LACTOGENESIS XXX:  THE UPDATE

<<<Some months later...>>>
	Christine pulled her new dark green coupe into the parking lot of
her local video outlet, turned off the engine, set the parking brake, and
climbed out.  She spent a couple of seconds admiring the sheen of the new
car's finish and lightly caressing one fender.  She hadn't figured on
being able to afford a new car for several months more at least -- but
that was before she and Jeremy had started their lactation services
business, The Lactation Station.  Jeremy's business savvy had rapidly
built their client base to the point where Chris was now making far more
money from her breast milk (and activities related thereto) than she was
with her job as a journalist with the local paper.  She was continually
amazed at these people's willingness to spend Jeremy's deliberately
exorbitant prices just to get a taste of mother's milk -- for reasons
ranging from the noble (feeding adopted infants) to the perverse (ah, but
those are the subjects of other stories).  She wasn't about to argue with
him about those prices, however; the law of supply and demand was clearly
in control here, and as long as she was enjoying herself (and boy was she
ever) and her pocketbook was benefitting, why rock the boat?
	She smiled, revelling once again in her new-found prosperity.  The
novelty of her newly improved income had not yet worn off, and she was
delighting in the kind of satisfaction lottery winners must feel.  The
weather was helping her good mood as well.  Winter was on the wane.  This
day's temperatures were well above normal and bright sunshine was in
abundance.  Chris was celebrating by wearing a thin pair of slacks, a
T-shirt cropped just a few inches below her magnificent bustline,
open-toed shoes, the lightest of jackets, and no underwear.  A light,
slightly chill breeze wafted up the large opening at the bottom of her
shirt created by her gravity-defying bosom, caressing her milk-filled
breasts and maintaining her nipples in a state of perpetual erection.  The
nip in the air felt soothing on the skin of her breasts, which as the
result of the extensive lactiferous vascularization within was always
warmer to the touch than the rest of her body.  It also heightened her
awareness of her breasts, which never required much, owing to the rampant
hormone levels in her bloodstream, still elevated although the head injury
responsible for Chris's extraordinary lactation and ejaculatory skills had
occurred almost exactly a year ago now.  The temporary freedom from the
confining, concealing garments of winter was like heaven to the sensual
being which Chris's miraculous biochemical transformation had allowed her
to become, and Chris had every intention of taking full advantage of it.
	Now, however, she had a rather mundane task before her.  She was
visiting the video store to rent a couple of movies to help keep her
occupied while she was hooked up to her breast pump.  Jeremy had presented
her with a TV/VCR combination that went nicely in the spare bedroom of her
apartment that had become essentially the Lactation Station's corporate
headquarters.  She and Jeremy had converted the room into a mini-milk bank
via the addition of a top-of-the-line dual-action pump that replaced the
one Chris had been renting; a small refrigerator set to the optimum
temperature for the storage of breast milk; a second, smaller one stocked
with fortified beverages to keep Chris's fluid and nutrient levels up
(making as much milk as she did had an enormous metabolic cost); a cabinet
containing sterile bottles; a sterilizer; and a sealing apparatus.  In one
corner was a file cabinet and a small desk upon which sat the answering
machine, telephone, and fax machine that had originally resided in Chris's
kitchen, and a powerful PC containing the Lactation Station's records.  A
stereo system sat in another corner.  Classical artwork depicting nursing
mothers (and the occasional nursing adult) adorned the neutrally-colored
walls.  Central to the room was a large, very comfortable recliner with
built-in heat and massage.  A second cabinet nearby contained cleaning
supplies, clean towels, and sheets of a disposable absorbent material
laboratories often use on their benchtops to contain spills.
	Chris used these to keep herself dry during her milking sessions. 
These days such a session was done in the nude, since Chris was always
sure to have at least one and often several orgasms in the course of
emptying her breasts.  The copious ejaculations she always experienced
when she came made the wearing of clothes foolish and the use of the
sheets, which she placed under herself on the chair, a necessity.  Because
her proficient milk glands were quite good at keeping up with the action
of the pump, she could often draw off as much as a quart of milk at a
sitting, which could easily take 40 minutes or more to accomplish.  The
addition of the TV/VCR was a welcome one, and Chris was spending her
"afterglow" time getting caught up on all the movies she had been missing
as the result of her very busy schedule.
	Jeremy had agreed to handle scheduling, and he was a master at it.
 Even though Chris was kept very busy, at no time did she feel rushed or
overwhelmed by the demands of her clients.  She had leisure time whenever
she felt she needed it, and Jeremy's care with screening potential new
clients had been so perfect that she was still having great fun with all
of them.  At no time had she ever felt like she was just a milk machine, a
dairy cow supplying the needs of a select few.  She felt like what she
was, a wonderfully sensual, sexual, beautiful woman whose talents were
rare, special, and in great demand by people willing to change *their*
lives around to accommodate *her*.  She was being treated almost like a
celebrity by these people.  For the first time in her life Chris had an
inkling of what being a star must be like, without all the hassles that
often accompany immense popularity.
	A large portion of The Station's services dealt with providing
breast milk to women who couldn't or wouldn't nurse their infants but
still wanted to provide their children with the best possible nutrition. 
Over Jeremy's protests, Chris insisted on charging a price that undercut
the local milk banks, even though her clients had the value-added
advantage of knowing exactly what the source of their babies' milk was. 
The sense of well-being this aspect of the business gave her lessened the
tedium that sometimes threatened her milking sessions, despite the intense
physical pleasure they always provided.
	The main money-maker for the business was, as one might expect,
the kinkier side, the side to which Chris, to her surprise, found herself
more and more attracted.  These clients were the men and women of the
upper crust who could afford the high price of indulging sexual fetishes
that one generally does not have the opportunity to experience at the
level of casual contact at which those less fortunate live out their
lives.  These were the professional hedonists for whom money was no
object.  Jeremy delighted in milking them financially while they milked
Christine literally.  The client list in this category was longer than
that in the other and actually accounted for most of Chris's milk output.
	The demand had become so great in this regard that Jeremy had had
to recruit other lactating women to join the staff of the Lactation
Station.  Chris's neighbor Sherri was the first to sign up; she rapidly
proceeded to surpass even Chris's amazing output and devoted herself to
the business to such an extent that she quit her day job.
	Another staffer, to Chris's initial astonishment, was Eleanor
Overstreet, The Station's first client.  After Chris's first visit to her
house Eleanor had changed her mind about letting her own milk dry up and
had become such a prolific producer that she rapidly outstripped her
infant son's needs.  She had considered donating the excess supply to the
local milk bank, but joined The Station instead when Jeremy informed her
of their unfair practices (which had convinced Chris to go in with him on
this project in the first place).  Eleanor only supplied their private
milk bank, however, and wasn't involved in the seamier side of the
business.
	Jeremy had only recently added two more women to the staff.  One,
Janine, was a stripper Jeremy had met in a downtown bar some weeks
earlier.  She had been giving him a table dance when Jeremy noticed a drop
of milk clinging to one of her nipples.  He carefully questioned her and
found out that she was a single mother who was still nursing her
three-year-old daughter and who was dancing to supplement her meager
income.  She mentioned that she had tried to wean her little girl a few
times but her breasts never got the hint and refused to dry up, causing
her enormous discomfort if she didn't nurse.  When she heard that her
predicament could make her a lot of money, she jumped at the chance.
	The other woman was someone Chris had not yet met.  Jeremy seemed
very secretive about her, and didn't talk much about her other than to say
she was part of the staff.  He was spending more and more time with her,
which was beginning to annoy Chris, but she was far beyond depending on
only Jeremy for her sexual gratification.  As far as Chris was concerned,
if Jeremy was schtupping this mystery woman, she could care less, as long
as she was disease-free.  She didn't want to let Jeremy know about that,
though, since she enjoyed watching him squirm guiltily when she'd make
pointed inquiries about this woman.  Chris would find out who she was
eventually.  There was no hurry.
	So with a staff of five actively lactating women, The Lactation
Station showed no signs of becoming one of the vast majority of small
businesses which fail within months after establishing themselves.


