LACTOGENESIS X:  THE NIGHTCLUB

     Christine stood in the hallway outside Sherri's apartment.  She rang the
doorbell, then checked her watch.  9:07 pm.  She glanced down at herself to
take final stock of her appearance.  She and Sherri were going to a nightclub
to drink and talk; she wasn't in the mood for cruising the place for cute
guys.  She was dressed accordingly:  an understated outfit, characterized by
loose-fitting fabric that de-emphasized her figure.  She didn't want some
drunk asshole slobbering all over her chest tonight.  God, she thought, I
feel like I'm going on a blind date or something.  Relax!  It's only Sherri;
this is only going to be a couple of girls out on the town.  She
reconsidered.  It was never again going to be "only Sherri", not after what
had happened in Chris's apartment earlier that day.
     The door opened to reveal Sherri brushing her hair.  Chris's eyebrows
arched when she saw what Sherri was wearing.  The phrase "hunting outfit"
came to mind:  high heels, sprayed-on slacks, a form-fitting short-sleeved
striped top cut to reveal roughly a mile and a half of cleavage, lots of
jewelry, and just slightly exaggerated makeup.  The two of them looked for
all the world like a librarian and a hooker going out together.  Sherri
motioned Chris inside.
     "Before you say anything, this is how I like to dress when I go out,"
Sherri said.  Chris was beginning to realize just how good Sherri was at
reading facial expressions -- hers must have been telegraphing "slut".  "And
don't you dare dash off to change.  You look nice.  I figured one of us would
have to look outrageous so that we can get into this place."  She checked her
watch.  "Better get going.  I'll bet this place will be filling up fast about
now."
     A fifteen-minute ride downtown, a half-block walk from the parking
garage, and a ten-minute wait in line at the door later, Chris and Sherri
were sitting at a small table to one side of a stage in a club called Decade
Eight.  The band onstage was doing eighties covers at a volume that did not
exclude the possibility of conversation.  They weren't bad.
     Almost before she knew it, Chris was on her third gin and tonic, and was
working on a decent buzz.  She hadn't been on a night out since well before
the accident, and she realized that she had sorely missed her social life.
 Sherri was terrific company.  She kept the conversation light, regaling
Chris with tales of horrific-then-funny-now sexual encounters with members of
both sexes that left Chris's sides aching with laughter.  Sherri's
storytelling was as colorful as a sailor's.
     "I remember going down on this girl once," she recalled.  "She was a
squirter too, though I didn't know it then.  I was down there munching away
when without warning she came like a freight train.  I thought I was going to
fucking drown!  Juice went up my nose, down my throat, hell, into my ears!
 For a while I thought I was eating out Buckingham Fucking Fountain!"  Sherri
stopped to take a swig of her Manhattan, and went on almost without taking a
breath.
     "Oh, God, speaking of eating.  I once made it with this guy who was into
food during sex.  I remembered getting turned on during the refrigerator
scene in '9-1/2 Weeks', so I was game.  Son-of-a-bitch practically covered me
with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.  Licked it all off me, all up and
down.  Really fucked up the sheets.  Anyway, when it came time to finally get
down to it, he had such a stomach ache he couldn't keep it up!  Can you
imagine?  I'm lying there, all hot and bothered and sticky as hell, and he's
in the john popping Rolaids!"
     Chris was howling, but her imagination was working overtime.  How
*would* it feel to have somebody suck a maraschino cherry out of my pussy?
she thought.  She'd had no idea that Sherri was this sexually rambunctious;
it was no wonder her husband had left her.  Sherri seemed to prefer the
single life, and was living it like a woman fifteen years younger.  Chris's
own age, now that she thought of it.  Was there a hint somewhere here?
     Chris had been so engrossed in her conversation with Sherri that she
hadn't really taken a good look at the club.  As the fourth round arrived and
Sherri excused herself to use the restroom, Chris had an opportunity to check
out her surroundings.  Not a bad place, she thought.  I've been to better,
but this place has a nice ambience.  What's that banner over in the corner
say?  Her jaw dropped slightly as she read it.  She had just finished when
Sherri returned.
     "Sherri!  What the hell is this?"  Chris pointed to the banner, which
now seemed to scream out, OLD-FASHIONED WET T-SHIRT CONTEST *TONIGHT*!  FIRST
PRIZE $250, SECOND PRIZE $100, THIRD PRIZE $50.  COME GET WET AT DECADE
EIGHT!  How the hell had she missed it?
     Sherri laughed and clapped her hands together.  "Isn't that a hoot?  I
haven't done one of these in years!  I wonder if I've still got a shot at
some of that money?"  She looked at her watch and had to blink a few times.
 She was getting drunk.  "Oh, shit, we almost missed the registration.  Come
on!"  She grabbed Chris's wrist and tried to pull her out of her chair.
     Chris pulled loose from Sherri's grasp.  "Now wait just a damn minute,"
she said, then stopped briefly as the room swam around in response to her
rapid movement.  She knew then that she was also half in the bag.  "I came
here to talk and have a couple drinks, not prance around onstage in front of
a bunch of strangers."
     Sherri made a razzing sound.  "Oh, lighten up, Chris.  I get a kick out
of these contests.  Musta won a couple of grand over the years.  Great way to
vent frustrations, too.  Besides, I've always been a breast woman.  Like to
check out the merchandise.  Why should the guys have all the fun?"  She
winked.  "Come on, it'll be a blast!  You do community theater, don't you?
 It's not like you've never been on a stage before.  Believe it or not,
Chris, you need to do something like this.  You've been locked away in your
apartment, just you and your breast pump, for weeks now.  I'm willing to bet
you're still a little intimidated by your recent... developments."  She waved
a hand drunkenly at Chris's torso.  "You need to start feeling better about
this gift of yours.  If you've got it, flaunt it, kid, and believe me, you
got it!  You're a lock on first prize!  Take it from somebody who's been
there!"
     The three and a half drinks, the ever-present pituitary hormones, and
Sherri's exhortations proved to be a deadly combination for Chris.  She had
already started down the road of sexual exploration as the result of her new
abilities, and now here was somebody willing to be a guide.  The gift horse,
and all that.  And hey, the $250 would be nice.  Her last inhibitions
vanished with Sherri's persistent tugging on her arm.  She grabbed her drink
off the table and downed it almost in a single gulp, in classic movie cliche
fashion.  Banging the glass back down, she even quoted a movie as she said
defiantly, "'Sometimes you just got to say 'what the fuck.'  So, what the
fuck!"
     "That's the spirit!  Come on, registration's over here."  Giggling like
girls a fourth their age, the two headed for the table at the back of the
club.

