminded of the old-fashioned figurehead, usually the undraped
torso of a lovely lady, carved into the bow of classic wooden sailing
vessels. She suddenly felt an impulsive desire to be the Mermaid's
figurehead. With a quick glance around her to confirm she was alone,
she reached up and untied the strings holding her dress around her
neck and shoulders. The top fell away to where the material was
gathered at her waist. Chris leaned out over the railing, arching her
back and throwing back her head in classic figurehead pose. Her awe-
inspiring breasts thrust forward, proudly defying gravity by even
curving slightly upward as she bent back. The caress of the cool night
wind felt good on the hot skin of her bosom; the glands beneath had
been working overtime to compensate for Chris's increased caloric
intake - the midnight buffet she had attended earlier had been her
fifth meal that day - and were once again filling the myriad
lactiferous sinuses within to capacity with warm, sweet milk. The
breeze finally lowered her skin temperature enough to raise goose
pimples and turn her nipples into twin 3/4" cylinders of solid ruby.
She recalled that she rarely displayed herself out in the open like
this, and when she did it was usually in a controlled environment,
like a fenced-in swimming pool. The knowledge that she was now fully
exposed to both the elements and potentially to any one of the
thousand or so people aboard who might happen to wander up to this
particular lookout proved to be very erotic for her. The three
glasses of wine she'd consumed at the buffet were definitely helping
suppress her inhibitions as well. Chris felt a coolness in her crotch
as the breeze penetrated the fabric of her dress and tried to
evaporate the moisture that was beginning to collect there.
The sensations were so novel, and the situation so unique,
that Chris decided to run with them. As the last of her inhibitions
melted away, aided by the wine, she retained just enough conscious
sense to turn to the port side railing so that the wind would not be
directly in her face. Leaning out over the railing with eyes closed,
chin lifted slightly, and tits outthrust, she concentrated on the
sound of the ocean far below striking the bow of the ship - millions
of gallons of water rushing past in a continuous, mighty surge. She
imagined herself surging with that kind of power, and sure enough
seconds later her breasts began spewing forth torrents of hot milk.
The wind caught the needle-thin streams and blew them to a white mist
that quickly dissipated into the night. As the tingling of the
letdown intensified, Chris used her lacquered fingernails to lightly
stroke the long sides of her aching nipples, stimulating the tiny
muscles along her milk ducts to contract even harder, pushing the
streams out with even greater force. Not content even with this,
Chris cupped her incredible boobs and began tugging and squeezing in
an attempt to increase the flow even more. The small openings in her
nipples had reached capacity, however, so her actions only served to
increase the feeling of pressure inside her breasts, which was
sufficient to push her toward orgasm.
She felt her nectar start to run down the inside of her legs,
so she released one breast, gathered as much material from her dress
up around her waist in one hand as she could, and planted her feet
wide apart so she would splash directly onto the deck. She let go of
the other breast, trapped both of them between her forearms, and
squeezed them together to keep the flow of milk going at maximum. The
index finger of her free hand disappeared into the folds of her bald
beaver, sought out her slippery, engorged clit, and began a vigorous
circular motion. Chris held her breath to keep from crying out as she
mounted the final hill, and the subsequent drop in oxygen to her brain
took her immediately into an orgasm of superluminary proportions. Her
nipples felt as if they would pop off from the pressure of the milk
rushing through them, and the force of the flood from her pussy made a
loud splat as it struck the deck. Caught up in unreasoning ecstasy,
Chris actually forgot to resume breathing, and her knees began to
buckle. The night seemed to take on a reddish hue, and as she began
to faint, she felt something hard strike her across the midriff. As
consciousness began to flicker out, she realized that it was the
railing - she was beginning to pitch forward over it! She gasped for
breath and fought to regain control of her body, but it was too late
- she felt herself in the grip of gravity and in stark white panic
realized she was about to fall overboard!
In that millisecond she felt her head snap back as a second
impact across her middle jerked her violently backward. When
awareness returned she found herself sprawled in a heap several feet
back from the railing. There was hoarse breathing in her ear and a
strong arm wrapped tightly about her at just below the level of her
breasts, which now pointed upward and were still dribbling milk down
their smooth slopes to soak into the sleeve of that arm. She slowly
realized that she was not lying on the deck, but had landed on top of
someone.
The breathing in her ear turned into a male voice laced with
concern. "Christine! Are you all right?" it said.
How does he know my name? she thought, still badly shaken.
Wait, I recognize that voice... She looked back over her shoulder,
right into Jonah Ballwin's bluer-than-blue eyes. She tried to speak,
but realized that she was still struggling to regain her breath.
Jonah had had to come from several feet away to keep Chris from going
over the railing, so his collision with her had been a rough one. She
nodded yes instead.
Jonah looked toward the railing. "God damn it!" he swore with
feeling. "I've always thought those railings were too low! What were
those stupid designers thinking?!" He was practically trembling with
anger and adrenaline. He forced his eyes closed and took several deep
breaths to calm himself.
Chris reached up and stroked his cheek. "I seriously thought
I was going to die. Thank you." She also looked toward the railing.
"I don't know what I was thinking, getting so close." She felt
herself blushing, the heat in her cheeks more noticeable in the cool
air. "I guess I was caught up in the moment."
Is he blushing too? It's so hard to tell in this light. "To
be honest, so was I," she heard him say. "This particular overlook is
a little difficult to get to, so not many passengers come up here. I
often do because the view is so spectacular. Tonight it was
particularly so." His eyes briefly flicked down across Chris's body,
which made her realize how fully exposed she still was. Oddly,
however, she felt no immediate need to disengage from his grip and
cover herself. The wine must still be exerting some influence.