LACTOGENESIS XXXI:  THE VIDEO STORE

	Christine finished her mental mini-review of the events that had
led up to her being able to purchase the shiny new car beside which she
was standing.  Her mind back on the present, she turned and entered the
video store.  She was immediately aware of the stare the pimply faced teen
behind the counter fixed upon her as soon as she cleared the doorway. 
After all, she was not dressed appropriately for the time of year, and the
material of her cropped T-shirt was revealing as much as it concealed. 
She felt the erection of her nipples intensify, until even the bumps of
the Montgomery's glands that peppered her areolae were visible through the
fabric.
	It must be the warm weather, she thought.  It's giving me a
premature case of spring fever.  I can't remember the last time I got so
horny over a kid half my age staring at me.  Chris felt her breasts
rapidly filling and knew that she would have to make her selection quickly
and rush home, or else she would be forced to use her mental control to
shut down her milk production so as to avoid discomfort, something she
didn't like to do unless absolutely necessary.  She decided to pick out
something particularly steamy to help get her through the upcoming milking
session, so she walked to the appropriate section of the store and began
looking at the selections.  "9-1/2 Weeks"?  Seen it.  "Two Moon Junction"?
 Nope.  "Red Shoe Diaries"?  Been on cable already.  "Like Water for
Chocolate"?  Damn, it's out.  There just doesn't seem to be anything here
that's hot enough for what I want...
	Without really thinking about it, Chris found herself heading
toward the door at the back marked "Must Be 18 to Enter".  Strange, she
thought.  I've never rented -- nor even seen -- an X-rated movie before. 
I must be hornier than I thought.  Even with all of the sexual awakenings
Chris had experienced since The Accident, the world of adult film had not
been one of them.  She had been living the experience without having to
view it on a screen.  Her curiosity at what lay behind the door before her
combined with her horniness to create an unquenchable desire to find the
most explicit video she could and then spend the rest of the evening in
her milking chair, watching it over and over, masturbating furiously and
setting new milk yield records.  Anything to help the orphans, she thought
wryly.
	As she opened the door, she was surprised to find the room to be
larger than she thought it would be.  Row upon row of cassettes with vivid
packaging greeted her.  The room was dimly lit, and contained a faint
smell of old cigarette smoke.  There was only one other person in the
room.  It was a young man, perhaps 22 or 23, in a leather jacket and
jeans, peering intently at the shelves as if searching for a specific
movie.
	How does one possibly choose from all of this? Chris wondered. 
She chose one of the racks at random and began looking at titles.  She
noticed immediately that many were permutations of established movies and
TV shows.  "Sex Trek: The Next Penetration"?  Who thinks up this stuff? 
Chris wondered.  She then read a title that made her giggle out loud.  The
young man jerked his head in her direction.  His face had an embarrassed
look on it.
	Chris felt the need to apologize.  "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at
you.  Some of these titles are just so funny, that's all."  The young man
appeared to accept this; he turned away to resume his search.  Chris
noticed that he already had two cassettes in his possession.  She was
suddenly seized with a strong desire to know what they were.  What kinds
of videos turn guys on, anyway? she wondered.  Maybe if I can see what
he's got, it'll help me pick out something for myself.
	Under the pretense of continuing her own search for a title, Chris
maneuvered herself nearer to the young man.  As she got closer, she
noticed that he was really quite handsome, not the trenchcoat-wearing
stereotype she always had imagined frequenting places like this.  He had
sandy hair, a strong nose and chin, wire-rimmed glasses...What's a guy
like this need with porno movies? Chris asked herself.  He looks like
somebody who could get the real thing anytime he wanted.  He looks like
somebody *I'd* like...
	She was almost standing next to the young man now.  She noticed as
she sidled closer that he was stealing more and more frequent glances at
her, particularly at her chest.  This knowledge caused her nipples to
become so hard they ached, and her breasts to flood with warm milk. 
Finally she was close enough to make out the words on the cassette cases
the young man held in his hand, and what she read nearly made her wet her
panties.  One movie was titled "Milk Mania", and the other "Magnificent
Milky Maidens".  The guy was into lactation!  What were the odds of that? 
In that moment the hormonal onslaught won out; Chris knew she had to have
this man.  A plan formed instantly, unbidden.
	She waited until he began to reach for another cassette (this one
entitled "Squirting Boobies III"), then she started to reach for the one
immediately next to it.  As he once more glanced in her direction, as she
knew he would, Chris willed her breasts to begin leaking milk into her
T-shirt.  Two dark stains immediately appeared over her finger-thick
nipples and began spreading rapidly.  Chris withdrew her arm and pressed
it against her bosom.  She had timed the incident perfectly.  The young
man had seen it and was now opening staring.
	"Oh, dammit," she said, feigning dismay.  "This always happens at
the worst times."  She tentatively dabbed at her chest, deliberating
making her boobs jiggle slightly, then looked up into the young man's
eyes, which were as wide as they could possibly be.  "I'm terribly sorry. 
I hope I'm not grossing you out.  It's just that I have so much milk that
sometimes it just comes out on its own.  Oh, jeez, just look at me."  She
began flapping the front of her shirt in an attempt to "dry" it, allowing
the undersides of her breasts to flash in and out of view.  The two stains
joined into a single large one that spread out to cover most of her front.
 Rivulets of milk began to appear on her exposed stomach.  All the while
Chris apologized profusely, pretending to be upset over her "accident" and
frantic that it wasn't stopping.  The young man stood transfixed, unable
to either move or utter a word.  There was a sizable lump forming in his
jeans.  Finally Chris asked him outright for a handkerchief.  He produced
one from his back pocket and presented it with trembling hand.  Chris
unfolded it and thrust it up inside her shirt, dabbing it across her
oozing nipples, fussing constantly, pretending to be embarrassed.  She had
to be careful here, or she'd have an orgasm on the spot, and that would be
messy indeed.  She decided that her little show had had the desired
effect, and so performed the mental ritual that shut down the flow of
milk.
	She began to hand the hankie back to him, then thought better of
it.  "Oh, my, I've really gotten this wet.  Tell you what, I'll take it
home and wash it, then I'll send it back to you.  What's your name and
address?"
	Finally the young man was able to speak.  "It is all right.  You
keep.  I have others."  His tenor voice was thick with a European accent
Chris didn't quite recognize.  This guy was obviously not from the
neighborhood.
	"Well I don't usually take an article of someone's clothing
without knowing who it came from," Chris said, smiling radiantly.  She
extended a hand.  "My name's Chris."
	"I am Uwe," he said, pronouncing it "oo-vay".  His mouth then
dropped open slightly as he took her hand and realized that it was
slightly damp with milk.  Chris took note of that reaction -- arousal, not
disgust.  Good.
	She zipped up her jacket to cover herself.  "I think it's stopped
now.  I apologize again.  Believe me, I don't often meet men this way,
especially in a place like this!"
	"Please, do not say more.  You do not offend.  It is...natural for
this sometimes to happen, yes?"
	"Well, yes, but I usually have more control over it than this. 
Something must have distracted me," Chris said, letting a gleam come into
her eye.  "I couldn't help noticing your accent.  Have you been in the
States long?"
	"Zwei Monaten.  Two months," Uwe replied.  "I am on holiday from
Austria."
	"Traveling alone?"
	"Ja."
	"Austria, eh?  I've always wanted to visit Europe", Chris said. 
"Forgive me for saying so, Uwe, but this place isn't exactly listed in the
Michelin Guide."
	He must have understood the reference, for he appeared to blush,
although it was difficult to tell from his dark complexion.  "Two months
is long time without..."  He let his voice trail off.
	There are times when poor command of a language is good, Chris
thought.  There's not as much room for subtlety.  She cut through Uwe's
building embarrassment by chuckling.  "No need to explain.  I'm here for
the very same reason," she lied.
	Uwe's eyes widened again.  "Excuse me, but I think that is not to
believe," he said.  "A woman so beautiful as you should not have to..."
Again he did not complete the sentence.
	Chris risked touching Uwe's arm.  He did not flinch.  "That's very
sweet of you.  Are all the men of Austria as gallant as you?"  Uwe did not
answer, but he did smile warmly.  "You know, I've never met an Austrian
before.  If I'm being too forward, tell me, but...if you'd like some
company to watch those movies with, I'd be happy to oblige."
	"I do not know what means 'forward', but I think I would like
that," Uwe said.  She smiled again.  Of course you would, she thought. 
What lactation lover wouldn't jump at the chance to live out his deepest
sexual fantasy?  Uwe wasn't so cautious about meeting strange women in
strange places that he would flatly turn down an opportunity like the one
Chris was offering.
	"Great!  And here I thought I'd be spending the evening alone. 
Tell you what.  Let's pay for these and go over to my place.  I, ah, need
to change my shirt anyway."
	As Uwe followed her toward the front of the store, Chris could not
help thinking of a puppy, nipping and drooling at her heels.  For a moment
she wondered if she wasn't doing something completely crazy, taking
advantage of a young man's fantasies like she was, but her animal side was
in full control now, and her only regret became that this young man would
probably pop his cork way too soon....


