From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LACTOGENESIS LX: The Last Straw {milk, b enlarge}
Date: 22 Mar 1996 21:22:01 -0500

			   LACTOGENESIS LX
			    THE LAST STRAW

	A quilt with squares consisting of every conceivable shade of
green and criss-crossing geometrical shapes passed in slow review
across Chris's vision. The quilt was a wrinkled one, shadows of the
wrinkles cast by a low late afternoon sun introducing even more shades
of green into the palette. Yes, thought Chris peacefully, from this
altitude the countryside does look like a wrinkled quilt. The merest
wisp of cloud passed near enough to touch but insubstantial enough not
to register on her fingertips. The air was warm even though Chris knew
she had to be several thousand feet up. She accepted this
inconsistency as easily as the fact that she was airborne without
benefit of any plane, glider, or other manmade device, with the calm
belief in the impossible that comes from being in a dream. This was
one of Chris's most common dreams, flying slowly, soundlessly above a
large expanse of bountiful farmland. Her brain, never having
experienced floating in reality, concocted a convincing facsimile. She
knew she was dreaming, and welcomed the feelings: the security that
she would not fall, the peace of the total silence. She always seemed
to awaken more refreshed from this kind of dream than any other.

	As she floated along, admiring the landscape below, she became
vaguely aware that she was nude. She remembered other dreams of being
naked in public places, but never before had that aspect crossed into
her current dream scenario. Chris ran her hands over her body, for the
umpteenth time thanking whatever powers there were that had sculpted
such feminine perfection from the ruin of The Accident. She spread her
arms and legs wide against the warm sky, and slowly spun through a
lazy spiral. As she completed the turn and was again facing the
ground, she felt a strange sensation in her breasts, as if gravity had
suddenly started tugging harder on them. She frowned as the sensation
intensified until it felt as if an invisible force was trying to pull
her breasts off her chest. It was soon joined by a feeling of pressure
inside, similar to how she felt when becoming engorged with milk, but
stronger. To her horror, she saw her bosom begin to expand as if being
inflated. The tugging from outside and pressure from within continued
to build, crossing the threshold into pain. Chris tried to cross her
arms over her now-basketball-sized tits, but something held her arms
pinned to her sides. Tears stung her eyes as her breasts continued to
expand, growing beyond watermelons in length and girth, with nipples
the size of jelly jars. Their huge bulk soon began pressing back on
her rib cage, shortening her breath. Panic joined with pain as her
bosom threatened to become as large as she was tall. Finally, her
increase in mass overcame whatever dream power was keeping her aloft,
and she abruptly began plummeting, screaming, earthward.

	Chris's eyes snapped open and her bed rocked with the spasm
her body gave as she jerked awake. She was immediately confused by
conflicting sensory information: she knew she was awake and lying on
her side, yet the feelings of pressure and pain she'd had in the dream
persisted, though greatly diminished. It was like falling asleep with
the radio on, hearing a song in your dreams, and awakening to hear
that same song playing. As awareness increased, she came to know that
her sheets were absolutely wringing wet. For a startled moment she
thought that perhaps in her terror she had wet the bed (for the first
time since toddlerhood), but upon throwing back the covers, she saw
that her nightshirt, sheets, and pillow were saturated not with urine,
but with breast milk. Her breasts still ached from fullness; she
stripped off the nightshirt to see them still running with milk.

	Chris sat on the edge of her bed, hugging herself hard across
the chest to slow the flow. She felt tears well up as her fatigue and
utter frustration at having lost control over her lactating bosom
caught up with her. She wept at the loss of the joy and satisfaction
that having her very special abilities had once conveyed. Instead of
getting superlative sexual gratification from being able to lactate in
quantity, of having a shape worthy of the centerfold of any men's
magazine you'd care to name, of being able to ejaculate volumes of hot
fluid in a burst of orgasm rivaling the eruption of a supernova, of
being able to fuck any and all comers right into the ground, Chris now
felt as if her body had betrayed her, turning all that had made her
special into a curse.

	Sobbing gently, Chris threw her sheets and nightshirt into the
hamper, stepped into the shower, and used the hot spray to help her
empty her breasts. Her spirits were bolstered by the fact that she did
indeed still get a bit of a sexual buzz from doing this, but not
enough to overcome the shock of waking up drenched in one's own bodily
secretions. After drying off, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her
red-rimmed eyes seemed to add years to her life. Her swollen 40DD
breasts were no longer beautiful to her; even though still firm and
well-shaped, they looked somehow *old*, beaten up, as if a dozen
babies had suckled from them for years. The average male would not
have seen anything untoward; to him Christine would still be a
stunning goddess whose body defied gravity, worthy of total sexual
devotion and capable of being his ultimate wet dream, but Chris knew
her body better than anyone, and now had finally realized that things
had gone too far.