Besides, the salt air was definitely becoming nippy, and he was nice
and warm.
She snuggled a little deeper into his chest and straightened
one leg that had gotten caught at a funny angle when they had tumbled
to the deck. Smiling mischievously, she said, "How long had you been
standing there?"
"Long enough," he replied. "Long enough to see that you are
the most incredible woman I have ever met. If I hadn't seen what you
just did with my own eyes, I would never have believed it."
Chris blushed again. "Believe me, I don't do that sort of
thing every day."
"Then I feel doubly fortunate to have been here when I was."
Chris shifted slightly, purposely pressing one warm, firm
breast into Jonah's side. "I wasn't done, you know," she said
seductively.
Jonah's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, should I have just let you go
over the side, then?" he inquired.
"Of course not, silly," said Chris. "But you don't notice me
wriggling about trying to get my dress back on, do you?"
"I suppose I was sort of wondering why you weren't."
Chris turned to face Jonah, in the same movement pushing him
back down to the deck. "Right now I owe you a debt, and I'm the kind
of person who likes to pay off her debts promptly," she said as she
started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Excellent policy," Jonah said with a grin. "Might I suggest,
however, that we adjourn to someplace more comfortable than this
deck?"
As soon as he mentioned comfort, Chris realized that she had
skinned one of her knees, and in her half-naked state, even through
the false warmth of the wine, she was getting cold. Hiking her dress
back into position, she asked, "I assume you have a particular
'someplace' in mind?"
Jonah got to his feet and helped Chris to hers. "Indeed I do.
Allow me to show you the Carib Mermaid that most paying customers
never get to see."
Article 82533 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XLV
Date: 15 Jul 1995 01:51:26 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLV
THE CRUISE
PART THREE
Christine let Jonah lead her off the observation deck and down
through several levels of the ship. She was still a bit disoriented
from the combination of sensations still coursing through her body:
pain from the collision with Jonah which had resulted in his saving
her from going overboard, residual tingling from the orgasm which had
almost been her last, the remains of the buzz from the wine she'd
consumed earlier that evening, and strong attraction, on several
levels, for this second officer of the Carib Mermaid. Prevailing at
the moment was gratitude for her rescue, but a close second was how
taken she was with how almost regal the man was in his mannerisms, his
politeness, the seriousness with which he took his job, and his
undivided attentions toward her. Over dinner that evening she had
noted that he was good at hinting that he had a naughty side without
being outwardly crude, which intrigued her. Her traffic-stopping
body, enhanced as it was by the cut of her dress, had clearly made an
impression on him then, and he had been able to communicate his
interest to her while the other guests at the Captain's Table had no
clue of the building heat between them. Chris remembered how moist
she had gotten when that realization had hit her. There was no doubt
in her mind that Jonah must have seduced dozens of female passengers
before her, yet he made her feel like she was the first. The fact
that he was absolutely gorgeous and she was extremely horny didn't
hurt, either.
Chris noted as Jonah led her through the ship that the
corridors were very narrow and unadorned. Piping hung close overhead;
paint was peeling from the walls; and the lighting was dim. It was
also eerily quiet; true, it was late, well into the wee smalls, but
she expected to see at least a few other people up at this hour. When
she inquired about this, Jonah smiled.
"I wondered how long it would be before you noticed something
different," he said. "This ship is in many ways like an old Gothic
mansion. There is an entirely separate set of corridors and hatchways
that the crew uses and the passengers know nothing about. There are
even entire sections of deck that are inaccessible to our paying
customers and which they don't even suspect exist."
"Are you taking me to one of those now?"
"Very astute of you. You're about to see a part of the
Mermaid that very few people, even crew, see with any regularity." He
finished the sentence just as they arrived at a bulkhead. Jonah
undogged the hatch which swung open, releasing into their faces a
current of warm moist air laced with the faint smell of cedar and
something else...lavender, perhaps?
Chris stepped through the hatch and into what was so obviously
a den of seduction that she had to keep from laughing at the sheer
audaciousness of it. The room was multi-leveled, with an extensive
bar along one wall, a large raised area dotted with person-sized
pillows along another, and a wide, multi-sectioned picture window
(with curtains currently drawn) spanning the long wall directly in
front of her. Set in the center of the room were not one, but two
jacuzzis, both bubbling furiously, but not so much that the thrumming
of the ship's engines could not be heard. Flower petals danced on the
bubbles. The ceiling was mirrored and illuminated by a means not
immediately obvious. The walls and floor were covered with a deep red
patterned fabric, giving the overall feeling of a turn-of-the-century
bordello. Towels, robes, glasses, an ice bucket, a bottle of asti
spumante, a vase of roses, and even a small dish containing what
looked like marijuana cigarettes stood at the ready.
"My God," said Chris. "You sailors don't believe in subtlety,
do you?"
"There's usually not enough time for that," Jonah said
honestly. "How long are you going to be aboard? Three days, four at
the most. Extended courtships aren't generally practical under those
conditions."
Chris pointed to the dish. "Are those what I think they are?"
Jonah just cocked his head. "We do visit Jamaica often, you
know."
"Of course. Silly me."
Even though this was not Chris's idea of the most romantic
setting in the world, it was another new experience for her, so she
decided to go with it. She walked into the room and up to the window,
whose curtains parted at her approach. They opened to reveal that
they were now at the stern of the ship. The view was different from,
but no less impressive than, that afforded by the observation deck
they had just come from. She must have been staring out the window
for some time, for when she turned back, Jonah had already opened the
champagne and had poured two glasses. Chris simply smiled, undid a
couple of strategically placed fasteners, and in a single motion
stepped out of her dress. The unusual lighting played across her
magnificent frame, accentuating the large upturned breasts, the smooth
mons, the flared hips, the well-turned thighs. Chris decided to play
the part the setting seemed to expect of her to the hilt. She pushed
her chest forward, half-lidded her eyes, and slid like a reptile down
into one of the jacuzzis. Jonah smiled appreciatively, but didn't
move toward her, as she expected. Instead, he turned his back to her.