LACTOGENESIS XXXII:  THE FOREIGNER

	Christine noticed as she drove home from the video store that
Uwe's rental car rode her back bumper much too closely.  When they arrived
at her building, he was on the step directly behind her all the way up. 
This is one eager beaver, she thought, and was amused instead of annoyed. 
He wants to make sure not to lose me.  Well don't worry, my little
Austrian strudel.  The chain of events has already progressed past the
point of no return.
	Once through the door, Chris indicated the sofa across the living
room from her entertainment center where Uwe was to sit.  She hurried into
her bedroom to change her milk-soaked T-shirt.  She caught a glimpse of
her naked bosom in the mirror and instantly recognized the visual signs of
oncoming engorgement.  Poor Uwe is going to get inundated, she thought.  I
hope he's equal to the challenge...
	She chose a bustier and an unbuttoned, see-through blouse as
replacements for the T-shirt.  Provocative, yet easy to get out of.  Her
splendiferous breasts threatened to spill out of their barely adequate
restraints as she returned to the living room.  She stopped at the linen
closet to remove a small stack of towels, which she placed in an empty
chair.  Uwe had not budged from his spot on the sofa, not even to remove
his jacket.  He inhaled sharply when he saw the stack of towels.  He's
foreign, not stupid, Chris thought.  In Uwe's white-knuckled grip were the
three videocassettes he had picked out at the store.  Chris saw a need to
put the nervous young man at ease.
	"Please, be comfortable," she said soothingly.  "Take off your
coat.  Can I get you something?  A beer, maybe?"
	"Es tut mir...I mean, I am sorry," Uwe said.  "I am having...moths
in the head?"
	Chris laughed.  "If you mean butterflies in your stomach, don't
worry.  I won't bite unless you want me to.  Why don't you start one of
the movies?  That will give us something to talk about."
	When she returned from the kitchen, "Squirting Boobies III" was
just appearing on the TV screen.  Uwe was already riveted to the
introductory scenes, a rapid-fire montage of shots of women squeezing milk
from their breasts.  A tinny electronic soundtrack started as the scene
shifted to a single woman, pretty but still carrying some post-pregnancy
weight, caressing a pendulous pair of stretch mark-covered breasts,
eventually (after what seemed to be an inordinately long time) coaxing a
thin dribble of milk from one of them.  Chris found herself watching with
a sort of detached, clinical interest.  She shouldn't have fed the kid
just before filming, she was thinking.  Uwe, in contrast, was transfixed. 
By the position of the lump in his pants, Chris figured he must be in some
discomfort.  He tried to shift his weight unobtrusively to free his
growing erection.  Chris decided not to try to help him...not yet, anyway.
 If this is getting his rocks off, he must *really* be into lactation, she
thought.
	The scene shifted to another woman, a black woman with the biggest
pair of natural breasts Chris had ever seen.  Their coal-black areolae,
each at least three inches in diameter, rested in her lap when she wasn't
fondling them.  Within seconds after appearing onscreen, this woman was
squirting thick streams of milk into her own mouth while a fully dressed
man stroking an average-sized erection protruding from his fly looked on. 
The scene went on for several minutes, during which time the flow of milk
showed no signs of abating.  This finally produced a response in Chris.  A
memory from the first few days after her milk had first come in
resurfaced.  She remembered the taste of her own milk, how she had
actually been able to fill her stomach from drinking it, how long it had
taken her, and how, as orgasm after orgasm shook her, she had wondered
whether her breasts would ever stop squirting.  She felt her nipples
threatening to burst out of the cups of her bustier, the hot milk building
up behind them, the juices seeping out from between her pussy lips.  She
looked over at Uwe, who was still staring at the TV, now absently rubbing
an impressive swelling through his jeans.
	"It's so sweet and warm," Chris said, breaking a long silence. 
"You haven't lived until you've tasted mother's milk.  I used to wonder
why so many men were turned on by milky tits until I tasted it myself." 
They watched the scene a little longer.  "My, she sure has a lot...almost
as much as me," Chris said.  "In fact, watching this has made me feel full
again."  At those words, Uwe was finally able to tear his gaze away from
the TV and onto Chris's chest.  She responded by brushing back the
material of her blouse and lightly caressing the mounds that welled up
from the cups of the bustier.  "They get so hot when they're producing,"
she said seductively.  Impulsively she reached out and grabbed one of
Uwe's trembling hands.  "Here, feel," she said, firmly planting it across
her chest.
	At first Uwe, too shocked to move, did nothing.  Then he ever so
gently began moving his hand, across, around, feeling the heat that was
the byproduct of the manufacture of milk that was going on just
millimeters beneath.  Chris was immensely turned on by the tentativeness
of his movements.  Jeremy was a veteran at this; his approach was
straightforward, while Uwe was clearly exploring, unsure of his next move.
 Chris found that very titillating.  She moved his hand aside temporarily
and used the flats of her fingers to pull her breasts up and out of the
bustier.  Her nipples popped forth, and a single drop of blue-white fluid
appeared at their tips.
	On the screen, the man had undressed, and the woman was soaking
his erection down with her milk -- from a distance of several feet.  Again
an old memory surfaced in Chris; she remembered spattering her bedroom
window while standing in the doorway to the room, which had to have been
ten feet away.  She suddenly had the urge to do that again.  "I can do
that," she said, referring to the video.  "Watch."  Her fingers and thumb
instinctively knew the correct positions to take around and behind her
areolae, knew the correct amount of inward pressure to exert, to produce a
cluster of fine, sharp, forceful streams from her nipples.  A moan of
surprise and extreme arousal escaped Uwe's lips.  The milk formed a long
parabolic arc, fanning out and striking the full-length mirror on the far
side of the room.  Again and again she sent jets of milk skyward as she
related to Uwe how good it felt to be releasing the pressure, how her
nipples were tingling as the milk shot through them.  Suddenly she stopped
spraying, turned to Uwe, and said, "Would you like to taste?"
	The look on Uwe's face told her she had just granted his fondest
wish.  She repositioned herself so as to aim her blasts into his open
mouth.  The force of the first one took him by surprise; he almost choked
as it struck the back of his throat.  As Chris continued to squirt, Uwe's
mouth came closer and closer until his lips finally locked onto her
breast.  He sucked hard, almost as hard as an infant.  Chris felt her
letdown reflex intensify, and quickly bent her head to catch in her own
mouth the streams that began spontaneously shooting from her free breast. 
The familiar taste immediately triggered an orgasm which came up so
quickly that Chris was completely unprepared for it.  She felt her cunt
juice gush into her slacks and seep up into the crack of her ass.  The
flow from her breasts increased until Uwe no longer needed to suck to have
his mouth filled to overflowing.  The action on the screen continued, but
it soon paled against what was going on in front of it.
	Chris pushed Uwe back onto his back, swinging her shoulders back
and forth so that first one, then the other spewing breast came in contact
with his grasping mouth.  He had her firmly about the waist as she ground
her saturated crotch against the fly of his jeans.  Somehow, a hand
(whose?) unzipped the zipper, liberating an uncircumcised cock that ranked
among the longest Chris had ever felt.  Pausing just long enough to rip
off her wet pants, Chris, quite simply, jumped on top of Uwe.  She
promptly yelped and leaped back off as the impact drove his cock all the
way up inside her and bumped up hard against her cervix.  Not letting
Uwe's mouth wander far from her spurting nipples, Chris tried again, this
time lowering herself slowly, feeling inch after inch after inch after
lovely inch slide up and in, feeling her muscles squeeze and release as
she pushed him further.  She stopped just short of bottoming out, and
realized that at least two inches were still outside of her.  Jeremy was
thicker, but Uwe was longer.  She realized in that moment that Jeremy's
cock was the only one she'd had inside her for a long time, and that she
had forgotten how different one man can feel from another.  As Chris
gyrated upon Uwe, she felt every little difference there was to feel, and
as she did, her orgasms came thick and fast.  She straightened up and
threw her chin toward the ceiling as she came like a Thompson gun.  It
almost felt to Chris as if her uterus was being repositioned -- trying to
get out of the way of Uwe's impressive sword.  Uwe's blue jeans turned a
very dark indigo as her ejaculate cascaded over them.  Her breasts, now
free from Uwe's grip, sent pulses of whiter hind-milk over his head in
rhythm with her vaginal contractions.  Uwe had probably come within
seconds of beginning all of this, but so much fluid was present that it
was hard to tell what was his and what was hers.  All he could do was hang
on, screaming to himself in his native language that this was all there
was in the world now, while Chris released herself upon him.
	As the last orgasm (sixth?  eighth?  who counts any more?) drained
from Chris like a locomotive speeding away into a foggy night, she looked
down on her victim.  He lay motionless, his eyes tightly shut, his mouth
gaping.  He could have been mistaken for dead except for his gasping
breath.  He babbled something in German, then opened his eyes to meet
Chris's.  It was clear from the look on his face that he could die then
and have no regrets.
	She hadn't seen a look like that on Jeremy's face since they'd
first started making love.  It warmed her at first, then saddened her, for
it made her think that perhaps she and Jeremy were reaching the beginning
of the end.  She tried not to think about it.  Instead she said, "What was
that you said, love?"
	He smiled weakly.  "Wenn der Putz steht, liegt der Sechsel in
d'Erde."
	"Meaning?"
	Uwe paused, struggling with the translation as he sat up and tried
in vain to wipe all of the bodily fluids from his face and what was left
of his clothes.  Finally he said, in very clear English, "When the prick
stands up, the brains go in the ground."
	Chris's melancholy lifted immediately, and she began laughing
heartily, the action serving to shake the last few drops of milk from her
bobbing boobs.  That phrase must be her mantra.  Wasn't that very thing
(the female equivalent, anyway) that had caused her to just have sex with
a total stranger, now as those many months ago at the Halloween party? 
Was Chris really a slave to her glands?  Did she care?
	She regarded the mess they'd made of the room around them and
suddenly realized that the towels still sat neatly folded on the chair. 
Yep, the brains definitely had gone into the ground.
	"Oh, God, ain't that the truth!" she laughed, falling onto Uwe's
heaving chest and temporarily knocking the wind out of him.
	He recovered quickly.
	The other two movies went unviewed that evening.