	It was still dark; her alarm clock read 3:40 am. Chris was too
tired to make up the bed with fresh sheets, too tired even to put on a
fresh nightshirt. She grabbed up the relatively unscathed bedspread
from the floor and headed out to the living room, intending to spend
the rest of the night sleeping on the couch. As she lay back she
became aware of the weight of her breasts on her chest and realized
that sleeping nude might not be a good idea. She fumbled in the dark
back into her bedroom and sleepily donned a nursing bra that she had
pre-stuffed with pads. As she dragged herself back into the living
room, she caught a glimpse in the mirror again, nude except for a
ridiculous nursing bra. The sight thoroughly disgusted her.

	"That is the last straw," she murmured as she lay down.
"Tomorrow I start seeing what I can do to shut these things off." As
the enormity of her decision started sinking in at the same rate sleep
began to overtake her, she added to the close darkness, "But not
before I have one last all-out... " And she was asleep.

From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LACTOGENESIS LXI: The Things Chris Did {milk, ff, mf, mast, f ejac}
Date: 4 Apr 1996 04:44:54 -0500

			   LACTOGENESIS LXI
			 THE THINGS CHRIS DID

	Christine awoke and was greeted by a sharp twinge in her neck.
She was unused to sleeping on the sofa. The nursing pads in her bra
were sopping wet, despite the fact that she had crammed two into each
cup before going to sleep a mere four hours before. She remembered
hearing, through her connections with the now-defunct Lac-Station,
that some overproducing mothers actually put entire disposable diapers
into their burgeoning bras. She made a mental note to pick some up
later that day. She thought about the mess in her bedroom and dreaded
having to clean it up. That thought was immediately followed by a
strengthened resolve to have this over with and to pursue a means to
dry her milk up - involution, to use the formal term. But this
resolution was superceded by a stronger one. Before giving up the
unique aspect of her sexuality that her lactation ability provided
her, Chris would have one last great extended sexual indulgence,
making use of her milk in ways she had not yet experienced. This would
take some creativity; in the two years since The Accident Chris's
sexual exploits had been many and varied - there was little she hadn't
tried in that time. She would need some suggestions, and there was no
one she knew more sexually creative than her friend and occasional
lover Sherri.

	Chris strode over to the phone, unheeding of her rather
comical look - nude except for a nursing bra whose cups were open and
flapping about as she walked. She almost savagely punched out Sherri's
number and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Sherri to
answer. After almost twenty rings, she finally heard someone pick up.

	"This had better be pretty fucking important, goddammit," came
a sleepy but angry voice over the receiver.

	Chris suddenly realized that it was only 7:30, on a Saturday
morning. "Hello to you too," she said. "I'm really sorry; I didn't
realize how early it was."

	"Baby, what's wrong?" Sherri replied, all traces of
indignation gone from her voice. If Chris was calling this early on a
Saturday, something must be up. In the background, Chris heard a
masculine groan and a rustle of sheets. Oops, she thought.

	Chris hurriedly related her experience of the previous night
and her decisions both to dry her milk up and to go out in a blaze of
glory before doing so. She was surprised at how close to tears she
was. Deciding to shut down her magnificent milk factories was, in her
mind, tantamount to something as momentous and shattering as deciding
to put a pet to sleep. There were the same feelings of loss and
"necessary evil" involved. She didn't want to become sexually
"ordinary" again, but the price of remaining "unique" had become too
high.

	Sherri was expectedly sympathetic. "Welcome to the club,
sweetheart," she said. "Losing your ability to control whether or not
your breasts made milk put you in the same boat with all of us
'normal' lactating women. We can't just start and stop like you could.
If you're really serious about drying up, the best advice I could give
you is not to go cold turkey. I tried that and was miserable. I was so
engorged that I couldn't stand even the touch of a silk blouse. I got
a fever and had to spend days with an ice pack strapped to my chest.
No, if you want to do it, do it gradually. Start by cutting back very
slowly on your pumping sessions, maybe eliminating one every other day
and spacing the others out appropriately. Then eliminate another, and
another, until you can just quit without too much discomfort. If it's
true that whatever happened to you in Jamaica made you into a just-
plain overproducer, then your body should respond normally to the old
law of supply and demand." There was silence for a few seconds, then
Chris heard Sherri sigh loudly. "I know that this decision was
difficult for you, but I'd be less than honest if I said I wasn't
going to miss the fun of draining your breasts in all kinds of
interesting ways. You tasted so sweet, too... I'm sorry. I'm not
making this any easier."

	"Well, hon, you won't have to give it up right this second,"
Chris said, and told her about the second part of her decision.