Chris blinked in surprise, wondering what was going on, but relaxed
and smiled when she heard the crinkle of the foil covering on the
bottle of spumante.
"I'm not thirsty yet," Chris said, trying to get Jonah's
attention. "I will be later though..."
Jonah glanced over his shoulder as he worked on the bottle.
"What do you think of our little nest? Several crew members worked
together to build it. This used to be part of a cargo hold. I think
the captain knows it exists, but doesn't let on. Decent fellow, the
captain."
Small talk now, when I'm wet, naked, and ready? thought Chris.
What's with this guy? Maybe he just needs a little persuading....
"There's plenty of room for two, Second Officer Ballwin," she
said. "I'm still a little sore from our altercation on the deck and
could use a good neck rub." Jonah did turn at that, and when he did,
Chris started moving her body under the water, almost as a belly
dancer would on land. She would let parts of her fabulous body become
momentarily visible, then resubmerge them. Her underwater dance was
enough to make a dead man come.
Still Jonah Ballwin kept his distance, smiling blankly, soon
returning to the business of opening the bottle of asti spumante.
Chris couldn't believe it. She thought she was a pretty good
judge of when a man wanted her, and Jonah had exhibited all the
classic signs. Here she was practically sending semaphore, and he
stood unmoving.
Am I being rejected here? Is he gay? Is he teasing me? All kinds
of questions started going through her mind.
Well, I'll give him another sixty seconds to finish opening
that goddamn bottle, then I'm suddenly going to get the mother of all
headaches, Chris said to herself. I don't need this, especially on
vacation.
Article 82535 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XLVI
Date: 15 Jul 1995 01:51:27 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLVI
THE CRUISE
PART FOUR
"My, but you're showing remarkable restraint, both here and on
the observation deck," said Chris as she continued to undulate just
below the surface of the jacuzzi. Occasionally a glimpse of
magnificence would appear for an instant and then vanish back into the
bubbles. "What do I have to do, throw myself at you?"
Jonah smiled and began to pour the asti spumante.
"Occupational habit, I suppose," he said. "Manners and decorum where
the guests are concerned...that's been drilled into me ever since I
first signed on to a cruise ship. I guess I just have to be
absolutely sure about a guest's needs before taking action to avoid
making any mistakes."
"My needs should be obvious," Chris returned. She arched her
back so that her breasts broke the surface. The water running off
their exquisite curves was joined by two thin white streams as she
allowed her erect nipples to ooze a bit of milk by way of invitation.
Jonah's training went out the porthole when he saw that. He barely
had time to put down the glasses before jumping fully clothed into the
jacuzzi, scooping Chris up and hungrily fastening his lips around one
glistening nipple as she laughed her delight. Finally! she thought.
Nothing like a dairy treat to bring them running... She rewarded
Jonah by sending a gush of sweet milk into his mouth, which he
swallowed with a moan of pleasure. Jonah awkwardly began removing
clothing and flinging it with a splat against the wall. This was
doubly difficult, first because the clothing was wet and heavy, and
second because he was attempting to do it without removing his mouth
from Chris's breast. His entry into her was fast and totally devoid
of manners and decorum. Their frantic fucking soon doubled the
turbulence within the jacuzzi.
It was over soon, much too soon for Chris's taste, but it had
been spirited, and that was enough to create a pleasant afterglow.
Chris sipped her spumante, settled back against Jonah's muscled chest
and listened to the panting in her ear slowly lessen. Strange how it
almost matches the rhythm of the engine noise, she thought. Jonah is
really in tune with the workings of this ship. She realized that she
was also breathing hard; she had forgotten how exhausting making love
in a hot jacuzzi could be. The cold liquid hitting her throat and
exploding into fizz served to re-energize her. Bubbles without,
bubbles within, she said to herself. Nice combination. Speaking of
'within'... She gave Jonah, who was still inside her, a playful
squeeze with her vaginal muscles and felt him re-harden in response.
He reached around the girl in his lap, vainly trying to contain a
breast in each hand (there was far too much there for him to hold),
and returned the squeeze, which this time sent twin jets of milk
several feet over the edge of the jacuzzi.
"Amazing," he said for the third or fourth time. "And you say
you've never had a baby?"
"No," she said. She craned her neck to try to look at him.
"Does it bother you that I'm somewhat of a medical oddity?"
"No! No! I don't consider you an 'oddity' at all. I never
realized how much more - is 'feminine' still an acceptable word
today? - milky breasts are. They're doing what they were designed to
do - how can one not find sensuality in that?"
Chris smiled, snuggled deep into his shoulder, and Kegeled him
hard enough to elicit another deep moan. "I'm so glad you said that,"
she said. "So many men are - how shall I put this - less than
enthusiastic about my having milk. Even after being this way for more
than a year, I myself am still exploring new aspects of lactating."
As she said this, a new one entered her mind. "Say, Jonah, can you
turn off the bubbles for a minute?"
"The switch is right here. I'm sorry, are they getting to
you?"
"No, I just want to see something."
The bubbles vanished. The surface of the jacuzzi became calm.