LACTOGENESIS XI:  THE CONTEST, PART ONE

     After signing up at the registration table, Chris and Sherri were
hustled backstage to a overly small dressing room where about ten other
women of varying ages, degrees of sobriety, and bust size were milling
about, waiting for the wet T-shirt contest to start.  During this time the
alcohol they had consumed had fully taken hold, and Chris in particular
was feeling the effects to the full.  Absently she wondered whether her
altered biochemical balance had affected her tolerance level.  She didn't
remember getting this tipsy the last time she'd had four drinks.  She
looked at the T-shirt the man at the registration table had thrust at her.
 At least a size too small, of course, thin material, of course, and
white, of course, so that it would become transparent and attach itself to
her skin when it got wet.  It was a tank top, like a man's undershirt. 
Chris giggled when she remembered how the registration guy had stared at
Sherri's ample cleavage but hadn't even given Chris a second look.  He'll
notice me in *this*, she thought.
     Sherri was already beginning to pull off her top.  "Hurry up and
change.  They're getting ready to start."  In a flash Sherri was naked
from the waist up.  Even though she and Chris had been sexually intimate
only a few hours before, this was the first time Chris had seen Sherri
undressed.  Her breasts were nowhere near as firm as Chris's, but they
were at least fifteen years older, and they weren't lactating (yet, but
that would change if Sherri had anything to do with it).  Her nipples,
however, were still years away from pointing to the floor.  A line
connecting them would have been almost exactly halfway between her
shoulders and her bush.  The left breast was slightly larger than the
right.  A faint sprinkling of freckles spread downward across her chest
and between her breasts.  An even fainter line of downy hair, the same
color as that on her head, traced its way south from her navel to
disappear into the waistband of her slacks.  Her armpits were unshaven. 
Chris suppressed a naughty urge to reach out and tweak Sherri's nipples,
and instead began unbuttoning her outfit.  It was then that she realized
that her clothing was in one piece.  Removing it would leave her
pantsless!  That thought concerned her for only a moment, however, as she
stepped out of it.  She giggled again when she remembered
the age-old parental admonition regarding wearing clean underwear.  She
had on a pair of red satin tap pants which showed off her toned thighs to
great advantage.  Maybe this little edge will help me win, she thought. 
As Chris removed her bra, she noticed that her breasts didn't move at all
under the force of gravity.  She stole a quick touch to one and felt the
heat, the
stretched skin, and a swelling that even pressed back into her armpits
slightly.  Man, I'm really full, she thought.  The alcohol must be
affecting my control a little.  She felt Sherri's eyes on her and looked
up.
     "Damn, hon, you look even bigger now than you did this afternoon,"
Sherri said.  There was a slight slur to her speech.  "You're going to
knock that crowd on its collective ass."
     Chris wriggled into the T-shirt.  The front of it stretched taut,
pressing tightly against her bosom.  Chris had to use a mental exercise to
keep from leaking as a result.  The armholes of the shirt were too large,
so that fully half of her breasts were visible from the sides.  The
snug fit felt good, and her nipples responded appropriately, forming
well-defined 3/4" peaks through the thin fabric.  Sherri was shaking her
head and muttering something about not having a chance against a rack like
that.  Suddenly the music out front stopped, and was replaced by feedback
by an ill-placed microphone.
     A balding, bearded, overweight man in a too-small T-shirt emblazoned
with the words "LET'S GET WET" had taken the stage.  He motioned offstage
for someone to turn down the gain on the mike, then shouted
(unnecessarily), "All right, people, it's time!  Are you ready to get
wet?!"  Chris was surprised at the volume of the yell that followed.  The
club must be packed.  The man continued, "Outstanding!  OK, will those
lucky gentlemen who won the drawing earlier tonight please come up
onstage!"  As four men practically fell over one another to climb the
short stairway, the announcer yelled, "These guys have won the coveted
honor of getting to wet down
our contestants!"  He gestured to one side, where a small table held four
seltzer bottles.  "Don't worry, ladies, these are at room temperature!" 
As the contest winners each took a bottle and assumed positions equally
spaced along the width of the stage, the M.C. reminded the crowd of the
prize money and made a few announcements about upcoming events.  He
started getting booed, so he wisely stopped, turned to where the women
would enter the stage, and shouted, "Let the games begin!  Our first
contestant..."
     Chris was seventh in line, Sherri sixth.  Most of the contestants
turned out to be rather poor dancers, or almost too drunk to even stand
up, but the crowd didn't care.  As soon as the seltzer hit the shirts,
causing them to effectively disappear, the din became a continuous roar
whose decibel level rivaled that of a jet engine.  The heat of the lights,
the deafening sound, and the alcohol were combining to strengthen Chris's
resolve with each candidate who left the stage.  I'm going to win this
thing, she said to herself.  I'm going to blow these amateurs away.  Never
mind that Chris was an amateur herself...
     It was Sherri's turn.  She turned and winked at Chris, then
practically slithered onto the stage.  Within seconds it became obvious
that she had done this before.  Sherri launched into a gyrating,
cock-stiffening dance, sometimes skillfully dodging the blasts of water,
sometimes seeming to drape herself on them.  She regarded the crowd with a
scalding "fuck me" look as she paraded up and down, her breasts bouncing
freely to the beat of the music.  The noise level increased even more as
she moved to the edge of the stage.  She bent down low so her boobs swung
to within millimeters of the faces of the men in front.  They screamed
their approval.  Just as her music was ending, Sherri grabbed the T-shirt
at the neck and ripped it down the middle.  Her breasts sprang free as the
crowd bellowed.  She cupped them, pointed them at the audience, blew them
a kiss, and skipped off stage.  The room went up for grabs.  No question
who was in first place now!

LACTOGENESIS XII:  THE CONTEST, PART TWO

     Chris stood stock still, stunned by Sherri's performance.  Her iron
resolve melted away.  How in the hell am I going to top that? she thought
frantically.  She felt a hand on her shoulder as the contestant behind her
gave her a gentle push.  She was on!  She cursed the alcohol for slowing
her thinking as she used a little go-go step to move out to center stage. 
What to do, what to do??  Through the alcoholic haze and the wind-tunnel
sound blasting at her ears, Sherri's voice suddenly sounded in her head: 
"You need to start feeling better about this gift of yours.  If you've got
it, flaunt it, kid..."  A sudden rush of adrenaline filled Chris as she
knew what she would do.
     She glanced about her, gauging the positions of each of the men with
the seltzer bottles.  They raised them almost simultaneously and took aim.
 At that moment Chris stopped dancing, thrust her palm outward, and
screamed loud enough to be heard over the din, "NO!! STOP!!"
     The men held their fire and glanced uncomprehendingly at one another.
 The gleeful shouting of the audience turned to yells of displeasure.  The
music stopped.  Finally the M.C. took the mike and said, "Little lady,
this is a wet T-shirt contest.  You got ta get wet!"  The crowd thundered
agreement.  Chris just smiled knowingly.
     "Just keep watching!" she yelled back.  She signaled to the D.J. to
start the music again.  It was a slow, seductive number, perfect for
Chris's plan.  She clasped her hands behind her head, thrust her elbows
out, and began to slowly move her hips in a circular pattern.  The angry
shouts slowly began to transform back into wolf whistles as she continued.
 Chris leaned her head back against her hands, interlocked behind her
neck.  She began going through the now-familiar series of mental steps
that would unleash her own private biochemical miracle.  It was more
difficult than usual due to the level of distractions around her, but
somehow she was able to put the crowd out of her mind.  She concentrated
on the rhythm of the music, the oscillations of her body as she danced,
and of course, the increasing tingling in her teeming breasts.  She
thought of a mountain stream, the trickle of rain down a gutter, water
pouring from a tap.  Deep inside her head, brain structures responded. 
Hormones flowed.  Glands secreted.  Milk ducts expanded.  Mammary sinuses
filled.  Tiny muscle cells contracted.  "Let it come," she whispered to
herself.  "Let it come..."
     Some of the audience members started yelling at the seltzer
bottleguys.  "Go on, let her have it!" one shouted.  The man closest to
Chris raised his bottle again, took aim, and...stopped cold.  "What the
hell?" was all he could manage to say.
     For Chris's shirt front was beginning to get wet, seemingly of its
own accord.  Round blotches of moisture appeared at her nipples, which
instantly became visible as the thin white fabric covering them became
soaked.  The blotches expanded at amazing speed, spreading outward to
cover her entire chest.  Within seconds the entire front of the shirt was
sopping wet and glued to Chris's torso.  She continued to gyrate
belly-dancer style, her head thrown back, deaf to the drop in volume from
the audience as they gradually stopped their shouting to stare in
disbelief.  Her fantastic breasts moved from side to side as she danced,
gushing away inside the T-shirt until the saturated fabric could hold no
more.  As she flicked her upper body back and forth to the music, white
droplets began to fly free of the sodden cloth.  As she always was during
a particularly powerful letdown, Chris was riding the crest of the
wonderful feeling of release, of almost orgasmic pleasure, that squirting
her milk provided.  She was totally oblivious to her surroundings, taken
up completely in her own little pleasure dome.
     "My God, that's milk!" someone near the front of the stage shouted. 
A wild cacophony of 
exclamations, some rapturous, some disgusted, filled the club.  "I don't
believe it!"  "Have you ever seen anything like that in your life?"  "Oh,
God, that's disgusting!"  "Oh, man, I'm in love!"  You name it, someone
was shouting it.  From the crowd's reaction one would have thought that an
extraterrestrial stripper with three tits had just come onstage.
     The weird standoff between Chris and the stunned crowd lasted only a
few seconds more.  Chris, in her reverie, felt the wetness covering her
upper body, smelled the musty sweet odor of her milk as the hot lights
tried to evaporate it.  My clothing is wet, she thought instinctively.  I
should take it off.  She unconsciously grabbed the T-shirt at the waist
and in a swift motion pulled it over her head.  With nothing to hold back
the flow, her bouncing boobs spouted forth, sending a white fountain well
into the first few rows of seats.  People leaped up from their chairs as
if scalded.
     At that moment, there was a wet crash as a seltzer bottle hit the 
floor.  Chris's eyes were closed, so she didn't see the man who dropped it
as he pounced upon her, his trembling hands grabbing for her bosom.  She
suddenly felt a powerful arm around her waist, bending her backwards
painfully as it drew her forward.  A probing, panting mouth sought out one
spraying nipple, while a hand like a steel trap closed on the other.  For
a split second, Chris couldn't decide whether to scream or to give herself
over to the intensity of these additional stimuli.  Her alcohol-induced
stupor cleared instantly, and she opted for the former.  She brought her
knee up hard, but the man was bent over frantically trying to suckle her
and so it missed its mark.  Her fingernails raked across the sides of the
man's face, but he was so far gone with lust that they had no effect. 
After what seemed like an eternity she felt two more powerful hands on her
as one of the club's bouncers tried to pull her away.  Another bouncer, a
huge beefy fellow, pried her attacker's hands away, picked him up like a
rag doll, and threw him off the stage.  He landed on top of a table and
sprawled unconscious on the floor.
     There were screams, people running, men shouting.  Chris was unable
to sort any of it out as she let herself be half-carried off the stage by
the bouncer.  She felt someone, Sherri maybe, throw a towel over her as
she was herded through the surging crowd toward the dressing room area. 
She heard a door close, and relative silence descended.  She felt her butt
being placed rather unceremoniously into a chair.  She blinked away the
last vestiges of her drunkenness and looked up to see Sherri and the
bouncer bending over her, concern on their faces.
     "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, in a voice pitched comically
high for a man that size.  Chris nodded slowly.  "If you don't mind, then,
I'd better get back out there."  The bouncer left, leaving Sherri behind. 
She slowly straightened up, hands on hips, and fixed Chris with a
withering stare.
     "Jesus Christ, lady, what the fuck do you do for an encore?" she
demanded, partly in jest and partly in anger mixed with relief.  Chris sat
mutely for a few seconds, then began laughing and crying simultaneously. 
Tears rolled freely down into her open mouth as she tried to guffaw and
sob at the same time.  Sherri held Chris's shoulders until she regained
control of herself.
     "I don't know what came over me out there," Chris said incredulously.
 "You had done such a 
great job that I had to think of some way to top you, and letting go was
the first thing I thought of.  I had no idea that would happen!  I was so
drunk..."  Her voice trailed off and she just sat there, clutching the
towel, shaking her head.
     "You were cutting loose for the first time in God knows how long,"
Sherri said.  "Who can blame you for getting a little carried away?  You
were almost killed a couple of months ago, for chrissake.  I think this
was just a subconscious attempt to yell 'fuck you' at the Grim Reaper."
     "You think so?  Maybe you're right.  That certainly wasn't the old me
out there tonight, that's for damn sure."  Chris sniffled and wiped her
eyes.  "I was out there spraying milk on people!  'A little carried away'?
 Jeez, I guess so!  I think I'd better watch my alcohol consumption more
closely from now on.  Gin and oxytocin don't appear to mix very well."
     Sherri located their clothes and handed Chris hers.  "I think we'd
just better get dressed and get out of here.  The sooner we're clear of
Decade Eight, the better off we'll be."
     A clean getaway was not to be, however.  The two had just buttoned
their last buttons when the door opened again.  This time the contest M.C.
came in, a jacket draped over his LET'S GET WET T-shirt.  "I'd like a
word, if I could," he said somberly.
     Oh, shit, here it comes, Chris thought.  I'll bet he's called the
police.  I wonder how this is going to get written up?  She imagined
herself spending the night in jail, and felt her limbs go cold.  She was
therefore very confused when the M.C. suddenly broke into a wide grin.
     "I gotta tell you, that was hands-down, absolutely, no-bullshit the
goddamndest thing I ever saw."  How many times have I heard that by now,
Chris thought.  The man was still talking.  "Most unique wet T-shirt
contest it's ever been my pleasure to have hosted.  You and your friend
here really turned this place on its ear.  First night open, too, wouldn't
you know."  He reached into his jacket pocket and took out two wads of
bills.  He handed the larger of them to Chris, the other to Sherri. 
"Here's your prize money.  Congratulations.  I also have to tell you,
though, that the management has asked me to ask you never to participate
in a similar activity here again.  You'd get us shut down for sure!  Just
take the money and go home, please."  He looked toward the door.  "It's
pretty well calmed down out there, but if I were you, I'd go out the back
way."  He started to leave, then turned at the door for a last long look
at Chris.  "Goddamndest thing I ever saw," he said again, and was gone.
     Chris and Sherri didn't say another word to each other until they got
back to their apartment building, and even then it was just a cursory good
night.  Chris was already beginning to feel the beginnings of a hangover
as she collapsed fully dressed into bed, one hand still clutching her $250
first prize.  She was going to have to think about what had happened at
Decade Eight this night, but later, later.  She was so tired.  Within
moments, she was snoring softly.