	"Well shit fire, lady, now you're talking! You have definitely
come to the right slut. Let me take care of a few things here and I'll
meet you for breakfast. We'll talk about it over a couple of monster
cinnamon rolls." There was another pause. "You know, this could take a
while to exhaust all the possibilities."

	"I'm prepared to spend as much time as it takes," Chris said
firmly. "I can live with these out-of-control boobs of mine for a few
weeks more."

	As it happened, a few weeks was an underestimation.

	*The First Thing Chris Did*: Chris had only occasionally
partaken of her own milk, and then usually while masturbating. Her
lovers had all mentioned that it was sweet and warm, rather like
sweetened condensed milk thinned out to the consistency of skim. Chris
decided that before her milk was gone forever, she would drink as much
of it as she could, or until she got tired of it. She took to saving
out a couple of bottles extracted from her still multiple-times-daily
milking sessions and keeping a supply in her refrigerator. She used it
on her cereal, in her coffee, and occasionally she would pour herself
a large tumbler and just swig it down. After a few days of this she
decided she liked it better warm than cold, and so took to suckling
herself when she felt full rather than hooking herself up to her
breast pump. Over the two years she had been lactating, her breasts,
though still high, voluminous, and firm enough to make any centerfold
jealous, had softened sufficiently to allow her to get her nipple and
areola into her mouth. She soon found a suction and rhythm that
drained her breasts most efficiently while providing the maximum
sexual pleasure. Her biggest difficulties were A) keeping her nipple
in her mouth while orgasming (as she usually did while suckling
herself) when all she wanted to do was throw her head back and howl in
pleasure, and B) keeping the fountain from her free breast contained.
By the end of the week she was hardly using the pump at all.

	*The Second Thing Chris Did*: Chris remembered Janine
mentioning that she enjoyed cooking topless, particularly the feel of
warm steam rising from a pot of boiling water, for example, on her
full bosom. Chris started doing this, and took it a step further: she
began incorporating her breast milk into recipes. She found that it
made a superior pudding and excellent cream sauces. As an ironic
twist, she even made a lobster bisque with it. Her only difficulties
here were that the warmth from the stove often helped trigger a
hellacious letdown which would turn her on so much that she would have
to get herself off right then and there - this sometimes resulted in a
neglected (and therefore burnt) entree as she stood spurting into the
kitchen sink. There was also an unfortunate incident involving
spattering grease from frying bacon...

	*The Third Thing Chris Did*: Sherri, well aware that Chris's
sexual status was about to change, began asking to bed her more often
than usual. Although she had gone through involution several weeks
earlier, Sherri's pendulous mams still produced a small amount of thin
fluid. One of her and Chris's favorite bedtime activities became
assuming a position in which the two women would lie with their heads
facing opposite ends of the bed. They were each sufficiently endowed
that in this position they could suckle each other simultaneously
while fingering themselves to orgasm. Chris would have to work hard to
draw even a few drops from Sherri, but the harder she sucked, the more
Sherri liked it. In Sherri's case, satisfaction could only be obtained
if her entire fist was buried in her cunt, and on several occasions
she would have a butt plug firmly in place at the same time. Chris, on
the other hand, preferred a lighter touch; her clit was so sensitive
that she would be able to come just from having a feather tickle it
while Sherri slurped greedily at her free-flowing nipples. The only
disadvantage to this practice was that when Chris would come, as she
did numerous times per session, her copious ejaculations would soak
harmlessly into a large towel specially positioned for that purpose.
Sherri would have preferred getting them full in the face, but she
could not nurse and get squirted at the same time. Chris would
occasionally compromise by sitting up and bending over Sherri as she
ate Chris out, squirting milk down onto her face and head. This way
when she came, Chris would drench Sherri with milk and pussy juice
simultaneously, and this would almost always send Sherri over the
edge, often without her having to touch herself at all.

	*The Fourth Thing Chris Did*: As might be expected, Sherri had
several ex-lovers who had been bitterly disappointed when Sherri had
decided to stop lactating. With Chris's permission, Sherri gave her
number to these gentlemen, and within hours Chris started getting
phone calls. She would get briefed on each guy from Sherri, finding
out in advance what kinds of things he was into. The first gentleman,
a husky fellow named Jim, liked tit fucking. Chris was rather
surprised to realize that in all this time she had never done that
particular thing. She discovered that she enjoyed it very much. Her
generous bosom provided more than enough of a tunnel for Jim's fat
cock, and her milk provided ample lubrication. Her favorite aspect of
this was when, in the throes of passion, Jim would grab her breasts in
an effort to wrap them ever more tightly together around his pistoning
pole. This would invariably produce a geyser of milk which would
splash across his hairy chest and even occasionally strike the
ceiling. Chris hadn't been used to much rough handling of her precious
mammaries, but she found that she rather liked Jim's manipulations.
She enjoyed sitting across the room from him, trying to hit his open
mouth with her sprays. It was a difficult target since Jim was usually
jacking off furiously at the time and so could not keep still. Chris
was most gratified when she could squirt him while keeping her hands
on top of her head, with only the force of her letdown reflex
propelling the milk over the fifteen or so feet that separated them
during this exercise.