She slid Jonah out of herself, moved around to the opposite side,
facing him, and looked down at her breasts, most of which were below
the water level. They would be bobbing slightly if they weren't so
firm. She allowed herself to feel the hot water surrounding them,
making them feel even heavier and larger. She remembered reading how
taking a hot bath was recommended for women who had trouble with
engorgement, as it helps with letdown. She released her mental
control, and sure enough milk began pouring out of her. She looked
down to see what she had wondered might happen: billowing white
clouds of milk forming around her bosom as it jetted from her nipples
and began dispersing in the water. She looked further down into the
water and saw clear tendrils drifting up from her pussy and realized
that her pussy juice was also seeping out and mixing with the water,
forming swirling patterns like those that form when sugar is allowed
to slowly dissolve. The roiling clouds of milk and nectar spread
outward as Chris continued to pour herself forth. This was another
new post-Accident experience...and this one was having the same effect
as all the others, making her horny again. She wanted to add a new
experience, right away...
"Quick, darling, turn the bubbles back on!" she cried as she
felt her level of arousal increase. As soon as the jets sprang back
to life, Chris straddled one, letting the full force of the jacuzzi
strike her clit head on. She thrilled to the feeling of the high
pressure blasting across her clit, between her legs, and up the crack
of her ass. She came instantly, sending more milk and pussy juice
into the water with a force rivalling that of the jets themselves.
When she was done, the water was foaming from all the protein that
Chris had injected into it. Jonah could only sit dumbfounded,
realizing only vaguely that some of his semen had also just joined
this unusual mixture. He also felt very lightheaded. As reason
returned he realized that they had been in the jacuzzi for far longer
than the recommended time; both he and Chris were risking heatstroke
if they continued.
They climbed out and began toweling each other off. "Chris,
we dock in Montego Bay tomorrow morning, and we ship out again the
next day. I wonder, if you haven't already made plans for tomorrow
night, if you would like to join me for a very special kind of party."
"A party sounds nice. What makes it 'very special'?"
"Well, it's rather hard to describe what usually goes on, but
let us just say that one, games of chance are involved, and two, a
woman of your particular talents would be a major center of attraction
there."
"Now just what kind of woman does that make me?" she said,
letting a note of mock anger creep into her voice. She was intrigued,
but wanted to tease him a little.
"When we're in port, several of us meet up with some
interesting local people for a little gambling and a little
entertainment not unlike what you've just demonstrated."
"Some sort of kinky Caribbean-style orgy-slash-poker party, is
that what you're inviting me to?"
"Not exactly, but that's not outside the realm of possibility.
Interested?"
Maybe it was the residual thrill from the new experiences
she'd just had that was making her crave another, or maybe it was just
being in "vacation mode" that made Chris hesitate only a second or so
before agreeing to meet Jonah at a certain time and place the next
night.
Later, in his cabin, as she felt both sleep and Jonah's arms
encircle her, Chris wondered how it was that Jonah knew how agreeable
she would be to a proposition that would put most women off almost
immediately. Are my pheromones that strong? Or is he just that good?
thought Chris just before the lateness of the hour - God, could it
really be after four? - finally overtook her.
Article 82536 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XLVII
Date: 15 Jul 1995 01:51:34 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLVII
THE ROAD TO NEGRIL
Christine, carry-on in hand, came down the gangplank of the
Carib Mermaid, blinking against the brutal Jamaican sun despite a pair
of dark sunglasses. She was grateful for the cruise director's advice
concerning the application of sunscreen; she was sure that without it
she would fry in minutes. Even with the blast-furnace heat, the
bright day and sweet air were refreshing and stimulating. As her feet
touched the ground, she realized that she was standing on soil that
was not part of the United States for the first time in her life. She
felt a thrill. Chris could hardly wait to start the next phase of her
vacation. Clearing customs did not take as long as she had
anticipated, but she did wish the customs area had made better use of
fans. If this heat keeps up, I'll have to consume my weight in pina
coladas to keep cool, she thought. She was just beginning to wonder
what had happened to the rest of her luggage when she happened to spot
it at the curb, being loaded into a large van with the name of her
resort emblazoned across the side. She also saw three people, two men
and a woman, waiting to climb aboard. Chris recognized them as being
fellow travelers aboard the Mermaid, although she had not formally met
any of them.
The fellow driving the van was a local, a man well-versed in
the art of welcoming tourists. He immediately put his passengers at
ease, joking with them and giving them the nickel tour as he spirited
them off to the west, away from Montego Bay, counterclockwise around
the coastline toward Negril. Chris couldn't get over how lush
everything was. She had no idea that there could be this many shades
of green. As they sped along the main highway, frequently passing
run-down buses crammed with people and sloshing cans of spare petrol,
Chris wished the driver would slow down so that she could better take
in the scenery.
The driver was busy admiring the view as well, but his was
from the rear view mirror tilted down in Chris's direction. At that
moment the van struck a large pothole, almost throwing all four
passengers out of their seats. Chris's large unsupported breasts
bounced sharply and heavily inside her tank top, reminding her of how
full they were after having converted many of the calories she'd
consumed in her last, undeniably decadent breakfast aboard ship into
mother's milk. The ache from the jolt partially disguised the
beginning tingles of a let-down enough so that Chris could not prevent
the leakage of a few drops of milk from her suddenly erect nipples
before recognizing what was happening and mentally shutting down the
process. She stole a glance down at herself; sure enough, wet spots
had appeared on the rose-colored fabric. Chris hoped that they
weren't noticeable.