LACTOGENESIS XXXIII:  THE STAFF MEETING, PART ONE

	Chris pulled up in front of Jeremy's home (she still called it an
"estate" in her mind -- she'd never gotten used to its size) ten minutes
late.  Jeremy had called a staff meeting of The Lac-Station for that
evening, on fairly short notice, which was not like him.  It was also not
like him to have it at his own house.  A meeting of all six employees of
the company was quite rare, but when it did happen, Chris usually hosted
it since her converted spare bedroom had come to be regarded as the
company's headquarters.  Chris had never been quite able to figure out why
that was, when Jeremy had so much spare room at his place compared to
Chris's apartment, which was tiny by comparison.
	Chris was late because she had just finished a milking session
which took longer than she thought it would.  The movie she had been
watching during it had been a rather violent thriller, which might have
caused some emotional reactions that were counterproductive to good milk
flow.  She would remember in future to listen to soothing music or watch a
good mellow romance or steamy X-rated film if she was in a hurry and had
to drain her breasts quickly.
	She trotted up the stairs (too quickly -- her expansive,
unsupported bosom bounced almost painfully) and rang the doorbell, which
sounded a series of deep brassy tones.  She smiled; it didn't seem all
that long ago when pressing that button had produced a recording of a
woman screaming.  How many times have I been here since the Halloween
party?  she wondered.  Not very many.  Jeremy usually likes to come to my
place.  Probably because I'm better equipped to handle the mess we usually
make...
	Chris was expecting to see Jeremy's welcome smile behind the door
and so was startled when a woman she'd never seen before opened it.  From
the look on the woman's face, it was clear that she recognized Chris but
didn't seem to be too pleased about it.  Chris knew immediately that she
was at a disadvantage, but she rallied quickly.  She realized that this
woman must be the mysterious fifth lady whom Jeremy had hired without
consulting the others, the one none of them had met in the several weeks
that had elapsed since, the one Jeremy declined to discuss even when
pressed on the subject. 
	Only a few seconds of silence went by as the two women scanned
each other, but in that short time Chris learned a lot.  The mystery lady
was quite small, maybe five feet even, maybe even an inch or two shorter. 
Chris towered over her.  She looked to be in her mid thirties.  She had
short-cropped blonde hair that clung tightly to her head, almost like a
swim cap.  Her eyes were huge and almost turquoise blue, with just the
slightest hint of an almond shape; her cheekbones were high and wide; her
mouth small and thin-lipped.  Her tiny ears also lay tight against her
head.  She was beautiful in an elfin sort of way.  Her frame matched her
height -- she might weigh eighty or ninety pounds.  Her hips were so
narrow as to be almost boyish; her breasts were barely there, looking like
little more than exaggerated pectoral muscles.  Fairly prominent nipples
showed through the fabric of her white dress.  Jeez, attach wings to this
girl and she could be Tinkerbell, Chris thought.  That's what I think I'll
call her.
	"Come in, Chris," Tinkerbell said in the kind of voice Chris
expected: a thin, high soprano.  "The rest of us are in the salon."  The
way she said that last word -- just a hint of a French accent.  Hmm. 
What's this girl's story? Chris thought.  Where'd Jeremy find her?
	Tinkerbell led Chris through the house to the spacious enclosed
back porch that she had called the "salon".  Sherri, Eleanor, and Janine
were sitting together on a huge overstuffed sofa, chatting amiably back
and forth.  Jeremy sat in a large leather-covered lounger that looked
almost like a throne.  A large plate of canapes sat on the glass-and-brass
coffee table.  Sherri and Janine were drinking glasses of beer; Eleanor,
white wine; and Jeremy, what looked to be champagne.  A second glass of
champagne sat on a small table next to his chair.  It had lipstick on it. 
Tinkerbell's.
	Upon Chris's entrance, Eleanor smiled and nodded.  Janine waved
childishly, a huge grin on her face.  Sherri put down her beer, strode
over and gave Chris a big hug, or at least, as big a hug as their two
outstanding bustlines would allow.  "There she is!  How are you, hon?  You
know, the only thing I don't like about this job is being too busy to see
you.  This guy really keeps me hoppin'...or should I say, humpin'!"  She
laughed heartily.  No one else did.
	"Let's get started, shall we?" Jeremy said in an all-business
tone.  "We've got a lot to cover tonight.  So much, in fact, that if
you've made plans for later, you should cancel them now."  He indicated a
nearby telephone.
	"But Jer, what about my appointment tonight?" Janine asked.
	"Don't worry about it.  Already taken care of," he said curtly.
	"But if I don't...you know...I'll get all..."
	"I said don't worry about it.  I've got it covered," Jeremy
replied, cutting her off.
	What bug crawled up his ass? Chris wondered.
	"Shit, Jeremy, you know tonight's my night off," Sherri said
indignantly.
	"I know, and I'll make it up to you.  This is too important."
	Eleanor moved to the phone, talking more to herself than to the
others.  "I should call our au pair and tell her I'll be home late, tell
her to feed the baby...  How late, Jeremy?"
	"Don't know yet."
	"Wonderful."  Eleanor scowled and began punching numbers.
	"We have four things on the agenda this evening," Jeremy said. 
"The first one is fairly trivial, so I'll get it out of the way now.  I
wanted to show you all our new corporate logo."  He got up and walked
behind the sofa, where an easel was set up.  He picked up a large
cloth-covered placard that was resting there and placed it on the easel. 
"A friend of mine at Graphic Descriptions designed it."  Out of the corner
of her eye Chris saw Tinkerbell smile and nod slightly.  She had curled
herself up on the floor, at the foot of Jeremy's chair, and was sipping
her champagne.  The artist is probably one of her regulars returning a
favor, Chris thought.  Who the hell IS she??
	With a flourish, Jeremy flung away the cloth covering.  The
revealed logo was in large white lettering on a blue background.  "The
LAC-STATION Ltd.", it trumpeted in large rounded-block lettering.  Below,
in smaller italics, "When Nothing But Nature Will Do".  Chris stared, then
tried to keep from laughing as she realized that the A's in "Lac-Station"
had been replaced by milk bottles (that actually said "MILK" on them), and
that little cartoon droplets of milk were coming out of the tops of the
stems of the "L" and "N".
	Sherri, as expected, was first to comment.  "Christ, Jeremy," she
said derisively.  "You've got to be kidding."
	Eleanor was next.  "I'm not carrying business cards with that
printed on them.  No way."
	Janine piped up.  "I think it's kinda cute."
	Jeremy looked at Chris, clearly waiting for her opinion.  I can't
tell him how ridiculous it looks, she thought.  I don't want to hurt his
feelings.  "I don't know," she said tentatively.  "This doesn't look like
the logo of an organization that wants to be taken seriously."
	Jeremy and Tinkerbell exchanged a long look.  Chris took this to
mean that these two had already decided for the rest of them that this
logo would be the one; they clearly hadn't expected any resistance. 
Jeremy finally spoke slowly, saying, "Maybe I should have him keep working
on it."
	Tinkerbell glared at him.  Wrong answer, Chris thought.  Where
does this chick get off trying to get her way here?  Wait a minute, wait a
damned minute.  She studied Jeremy's face, gauging his discomfort, and a
sudden realization hit her like a lightning bolt.  He's pussy-whipped!
Chris shouted to herself.  This bitch has him completely under her
control!  What the fuck is going on here?  Anger, disappointment, sadness
all swept over Chris at once.  No wonder she hadn't seen much of Jeremy
lately.  She'd thought his two businesses, real estate and the Station,
had been keeping him away.  She suddenly knew the real reason -- that her
main man was in the thrall of a pint-sized prick-teaser with a body like a
boy and hair like a helmet.  She suddenly hurt all over.
	"It looks like something a fucking novelty shop would use," Sherri
said, heedless of the silent drama before her.  "I vote no."
	"I'll remember that when this becomes a democracy," Jeremy shot
back.  Sherri's eyes widened; she hadn't expected that.  "Okay, let's
table this for now.  We can't take any more time with this."  He took the
placard back down, deliberately avoiding Tinkerbell's withering stare as
she tried to freeze the very air around him with her disturbingly
beautiful eyes.
	Jeremy reseated himself in his chair.  As he did so, Tinkerbell
stood up and moved to an empty chair at the other end of the room, but not
before refilling her glass.  He tried to ignored her, but wasn't doing a
good job of it.  Chris could see his body language telegraphing "I'm
sorry".  Looking at no one in particular, he said, "For the second item on
the agenda, I'd like to get your updates on how your various appointments
have gone over the last few weeks.  You know, find out who the weirdos
are, whether or not we need to do some weeding out, whether you're still
enjoying yourselves, whether there's too much or not enough going on,
etc., etc.  Storytelling time, ladies!"
	Chris opened her mouth to speak, but Sherri beat her to it.  She
set her beer down on the table with a loud noise and said, "Oh, no you
don't.  Not so fast, my friend.  I'm not staying another second until I
get something straight."  She swiveled in her seat to face Tinkerbell and
addressed her directly.  "Just who in the hell are you?  What are you
doing here, and how is it that without saying three words you seem to have
taken over here?"
	Bless you, my dear friend, Chris thought.
	Tinkerbell didn't respond other than to once again fix Jeremy with
an angry look.  Jeremy rose from his chair and walked over to stand behind
Tinkerbell's chair.  "Of course, how silly of me not to have made
introductions right away."  He rested his hands on both of her shoulders;
she stiffened as he did so.  "Ladies of the Lac-Station, allow me to
introduce Monique Marcoux.  Your new executive vice president."