From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LACTOGENESIS LXII: The Other Things Chris Did {milk, mf, ff, mast, f ejac}
Date: 6 Apr 1996 00:05:29 -0500

			  LACTOGENESIS LXII
		      THE OTHER THINGS CHRIS DID

	*The Fifth Thing Chris Did*: Realizing that her milk supply
would soon be gone, Chris indulged a certain scientific curiosity
she'd had about her abilities ever since she stopped helping Dr. Ellis
with her research. One Saturday she retreated into her second bedroom,
which was still set up as her "milking room", made sure the
refrigerator was stocked with provisions, hooked herself up to her
pump, and remained hooked up for the entire day. The pump threatened
to overheat, but kept up a steady rhythm, stopping only when Chris had
to use the john, which wasn't often considering that her excess fluids
were being drawn off in other ways. She tried to keep tabs on her
orgasms, but lost count after twenty. She soon became so disoriented
from the constant high level of arousal she was experiencing that
after about six or seven hours she was almost zombie-like, lying
almost motionless, hypnotized by the cadence of the pump, visibly
trembling every so often as another orgasm hit, a steady dribble of
milk being extracted from her besieged nipples. The pump finally gave
up the ghost and came to a noisy halt after thirteen straight hours,
at which time Chris had shattered her old one-day production record by
almost a liter and had produced God only knew how much ejaculate. She
also had succeeded in dehydrating herself despite a steady influx of
protein drinks and spent most of the next day in bed trying to get her
electrolytes back in line. Her peerless bosom also needed to recover;
red rings from the pump cups were visible on her breasts for several
days, and her nipples were so sore that she needed to apply lanolin
cream to them for almost a week afterward. The experiment put her
behind schedule with her involution; her body, confused by the sudden
increase in demand, stepped up milk production again for a few days,
and Chris became painfully engorged on more than one occasion. As for
the excess milk, she decided to make a gift of it to Connor, the
fellow who had spied on her and Sherri as they indulged themselves by
the swimming pool. Chris had a soft spot in her heart for the
constantly horny young man - after all, who wouldn't enjoy being the
center of an adolescent sexual fantasy? One morning she substituted a
gallon of milk left outside Connor's apartment by the milkman with a
gallon of her own milk, most of which had come from that single
session. She wondered whether he would be able to tell the difference.

	*The Sixth Thing Chris Did*: Elliott was the second of
Sherri's referrals. He preferred having sex at his own place, for one
obvious reason: His bedroom was set up in an unusual manner. Instead
of a bed, two loosely woven mesh hammocks, one above the other in
bunk-bed fashion, hung from heavy hooks set into the walls. The
hammocks were adjustable such that, when both were occupied, the top
person would lay suspended only millimeters above the lower one.
Elliott enjoyed lying face down in the top hammock, his penis
protruding through the mesh. When all rope tensions were just right,
he could penetrate his partner without having to touch her with any
other part of his body. Chris turned the tables on Elliott, requesting
that she be allowed to be in the top hammock. He had to adjust the
ropes so that the hammock was strung on a slight angle so that Chris's
cunt could envelop his cock properly, but the new arrangement worked
very well. Chris's breasts were too large to poke through the mesh.
The pressure of the web of rope that encircled her areolae when she
put her weight on it worked just like her own fingers with respect to
the manual expression of breast milk. As she fucked Elliott from
above, her nipples, protruding down through the mesh, jetted milk at
their maximum flow rate, quite effectively drenching the hapless young
man's top half within seconds. His bottom half became sodden mere
moments later when Chris's orgasm deluged him with hot pussy juice.
Chris enjoyed that particular orgasm in that it was the first time in
two years she had been able to lie on her stomach while making love.
In a normal bed the pressure on her milk-filled boobs from the weight
of herself and her partner was usually uncomfortable enough to be
distracting.