But they were. As Chris returned to the window, she suddenly
felt eyes on her. She looked back to find the two passengers sitting
across from her doing that trying-not-to-stare-but-can't-help-
themselves look. The woman appeared especially shocked, and was not
hiding it very well. She was a rather plain-looking brunette with an
unremarkable figure and a poor fashion sense. Chris had a feeling
that this woman was probably not going to find what she was looking
for on this trip. The man in a straw hat sitting next to her was her
male equivalent to such an extent that Chris figured they were brother
and sister. Teaming up on the great adventure, eh? Chris thought.
He was openly staring at her. Chris covered her protruding nipples
with her forearm in a practiced gesture, but this only succeeded in
pushing the luscious roundness of her breasts up above the neckline of
her top, widening the nerdy little guy's eyes even further.
Chris was embarrassed, and she hated being embarrassed. She
was proud of her body; it was her most prized possession, and she
resented anyone who made her feel otherwise. "Something I can help
you with?" Chris said with sufficient acid in her voice to startle
"Frick" and "Frack" (as Chris had mentally named the brother and
sister) into averting their stares to the passing scenery.
"Forgive us," came a voice from the fourth passenger, a
fortyish man with leathery skin and graying temples - not extremely
handsome, but certainly passable. French Canadian, by his accent. "I
am sure none of us are accustomed to such sights."
Chris managed a thin smile. "I assume you mean the scenery."
"Scenery, yes. Of course." He smiled back, then glanced at
Chris's arm nestled deep within the twin wonders of her breasts. "Are
you in any discomfort? Shall I ask the driver to stop?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I apologize if I shocked you. It's
been a while since I last..." - she paused to find an appropriate way
to phrase it - "...took care of this."
"Shocked? By no means. I find it quite...intriguing, no?
But I embarrass you. Let us speak no more about it, eh?"
I'm filing this guy for future reference, thought Chris.
Polite, gallant, and not altogether bad looking. And he's "intrigued"
by breast milk...
Suddenly Chris was seized by an urge to use this opportunity
to make "Frick" and "Frack" very uncomfortable. She allowed her arm
to drop into her lap and even allowed a bit more milk to leak from her
breasts and slightly widen the spots on her tank top.
"No, I don't mind talking about it," Chris said. "In fact, I
rather enjoy it. But, if you'd rather not..." She was talking to the
Canadian, but her eyes were fixed on the brother and sister, who were
staring out the window at nothing at all, trying to become invisible.
"Not at all. I just did not wish to seem rude. I am a bit
confused, though. I don't see a baby with you."
"My daughter is with her father in Europe," Chris lied. Hell,
she thought. I can be anybody I want to here. "I breastfed her until
she was four. I enjoyed lactating so much that I decided to keep my
milk after I weaned her. I've been publicly campaigning for the cause
of breastfeeding ever since. Breast is best, you know. Anyway, that
was two years ago." She glanced at the two across from her. "Frack",
the sister, was now doing nothing with her facial expressions to hide
her distaste.
"Forgive me again, but you do not appear to be old enough to
have a six-year-old daughter."
"You're sweet, Monsieur.."
"Please, call me Jean-Claude." The Canadian extended a
slender hand.
Chris swiveled in her seat to face the Canadian, took his
hand, pressed her shoulders back slightly, and let her nipples come to
full erection, pulling the fabric of her top with them. She wanted to
tease these people until they begged for mercy. God, this was fun!
"So you enjoy having milk, eh?" Jean-Claude continued.
"My, you *are* intrigued, aren't you. Yes, I enjoy it very
much. There's no feeling quite like it. I like what it's done for my
figure, and I love how it makes me more aware of my own body. It's
very sensual, very earthy. It makes me sort of special, as my lovers
would be the first to say." She smiled inwardly as a snort of disgust
came from the direction of "Frack".
Jean-Claude cricked an eyebrow. The beginnings of an erection
were becoming visible in his khakis. "I remember when my ex-wife
nursed our son. She dried up as soon as she stopped. How is it you
are able to keep - what was the word you used? lactating? - for so
long afterward?"
"Oh, you have to keep things stimulated," said Chris. Unless
you get your pituitary scrambled by a speeding car, she added
silently. "My lovers do a lot in that department. Also, I belong to
a sort of club with other women like myself. We keep each other's
milk flowing as well." Strange that this last part, the most
outrageous of this story, is the truest part, she thought. For a
second she wondered what the other members of the Lac-Station were
doing, then immediately put the thought out of her mind. No thinking
about work! she scolded herself. She looked again at "Frick" and
"Frack" and almost started laughing. Frick's fixed stare out the
window was beginning to glaze over. He had removed his straw hat and
placed it in his lap, where he had one hand in a shorts pocket playing
a rousing game of pocket pool. "Frack" was practically squirming in
her seat.
Jean-Claude's eyebrow seemed permanently stuck in the "up"
position. "Even more intriguing. Isn't it a lot of bother, though?
My ex-wife always complained about being uncomfortable, having to wear
pads, leaking at bad times..." He was placing an inordinate amount of
emphasis on the syllable "ex". Was he getting interested?
"Yes, there are those things," said Chris. "Like what just
happened, for instance. But the pleasure far outweighs the
disadvantages." She leaned forward, which deepened her cleavage and
accentuated the wetness of her top. Was Jean-Claude beginning to
perspire, even in this air-conditioned van? "The men I've been with
say there's nothing to compare with making love to a lactating woman.
It makes for some, shall we say, interesting variations."
"I can only imagine," replied Jean-Claude, as he wiped
absently at his upper lip. "I have never had the privilege, myself.
My ex-wife never let me come near her when she was nursing."
Chris sat back in her seat and made a show of plucking the
damp cloth of her tank top away from her skin to help dry it. Poor
Jean-Claude, she thought. I'm doing this to get at "Frick" and
"Frack" over there, and you're getting caught in the crossfire. I may
need to reward you for playing your part so well. She smiled
seductively. "A pity. Well, you might still have a chance, some day.