LACTOGENESIS XXXIV:  THE STAFF MEETING, PART TWO

	Despite her irritation at Jeremy, Monique managed a thin smile
upon her introduction to the rest of the staff of the Lac-Station.  It was
not returned by any of them.  The predominant emotion evident on most of
the faces was confusion; on Chris's it was open hostility.
	"'Executive vice president'?  What do we need one of those for? 
We aren't IBM, for Chrissake," Sherri said.
	Eleanor joined in.  "To bring in a total stranger without
consulting any of us and elevate her to a position of such authority was
rather presumptuous of you, Jeremy.  If there is indeed a need for such a
position to be created, then the post should clearly go to our co-founder,
Christine."  Chris, even through her anger, was surprised.  Eleanor was
the last person she expected to come to her defense.
	"Yeah, what makes this Ms. Marcoux so qualified, besides the fact
that you're fucking her?" Sherri said venomously.  Again Chris was
surprised; she thought she had been the only one to notice that aspect of
the situation.
	"I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about me like I wasn't even
in the room," Monique said.  Chris immediately took note of the fact that
she made no move to deny the accusation.
	"All right, calm down, everybody," Jeremy said sternly.  "One of
the major reasons I called you all here tonight was to make formal
introductions.  I didn't want to make a big deal out of appointing Monique
until we were sure it was going to work out for her.  The truth is, the
Lac-Station has succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.  Even I had no
idea how many people have a thing for mother's milk.  The demand for our
services is beginning to outstrip my ability to handle it.  I'm sure
you've certainly noticed the steady rise in business."  The women slowly
nodded.  Come to think of it, it *has* been a while since I've had two
nights in a row to myself, Chris noted.  I guess I've been having too much
fun to notice how hard I've been working on this.  Her breasts actually
tingled at the thought.
	Jeremy continued.  "A couple of weeks ago I realized that I needed
somebody to take over for me.  Now Chris, I want you to know that you were
the first person I considered for the job.  But think about it for a
minute.  First, it would require you to quit your job at the paper.  Would
you want to do that?"  Chris shook her head no.  "I didn't think so. 
Second -- and don't get pissed off -- you don't have the necessary
connections to make this work.  I'm sorry, but you don't.  You have to
have a kind of a dark side to make a business like ours run profitably,
and sweetheart, you have a naughty side, not a dark one.  That's to your
credit."
	Janine raised her hand.  "Can I ask, then, what Monique's
qualifications are?"
	"You may indeed," Monique said, rising from her chair.  "First of
all, I've been a group leader with the cross-town chapter of La Leche
League for five years.  I've also worked as a lactation consultant at two
hospitals and a free clinic during that time.  Up until about a year ago I
also worked part-time in the very milk bank that precipitated the
formation of this company in the first place.  I think that qualifies me
as an expert on the subject.  Also, I have been lactating for the past six
years, even though my daughter was weaned over three years ago.  The
simple fact is, I love the feeling of having milk in my breasts; it makes
me feel special, more... complete, perhaps you'd say.  In fact, I was
getting worried that perhaps I was allowing that aspect of my life to
control my life to too great an extent.  I was finding myself excusing
myself from my desk eight, ten, twelve times a day to go express more
milk, just for the rush I used to get from it.  I was concerned that I'd
have to finally give it up, until I met Jeremy."
	What has this turned into, a meeting of "Lactators Anonymous"?
Chris wondered scornfully.
	"How exactly *did* you meet?" Sherri asked.
	"Jeremy, resourceful fellow that he is, found out where several of
us meet for coffee after our LLL meetings," Monique explained.  "He
approached our table, introduced himself, and began talking about the
Lac-Station.  As he talked, I realized that it was exactly what I needed. 
We talked about it over the course of several meetings, and about two
weeks ago he asked me to work for him."
	"But why as executive VP?" Eleanor asked	
"Jeremy thought it would be a good idea if you had someone you
didn't know well take on the supervisory chores.  Don't you agree that
it's usually more difficult to suddenly start taking orders from a friend
who's been promoted over you than it is to do so from a stranger who comes
in out of nowhere?"  Chris had to admit she had a point.  One avoids a lot
of resentment and loss of friendship that way.
	"More important than that, however," Jeremy added, "is that
Monique has that dark side that I mentioned earlier."
	"That's right," Monique said, now avoiding eye contact with the
others.  "It's not something I'm proud of, but I think it'll help me help
Jeremy run the company.  I was -- and am -- actually addicted to
lactation, much as some people are addicted to sex.  At one point I was...
excuse me, I didn't realize how difficult this would be to say out loud...
I was actually prostituting myself just so that I could never lack for
eager men to suck the milk out of my breasts.  It got to where I would do
almost anything to feel that rush, the tingle of the letdown, the release
of the milk squirting out.  I began to develop some rather unsavory
connections in what I now call my 'shadow world' to keep this going.  As a
result, I've learned a lot about the secret desires -- yes, and
perversions -- of the 'normal', everyday person on the street.  Jeremy
seems to think this aspect of my personality will help maintain a high
level of activity for the company."
	"And my job will then be to act as a filter for the people Monique
brings to us," Jeremy quickly assured his staff.  "I'll make sure the true
perverts, the criminal element, etc. never get through.  I still want the
Lac-Station to be a high-class operation."
	"Dammit, Jeremy, you never let us have any fun," Sherri said
sarcastically.  She seemed to be warming up to the situation.
	"I'm not trying to take over, or bust up what you have going
here," Monique continued.  "I'm hoping to be able to help take us to the
next level, that's all.  I also hope to get to know all of you better in
the process.  I really need this.  All I'm asking for is a chance and your
cooperation."  She sat down again, speech apparently over.
	"You *are* fucking him, aren't you?" Sherri asked point-blank.
	Before Monique could answer, Jeremy interjected, "That's none of
your goddamned business, Sherri."
	"Okay, okay.  Just curious.  Easy there, tiger," Sherri said
soothingly.  She aimed a wicked grin in Chris's direction.
	It's my business, though, Jeremy, Chris thought.  She had to
restrain herself from saying that out loud.  She didn't want to open that
particular can of worms at this time and place.  This was something she
and Jeremy would have out privately later.
	Janine, ever the camp counselor, was determined to lighten the
mood.  "Well I for one am glad to have another person on board.  I was
starting to spend too much time away from my kid!  Welcome, Monique."  Her
infectious good humor began to spread among the others.  Smiles began to
appear.  Monique relaxed visibly.
	"If you don't mind me saying, though," Janine went on, "you don't
really look like you could be making very much."  She was referring to
Monique's figure, which more strongly resembled a barely pubescent
12-year-old than that of an actively lactating woman who had borne a
child.  A quick review of the others showed them all to be fairly well
endowed.  Sherri led the pack with her F-cup chest, followed closely by
Chris, who only looked as large because her breasts were extraordinarily
firm.  Janine's rack was a solid 36D, while Eleanor's, although somewhat
smaller, was still fairly impressive.  Monique sported mosquito bites by
comparison.
	She only smiled.  "That's a common misconception, Janine," she
stated authoritatively.  "People think that large-breasted women must
automatically make more milk.  In reality, larger breasts usually contain
more fatty tissue, not necessarily any more glandular structure...although
from what Jeremy's told me, our own Christine is probably a rare exception
to that rule.  Small breasts can make just as much milk as large ones. 
They all respond to the law of supply and demand.  Since my personal
demand is quite high, so has my output been.  You might be surprised to
know that these can easily produce over 1500 cc per day."
	Sherri snorted.  "Bullshit," she said.  "Those aren't big enough
to hold anything!"
	Monique replied, "I probably empty my breasts far more often than
any of you.  That's how I'm able to make as much as I do.  But you're
right, Sherri, it doesn't take much for me to become engorged.  In fact,"
she said, looking down at herself, "all this talk has got me going pretty
well."  Sure enough, the small swells under her tight-fitting dress did
look larger than they had when Chris had first seen her.  There might even
be some dampness there, but it was difficult to tell with the white
material.  She rose.  "Will you excuse me for a minute?"
	Jeremy frowned.  "You haven't forgotten the rest of the agenda,
have you?"
	"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't worry, Jeremy," she said.  "I'll be
full again in fifteen or twenty minutes."
	"Hang on there a sec," Sherri said to Monique as she prepared to
leave the room.  "I don't know about the rest of you, but I think we're
being handed a tall tale here.  I just can't believe those itty bitty
titties can make a drop, let alone a quart.  I'd like to see you express
right here, in front of all of us."
	"Well, I don't know..."
	"C'mon, La Leche leader.  Don't you people do this sort of thing
all the time?"
	Monique considered for a few seconds, then sat down.  She drained
her champagne glass in one gulp, then said with a smile, "All right.  In
the interest of better employee relations, I'll do as you ask.  Then will
you get off my case, Sherri?"
	"Deal."
	"And the rest of you.  Would such a demonstration be sufficient to
prove to you that I am 'worthy'"?  She said the last word while crooking
her fingers as if to simulate quotation marks.
	All eyes in the room swung to Chris.  So it's up to me, huh?  she
thought.  I could tell this girl to screw off, but I can tell she's gotten
under everybody else's skin.  It almost seemed to Chris as if their common
bond of having milk-filled tits had created a kind of sisterhood among the
women in the room.  This must be why LLL is such a strong organization,
she said to herself.  I wonder why I don't feel that connection to the
others.  She scanned the others' faces.  Jeremy's was practically
pleading; Janine's and Eleanor's were silently saying "We could use the
help"; and Sherri's wore an expression of "Oh, what the hell, why not". 
Monique's face held a look of earnestness, of genuinely wanting to be a
part of this group.  Suddenly Chris knew that she couldn't deny Monique
that, even if she were the person directly responsible for the growing
chasm Chris knew had formed between herself and Jeremy.  She slowly nodded
her assent.
	Monique smiled widely, showing her perfect teeth.  Without another
word, she started wriggling out of the top of her dress.