LACTOGENESIS XIII:  THE PHONE CALL

     A thin film of sweat covered Christine's face.  Her hair, where it
brushed against her neck, was also wet with sweat.  Her breathing was
heavy, bordering on panting.  Her breasts heaved and shook with the
effort.  Her hips surged in a rhythm that was steadily increasing. 
Faster, faster...  Chris tossed her head back, grunting in synchrony with
the movements of her lower body.  She was quickly building toward her
peak...
     A tone sounded.  The Stairmaster stopped speeding up and went into
the cool-down phase of the workout program.  Chris groaned in relief as
she felt the burning in her legs gradually subside.  She used the towel
draped around her neck to wipe away the sweat that threatened to drip into
her eyes.  Not bad, she thought.  I'll be maxxing this thing out before
long.
     She heard the warbling of the telephone, but decided to let the
answering machine pick it up.  She wasn't cooled down enough and feared
cramping if she suddenly stopped now.  A different kind of tone sounded as
her recorded greeting ended and the machine awaited a response.  It was a
couple of seconds in coming.  The voice issuing from the speaker was
halting, almost tentative.
     "Chris?  Uh, hi, it's Carl.  I'm, uh, I'm really sorry I haven't
called you before now.  I heard about your accident and have been meaning
to get in touch, but business is really booming these days, and uh, well,
you know how it is.  Anyway, I'm in town for a couple of days meeting with
some people about a new product line, and, uh, well, I'd really like to
see you while I'm here.  Would you mind?  I know it's been a long time,
but I'm not sure when I'll be in the area again.  Boy, you'd think a
salesman would be used to answering machines, but I still hate these
things.  Uh, I'm at the Sheraton until Tuesday afternoon.  I'd sure like
to have dinner, talk, uh, whatever.  Give me a call, OK?  Hope we can get
together.  Bye."
     Chris hopped off the Stairmaster, crossed to the answering machine,
and replayed the message to make sure the voice was who she thought it
was.  My God.  Carl Banks, she thought.  Back from the dead.  Tail between
his legs, too, by the sound of him.  Quite unbidden, Chris's memory called
up the file, up to now thought closed, on Carl Banks.  He and Chris had
met at a health club, back when that was *the* place to meet "swinging
singles".  Could it be almost three years?  He was working as a
semiconductor salesman at the time; she was still at the paper editing
copy.  Their relationship had been tempestuous, exhilarating, spontaneous,
and almost entirely physical.  It had lasted five months before he got an
opportunity to move up the corporate ladder and took it.  He'd left for
the other side of the country almost without a word, and hadn't been in
touch since.  She smiled sourly when she replayed him saying he was still
a salesman.  So much for upward mobility, she thought.  She remembered the
pain -- she had been something of an old-fashioned girl then, a one-man
woman, and even though there wasn't much more than sex to their
relationship, she had enjoyed it, and had not appreciated the abrupt way
it had ended.
     Her finger hovered over the "erase" button as she considered what to
do about Carl.  She noted with some satisfaction that there was no trace
whatsoever of any feelings for him; there would be no regrets if she
didn't return his call.  Still, her curiosity was piqued.  Whatever else
Carl had been, he had been pretty good in the sack, and it had been, after
all, a long time since Chris had gotten her ashes properly hauled.  The
incident at the Decade Eight Club three weeks before had shaken her up
more than she'd thought.  The attack by the crazed seltzer guy had been
too close to rape for comfort, enough so that she'd not been out with a
man since.  Carl was a pretty safe bet.  Chris hit the "save" button
instead and started getting ready to shower.
     As the water cascaded over her and she ran the bar of soap over her
body, Chris suddenly realized that Carl would have no idea about what she
looked like now, or better still, what she could do.  As far as he knew,
Chris was still a woman with a rather ordinary body and rather ordinary
sexual habits.  Wait'll he gets a load of these, she thought slyly.  She
squeezed her boobs playfully, causing a dribble of milk to wash the soap
suds from her nipples.  She passed a hand over her baby-smooth mons,
remembering how Carl used to complain about getting her pubic hair caught
in his throat.  Oh, now I've done it, Chris said to herself, as her random
hand motions and memories of how good it had felt to bury Carl's cock in
her pussy began to catch up to her.  Might as well finish the job...
     Chris's shower was a hand-held water massage.  She took it down from
its mounting bracket, dialed for a hard pulsing spray, and began playing
the shower head over her body.  The jets of high-pressure water kneaded
her breasts like thousands of tiny fingers, tingling the skin from without
and starting the familiar tingling from within.  The drops falling from
the dark red tips of her bosom turned gradually from the colorless clarity
of water to the opaque whiteness of mother's milk as she willed the
letdown to proceed.  Chris leaned back against the shower wall, causing
her breasts to point slightly upward and sending a spray most of the way
up the far wall as she masterfully milked herself with her free hand.  She
planted her feet at the corners of the small stall, bent her knees
slightly, and slowly guided the pulsating shower toward her naked pussy,
whose lips were now slightly puffy and whose clit now peeked out from
their uppermost junction.  As the blasting water struck it, Chris gasped
from the force and redirected the spray for less direct contact.  In only
a second or two she had found the right combination of pressure and flow,
and was well on her way to yet another satisfying orgasm.  As she neared
the magic moment, she bent her head and brought one breast up to her mouth
(they were almost too firm to allow that).  She encircled the nipple with
her lips and drank of herself, marveling at the warmth and sweetness of
her milk as she had on several previous occasions.  As it had in the past,
this was enough to complete her journey to orgasm.  Her cunt poured forth
its bounty, rivaling the shower in the intensity of the flow.  Chris's
legs, weakened from her workout, could barely support her as she shook
with the force of the orgasm.  She felt the flood of juices running down
them, to be immediately washed away by the shower.  As the peak passed,
Chris released her nipple, which continued to drip.  She spent the next
few minutes emptying both breasts -- the shower was a good place to do
that, even when she wasn't masturbating.  She did a good portion of this
by suckling herself, as the workout had made her thirsty.  The last few
ounces she expressed by hand.  She allowed herself another, less intense
orgasm while doing this, then snapped out of it when she realized she'd
been in the shower for over half an hour.  My water bill's going to be
unreal this month, she said to herself as she turned off the water and
reached for a towel.
     She was still drying off as she walked through her apartment,
heedless of the open windows, to her telephone.  She dropped the towel as
she picked up the phone book and looked up the number for the Sheraton. 
She dialed it and asked for Carl's room, but he was not there.  Probably
down in the bar trying to score, she thought scornfully.  She left a short
message:  "Carl.  Chris.  Welcome back.  Yes, I'd love to see you.  How
about tomorrow night for dinner?  I'll come by your hotel at 7:30.  See
you then."  As she hung up, she caught a glimpse of her nude body in the
hall mirror, droplets of water still gleaming here and there on her skin. 
Carl, lover, she thought, you are in for one hell of a surprise.  Her
nipples began hardening again as she considered her plan of attack.  She
looked down at them and noticed tiny white droplets appearing.  She shook
her head and wiped them away with the towel.  "This is ridiculous," she
said out loud.  
     As she dressed, she realized that even though she felt nothing for
Carl, she knew that the anticipation of getting him into bed was going to
make it a long day at work tomorrow.  I can't believe how worked up I'm
getting over the prospect of shocking the crap out of this jerk, she told
herself.  I have *got* to start meeting new people.  Immediately a part of
her mind began working on how that would happen.  She wasn't even aware of
it, but her subconscious had just started her down a path which would take
her places the old Chris would never have considered.