You can never tell what fate may have in store." She allowed more
milk to leak out, and the circles grew. "Oh, dear," she said with
mock surprise. "We should stop talking about this. It's making
things worse. Sometimes just thinking about my breasts is enough to
bring on quite a downpour..."
"All right, that's enough!" blurted "Frack". "Don't you have
any shame whatsoever? My word, the nerve you have! That's...that's
*disgusting*! And you're upsetting my brother!" She looked nervously
at "Frick". She obviously could not tell that he was in the middle of
an orgasm he was not doing well concealing. He grimaced rhythmically,
his straw hat bouncing happily in his lap.
"Forgive me a third time, but it appears he is not at all very
upset, unless it is about the condition of his underwear," Jean-Claude
said with a comical grin that was intended to match the silly one that
was slowly spreading across "Frick"'s face. Chris laughed heartily,
letting her milky jugs jiggle invitingly. She stifled it down to a
chuckle after an angry growl and a withering glare from "Frack".
There was no more verbal conversation in the van for the rest
of the trip to the resort, but enough body language was used by Chris
and Jean-Claude during that time to fill volumes.
Article 82537 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XLVIII
Date: 15 Jul 1995 01:51:39 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLVIII
THE HOTEL
The rest of the drive to the resort was uneventful. An
awkward silence pervaded the interior of the van as "Frick" continued
to glance nervously out the window, shifting slightly in his cum-
soaked shorts; "Frack" stared bullets at Christine; and Jean-Claude
and Chris exchanged shy smiles. The driver's voice announcing their
arrival at the resort startled all of them.
As they passed through the gate at the head of the complex,
Chris was dumbstruck by the sheer size of the place. The main hotel
building, at least twenty stories tall, was just a small part of the
overall resort; it took several minutes to reach it from the gate.
There were smaller bungalows scattered throughout areas so densely
vegetated that they could be called mini-jungles. A large golf course
dominated a large section; tennis courts and what appeared to be a
small shopping center/swimming pool/spa combination sprawled across
another. The beach was not yet visible, but Chris figured it must be
huge.
The group split up as soon as they went through the gigantic
revolving door at the main entrance. Chris located a restroom in the
lobby and used the opportunity to express a little milk (her verbal
sparring with Jean-Claude had gotten her quite excited) and change
tank tops. She then checked in, made arrangements to be taken back to
Montego Bay that night for Jonah's party, and rode the elevator up to
her room. She keyed the door, stepped in, and immediately squealed
with pleasure. Her room was actually a suite, a thousand square feet
at least, furnished with every amenity a hedonist could ever want -
far too many luxurious appointments to list here.
"Way to go, Sherri," Chris said aloud. "Jeremy's going to
shit a brick when he sees the bill." Her luggage arrived at her suite
moments later, and she busied herself with unpacking. She stopped to
take a break and walked out onto the huge balcony that extended the
length of both the main sitting room and the adjoining bedroom. She
was immediately struck by the architecture of the hotel. The building
was reminiscent of a Mayan pyramid, with each successive floor smaller
than the one below it. Chris was on one of the top floors, so the
rest of the building spread out below her. The beach lay beyond a
dense grove of palm trees; only a faint strip of blue ocean was
visible above it. The building was also vaguely horseshoe-shaped,
with her suite located at the bottom of the "U", so she could see most
of this side of the it. The balconies were positioned along each
floor so they were not stacked one above the other. In this way it
was possible for her to look down upon most of the balconies on this
side of the hotel. Not much privacy that way, thought Chris. Did the
designers do that on purpose, so that people could see each other?
This is a singles resort, after all. The idea is to meet lots of
people...
Unconsciously she began scanning along the building, looking
for fellow guests. She was curious about what kinds of people
frequented a resort like this. She knew that she probably wouldn't
have picked this place on her own. It was only because Sherri had
convinced her to choose a location more or less at random, and then
had made all the arrangements herself, that Chris was here at all.
Still, she felt the visceral thrill associated with knowing that
practically anything she did here would be a new adventure for her,
and after all, wasn't that what had essentially driven her entire
existence, at least ever since The Accident had opened new sensual
vistas for her? Live it up, she told herself. You're on vacation.
You're here to get rested, get drunk, get laid, get tanned, get away,
get pampered, get laid...did I say "get laid" twice? Guess that says
a lot for my priorities. Time's a-wastin', girl. Might as well start
sending out signals now.
Chris went back into the sitting room and over to the bureau,
upon which sat a bowl brimming with fresh tropical fruit and an ice
bucket with a small bottle of champagne in it. She popped a wedge of
passion fruit (how appropriate, she thought) into her mouth, opened
the champagne, poured a glass, then blithely stepped out of her
clothes and walked stark raving gloriously naked back out onto the
balcony. The hot sun felt good on her skin and was reflected back in
the highlights of her hair, in the drops of sweat that began to appear
on her forehead, and in the drops of milk that began to appear at the
tips of her long, hard nipples. She squinted upward, looking at the
undersides of the balconies above her, actually hoping that someone -
male or female, didn't matter which - would see her standing there
broadcasting her availability and shout a greeting. She was too near
the top floors, though; there weren't very many rooms above her, and
what few there were appeared empty.
"Still, how's this for brazen?" Chris said softly. "God,
sometimes I wonder if there's any end to what my crazy mixed-up glands
will drive me to do." She chuckled to herself. "Jeremy would go
ape-shit if he could see me now." She sipped at her champagne, then
playfully dribbled some on her nipples. The cold carbonation teased
them, and they stiffened even more and began to leak again.