LACTOGENESIS XXXV:  THE STAFF MEETING, PART THREE

	Monique's dress was soon bunched about her waist.  In sharp
contrast to the women sitting around her, her breasts could barely fill an
A cup.  It was doubtful she had ever worn a bra in her life.  Yet they
seemed to fit her diminutive frame perfectly; if she had been more heavily
endowed, it would've ruined the pixyish line of her figure.  Her areolae
were barely darker than the surrounding skin which looked as if it had
never seen the sun.  They were large for such small breasts, about three
centimeters in diameter.  The most striking feature were the nipples,
which were not particularly long, even when erect as they were now, but
which were quite fat, almost as thick as a man's thumb.  They were
crisscrossed with tiny fissures that were brimming with a liquid that was
quite undeniably mother's milk.
	Monique showed no hesitation in baring her breasts before a group
of strangers.  Chris suspected that such activity occupied a substantial
part of Monique's waking hours.  I must try to sneak into a La Leche
League meeting sometime, she thought.  I wonder if this kind of thing goes
on during them as well.
	Monique held her empty champagne glass under one breast.  With the
other hand, she stretched the skin on either side of one areola, then
pressed inward toward her chest wall while squeezing and rolling her
fingers and thumb forward.  What little breast was there was so incredibly
firm that her fingers hardly dented the tissue.  The other women gasped as
an amazingly thick stream (actually the consolidation of at least a dozen
tinier streams) of milk gushed into the glass, filling it almost an eighth
of the way just from that one squeeze.  She had to repeat the motion only
a few more times from each breast before the glass was completely full,
and even then it was clear from the rate at which her nipples continued to
drip that Monique herself was nowhere near empty.
	When Chris could tear her eyes away from Monique's display, she
noted with some amusement that every other woman in the room except
herself had their forearms pressed tightly against their bosoms in a
classic move designed to stave off an uncontrolled letdown reflex. 
Monique's squirting had undoubtedly triggered a similar response in each
of them.  Chris, of course, had the advantage of superior subconscious
control of her reflex.  She did notice a little more fullness in her own
tits, however.
	When the other women finally noticed their collective reaction,
they all began laughing.  It was as if all the girls sharing an apartment
suddenly realized that their periods were synchronized.  In that moment
the bond among them strengthened.  Monique instantly ceased to be an
outsider as she laughed with them.  Even Chris was not fully immune to the
effect she was having on the group.
	Sherri, who was clearly aroused from this (Chris remembered that
hers had been the only other set of lactating breasts Sherri had ever seen
besides her own), whistled and slowly shook her head.  "I'm ready for a
piece of humble pie, girl.  I would never have thought in a million years
that those little things could make so much.  How is it possible?"
	"My doctor tells me that I have an unusually dense concentration
of glandular tissue in my breasts," Monique replied as she casually dabbed
her nipples dry with a napkin and began pulling up her dress.  "In fact,
my breasts are almost all gland.  Very little fatty tissue.  That's why my
nips are so big -- there are a lot of ducts that connect to them."  She
offered the glass.  "Anyone care to taste?"  There were no takers, so
Monique promptly drank her milk herself.  Eleanor's lip curled slightly in
disgust.  "That's why I've never considered implants.  There's so much
intricate plumbing and innervation in there that any attempt at surgery
would probably sever the necessary connections and dry me up for good, and
I wouldn't like that."  She stole a quick wink at Jeremy, who smiled back.
	Chris suddenly understood how Jeremy could prefer Monique to
herself.  Her tiny stature made Jeremy, who was small himself, feel
taller.  Jeremy was also absolutely obsessed with lactating women -- he
wouldn't have started the Lac-Station otherwise.  While Chris enjoyed her
special talent very much, it was not something that controlled her life. 
Although it had enriched her sex life immensely, she knew she could live
without it.  One of the side effects of The Accident had been her ability
to completely control her ability to lactate, down to shutting it down
completely if she wanted to (although she hadn't tried to do that for
quite some time).  As a result, Chris never felt as if her breasts ran her
life.  Monique's very existence, on the other hand, appeared to rotate
about her milky boobs.  No wonder Jeremy was so enamored of her.  Chris's
anger toward Jeremy gradually melted into indifference, perhaps tinged
with a little pity.  There is more to life than milk, she thought.  These
poor people don't seem to know that.  I wonder if Jeremy could ever get
off with a woman who wasn't lactating.  Probably not.  For Monique's part,
I'd be willing to bet that she's one of those women that, if she were ever
diagnosed with breast cancer, would rather die than have a mastectomy. 
They're made for each other.  In that moment, Chris realized that her
affair with Jeremy was over.  She was mildly surprised to be feeling
relief rather than sadness.  It had been that way with Carl, too.
	When she snapped out of her reverie, Chris realized that the
meeting had gone on without her.  The others were regaling the group with
reports of recent encounters with their various clients.  Eleanor started
off, speaking with pride about her experience wet-nursing an infant who
had recently had surgery to correct a cleft palate.  Its mother had been
unable to keep her own milk going while the baby recovered.  Despite its
disadvantage, the little boy had thrived from Eleanor's rich milk.  Chris
smiled when she spotted Sherri fidgeting.  Her body language was clearly
saying "Fine, fine.  Now let's get on to the juicy parts."
	Sherri didn't have to wait long.  Janine was next.  Her most
recent assignment had been as a private dancer for a bachelor party.  The
young men in question were the spoiled progeny of very well-to-do parents.
 They lived in a very exclusive fraternity house of a private university
outside of town.

I'm back from self-emposed exile, with several new episodes of the series.
 It feels good to have returned.  Hope I haven't gotten stale after six
weeks...

TrekFiend

**************************************************************************
*******************


LACTOGENESIS XXXVII:  THE PREPARATION

        The five women of The Lac-Station walked down a long hallway
toward the back of Jeremy's huge home, with Jeremy himself leading the
pack.  As they walked they exchanged excited speculations about who their
mystery client might be and what exactly they would be asked to do to earn
the five-digit sum Jeremy had mentioned they would be paid this night.  
Eleanor remained mute, her grip still tight on Chris's hand.  This small
crowd exuded excitement; one could almost smell the pheromones in the air
or the sweet warm smell of the milk that had already begun leaking from
several of their breasts in response to the mutually elevated hormone
levels they were all experiencing.  It was as if their separate endocrine
systems were galvanizing into a single entity that would synchronize their
upcoming actions and transform them into a unified, purely sexual being.  
Even Jeremy was not immune to this; he was as aroused as he could ever
remember being, and was having trouble walking because of the tumescence
in his crotch that was so intense that it had actually become painful.  He
was the victim of a chemical siren song that his body was finding
impossible to resist.
        They reached a part of the house that was all tile and light
colors.  Jeremy indicated a door.  "Through there is the locker room and
showers.  Our client has requested that you all disrobe and shower there,
then put on the robes she's left for you and go through the door at the
far end.  I'll join you in the room beyond.  Don't take too long!"  He
winked, turned on his heel and continued off down the hallway.
        Sherri pushed open the door and the rest followed her in.  They
entered a miniature version of a well-appointed shower/locker room like
one might find in an upscale health club.  At the front was a changing
area with roughly a dozen lockers, padded benches, and an area with two
sinks and a large mirror (fogged over at the moment).  At the rear was a
large open shower area with four gold-plated shower heads, two on each
facing wall.  The walls glittered with a mosaic of tiny turquoise and
white tiles flecked with gold leaf.  The air was warm and thick with
humidity; it smelled lightly of disinfectant.  The lockers were assigned,
so each went to her own and opened it.  Inside each found a thick white
towel, a fluffy floor-length white terrycloth robe, a pair of sandals,
hangers for their clothing, and a small case containing various
toiletries, each tailored to the individual taste of their owner.
        Sherri whistled.  "Man, whoever this is sure did her homework."
She held up two small bottles from her toiletry case.  "These are my
favorites!"
        "Feel these robes!" Janine marveled.  "I'd love to cuddle up next
to a fire dressed in nothing but this."
        "I'm sure you'll have that chance," Chris said.  "Let's not keep
our benefactor waiting, shall we?"  The high humidity caused Chris to want
to get out of her restricting garments, so she began disrobing.  The
others followed suit.  As they finished removing their last vestiges of
undergarments, something made them all stop cold.  They realized that this
was the first time they had all seen each other in a state of total
undress. They gazed in mutual admiration at each other.  To a woman their
skins were flushed with their arousal; their pussies glistened with
moisture; and nipples were erect and in most cases tipped with a droplet
of milk.
        "My goodness, will you look at us!" Janine said.
        "Indeed, I am impressed," Monique added.
        This gathering was indeed one of superlative feminine
architecture. The added bonus of their all becoming engorged only added to
the splendid combination of curves and hollows.  Breasts thrust out
proudly, stretched tight with the liquid within; shapely buttocks tensed
with excitement.  Seeing themselves naked had only served to kick the
level of arousal in the room up a notch.
        Chris walked into the shower, her own fantastic breasts so full
and hard that they didn't jiggle one iota with the slapping of her bare
feet on the tiled floor.  She went from one shower head to the next,
turning them all on and directing the sprays toward the center of the
room.  Soon steam filled the area.  The women ran headlong into the
downpour, giggling as the needle-hard streams struck their bodies, which
had been made sensitive by their arousal.
        Instead of soap, small crystal bottles filled with a golden liquid
sat in the soap trays.  Chris poured the contents of one into her hand,
and instantly a warm, earthy, wonderful smell greeted her.  The lotion's
odor was like that of wildflowers crushed beneath and mixed with the
juices of a couple wildly fucking in a green secluded meadow in early
summer.  As she rubbed it into her skin, the fluid erupted into clouds of
thick lather that felt like liquid silk.  The feel and smell of it had a
strong aphrodisiac effect; Chris felt her skin grow more sensitive to her
touch as she lathered herself up.  She felt herself begin stroking her
breasts and pussy, but she also felt oddly detached, as if someone else
were controlling her hands.  The effect was scary and incredibly erotic at
the same time.  She couldn't help but go with it.
        The mysterious potion was having the same effect on the others.  
They had their heads thrown back and eyes closed as their hands roamed
over their bodies, turning the lotion into foam.  Soon hands began moving
from their own bodies to others, and within moments all five women were
exploring each other with their fingers.  As the rushing water rinsed away
the lather, mouths fell upon the newly exposed skin, licking and kissing,
occasionally playfully nipping.  Hands caressed breasts, teasing nipples
and coaxing the occasional spurt of milk from them.  Fingers separated
labia, briefly sliding across erect clits and causing their owners' thighs
to quiver and jerk involuntarily.  A chorus of moans formed a rich
polyphony that reverberated from the hard walls of the room.  The warm
water was causing many of the women to let down their milk; it flowed and
even sometimes spurted from their hard nipples, mixing with the water and
often disappearing onto an outstretched tongue.
        Soon Janine had Chris in a tight embrace, her hands each firmly
gripping a buttock, her face lost in the expanse between Chris's breasts.  
Her muffled cries of disbelief at her own horniness were lost in the sound
of the rushing water and the moans of her colleagues.  One of Chris's
hands was firmly ensconced in Sherri's pussy, capturing her clit between
her fingers; the other was doing the same to Monique.  Sherri and Monique
were leaning across Janine's back, wildly French-kissing while their
trembling hands tugged and twisted each other's nipples, sending jets of
milk across Janine's body that were quickly washed away.  Eleanor flitted
around the outside of this tight knot of squirming pulchritude, stealing
kisses and caresses, licking or stroking any projection or orifice that
would come into view, all the while masturbating with abandon.
        The groans, laughs, and shrieks of their mutual passion rose to a
crescendo that drowned out even four shower heads at full blast.  Five
women came, amazingly, at exactly the same moment, for a few seconds
almost mimicking the Buckingham Fountain as milk shot from their nipples
and juice flowed down their legs.  In Chris's case, the water on the floor
beneath her was completely displaced by her ejaculate, which must have
been a record for sheer volume.  Their orgasms (or was it a single,
achingly drawn-out one shared by them all?) fed off of each other -- each
woman was even more turned on by the sights and sounds of passion
emanating from the others, and so their cumming continued far beyond their
normal experience, until they collapsed in a heap on the shower floor,
gasping for air and coughing as water found its way into their open
mouths.
        Chris was first to recover.  "I knew we were horny, but this was
beyond horny," she panted.  "I never believed in aphrodisiacs before, but
I'm willing to bet that whatever is in those bottles is the real thing.  I
felt completely out of control of myself as soon as that stuff touched my
skin."
        Eleanor nodded her agreement.  "I never act that way.  I felt like
something had taken over my body.  Something wonderful, I might add."
        "I hope our client will let us take some of this stuff home,"
Janine said, as she fingered one of the exquisitely carved bottles.
        "I would use it very sparingly, if I were you," Monique said.  "We
emptied all the bottles, and look what it did to us."
        "I think we've kept the lady waiting more than long enough," said
Sherri, pulling her wet hair back out of her face.  "Even with what we
just did, I can't wait to get in there."  She pointed to a door at the far
end of the shower room whose outline was just barely visible in the
pattern of the tiled wall.
        They turned off the showers and padded back to the locker area,
their bodies dripping with water and a little milk, their skins reddened
by the heat of the shower and the aftereffects of the aphrodisiac lotion.  
As they toweled themselves off, they continued giving each other looks of
affection and admiration of each others' assets -- no doubt a lingering
effect of the lotion as well.  On impulse Janine stretched her hand into
the center of the room in the gesture sports teams use before going out
onto the field.  One by one the women put their hands one atop the other
into the center of the circle, which they then broke with an enthusiastic
yell.
        They hurriedly donned their robes and sandals, dabbed their pulse
points and cleavage with their individual perfumes and, with Sherri in the
lead, tentatively and with almost palpable excitement walked through the
shower area and opened the tiled door to the room beyond.