LACTOGENESIS XIV:  THE OLD FLAME, PART 1

     Christine glanced up from her plate of fettucini carbonara to again
find Carl Banks's eyes locked on her.  Again she smiled in response, and
again he grinned awkwardly and glanced away.  So far everything seemed to
be working according to plan.  Chris had worked hard to choose just the
right combination of clothing and makeup to allow just the barest hints of
her heart-stopping physical transformation to show through.  She wanted
Carl to see that some changes had occurred since they'd last seen each
other, but she also wanted him to be constantly wondering just what they
were.  His poorly concealed stares were telling her she had achieved the
desired effect.  Since arriving at the restaurant, Chris had steered the
conversation, keeping it trivial, and sprinkling it with enough veiled
sexual references to keep Carl on edge and wondering whether he was going
to actually score with the girl he'd left flat almost three years ago. 
Chris wanted to tease him, just enough to give him a hard-on all through
dinner.  She wasn't a cruel person, though.  She would jump his bones
before the night was over, but she was going to make damn sure the sex was
on her turf, on her terms.
     The conversation had hit a lull when the food arrived, and Chris
allowed the silence to stretch out.  Finally she leaned forward slightly,
in a calculated fashion so that her blousy clothing might reveal just a
bit more of the amazing curves beneath.
     "Penny," she said with a smile.
     "Nothing," he said flatly.
     Chris sipped at her wine.  "Come on, Carl, you forget how well we
used to know each other.  How do you think we could be so good together in
bed?  I know something other than computer motherboard sales figures is
circulating in that handsome head of yours.  Out with it."
     Carl paused, then frankly stated, "Well, I just can't get over how
you look.  To be honest, I was expecting to have to be polite and overlook
scars, disfigurements, whatever.  I'd heard you really got messed up when
that car hit you.  Instead you look just amazing -- better than ever, in
fact."
     Chris kept a smile on her face, but was frowning internally.  As
shallow as ever, she thought.  Relieved about not having to spend an
evening with the Elephant Woman, is he?  Nice.  And what's this "better
than ever" crap?  What was I before, chopped liver?  She decided to shift
the evening up a gear, before she lost interest in this jerk altogether.
     "That's sweet of you," she lied.  "I had a feeling you were
undressing me with your eyes."  She leaned forward even more, deliberately
allowing her breasts to press against the fabric of her top, finally
coming to rest upon the tabletop.  She said in a low, husky voice, "Why
don't we get out of here so you can do it with your hands?"
     Carl's eyebrows shot up, and he had to concentrate to keep from
choking on his food.  Always the smooth operator, however, he didn't miss
a beat.  He immediately signaled for the check, and within minutes the two
of them were back at Chris's apartment.  Chris was a little perturbed at
how readily he'd wanted to leave.  She'd hoped to string him along a while
longer.  He obviously wasn't interested in catching up on the last three
years -- he just wanted to get laid.  She decided that was okay; that's
all she wanted, too.  Why screw things up with a lot of excess emotional
baggage?
     Chris tossed her purse on a chair and headed straight for her
bedroom.  "Have a seat," she called over her shoulder.  "Bar's still where
it's always been.  Fix yourself a drink.  I'll be right back."  She heard
the clink of ice cubes as she closed the door and went around the room
lighting candles.  She shut off the light and quickly stepped out of her
outfit.  No beating around the bush, she'd decided.  I'm going for the
throat...  She'd chosen a forest green satin matching bra and panties. 
The bra was just sheer enough for her areolae to be visible; the panties
were cut high on the hip and were diaphanous enough for it to be obvious
that her snatch was completely hairless.  Her cleavage was deep and
inviting, her stomach flat and hard.  She slipped her heels back on and
walked into the hallway, where she struck a deliberately seductive pose. 
She said nothing, just waited for the bomb she'd just dropped to hit its
target.
     Bulls-eye.  Carl's face was the picture of amazement.  His eyes
flittered up and down her body, looking for a place to rest.  His drink
tilted in his hand and sent an ice-cold dribble of scotch and soda into
his crotch.  You could practically see a plume of steam arise as he jumped
up, wiping at himself with his free hand.  Chris suppressed a giggle.
     "Wow," he sputtered.  "Chris, is that really you?  I don't remember
this at all!  What did you have done?  I thought there was a moratorium on
implants..."
     What an asshole, Chris thought.  It's a good thing I'm horny or
I'd've flushed him before we even got out of the restaurant.  "It's all
me," she said instead.  "One hundred percent natural.  Just a late
bloomer, I guess."  She walked over to him and without warning kissed him
hard, simultaneously taking the drink from his hand.  Time to get him
where he lives.  "Enough talk," she whispered as she mashed her breasts
against Carl's chest.  "Let's fuck."
     She led the shell-shocked Carl into the bedroom.  In their previous
relationship, Carl had always been the aggressor.  Chris's blatant
seductiveness and the shock of revealing the new body had put her in
complete control.  She turned and unbuttoned his shirt as he fumbled with
his belt.  She yanked his pants and boxers down together, and his cock
swung free.  It looked like it had been hard for a long time, and pre-come
had already wetted the glans.  Just as I remembered it, Chris thought. 
Not very long, even a bit below average perhaps, but nearly as big around
as her wrist.  It had filled her quite satisfactorily three years ago. 
How would it feel now?
     She let her tongue trace a line along the lower surface of Carl's
cock, starting at the root.  When she reached the arrowhead of the glans,
she slowly wrapped her lips around it.  She swallowed him an agonizingly
slow half-inch at a time.  Remembering some tips Sherri had taught her,
she relaxed her throat and allowed the shaft to skate along her palate. 
All that practice with the bananas had paid off; she was able to
completely suppress the gag reflex.  She took him right to the balls. 
Carl sucked in breath through clenched teeth, and moaned loudly when Chris
opened her mouth even further and, with his cock firmly ensconced in her
throat, extended her tongue to lick his scrotum.  "Where did you learn to
give head like that?" he murmured.  Chris backed away at the same slow
pace, then began to move faster, sliding her mouth along Carl's shaft,
keeping pressure with her tongue.  Her fist followed behind, squeezing and
milking away.  She felt him getting even harder.  Good, she thought.  I
want to make you beg to come.  I want to see the look on your face when I
cover you with my milk.  She stole a glance upward and saw Carl's head
nodding back and forth.  "Oh, man, oh, shit," he was babbling.
     So far, so good...