	*The Seventh Thing Chris Did*: Figuring that her figure would
return to its pre-Accident proportions once she stopped lactating,
Chris decided she would show it off more during her Last Fling (she
was taking to thinking of those words as being capitalized). The
weather cooperated beautifully, growing steadily warmer as the weeks
passed into summer. Chris stopped wearing her nursing bra and went
back to being sans underwear. She began wearing shorter skirts and
lower necklines. Her perpetually erect nipples turned heads with
increasing frequency. She still suffered from occasional inappropriate
letdowns, but instead of hiding them or acting embarrassed, she tried
to make the most of the situation. Once while walking briskly through
a park, the jiggling set off a letdown which drenched the front of her
tank top. As she continued to walk, the breeze began evaporating the
milk, causing her nipples to harden even more. Overtaken by the
feeling, she simply sat down on a park bench, closed her eyes, and
masturbated by performing Kegel exercises, not touching herself in any
way. Needless to say, her clothing was saturated above and below when
she finally came. She camouflaged the huge stains on her clothes by
joining a small group of people who were cavorting in the park
fountain, wetting herself so thoroughly that everyone who saw her
after that simply assumed she had fallen in. On another occasion she
was sunbathing nude on the balcony of her apartment, uncaring who
might see her. She felt the sun warm her breasts, stimulating them to
release their bounty. She allowed it to happen, spraying milk over the
railing to the walkway below. She heard a surprised yell, and realized
that someone down below was getting sprinkled. Recognizing the voice,
she got up from her lounger and went to the railing. Peering up at her
was young Connor, who was still acting as her constant shadow whenever
she was in the public areas of the apartment building. His face was
dotted with white. Her physical assets in full view of him, she leaned
over the railing and waved to him, her superlative breasts still
dripping with milk. His eyes threatening to explode from his skull,
Connor raised his arm and weakly waved back. He licked off some of the
droplets of milk that had landed on his lips, and instantly recognized
the taste. The realization that he had recently, and quite
unknowingly, consumed a gallon of Chris's own milk was too much for
him. A dark spot appeared on his khaki shorts over the lump that
marked his straining erection just before he fainted dead away.

	*The Eighth Thing Chris Did*: Chris knew that Sherri enjoyed
being wetted down with all manner of bodily secretions during sex:
semen, female ejaculate, mother's milk, and lately, those of the
"golden" variety. Although Chris could not bring herself to indulge
Sherri in the lattermost fetish, she did suggest that the two of them
get messy in a different way. One night, instead of bringing honey to
drizzle over her nipples, Chris brought two huge bottles of vegetable
oil and a large plastic dropcloth to their lovemaking session. The
sensation of all that mammary tissue sliding over and around itself
was new to Chris. The *lack* of friction was exciting in that it
caused her to focus more strongly on the feelings in order to get the
same level of arousal that she was used to without the oil. It took
her longer to come, but when she did, the orgasm lasted much longer
than usual, rolling up to a high but rounded peak before dying away
over a period of what seemed like minutes. At session's end, the two
women were coated with an emulsion of mother's milk and vegetable oil
that Sherri jokingly commented could be made into a servicable salad
dressing with the addition of a few spices!

From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LACTOGENESIS LXIII: The Rest of the Things Chris Did {milk, ff, mf, f ejac}
Date: 6 Apr 1996 00:07:32 -0500

			  LACTOGENESIS LXIII
		   THE REST OF THE THINGS CHRIS DID

	*The Ninth Thing Chris Did*: One evening, while fucking Jim's
brains out, Chris suddenly jumped up out of bed and went to stand
before the full length mirror in her bedroom, beckoning Jim to join
her. She instructed him to penetrate her from behind as they watched
themselves in the mirror. As Jim drove into her ass, he reached around
and grabbed Chris's breasts. In a flash of inspiration, Chris guided
his hands as she allowed her milk to flow, quite legibly writing
"Chris was here" in milk on the mirror. The quickly melting words were
soon obliterated by the white shower which followed as Jim's talented
tool propelled her to yet another double explosion of fluids.

	*The Tenth Thing Chris Did*: Chris never forgot the intense
stimulation she received from actually nursing a baby. Suckling adults
was one thing - they were doing it for their own pleasure and so did
not have the urgency that an infant, who does it out of the primal
urge for survival, did. She was amazed at the powerful suction (and
incredible orgasms) such small mouths could produce. Once she'd gotten
past the awkwardness of being sexually stimulated by a baby, she'd
grown to enjoy breastfeeding. One evening she had an opportunity to
babysit twins, about four months old. Their mother, an acquaintance of
Chris's from work who was unaware of her abilities, had left bottles
of her own breast milk in the refrigerator for Chris. Aware that the
twins might not take to a strange pair of breasts, Chris anointed her
nipples with some of the bottled milk so that they would recognize
their mother's unique chemical signature. Chris had never nursed two
babies simultaneously, and being unused to handling two at once, had a
little difficulty at first. Using the "football hold", where each baby
was essentially tucked under an armpit, she was able to position them
appropriately. Smelling their mother's milk on Chris's oozing nipples,
they latched on with a vengeance.