A faint shriek snapped her out of her daydream. Her eyes
swung around, seeking the source. It was a female voice, and the
sound was not one of fear or pain, but of surprised ecstasy. Chris
glanced across the length and breadth of the building, but could see
nothing. Another noise, this time a delighted giggle, the same voice.
Now Chris could zero in on it. She tracked it to a balcony two floors
below and to the left of her, and what she saw almost made her drop
her glass.
A broad, tanned, muscular back first greeted her sight. When
her brain next allowed her eyes to move, she saw that it belonged to a
nude male who was supine over an equally nude female in the classic
missionary position. The woman's long blond hair spilled out across
the lawn chair she was splayed across; her large breasts moving like
jello molds on the San Andreas during a 7.5. Her lover pounded away
at her like a jackhammer. She had three fingers of one hand in her
mouth, sucking on them like they were a cock, occasionally screeching
in pleasure as he hit her clit a certain way. Boy her voice carries,
Chris thought absently through her growing arousal. She could see
sunlight reflecting off the man's wet rod as it momentarily appeared
from the depths of the woman's pussy. She saw her legs come up and
her heels press down on his buttocks, pushing him deeper inside. He
drove on and on for what seemed like forever as Chris watched the
woman come once, twice, thrice in rapid succession.
Chris felt her own thighs becoming slick with juice as her
cunt pulsed in response to what she was witnessing. She was barely
aware of the warm twin trickles of white that careened from her
nipples down along the undersides of her swollen breasts and along her
stomach to be funneled by the V of her crotch into a single stream
that flowed down along her hairless labia to mix with the nectar
issuing therefrom. Absently, she reached for a nipple, tugged it
gently, and promptly exploded in a surprisingly sudden orgasm. Fluids
gushed in multiple fountains from her body, splashing on the balcony
floor and arcing out like twin shower heads into the warm Jamaican
afternoon. Chris felt her thighs trembling and, fearing a repeat of
the incident on the Mermaid, threw both hands out to steady herself on
the balcony railing. In so doing, she flung her champagne glass over
the side. Chris yelped and tried to catch it, but it fell and
shattered against the sloping wall of the building below.
Chris's yelp and the sound of breaking glass were enough to
distract the couple sufficiently for them to stop their wild fucking
and look upward, right into Chris's eyes. She was mortified, but
managed to smile weakly and wave to them. She was surprised when they
both smiled broadly and waved back.
"Hello up there!" the man yelled.
"Hi," Chris shouted back, though not nearly as heartily. "I'm
terribly sorry if I disturbed you."
"Far from it!" the woman said. "I was hoping somebody was
watching. We're really into that!"
"Did you enjoy it?" the man asked.
"Well, now that you've caught me, I might as well confess.
Yes, I did. That was really amazing." Chris was blushing right down
to her nipples.
"Say, you're really fantastic looking," the man said. "Do you
walk around naked all the time?"
Boy, people don't mince words at this place, thought Chris.
He did have her dead to rights, though, completely nude and playing
Peeping Thomasina. "No, I really don't," she said. "Something about
this place really makes you lose your inhibitions."
"You said it!" the woman shouted. "I've been here a week, and
already I've done shit I wouldn't have dreamed about back in
Baltimore!"
"Hey, you want to join us?" the man said, his erection
beginning to return.
"Maybe another time, OK?"
"No problem! See you later!" With that, Chris was dismissed.
The two turned to each other and fell to it again, as if Chris had
never interrupted them at all.
Chris watched for another few minutes in total amazement. As
she watched the man penetrate the woman anally while she drove a
buzzing golden vibrator in and out of her cunt, one thought repeated
itself over and over in her head:
I'm really going to enjoy myself here.
Article 80610 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XLIX: The Sailors' Soiree, Part One {milk, f ejac}
Date: 26 Aug 1995 00:21:27 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XLIX
THE SAILORS' SOIREE
PART ONE
Christine examined herself in the full-length mirror that
comprised the closet door of the hotel suite's bedroom, wondering
whether the tight beige slacks and floral bikini top she'd just
changed into were appropriate. Jonah had told her to dress very
casually for the party in Montego Bay that evening. "Don't wear
anything you wouldn't mind getting beer spilled on" had been his exact
words. He had warned her that this gathering was virtually certain to
become rowdy, raunchy, rude, and riotous. The recurrent party's
guests, mostly select crewmembers from the Carib Mermaid and whatever
other cruise ships happenned to be in port at the time, with some local
ladies thrown in for good measure, usually didn't consider the bash a
success unless several arrests for disturbing the peace and/or lewd
and lascivious behavior were involved. Ever the gentleman, Jonah had
described in painstaking detail the highlights of the last such party
he had been to, roughly four months earlier, so as to give Chris an
idea of what she would be agreeing to if she accepted his invitation.
However, he had done so while they had been furiously copulating in a
jacuzzi, and so Chris was fuzzy on most of the details, but she seemed
to remember him saying something about a woman who had a unique method
for turning bananas into projectiles, and something else about a
German shepherd, or was it a German purser?
It sounded positively decadent, like something that was
custom-made for the sexual explorer that the hormonal stew that
constantly raged, albeit under tight control, through Chris's
bloodstream as a result of The Accident had awakened within her. She
was fairly certain that Jonah would not have invited her had she not
inadvertently demonstrated her ejaculatory and lactation talents to
him while she thought she was alone on the Mermaid's forward
observation deck. Something told her that the women at this party
would all be there because of some special sexual gift they possessed.