LACTOGENESIS XV:  THE OLD FLAME, PART 2

   Carl bent slightly and began unhooking Chris's bra.  There were more
hooks than he remembered.  The straps fell away, but her breasts were so
firm that the cups stayed in place.  He began caressing them roughly,
grabbing and squeezing hard.  Chris knew that one of her surprises would
be prematurely revealed if she allowed that to continue, so she disengaged
herself and gently removed Carl's hands.  She led him over to the bed, his
spit-wet erection gently bobbing in time to his elevated pulse.  She lay
back on the mattress and arched her back, pressing her impressive bosom
skyward.  Carl was expecting her breasts to disappear into her armpits
when she lay down and was amazed when they didn't.  He was looking for
surgical scars, unconvinced that these magnificent mounds could be real,
could actually be Chris.  She took his hands and placed one on each hip,
silently instructing him to remove her panties.  He did so, and was again
mildly shocked at the sight of Chris's naked labia.
    "Woman, I don't know what's brought on all these changes, but I like
it, I like it."  Further talk was impossible as Chris grabbed Carl's head
and pushed it downward toward her waiting flesh.  She was remembering how
she'd had to practically beg him to go down on her in the past; now he
couldn't complain about pubic hair in his mouth.  Carl licked at her
tentatively, but when he tasted her musky sweetness, he went to her like a
starving man.  His tongue parted her inner lips and curled about her
pearl-like clit as he swirled it in ever-faster circles.  Chris's juices
began flowing, coating his chin and starting to run down his neck.  Carl
slid his index finger along her slit, finding the entrance, and inserting.
 He curled his finger around and up, looking for Chris's G-spot.  Another
finger joined it, then a third.  Chris felt herself moving toward an
orgasm, but it was too soon, too soon.  She needed to re-exert control, so
she again disengaged, sliding out from under him and guiding him around
until he lay on his back.
    Chris swung one leg over Carl's hips and reaching behind her, grabbed
his cock and guided it to her drooling pussy.  She rubbed the tip up and
down along her slit, letting herself open wide for him.  In one smooth
motion she sat down on him, burying him to the hilt.  The girth of his
shaft stretched her pussy, at first painfully, but as she continued to
lubricate, the sensation changed to one of intense pleasure.  Chris hadn't
had a dick inside her for months, and as a result, she knew she wouldn't
be able to hold back very long.  She began riding him, pulling him out
almost to the tip, then slamming back down.  Using another tip Sherri had
taught her, Chris began to do her Kegel exercises, alternately squeezing
and releasing Carl's cock with her vaginal muscles.  She'd found that
these exercises had intensified her orgasms during masturbation, and she
was eager to see their effect on Carl.  That was easy; Carl's head was
tipped back and almost obscured by the pillow.  Only his nose and open,
gasping mouth were visible.  He began spouting random obscenities as he
too began building toward orgasm.
   As she bounced upon him, Chris leaned over Carl, dangling her breasts
in his face.  She raked her long nipples over his lips, feeling the milk
behind them pressing down, wanting to be released.  She thought of rain on
a window, a single droplet running down the surface.  In response a single
drop of milk, then another, appeared on her nipple and ran down between
Carl's parted lips.  When the sweet liquid hit his tongue, Carl's eyes
opened wide, and he turned his head away.
   "What the hell is that?" he demanded.
   Chris straightened up, two thin lines of milk running down the lower
half of her breasts.  She stopped bouncing, but continued moving her hips,
keeping Carl's penis in contact with her clit.  "I have milk now," she
said simply.  "Isn't that fantastic?  Want to see?"  She cupped her
breasts and placed fingers at each areola, preparing to spray him down.
    Carl threw his arms up in front of his face.  "Shit, no!" he shouted. 
"That's gross!  Don't do that, please."
    Chris felt disappointment threatening to wash away the wonderfulness
of the feeling coming from between her legs.  She had hoped Carl might
appreciate her gift, but was not overly surprised to find it repelled him.
 Carl had never been much for bodily fluids, with the possible exception
of pussy juice.  She was more concerned with the softening she was
beginning to detect in her cunt.  There was no way Carl was going to get
away without her coming first, so she began the mental exercises to shut
down the flow from her breasts while starting up her vaginal contractions
again.  After a few seconds Carl had forgotten all about Chris's lactating
breasts.
    Chris clamped down hard on Carl, squeezing him as tightly as she
could.  Her cunt was sopping now, and her pistoning motion was creating a
frothy mixture of her juices and his pre-come.  She tilted her hips
forward slightly to increase the contact against her clit.  The added
pressure was too much for Carl.  "Oh, God, I'm gonna come!" he suddenly
moaned.
    Not yet, you're not, Chris thought through the buzz of her own
impending orgasm.  She reached back and making a ring from thumb and
forefinger, clamped down at the base of Carl's cock, freezing his spunk in
mid-rise and causing his shaft to expand even further with trapped blood. 
Carl yelped and began pleading with Chris to let go, but she didn't hear
him.  The added swelling had provided just what she needed to complete her
journey.  She arched back and gave herself over to the wave crashing down
on her.  As she came, her flood of juice squirted out around Carl's rod,
instantly soaking his pubic hair and the bedclothes beneath.  Chris began
bucking like a rider helpless on a bronco.  Each downward stroke produced
another gush of liquid, spewing in time with Chris's yells of delight.
    Carl's reaction was immediate.  He shouted incoherently and arched his
hips upward, throwing Chris off him.  She lost her grip on his penis.  Now
free of its bondage, Carl's cock fired a thick stream of jism into the
air.  It landed on his stomach as Carl tried to wriggle free.  "God DAMN
it!"  he yelled.  "You PISSED on me, you fucking bitch!"  He leaped out of
bed and stood there, his entire lower half dripping, a long string of come
dangling from the end of his fast-shrinking penis.  "What the fuck are you
DOING?!"
    Chris had to scramble to keep from falling off the bed.  She came up
fuming.  "I was NOT pissing!" she yelled back.  "I was COMING, you stupid
clod!  What's the matter?  Can't handle a sexually complete woman?!"
    Carl hurriedly wiped himself off with the bedspread, then began
collecting his clothes.  "I don't know what the fuck planet you came from,
but you sure as hell aren't the Chris I used to boff.  What the hell
*happened* to you, anyway?"
    "I grew up.  I woke up.  I'm not the submissive little mouse you used
to use for a fuck toy."  She looked hard at him, struggling with his
clothes, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull on his pants.  What had
she ever seen in him?  "Shit.  Get out of here, Carl.  I just realized I
don't ever want to see you again."
    "No problem.  I'm gone," he said, moving toward the door, shoes in
hand.  He stopped at the doorway and turned to her.  Angrily he said, "You
know, nobody's ever going to want to sleep with you with you spewing all
that shit.  They're all going to run, just like me."  He was off down the
hall.  Chris heard him say "Stupid cunt," just before the door slammed.
    Chris sat on the bed, trying to sort out her feelings.  Her body was
complaining that Carl had interrupted it in mid-orgasm.  Her breasts felt
like they were ready to burst.  She was upset at the intensity of Carl's
negative reaction, and angry at herself for even having returned his call.
 She realized that she really was a different person now, and as far as
sexual liaisons were concerned, she was going to have to burn all her
bridges and start over fresh.  Gone were all traces of the pre-accident
Christine.  Sherri had already started her with some novel experiences --
her frequent assists with Sherri's campaign to start lactating, for
example -- but it was up to her to find the kind of partner her new
sexuality demanded.
    Chris looked at the wet sheets.  Whoever it's going to be, they're
going to have to really like to get wet, she thought.  She felt a
momentary pang of panic.  Are there guys out there that will appreciate me
and what I can do? she wondered.  Or will they all be like Carl, bolting
as soon as they see a drop of milk or a trickle of pussy juice?  I don't
know if I could take that...
    She wasn't about to let herself get depressed.  There *must* be men
who get turned on by a human fountain, she told herself.  If there's
anything I've learned from my years at the paper, it's that there are all
kinds of people in the world.  I just hope there are a few of my type in
town.  She looked at the door.  "Good riddance, dickhead," she said aloud.
 "I was just too much woman for him."  She looked down at her swollen
breasts, felt the throbbing in her cunt.  Well, she thought, no sense in
letting a good buzz go to waste.
    With that, she opened her nightstand drawer, took out her vibrator,
and walked into another room, where her breast pump awaited.  Chris didn't
come out of that room again for a long time.