	Chris almost passed out from the intensity of having two
little powerhouses pulling away on her at once. It felt as if her
nipples and areolae were being stretched out like rubber bands by the
action of the hungry twins. It was all she could do to keep the babies
positioned properly while she trembled with orgasm after orgasm,
completely drenching the bath towel she had shoved under her skirt.
Her reverie was broken only when one of the twins started to splutter
and cry, the victim of a torrent of milk she could not swallow fast
enough. Fortunately the twins' parents were out for most of the
evening, and the little ones had ravenous appetites, so Chris had an
opportunity to repeat the experience before the parents came home. She
made sure to dump out the bottles to give the proper illusion.

	*The Eleventh Thing Chris Did*: One of the toughest decisions
Chris ever had to make regarding a sexual activity was with respect to
whether or not to try bondage and discipline. While assertive, Chris
did not consider herself domineering, and ever since her near-rape at
the Sailors' Soiree' and her experience with Drs. Ellis and
Frankenmuth, the idea of being restrained during sex had not held much
appeal. However, her resolve to try more new things before her Final
Fling was over was too strong, and so she sought out Sherri for some
advice on the subject. Her response was to bring in two more
"referrals", and the four of them went to town. Sherri lent Chris some
latex outfits, which, because they were too small for Chris, lent
outrageous proportions to Chris's body when cinched up tight. The men
brought their own. Much as she tried, Chris could not get into
disciplining these fellows. The most pleasure she was able to derive
from the experience was when she would stand over them, her breasts
protruding from cutouts in the rubber outfit, as the men groveled at
her feet, begging to catch the drips of milk that the tight outfit
were squeezing from her breasts on their tongues. She found that the
most fun she had was being tied to the bed, helpless to stop the other
three as their hands and tongues explored her body. Sherri, knowing
what buttons to push better than anyone, waited until she knew Chris
was so engorged that she was ready to explode, then stimulated a
letdown that almost brought the house down. Chris squirmed on the bed,
her breasts erupting skyward as the other three simply stood back and
watched while masturbating lustily. The geyser of milk continued for a
full two minutes, waving back and forth as Chris writhed under
Sherri's ministrations, before slaking off to a dribble, like magma
from an underwater fissure. Then one man took to each breast while
Sherri buried her face in Chris's bald cunt. Not being able to use her
hands suddenly caused an image of Sheila Ellis to reappear in Chris's
mind. She was again in the NMR examining room, strapped down on the
table, with Sheila standing over her, her body glistening with Chris's
dual secretions. The memory of Sheila's inch-long nipples being moved
teasingly back and forth across her lips triggered a fresh flow of
juices, surprising all three people working on her with the volume of
it after all that had already transpired that night.

	*The Twelfth Thing Chris Did*: Sherri's apartment, being in
the same building as Chris's, was laid out in very much the same way.
Chris knew that the balcony off of Sherri's bedroom had a sliding
glass door on it, just as hers did. One early evening, as the two were
about to make love, Chris darted out onto the balcony, stark naked,
and slid the door shut behind her. As Sherri stood in front of the
door, wondering what she was up to, Chris began a slow, sinuous dance
out on the balcony. As the tempo of the dance increased, Chris began
to stimulate herself, slipping a finger into her pouting pussy and
licking off the dripping juices, squeezing drops of milk from her
diamond-hard nipples. Sheila reached for the door handle, but Chris
gestured for her not to. She then began to press her naked body
against the glass, spreading her full hot boobs against its coolness.
They began to release their contents forcefully. The milk squirted out
and around her flattened bosom and cascaded in white sheets down the
glass. Chris ground her mons against the door, smearing it from below
with her sticky secretion. Sherri pressed her body against the other
side, her tongue flicking out to trace patterns along the glass.

	Separated by only those few millimeters, the two women
undulated against the door, each daring the other to be the first to
pull the handle open. Sherri finally succumbed, jerking the door open
and grabbing Chris's wrist in one quick motion. She practically
carried Chris to the bed and went at her with unusual vigor. They
almost wore out the double-headed dildo that night.

	*The Last Thing Chris Did*: ... was to notice a discharge from
her vagina one morning. The nature of it was sufficiently different
from her normal almost constant state of moistness to cause her
concern. A visit to her gynecologist confirmed it: Chris had
contracted a sexually transmitted disease from one of Sherri's
referrals. She had been pretty careful in the past to insist on her
partners' wearing condoms, but in these last weeks of total sexual
abandon she had abandoned caution as well, and was now paying the
price. One aspect of her treatment was complete abstinence, and so,
quite against her will, Chris's Final Fling ended as abruptly as it
had begun. Fortunately for our heroine, her program of slowly cutting
back on the frequency of draining her breasts was coming to a close at
the same time, even having been delayed by her recent "experiment". To
Chris's immense relief, her body responded as expected, slowly
reducing its output of her ivory ambrosia over time. Within three
months after her initial decision, Chris's days as the most amazing
milkmaid in recent medical history had come to a quiet end.