LACTOGENESIS XXXVIII:  THE MYSTERY CLIENT, PART ONE

        The room into which they walked was small and cubical.  Every
surface was covered with the same turquoise, white, and gold tiling as was
in the shower room.  The main feature here was the jacuzzi, which was
large, round, deep, and recessed into the floor.  Several levels of
concentric steps, wide enough to sit on, ringed the tub, which was only
partially filled.  The jets were turned off.  The air hung heavy with
steam.  It was imbued with the odor of the aphrodisiac lotion, at just
above the level of detectability.  As the women filed in silently, the
vapor tickled their brainstems just enough to restore their previous level
of arousal.  Chris rolled her eyes when she felt her genitals and breasts
start tingling again, despite her best efforts to use her mental control
to suppress it.  What are we letting ourselves in for? she asked herself.
        Seated on cushions in the two far corners of the room were Jeremy
and the mystery client.  They were both dressed in the same white robes
and sandals as the women.  Jeremy smiled at them as they took seats along
the top step, completely encircling the jacuzzi.  The client was sitting
rigidly in lotus position.  Her head was completely covered with a
wide-brimmed white hat below which hung a dense white veil, gathered at
her throat, that totally obscured her facial features.  The adornment
looked completely out of place among the bath attire everyone was wearing.
 Chris tried to keep from giggling.  The woman looked like a beekeeper.  
How the hell can she see or breathe in that thing?  she thought.
        Despite of or because of its appearance, it was a perfect
disguise.  There was no way any of them could even tell their client's
hair color.  For now the voluminous robe hid her body well enough to not
give anything away.  The client could be Dolly Parton and they wouldn't be
able to tell.
        The women sat quietly while Jeremy outlined the "rules".  It was
all right for them to talk amongst themselves, but they were not to ask
the client any direct questions.  They would allow the client to touch any
part of their bodies, but they were not to touch her unless she
specifically requested through Jeremy that they do so.  There were to be
no attempts to reveal her identity.  Jeremy would remain in the room to
answer any questions or clarify any of the client's desires.  Evidently he
and the client had worked out a series of signals ahead of time.
        "And now if you would, ladies," said Jeremy, "Please remove your
clothing and stand in a circle in the jacuzzi."
        They did as they were asked.  They stood facing each other in
their glorious nakedness, nipples tight, skin beading with new moisture,
the aphrodisiac roiling in their nostrils and stimulating the most primal
areas of their brains.  They tried to read the expressions in each others'
faces.  Eleanor and Monique were standing almost at attention, their
chests rising and falling almost in unison with rapid breathing.  Janine
was fidgeting like someone waiting for her doctor to come in and start an
examination, but she was smiling.  Sherri was so worked up that the
muscles in her thighs were quivering; milk was already beginning to run
from her distended nipples, dripping into the water around her shins.
        Chris was experiencing mixed emotions:  certainly strong arousal,
but that was induced; curiosity about the client; exhilaration at the
newness of it all; but there was also an undercurrent of humiliation, of
feeling as if she were reduced to being a slave to this mystery woman's
every whim.  She had never had to be this submissive before, and though
most of her didn't like it, a small part of her was enjoying it because it
was a new aspect of her sexuality -- and discovering new aspects was one
of the main reasons why she had decided way back at her first visit to Dr.
Sheila's office to retain her ability to lactate rather than have her
initiate treatment to dry her up.
        For what seemed like several minutes the client did not move or
make any sign of even being conscious.  The women began glancing at each
other:  why isn't anything happening?  Let's get this show on the road,
said Chris silently.  She was having to use her mental control to keep her
over-full breasts from becoming uncomfortable.  Then she realized that
this was what the client was waiting for -- she wanted to make sure that
everyone was full of milk to bursting before beginning.  She was waiting
for whatever weird chemicals she had put into the air to complete their
work on the women's bodies.  The others weren't faring as well as Chris.  
Some of them were beginning to use the palms of their hands to wipe away
errant drops of milk that were appearing at the tips of their seemingly
spring-loaded nipples.  Sherri was flowing freely now, twin rivulets of
milk running down her stomach and legs.  Her arousal was so intense that
she looked as if her legs would give out any minute as she fought to keep
her hands away from her enflamed clit.
        Evidently the client realized Sherri's predicament, for she chose
that moment to stand and slowly walk down into the center of the circle.  
She did a slow 360, facing each woman in turn, then opened her robe and
let it drop into the water.  Her skin was a bronze color, not quite a deep
tan, but clearly darker than any of the others'.  She appeared to be about
5'5".  She had a body that spoke of hours in the gym and a percentage of
fat in the single digits, with muscles that almost could define her as a
bodybuilder.  Her breasts were of moderate size and stuck straight out
from her body.  Tiny lines along the lower half of deep brown areolae
indicated implant surgery.  No tan lines were evident.  Her buttocks were
of carved granite, adorning hips very wide for the wasp-waisted torso that
rose from them.  A wide gap showed between her lithe thighs.  Her smooth
cunt looked as if it had never had hair.  Her clit was so large and erect
that it almost looked like a tiny penis.  A small gold ring pierced it
right through the middle.  It was flushed deep red and stood out proudly
from its hood and the surrounding labia, which also sported gold rings.  
This was one turned-on lady.
        Janine and Eleanor raised their hands to cup their laden breasts.  
"No, not yet," Jeremy said, and they lowered them again.  The client went
clockwise around the circle, closely examining each of them in turn.  Her
fingers, adorned with long nails (some set with small jewels) traced their
jawlines and collarbones, gently circumnavigated breasts, collected
droplets of milk from the tips of nipples, traced the V formed by thighs
and crotch, toyed with ringlets of pubic hair.   
        When she reached Sherri, she tarried a bit longer.  She traced a
webwork of patterns over Sherri's quivering body, causing her breathing to
come in shudders.  She crouched in front of Sherri, leaning so close that
Sherri could feel her breath on her hot cunt through the veil.  She
reached around to cup Sherri's buttocks and trace a finger along the crack
of her ass, down to where she dipped into the moisture of Sherri's honey
pot.  She stood and wiped the finger along a dent in the veil that marked
her mouth.  "Oh, for the love of God," Sherri whispered, her eyes pleading
for release.  The client seemed to understand.  She reached down, clamped
her hands onto Sherri's weeping nipples, and pulled hard, lifting the
pendulous breasts clear from her body, rolling the nipples as she pulled.  
Sherri immediately let out a long groan and came, her knees wobbling from
the impact of her orgasm and her hands trembling as she fought to keep
from pulling the client into an embrace.
        The client lifted her hands, whose palms were laced with Sherri's
milk, to her face and inhaled deeply.  One hand moved toward her cunt, but
stopped halfway.  It was clear that she was not immune from the effects of
the vapor either.
        After a few minutes of examining the others, the client moved
toward Chris.  She stood before her, then glanced over her shoulder and
gestured at Jeremy in a complicated movement.  "She wants you to know that
she thinks your body is absolutely magnificent," he translated.  Indeed,
it sounded from inside the veil as if the client's breathing had quickened
slightly.  Her hands hovered over Chris's incredible breasts, her flat
hard stomach, her voluptuous but still-slim frame that had been sculpted
by the miraculous combination of hormones her own body had produced as a
result of The Accident.  Chris was intrigued by the fact that the client
did not touch her, but it seemed as if her own arousal were being
intensified almost more than if she had.  The client's slender hands were
so close to Chris's breasts that they could feel the other's body heat,
but still there was no contact.  Suddenly she straightened and dropped her
arms to her sides.  Although it was difficult to tell through the veil, it
appeared as if she were looking straight ahead, eyes closed, chin tilted
upward slightly.  It also looked as if someone had hit her "off" switch.  
She was completely immobile.
        Chris took that opportunity to lean in close, trying hard to peer
through the dense cloth.  She could hear air hissing in and out of flared
nostrils, but even at a distance of a few centimeters she could not make
out any features of the client's face.
        "What am I supposed to do now?" Chris asked Jeremy.