LACTOGENESIS XVI:  THE BREAKTHROUGH

     Christine fished her keys out of her purse and began unlocking the
door to her apartment.  A muffled, unusual sound in the hallway caused her
to silence the jingling of the keys with her free hand so as to listen
more closely.  Whsssh, pfff, whsssh, pfff, whsssh, pfff, it went, just
above the threshold of audibility.  Where have I heard that sound before?
she wondered.  She made the mental connection at exactly the same time as
a potentially drenching letdown reflex began in her breasts.  She had to
slam down mental barriers and simultaneously press one forearm 
across her ample chest to keep the flow of milk staunched.  The sound
she'd heard was that of a breast pump going at full tilt.  As part of her
work with making donations to the milk bank, she had conditioned herself
to release milk at full flow when using her own pump, so she was
unprepared for the aural cues provied by this second one.  I need to brush
up on my control techniques a little more, she thought.  She strained to
hear, trying to locate the source of the sound.  Of course.  It was coming
from Sherri's apartment.
     Chris entered her apartment, went into her bedroom, and removed her
blouse and bra.  Sure enough, the cups were damp.  She walked into the
bathroom to rinse out the bra and to express some milk in order to relieve
some of the pressure.  I am *not* going to come, she said firmly to
herself as the manipulations of her fingers along her rigid nipples
threatened to send her into orbit as they did so often.  I have more
control than that; besides, I don't want to rinse out panties as well. 
Rivulets of milk joined into a single stream in the sink and disappeared
down the drain as she worked.  I need to think about something else, Chris
said to herself, as she felt her level of arousal rising unbidden.  I
wonder how Sherri is doing with her "project".  I haven't seen her for
several days, and the last time I did she was complaining of sore nipples.
 At least that means she's keeping up with it.  It's been a few weeks,
should be any day now...
     Chris was just blotting a last few drops from herself when the phone
rang.  "Hi, hon, it's Sherri," the voice on the other end said.  "Hate to
bother you, but could you come over for a minute?  I need your expertise
on something."
     "Right now?"
     "If you could.  It's kind of an emergency."
     I'll bet she's having trouble with the pump, Chris thought. Those
things can be kind of persnickety.  She threw her blouse back on and made
for the door.  No time to hunt for a clean bra.  
     Sherri met her at her door clad in a terrycloth bathrobe that had
been hurriedly donned and was hanging open.  She was naked underneath. 
Chris caught a glimpse of red pubic hair, matted down with moisture.  The
robe hung well out from her torso, pushed away from it by a pair of
massive, pendulous breasts.  They were mostly covered, but Chris could
still make out a network of bright blue veins showing through the skin. 
Sherri was not smiling.
     As Chris walked into Sherri's apartment, she said, "Is it my
imagination, or are you gigantic?  Has something happened since I've seen
you last?"
     At that, Sherri did smile.  "I'm up to an F cup now.  Do you know how
hard it is to find pretty underwear in that size?"
     "Do I take you to mean that things are...progressing?"
     A twinkle appeared in Sherri's eyes.  "Let's talk about that later. 
For now, I've got a problem I'd like you to look at."
     "You said it was an emergency.  Are you all right?"
     "That's what I need you to tell me."  At that, Sherri pushed the robe
off her shoulders.  Her breasts swung gently as the material fell away
from them.  Each was at least a double handful, with plenty left over. 
They were close to resting in Sherri's lap.  The faint beginnings of
stretch marks were visible at their upper boundaries.  Her areolae had
darkened almost to a chocolate brown, and were nearly three inches in
diameter.  The nipples were just a 
raised area at the center of each areola.  Tiny blood vessels crisscrossed
along the undersides of each breast like spider webs.  There was a lot to
see here, but Chris's attention was focused on the lower quadrant of
Sherri's right breast, which was flushed a deep, angry pink.
     "Ooh, honey, that looks tender," Chris said sympathetically.  She ran
her fingertips over the area and noticed that it was downright hot.  She
palpated it gently, which brought a hiss of discomfort from Sherri.  Chris
knew right away what was wrong.  She looked up at Sherri, and a broad grin
formed on her face.
     "Why you little so-and-so," Chris chided.  "You've been holding out
on me!  You have a plugged duct, my dear, which can only mean one thing."
     Sherri was nodding furiously.  She and Chris suddenly squealed in
delight and hugged each other, laughing.  "How long since you started?"
Chris said when they broke their embrace.
     "Only about three days ago.  I didn't want to let you know until I
was sure.  I pumped these babies day in and day out for weeks, got cracked
nipples, broke the pump once.  I was this close to giving up when all of a
sudden the milk came in like gangbusters.  Woke up in the middle of the
night Thursday night practically swimming in my own bed!"
     "Are you sorry you did it?"
     "Hell, no!  Chris, I'm feeling so sexually charged up from this that
I can come from just walking in a pair of corduroy pants!  I feel like the
Earth Mother herself.  I mean, *look* at these things now.  They're bigger
than my ex-husband's head!  What a rush!
     "Right now, though, I'm feeling pretty miserable.  I just took some
Tylenols, but they haven't kicked in yet.  I'm as engorged as hell, so
much so that the pump cups can't get a good grip on me."  She looked
concerned.  "Are you sure I don't have an infection or anything?"
     "No, you've just got a little back-up there.  Nothing an ice pack, a
little gentle massage, and a friend can't fix."  Chris gently pushed
Sherri back to a reclining position on the couch.  "I've been waiting to
do this for a long time," she whispered as she bent her head to Sherri's
ear.  "Ever since you first nursed from me..."

LACTOGENESIS XVII:  THE FOUR FOUNTAINS

     Chris brushed her lips lightly against Sherri's ear lobe, then used
them to lay down a trail of soft kisses down Sherri's neck, over her
collarbone, and down her chest.  With the tip of her tongue, she played
"connect the dots" with the freckles that were sprinkled along her
breastbone.  Sherri was already breathing heavily; her hands were tousling
Chris's hair as she hovered over Sherri's torso.  Chris hesitated at the
midpoint between Sherri's heaving bosoms, then began kissing her way
toward the right nipple.  Her tongue teased the small bump of the nipple,
swirling around it, trying to get it to pop up from its hiding place.  She
could feel the nipple stiffen, but it did not lengthen appreciably.  She
pursed her lips and surrounded it, and began to suck gently.  Sherri's
grip on Chris's hair tightened, and Chris could feel her begin to move her
hips.  Gradually Chris began to pull more and more of Sherri's areola into
her mouth and intensified her suckling.  She covered her teeth with her
lips and began to apply pressure on the lactiferous sinuses surrounding
the nipple.  That and the suction had the desired effect:  a high-pressure
stream of liquid immediately shot into her mouth.  At the same moment,
Sherri's hands left Chris's head; one went to the breast Chris was
suckling and began squeezing, the other went straight to her cunt, from
whence wet slurping noises began to issue as she finger-fucked herself
frantically.
     Chris felt herself becoming aroused as she drank from Sherri's
distended breast.  Sherri's milk was thinner and not as sweet as her own,
but its warmth and sheer volume were very exciting.  One of Chris's hands
went to Sherri's other breast, which she expertly began to milk.  She
didn't look up, but she could swear she could hear the squirts from that
breast striking the ceiling.  The other hand went to her own mammaries,
which she began massaging through her thin blouse.  Sherri stopped
squeezing her own boob and instead moved to Chris's blouse, which she
unsuccessfully tried to unbutton.  Chris lifted her mouth from Sherri's
nipple, which had responded to Chris's sucking by becoming quite
well-defined.  Several tiny streams continued to shoot upward, catching
Chris full in the face.  She shook her head, laughing, while she peeled
off the blouse.  Chris's hands went to her breasts, and she began milking,
showering the supine Sherri with her ambrosia.  Sherri responded in kind,
sending blast after blast skyward, striking Chris about the face and
chest.  They giggled like a couple of kids with squirt guns as they
continued to shoot.  For some minutes they soaked each other down,
laughing and squealing uncontrollably, until every square inch of their
skins was covered with white droplets and their hair was matted, and still
they continued to squirt.  Impulsively Sherri sat up and embraced Chris. 
Their milk-soaked tits pressed together, nipples rubbing, milk continuing
to flow, mixing together and running down their stomachs in a thin white
sheet.
     "I want to come," Chris breathed into Sherri's ear, as they slid
their bosoms across each other, their mingled milk lubricating them.
     Sherri laughed out loud.  "Are you kidding?  I think I've come a
couple of times already!"
     She bent down to Chris's waist, unbuttoning her slacks.  Chris
wriggled out of them and threw them across the room.  As she slid back
onto the floor, Sherri followed her down, kissing her way down Chris's
belly and going straight to her cunt.  She captured Chris's clit between
thumb and forefinger, massaging it while licking the area around it. 
Then, with one motion, she sucked Chris's labia into her mouth while
inserting her tongue into Chris's vagina.  She slurped away furiously for
several seconds while holding down Chris's bucking hips with her upper
arms.  She then began licking Chris slowly, starting at her anus and
moving up to the tip of her clit in one long lick.  As she felt Chris's
thighs begin trembling as she made her final approach to orgasm, Sherri
began fucking her with three fingers while at the same time flattening her
tongue directly on her clit and vibrating it back and forth.  Chris
screeched, her vagina contracted, and a gout of fluid cascaded over
Sherri's fingers and down her arm.  Giggling wildly, Sherri took her hand,
filled with Chris's juices, and began rubbing it all over herself.
     Chris took that opportunity to turn the tables, pushing Sherri back
onto the floor.  Sherri's pubic hair tickled Chris's nose as she ate her
out, shaking her head back and forth as she sucked Sherri's long clit into
her mouth.  Sherri continued laughing, with complete abandon, as she
grabbed her breasts and squeezed the last few drops of milk out of them. 
At that moment Chris came up and began rubbing one nipple against Sherri's
crotch, flicking it against Sherri's clit.
     "Ooh, honey, just like that," Sherri cooed.  "Your nipple's so big
and hard, it feels like a cock.  Fuck me with it."  And Chris did.  It
felt like her nipple was more than an inch long as it disappeared into
Sherri's cunt and reappeared to once again tickle her clit.  "Come in me,"
Sherri growled.  Chris took the hint and grabbed her breast just behind
the nipple.  A blast of milk emerged, striking Sherri's clit dead on. 
This was enough to bring Sherri off one more time, squirming and squealing
as Chris's milk oozed down her slit.
     As they lay together on the floor of Sherri's apartment, desire still
hanging heavily in the air, Chris whispered, "I'll help you clean up
later."  They started giggling again.  In the spontaneity of the moment,
they had neglected to take into account the mess four breasts full of milk
could make.  Wet spots covered the sofa, the carpeting...there was even
milk dripping from the ceiling.  "Don't worry, I know just how to get this
stuff out."
     "I'll just bet you do," Sherri murmured as she nuzzled Chris's neck. 
"The only thing I'm worried about is letting you get away before I'm done
with you."  She gently separated herself and stood up.  "Don't you move. 
I'll be right back."  She walked toward her bedroom, droplets of milk
running down her body as her generous ass retreated down the corridor. 
She was back in less than a minute, holding a gigantic double-headed dildo
that had to be a foot and a half in length in one hand and a tube of K-Y
jelly in the other.
     "Mmmm.  I don't think we'll need that," Chris said, referring to the
jelly.  She took the dildo from Sherri and proceeded to spray down its
entire length with milk.  She and Sherri then positioned themselves with
their legs intertwined, each with a grip on one end of the dildo.  In a
single, concerted motion, they inserted their respective ends into their
pussies.  They moved against each other in a smooth pas de deux, their
hips rising in unison, the dildo bridging an ever-shortening gap between
them.  Slowly, inexorably, the dildo disappeared inside them until they
were pussy to pussy, their clits rubbing together.  The dildo was
completely buried.  As if rehearsed, their hands went to their breasts,
and once again milk flowed.  They looked like an erotic fountain as four
groups of tiny streams formed white parabolas, raining down on their
undulating bodies.  Even their moans were in synch.  Of course their
orgasms were simultaneous.  Chris's secretions so completely lubricated
their cunts that the dildo simply popped out onto the floor, causing gales
of laughter to once again erupt from them.
     Sherri sat up, cupping her breasts in her hands.  "I never thought
that this would feel so good," she said.  "I've been around the block a
number of times, but this has opened up a whole new street."  She smiled
and took Chris's hand.  "Now I've got some idea of what you've been going
through."  She tentatively massaged the lower quadrant of her right
breast, and smiled again when there was no pain.  "By God, lady, I think
you've cured me."  Sure enough, the inflammation was already fading; all
that activity had unplugged the affected duct.
     The intensity of their experience later took a long time to erase
from the floors, walls, and furniture.  Chris and Sherri ended up going
through an entire bottle of upholstery cleaner that day. 