From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LACTOGENESIS LXIV: The End {milk}
Date: 10 Apr 1996 00:41:18 -0400

			  LACTOGENESIS LXIV
			       The End

	Christine smiled tentatively at the woman standing in front of
her, and the woman smiled back in kind. She allowed her gaze to move
slowly along her body, taking note of small details she didn't
ordinarily scrutinize. Let's start at the top, she thought. I like
what she's done with the hair, a very short style reminiscent of Major
Kira's on "Deep Space Nine", but a touch longer. Thank God, no gray
yet, but she's only 31, for crying out loud. Eyebrows maybe a bit too
thick, nose perhaps a bit too long, eyes... now stop that, she caught
herself. I thought you stopped doing that years ago. Now start again,
and be *nice*. Where were we? OK - face: I wouldn't call her her
drop-dead gorgeous, but she hasn't broken the changing room mirror or
anything... hey! What did I just tell you, she admonished herself
again. She'd been satisfied with the repair work the surgeons had
done, and God knows the opposite sex had had no objections over the
intervening seven years. She was not here to reminisce, however. So
let's get down to it, shall we? She let her eyes move further downward
to examine the bikini she was trying on. Summer's on the way, melanoma
be damned. I've got to get some color into this whiter-than-white
skin, she thought. Actually, I do look pretty damned good in this...

	The spaghetti straps of the halter top moved smoothly over a
well-defined collarbone and down past a small mole on the left
pectoral and a tiny strawberry mark on the right to plug into the two
triangles of fabric which made the suit just barely legal in public.
Her lip curled slightly as she thought of how difficult it had been to
find something that fit properly - she hoped that this would have to
be the last place she tried. Not exactly a plain old garden-variety
34B, with plenty of matching suits around. Depending upon the article
of clothing, she could be considered a very full C or just barely D
cup. She'd had to concentrate on stores that offered separate tops and
bottoms so she could find something that fit. Shouldn't complain, she
said to herself. Sherri has an even worse time finding clothes with
that enormous chest of hers. Impulsively she removed the top and took
a good long look at herself. Back when I was a 34B I would have passed
a pencil test, she thought, but after all these have been through,
they still hold up well. The wine red nipples still pointed straight
out from her chest, and slightly away from each other. Thank God for
good ligaments, Chris thought. What will these look like in forty
years? She cupped her breasts briefly, but withdrew her hands quickly.
Boy, they're sensitive again today, she thought, as a quick bolt of
warmth shot from them to her groin and her nipples responded with
alacrity. Almost like the old days. She stepped back from the mirror
and completed the visual tour. She noted in passing a couple of extra
pounds around the waist - nothing some more time on the Stairmaster
wouldn't take care of - if only she didn't love Ben & Jerry's so much.
A slight look of chagrin crossed her face as she noted some wisps of
pubic hair peeking out of the sides of the suit. If I buy this, I'll
need some Nair, she thought. Hell, maybe I'll just go back to shaving
it all off - I actually liked being *completely* nude. She didn't give
a second thought to her legs. That same Stairmaster had sculpted them
into a perfect blend of bone, muscle, and just a hint of fat, just
enough to smooth the lines out. Her legs and the firm butt they were
attached to used to be her best feature, but for the past seven years
her bustline had been what people noticed first. And this suit made
good use of it. A quick breath, a sharp nod. She'll take the suit.
Good thing, since today was The Day, and she had sworn to make a
purchase before end of business, so as not to break with tradition.

	Every year at this exact time Chris shopped for a new bikini
in order to acknowledge the anniversary of The Accident. Seven years
ago today, after having bought a new bikini, she had stepped out of
this very mall, into a bright late spring sun, only to be mowed down
by a speeding car driven by a shoplifter trying to escape police. Even
after all this time she wasn't sure whether to curse or thank that
driver. The side effects of her injuries had caused her pituitary
hormones to go crazy, causing her breasts to grow and spontaneously
lactate to an extent so unusual that she had been the subject of a
medical study that had won its author a position as chief researcher
at a prestigious medical center. Sheila never did even so much as
thank me, Chris remembered. Chris had also developed the ability to
ejaculate upon orgasm, an ability which she retained to this day,
albeit without the spectacular volumes of fluid she could generate in
her heyday. Her breasts had also decreased in impressiveness once
she'd stopped lactating, but they were still considerably larger than
their pre-Accident proportions and despite the years, were every bit
as firm. The fact that she still retained most of the advantages of
the Accident was the reason she celebrated every year by treating
herself to a new swimsuit.