This intrigued and excited her to the point that she was able to
dismiss less intense feelings of exploitation that threatened to ruin
the sexual charge she felt building up inside her. She took another
look in the mirror. Yes, the slacks were tight enough to brilliantly
accentuate her beautifully rounded ass; the bikini top cupped just
enough of her incomparable breasts to tease but not give too much
away. She retrieved a thin jacket from the closet to protect against
the cool night breeze and was ready to go. Just before leaving the
suite she visited the bathroom long enough to don a maxi-pad, since
she had already started to moisten in anticipation and didn't want to
stain her slacks with her liquid desire too prematurely. She
remembered when she'd bought those pads for a different reason. She
now used them exclusively to wick up her copious pussy juice; she
still had not resumed menstruating.
She took a particular glee in the looks she got as she walked
briskly through the lobby, her jacket open, her considerable cleavage
flashing into and out of view as she moved. Here I am in a place with
more centerfold types per square foot than anywhere except maybe
"Baywatch", and I can still turn heads, she thought with satisfaction.
Outside the hotel she immediately began scanning the parking
area for the yellow taxi she had reserved an hour before. She was
mildly angry when she didn't see one and was getting ready to go back
into the lobby to phone the cab company again when a loud beep turned
her around. The window of a green taxi rolled down and Jonah Ballwin's
winning smile appeared in it.
"I sent your taxi away," he explained as Chris trotted toward
the car. "I wanted to make sure you were taken directly to the party
and not on some wild goose chase. Hop in." He opened the door from the
inside and Chris plopped onto the seat, her bosom jiggling slightly as
she did so. Jonah, of course, noticed instantly. "Good Lord, you look
fabulous," he said with genuine admiration, tinged with lust. "You'll
be the hit of the party."
The taxi roared off as soon as the door was closed, pitching
Chris backward, directly into Jonah's arms. The driver glanced into
the rear view mirror and cackled at the result of his handiwork.
"Sorry, mon," he said.
"No you're not, not in the slightest," Jonah replied. "Chris,
this is Edward, an acquaintance of mine. Although he drives like a
maniac, we actually couldn't be in better hands." Chris smiled a
greeting, which Edward returned in the mirror. She then turned to
Jonah, taking his hands in hers.
"I really am looking forward to this," Chris said, somewhat
breathlessly. Jonah looked particularly delicious in his khakis and a
muscle-enhancing polo shirt - a decidedly different look from the
uniform she was used to seeing him in. "In fact, I'm a little
surprised at myself as to how much. Even though I'm a lot braver these
days about such things as a result of all the changes I've been
through, I have to confess to being a little apprehensive about what
might happen tonight. Promise me you'll never be far away." She
squeezed his hand tightly.
Edward answered for him. "Don't you worry, pretty lady," he
boomed. "My man Jonah is a gentleman of the old school. He'd never let
any harm come to one as lovely as yourself. But if by some chance
Jonah fall down on the job, ol' Edward, he'll be around."
"You're coming to the party too?" Chris asked.
This time Jonah answered. "Edward is one of this particular
gathering's 'founding fathers', so to speak. He's the designated
driver, in fact. Rumor has it he's had more fun with the guests in his
cab than they did at the party!"
"Hold your tongue, Jonah!" Edward said, laughing. "Ol' Edward,
he don't want all his secrets told right away!"
"Well, Chris, I certainly understand your apprehension," Jonah
said, turning his attention back to her. "Since a great deal of my job
involves helping people relax, I was fortunately able to anticipate
your nervousness and take the appropriate countermeasures."
"You're starting to talk like a naval officer again," Chris
chided as Jonah reached beneath the seat and extracted a large thermos
and two glasses. Before Chris could say "margarita," Jonah presented
her with a large one, complete with salt around the rim of the glass.
"Ah, but this is more like the second officer of a pleasure ship," she
said as she sipped.
The ride from Negril back to Montego Bay was a long one. The
three people in the taxi chatted amiably as the kilometers passed.
Chris did not notice that Jonah was very careful to keep her glass
full, and, as a result, she imbibed more than she thought she was. As
her comfort level increased, Chris related the story of her trip to
the hotel and her first contact with some of her fellow vacationers.
Edward's eyes widened as Chris laughingly talked about her various
milky emissions during those episodes. A look passed between him and
Jonah that Chris didn't catch, but which nonverbally said something
like "This may be your best yet."
As they approached Montego Bay, Chris began to notice that she
felt a lot more "comfortable" than she should be after only a couple
of margaritas. She recognized the sensation - one of total calm rather
than intoxication. It was just like when she had gone to an oral
surgeon to have her wisdom teeth removed. He had shot her so full of
intravenous Valium that a supernova could have gone off right in front
of her and she wouldn't have given a damn. She suddenly realized that
the drinks had been spiked; she had been tranquilized. That son of a
bitch, she thought. I said I needed to relax, but I didn't need to be
sedated! Look at him - he hasn't taken a single sip, the bastard! Well,
I feel too damn good to be pissed off, but that's it for Captain
Ballwin here.
Chris smiled at how easy her decision to dump Jonah at her
earliest opportunity had been. By drugging her and thereby squelching
any complicated emotional internal struggle over her feelings for him
that she might ordinarily feel while considering a decision of this
type, Jonah had unwittingly hastened his own dismissal. Still, Chris
needed him to get into and out of this party, so she decided to keep
him around until the end of the evening..
This second decision had come at a most propitious moment, for
just then Edward turned the cab down a poorly lit Montego Bay side
street to park in front of a small restaurant whose partially burnt-
out neon sign read simply, "CAFE".
"We have arrived," Edward said needlessly.
Gird your grid, girl, Chris said to herself. Feeling like I do
now, I'm ready for anything. Now I know why Valium is so popular.
<<to be continued>>