LACTOGENESIS XVIII:  THE RESEARCH

     Dr. Sheila Ellis, Christine's endocrinologist, had sounded excited on
the phone.  Her research on Chris's hormone-induced transformation was
nearing completion, she had said.  She was putting the finishing touches
on a scientific paper she was entitling "Spontaneous Galactorrhea and
Increased Graefenberg Spot Secretions as the Result of Head Trauma in a
24-Year-Old Nullipara" that was bound for the New England Journal of
Medicine, but was missing some key MRI data.  Could Chris come down to the
hospital for one last series of tests?  Chris had grudgingly agreed.  The
only reason she had acquiesced to be Sheila's guinea pig was her hope that
the sexual tension that had existed between them ever since Chris first
anointed Sheila's office with her milk as the result of an uncontrolled
letdown would finally result in something.  To Chris's disappointment,
however, Sheila had been the cool professional throughout the several
office visits Chris had made in support of Sheila's research.
     There had been the time when Sheila was collecting Data on Chris's
milk output.  Chris had spent the better part of a day in the office being
milked repeatedly with a breast pump, filling bottle after bottle with her
sweet secretions.  She had never received that kind of constant
stimulation before, and the result had been quite illuminating.  For hours
Chris had been poised on the edge of orgasm, occasionally sliding over the
brink, and always coming back down not all the way, but to a state of
agitated arousal from which it was very easy to come again.  Over and over
this had happened.  Chris was virtually writhing in the examination chair,
moaning and cooing as wave after wave crashed over her.  After a few hours
of this Chris was ready to start begging Sheila to join her, or shut down
the machine, or *something*.  But Sheila had maintained her professional
detachment throughout, measuring the volume in the bottles as Chris filled
them, jotting the numbers on a clipboard, and feeding Chris protein shakes
through a straw to keep her from getting dehydrated.  Chris had slept for
twelve hours that night.
     On another occasion, Sheila had wanted to get some information on the
intensity of Chris's letdown reflex.  She'd placed a topless and fairly
heavily engorged Chris on a chair in front of a black background and
instructed her to go through the mental exercises that would release her
milk at top velocity.  High-speed cameras recorded the tiny jets as they
emerged and arced out across the room without Chris having to touch
herself at all.  Tiny sensors attached to Chris's breasts had noted the
almost imperceptible electrical pulses associated with the contraction of
the muscle cells lining the milk sinuses that propelled the precious
liquid along.  Chris had set a new distance record that day, and Sheila
had been notably impressed.  As Sheila stood at the instruments, watching
their readouts, Chris was sure that she saw desire on Sheila's face -- in
the way her blink rate slowed, her pupils dilated, and the number of times
she'd moistened her lips.  Just like that fateful day that was now months
in the past.  It's all right, Sheila, I want it, too, Chris had
telegraphed.  Alas, Sheila was not telepathic, nor did Chris wish to put
an invitation into words for fear she'd be wrong.
     Then there was the incident with the moisture sensor.  Sheila's
purpose that time was to follow the course of one of Chris's ejaculatory
episodes by means of a moisture sensor inserted in her vagina.  Chris
remembered feigning vaginismus during the insertion process, contracting
her vaginal muscles so tightly that Sheila could not get the probe in more
than half an inch.  She pretended to be extremely uptight about having a
foreign object inserted into her, something that couldn't be further from
the truth.  Chris had relaxed only after Sheila had massaged her mons
while speaking soothing words.  Her face had been only inches from Chris's
pussy, and she had to have smelled arousal in Chris's odor.  Still, she
showed no outward sign that anything was out of the ordinary.  Chris
remembered treating the probe like one of her vibrators, trying to make
herself come merely by rhythmically tensing and releasing the muscles
surrounding it.  She had succeeded.  The resulting torrent had pegged the
instrument and had even shorted it out when a blast of her ejaculate
struck the front of it.  Sheila had been quick to unplug it; otherwise,
the experiment might have ended unhappily.
     Chris had had tubes in her arms from which blood was taken for
hormone profiles during a lactation event.  Sheila had been less than
expert in finding a vein, and the resulting discomfort had interfered with
Chris's mental control over starting and stopping her milk production. 
The results of that experiment had been inconclusive.  In that instance,
Sheila had seemed to warm up a bit, apologizing profusely for causing her
pain and taking extra care to dress the puncture wounds.  Their eyes had
met briefly, but there was nothing but a doctor behind Sheila's.
     Pulse monitors, oxygen meters, even tiny pressure sensors in tiny
collars that had encircled her nipples to measure their erectile response
-- in these last weeks Chris felt that she'd been probed by every type of
medical instrument known to man.  In all that time there were several
instances where Sheila had stroked her hair before beginning a procedure,
soothing her anxiety.  There had even been a quick hug or two when a
result showed particular promise.  But it had all been within the
boundaries of professional decorum. 
     Now Sheila wanted to finish up with a magnetic resonance imaging scan
of Chris's thorax.  Something about studying the distribution of glands
and ducts within the breast tissue, she'd said in her phone call.  She'd
had to trade a favor or two for the use of the MRI instrument off hours,
which was why she'd asked Chris to come down to the hospital so late at
night.
     The clock on the dashboard read 10:48 as Chris pulled her car into
the hospital parking lot.  As she parked, the same thought she entertained
every time she went there resurfaced.  Sheila wants me, she said to
herself.  I can tell.  Why doesn't she do anything about it?  Doesn't she
know it would be all right?
     Due to the lateness of the hour, most of the lot was empty.  She'd
pulled to a back entrance, following Sheila's instructions.  She'd said
the MRI lab was in that part of the building.  Chris was puzzled at the
lack of lights that showed in the windows.  Had Sheila forgotten their
appointment?  Chris walked up to the large double door, tried it, and
found it locked.  Should she knock?  She peered inside, down the length of
a long corridor, which was empty.  Chris began to feel uneasy.  I can't
just stand out here, she thought.  One hand went to her breasts, which
were beginning to feel uncomfortable.  "Come good and full", Sheila had
said.  "We want to get before and after pictures from this."
     Just as Chris was about to turn back to her car, she heard the
unmistakable sound of high heels echoing from a side corridor.