	She emerged from the revolving door of the main mall entrance
and smiled as the bright sunlight caused her to blink rapidly and
begin searching her purse for her sunglasses. Even the weather's the
same today, she said to herself. She hadn't gone ten meters before she
realized she had forgotten where she'd parked. Mall parking lots are
the bane of my existence, she thought. She stood in the middle of the
drive adjacent to Section B, doing a slow 360, searching for the
dented back bumper that made her Miata easy to identify. She clutched
her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely aware of it. She was so
intent on her search that only the barest fraction of her mind heard
the screeching of tortured tires and the over-revving of an engine.
She had just completed her full revolution when deja vu gripped her
like a vise. Panicked, she spun about again, searching for the source
of the sound, and was infinitely relieved to see a car speeding away
several aisles down. "God, that was too weird", she said aloud as she
stood recovering from the effects of an adrenaline surge.

	Back at her apartment, Chris tried on the bikini again, this
time to see how it would go with the other beachwear she had in her
closet. Her experience in the parking lot - the certainty she'd felt
that she was about to do it all over again at the hands of yet another
crazed driver - had served to stimulate her memory, and she found
herself going over those two years during which her entire lifestyle
had been ruled by the incredible sexual urges and abilities The
Accident had bestowed upon her. Chris stood before her full-length
mirror, resplendent in her tiny swimsuit, but her mind was elsewhere:
Her living room, where Sherri had suckled her for the first time.
Jeremy's palatial home, where a decadent Halloween party was her first
exposure to the world of sexual excess. The hospital, being a guinea
pig for Drs. Ellis and Frankenmuth. The creation of the Lac-Station,
and the recruitment of other lactating women into that organization.
The mysterious first client. The various seductions she'd performed.
The pivotal trip to Jamaica where the dark side of sex caused her to
begin questioning her new lifestyle. The decision to steer her life
back into some semblance of normalcy. The case of VD that had brought
her promiscuity to a screeching halt.

	As her experiences of those two years marched across her
brain, Chris was surprised at the intensity of her memories of the
physical sensations involved. Over the past five years she had grown
so accustomed to her post-lactation body that she'd completely
forgotten how much higher her level of arousal had been during that
time, and how much more powerful her orgasms were. Now that she was
plumbing the depths of those experiences, her somatic memory surged
forward, and she was swept with sexual feelings that she had thought
were gone forever. She opened her eyes and saw her image in the
mirror, with face, throat and upper chest flushed pink, her ribcage
expanding with her quickened breath, nipples poking smartly through
the fabric of the bikini top, and a surge of moistness becoming
noticable at the crotch of the bikini bottom. Before she knew what she
was doing, Chris was out of the swimsuit, the two fingers of her right
hand flying to her pubic region. Suddenly the feel of hair down there
seemed wrong, alien somehow. As she furiously vibrated her fingers
across her swollen clit, memories of herself squirting like a fountain
from breasts and cunt, drenching her lovers with sweet secretions
while lost in indescribable feelings of release, filled her head. In
seconds she was coming with such force that her legs gave out from
under her, and she landed with a thump on her pussy juice-coated
behind. She blinked uncomprehendingly at her image in the mirror,
sitting splay-legged before her, its quivering, drooling pussy still
pulsing with each heartbeat.

	I haven't come like that in years, Chris thought, when
rational thought was again possible. Could it be that I've missed it
that much? Her next thoughts came to her in such a jumble that she was
unable to sort them out, and so she gave herself over to instinct. She
found herself moving into the second bedroom, which had long since
been converted into a study. She opened the closet, which had remained
closed for years, and therein found a stack of boxes. Inside one, she
knew, was the super-duper breast pump that she had seen fit neither to
repair nor dispose of. Inside another was her collection of
breastfeeding and lactation treatises, untouched for half a decade.
She pulled that box out, opened it, and started tossing books aside
until she found the one she wanted. Paging furiously through it,
tearing pages with her urgency, she found the chapter she was looking
for, read it like an Evelyn Wood graduate, carried the book to the
phone, hit the speed dial button, and waited for an answer.

	"Sherri? Hi, hon, it's me. Listen, are you sitting down? I've
got a crazy idea for you... "

	She spoke excitedly, hurriedly, at times incoherently, for a
few minutes, hung up, got dressed, and left the apartment with such
haste that one would think it was on fire.

	The book she had so urgently consulted was left open to a
chapter that might casually interest a normal reader, but that for
Christine had ignited new passions and old dreams that were suddenly,
tantalizingly irresistable.

	Its title? "Re-lactation and Induced Lactation".

				 FIN