LACTOGENESIS XXXIX:  THE MYSTERY CLIENT, PART TWO

        At Chris's words, the client emerged from her mannequin-like state
and made a few more gestures to Jeremy.  Chris wondered if she were
speaking in sign language.
        "She wants you to touch her as you saw her touch the others,"
Jeremy said.  "Use a gentle touch, and don't get too carried away."
        The former request would be no problem, but the latter might prove
to be one.  Now that the client stood only inches away from her, Chris
could detect a higher level of the aphrodisiac scent, as if she were using
it as a perfume.  Chris's breasts began to ache as her glands fought to
produce even more milk against the pressure that was already inside them.  
She wasn't used to that sensation, since she had always been able to keep
her production level under tight mental control prior to this.  She winced
as her nipples, already at maximum erection, tried to become even harder.  
She could feel her cunt juice flowing freely down the insides of her
thighs as she hovered on the edge of orgasm without even having been
touched.
        Chris began tracing the curves and lines of the client's body as
she had seen her do with the others, using a touch just barely
perceptible.  The client remained as motionless as she could, but Chris
could detect a faint trembling under her goose-pimply skin.  As she used
her fingers to trace circles around the margin of the client's
artificially enhanced bosom, she was amazed to actually feel it swell
beneath her touch.  Fascinated, Chris continued to caress the client's
breasts, watching them slightly inflate and become flushed until they were
roughly a cup size larger than they had been when she started.  The
nipples were also amazing; under Chris's touch they had grown to an
incredible size-- almost the length of her pinky from second knuckle to
tip, and about as big around.  They pointed not straight outward from the
surrounding breast, but downward, as if they had been trained to do so by
having weights hang from them.  Chris wondered absently if that were
indeed the case; she wouldn't put anything past this veiled mystery woman.
        At one point, as Chris lightly traced the client's collarbone and
progressed upward along her throat, the woman must have thought Chris
would try to unveil her, for as Chris's hands fluttered upward along her
neck, the client's own hands flashed out and took Chris's forearms in an
iron grip, jerking them away from her.  Chris was shocked by the strength
in the woman's hands and the pain of her grip, which felt as if it would
crack the bones in her arm.  She heard a soft whimper escape her own lips
and felt her knees buckle slightly.  Chris's level of arousal remained
high despite the pain, making her wonder through the haze that washed over
her brain whether that was due to a heretofore unrealized streak of
masochism within her or just the aphrodisiac continuing to wield its
chemical influence over her glands.
        "Hey!" Chris yelped.  "I wasn't trying to see who you were!  
Honest to God!"  The client's grip did not lessen.  "You're hurting me!  
Jeremy!"
        "That's enough!" she heard Jeremy shout.  "She was only carrying
out your instructions!"  The pain in Chris's arms lessened only slightly.  
Chris heard Jeremy rise from his cushion and begin moving toward them,
with the intent to physically remove the client if need be.  He was
heedless of the fact that such an action would probably end the evening's
events then and there with no money changing hands.  Chris looked up at
the client's covered face, read her body language, and realized that the
woman was in the throes of an intense, silent orgasm!  As it began to
fade, so did her grasp.
        "Jeremy, stop!  It's all right," said Chris as the client released
her wrists, allowing her to stand up straight.  Another two seconds and it
would have been too late.  Chris rubbed her arms, where white streaks that
marked where the client's fingers had been were already turning red.
        The client turned to Jeremy, who now stood directly behind her,
and made a complex gesture.  Again Jeremy translated.  "She's just
indicated that she is now sufficiently turned on for us to continue.  
Ladies, take your positions, please."
        The client moved back into the center of the circle and stood with
legs spread and her arms extended above her head.  The woman was so
aroused that it was actually possible to see her accelerated pulse in the
vibrations of the ring that pierced her clit.  The five women surrounding
her moved closer, to within two feet or so, and cupped their breasts,
pointing ten swollen milk spigots at the client.
        After what seemed like forever, the client nodded once, quickly.  
Jeremy also did so.  Sherri immediately planted her index and middle
finger of each hand on either side of her areolae and squashed her
overloaded breasts into her chest, releasing a high-velocity spray against
the client's body.  She flinched as the milk splashed across her torso.  
Chris followed, squirting with abandon with jet after jet of white
ambrosia arcing across the two feet separating her from the client, to
join Sherri's milk in growing droplets forming paths down her belly.
        The other women joined in, completely enveloping the client in a
shower of milk, spouting from ten different directions, five different
shades of white mixing in rivers flowing down the client's body.  As they
continued to loose their bounty upon the woman's trembling figure, moans
of varying pitch and intensity began to fill the room.  The client's head
was thrown back, one arm dropping down, fingers seeking her pulsing clit.  
Rather than diving directly into her pussy, they sought the rings hanging
from her pubes.  Deftly, the client threaded her thumb through all three
rings and began tugging on them, stretching her labia and clit in a way
that had to be quite painful.  The four free fingers formed a cone which
the client curved around, into, and up inside her gaping vagina.  She
began pistoning her hand while continuing to diddle the rings.  It was a
very unique masturbation technique.
        Watching the client doing this caused renewed vigor in the other
women, who were now expressing milk as fast as their nipples could deliver
it.  Milk flowed, poured, gushed, jetted, surged, streamed forth.  The
client's veil soon became soaked and began to cling to her face.  A rather
prominent nose, large mouth, and high cheekbones became discernible, but
the veil itself remained opaque.  She gasped, screeched, yelled, and
howled as orgasm after orgasm shook her.  She began to slowly turn about
in place to make sure every exposed inch of her became wet with mother's
milk.
        Sherri now was using her upper arms to press her breasts together;
the pressure was sufficient to keep her nipples spurting.  Her hands went
to her cunt where they fought themselves for entry into her dripping hole.
 Monique continued to fire thick white ropes of creamy fluid at the client
long after her tiny breasts should have been empty.  Janine was giggling
continuously as she expelled her milk, occasionally stopping to tug hard
on her nipples to keep her breasts stimulated.  Eleanor's flow had slowed
to a trickle, but she seemed not to care as she continued to squeeze and
knead her breasts so hard that she had to be causing herself pain.
        Jeremy was leaning against the wall of the jacuzzi, his eyes
unblinking, his fist a blur as he pounded away on his cock, the glans a
deep, angry purplish red.  Not content simply with his hand, he came up
behind Monique and began caressing her shoulders.  She responded
instantly, pushing her ass back against his throbbing member.  Jeremy
reached around to cup his hand in front of her breast, withdrawing it when
it was full of milk.  He used this to grease his prick which he then
unceremoniously plunged into Monique's anus.  She winced and grunted, but
did not miss a squirt.  Jeremy fucked Monique's ass like an animal,
uncaring that the others were staring at him or that he might be causing
Monique discomfort.  He wasn't though; she was clearing near coming from
the onslaught.  Jeremy made some noises that sounded like a gorilla in
heat, then went rigid as he dumped his load into Monique's rectum.  He
then staggered backward, his pole glistening and still dripping semen, and
sat heavily on the lowest step of the jacuzzi.  Monique was hardly
affected at all.  Chris's admiration for this wee slip of a girl increased
when she saw how deftly she had handled Jeremy's attack with hardly an ill
effect.
        Finally, after probably fifteen minutes or so, the flow of milk
decreased in intensity to a point where it no longer drenched the client.  
The shin-deep water in the jacuzzi was now indistinguishable from the
fluid still spraying (though not very far) from Chris's and Sherri's
breasts.  The others had long since slowed to drops and dribbles.  The
client had been masturbating throughout this period, and had had probably
a dozen or more orgasms.  Jeremy had been able to rally and take Sherri
from behind as well, causing her to hit what had to have been her sixth or
seventh.  Finally the aphrodisiac could do no more; all the sensory nerves
had been completely desensitized; there was no more metabolic energy
available for either sex or milk production.  Exhausted, the client fell
to her knees with a loud splash; the women collapsed on the stairs of the
jacuzzi.
        When Jeremy could finally catch his breath, he asked the client if
she was all right.  She could only nod weakly, but she nodded yes.  At
that, Jeremy turned to the others, thanked them, and requested that they
all leave, clean up, and help themselves to any bed in the house they
wanted.  Chris found herself unable to argue; every cell in her body was
screaming for sleep.  The time had come to pay the piper.
        "What about her?" Sherri managed to say, pointing weakly at the
fallen client.
        "She wants to take a milk bath now," Jeremy replied simply.
        Chris and the others slowly climbed up and out of the jacuzzi;
filed silently back into the main body of the house (all too tired even to
shower again -- the thought of re-experiencing the aphrodisiac in the
lotion soap actually made them a little nauseous now); and collapsed on
the nearest soft surface they could find.  They all slept for several
hours, awakening only with a loud pounding on the front door.  It was the
police, responding to a call made by Eleanor's husband after she had
failed to return home the previous evening.  Jeremy, ever the smooth
talker, defused the situation without the officers having to actually
observe five bedraggled, robe-clad women whose faces and bodies were
covered with a whitish residue that looked like dried milk.
        As the officers departed and Eleanor rushed for a telephone, Chris
wondered how they would have phrased their reports had Jeremy been any
less of a bullshit artist.

<<to be continued>>
.