LACTOGENESIS XIX:  THE EXAMINATION, PART ONE

     To Chris's relief, the owner of those high heels turned out to be
Sheila.  She appeared from a side corridor, dressed as always in a white
lab coat and carrying her clipboard.  She was smiling broadly as she
unlocked the door, admitted Chris, and locked it again behind her.
     "Sorry to leave you standing out there in the dark, but I wasn't sure
exactly when you'd be arriving," Sheila said.  "Fortunately the MRI lab is
within earshot of the door, or we might have missed each other."
     "I was beginning to wonder," Chris admitted.  "Now, from your phone
call it sounded like this was the last thing you needed me for.  Is that
right?"
     "Should be, barring any complications with the scan.  You did
remember not to express any milk before coming here, didn't you?"
     "I'm as full as I allow myself to get without becoming too
uncomfortable," Chris replied.  "I hope it won't be long before I can
relieve myself, though."
     "Well, how long it's going to take will be largely up to you," Sheila
said cryptically.  Chris was going to ask her what she meant, but by then
they'd arrived at the lab.  Sheila used a key to unlock the door, stepped
in, and turned on the lights.  Chris had never seen so much high-tech
gadgetry assembled in one place before.  The setting was stark hospital
white.  The MRI unit was a large, hollow cylinder with a motorized
platform extending out from it.  It looked a little cramped in there.  To
one side, behind glass, was the control panel.  Sheila motioned to a
multi-paneled screen cordoning off one corner of the room.
     "We need to get started right away.  I had to do a lot of finagling
to get just a little time on this unit, so we need to get in and out fast.
 If you would, go behind that screen and take off all your clothes.  We're
going to do a whole-body scan first, so everything has to come off.  Even
panties," she added parenthetically.
     I wonder why? Chris thought as she began doing as she was told. 
Doesn't this kind of machine see through clothing?  She thought Sheila's
request was a little strange, but she just shrugged and quickly stripped
naked.  "There's no robe in here," she called out.
     "You won't need one.  Just hop out here and onto the platform."
     Chris walked across the room in her glorious birthday suit and lay
down on the platform.  It and the room were cold; Chris's nipples were
painfully erect as a result, and gooseflesh stood out all over her body. 
"Why do you doctors always keep your workplaces so damned cold?" Chris
complained.
     Sheila did not respond.  Instead she took hold of one of Chris's
ankles and fastened a restraint around it.  "Hey!" Chris shouted.  "What
are you doing?"
     "The procedure requires that you be absolutely still.  We've found
that most patients can't lie still enough on their own.  These'll make it
easier."  Chris accepted that, and allowed Sheila to fasten straps across
both ankles and wrists, and one across her forehead, anchoring her upper
body to the platform.
     "Comfortable?"
     "As comfortable as possible under the circumstances, I guess."
     "Good.  I think we're ready to begin."  Chris expected Sheila to
disappear behind the panel and press the buttons that would move the
platform into the MRI unit.  Instead, she put down her clipboard and
stepped closer to Chris.  She noticed the gooseflesh on Chris's skin and
placed a warm hand on her stomach.
     "You poor thing.  You really are cold.  Let's get you warmed up." 
She began unbuttoning her lab coat.  By the time she reached the third
button, it became obvious that she was wearing nothing underneath.  Chris
was astonished.  "Wait.  Wait a minute.  Sheila, what's going on?"
     "Oh, I think you know.  You think that all the time we've spent
together was just to further my research, don't you?  Do you honestly
believe I could just stand there and watch you squirting and gushing at
session after session and not be affected?  I've seen how you look at me
while you were doing that.  You were trying to get a rise out of me. 
You've been teasing me.  I think you've known that I've wanted you ever
since I first tasted your milk from my desktop, and you've been trying to
get me to show it.  Well, you were right, and now is the time."  Her lab
coat hit the floor, revealing a taut, athletic build.  Sheila's breasts
were quite small, barely enough to require a bra.  The areolae were almost
nonexistent, but from their centers protruded tan-pink nipples as big
around as an index finger and at least an inch long.  The cold obviously
wasn't the only thing contributing to their size.  Further down, past a
belly lean enough for the underlying muscles to be visible, Sheila's hips
flared wide, making for fleshy buttocks behind and a large, coal-black
bush in front.  Chris could see that her pussy lips were already swollen,
and pearls of moisture were just visible at their edges.
     Chris realized how helpless she'd allowed herself to become, and felt
panic begin to well up inside.  She had wanted to do something about the
electricity that had built up between her and Sheila, and now she was
getting her wish, but not as she had envisioned.  She began to struggle
against the restraints, but was held fast.
     "Sheila.  You don't need to do this.  Ever since I noticed your
desire for me, I've wanted something to happen.  We can be together.  Just
let me up from here."
     "No, you've teased me for so long I thought I should have a chance to
do some teasing myself."  She bent down and kissed Chris lightly on the
lips.  Her tone became very gentle.  "Don't worry.  I won't hurt you. 
Relax.  I guarantee you'll enjoy this."
     "Won't somebody hear?"
     "Why do you think I had you come down this time of night? 
Everybody's gone, don't worry.  Just give yourself to me this one time. 
Believe me, I only want to give you as much pleasure as you've given me."
     Sheila began lightly caressing Chris's body.  Her touch was so
gentle, her desire to please so genuine that Chris's panic soon began to
drain away.  She had never experimented with being tied up before, but she
had been curious.  Here's your chance to find out what it's like, she
thought.  She relaxed against the straps holding her.  Boy, I guess I
overdid it with her, Chris said to herself.  Pushed a little too hard. 
It's always the quiet ones who surprise you.  Well, I guess you reap what
you sow.  Here we go...
     "Do it, Sheila.  Take me," Chris whispered, with as much lust in her
voice as she could muster being tied down to a medical examining table.
     As she expected, Sheila went straight to her breasts first.  One
could hardly blame her; how could anyone resist their perfect, uplifted
shape and the ruby color and hardness of their crowning glories?  Sheila
used both hands to encircle Chris's right breast.  She bent low, staring
in anticipation at the nipple.  When no milk was immediately forthcoming,
she attached her mouth to the nipple like a barnacle on a ship and began
sucking wildly.
     "Ow, sweetie, gently, gently," Chris said.  Sheila was sucking so
hard that she was causing pain.  The fullness in her breasts began to give
way to that familiar tingling as the stimulus began to work its magic. 
Chris somehow wanted to punish Sheila for the way she was being treated,
so she began thinking of deserts, cracked soil, dust...anything to keep
the milk from flowing.  It was difficult; she had never had to hold back
against this extreme amount of stimulation.  Sheila began squeezing
Chris's breast as if it were the udder of a cow.  Chris gritted her teeth
against the overwhelming urge to drown Sheila, but not a drop emerged from
her nipples.  A few seconds later, Sheila let go and stood up, frowning.
     "You said you were full," she pouted.
     "You of all people should know that I have to be completely relaxed
to have a good letdown," Chris lied.  "I'm not very relaxed right now."
     Sheila smiled.  "I know just the thing," she said huskily.  Sheila
moved down between Chris's legs and firmly pried her knees apart.  The
ankle restraints caused Chris to bow her legs somewhat unnaturally, but
her discomfort dissipated when Sheila's full lips began caressing Chris's
pussy lips.  Her sharp tongue extended further, further...Chris's eyes
went wide.  This girl could push her glasses up her nose with that thing
if she wanted to!  The tip gently parted Chris's labia and hungrily probed
the entrance to Chris's womb.  Slowly it began disappearing inside.  In
spite of herself, Chris began moving under the onslaught of this twisting
serpent.  She felt herself being filled up as if by a cock with the
ability to continually change its shape.  It was a unique sensation, one
fully capable of making Chris forget where she was and how she was
currently configured.  Sheila's tongue was fully extended up inside her
now, and her nose was tickling Chris's clit as she struggled to breathe
through it.  Chris's breathing began to quicken, as did her approach to
orgasm.  She barely had time to cry out a warning before her swollen
G-spot cut loose a downpour of juice, propelled by her spasming vagina. 
The force of the contractions pushed Sheila's tongue out, and the flood
immediately following it struck her full in the throat.  Rather than
gagging, though, Sheila's throat opened and she swallowed the bulk of
Chris's pubic tidal wave like college students chug beer.
     Sheila wasn't about to let Chris come down right away.  Her fingers
went to Chris's clit, where she began expertly massaging it.  Chris's
moans, which were just beginning to diminish, immediately returned to
their previous volume.  Not more than ten seconds later, Chris climaxed a
second time.  The accompanying gush was less voluminous this time, but was
still sufficient to splash across Sheila's chest, flow down her breasts,
and drip from her turgid nipples.