From trekfiend@aol.com Tue Jul 02 22:09:31 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XL
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 3 Jul 1996 01:09:31 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XL:  THE VOYEUR, PART ONE

	Young Connor first noticed her in the laundry room of his
apartment building, sorting clothes from a large basket into three open
washing machines.  Her familiarity with the surroundings indicated that
she was a fellow resident, and there was something maddeningly familiar
about her face, as if he had seen her before but could not recall from
where.  But he was sure he'd not seen this particular woman before; he
would have remembered a body like hers.  She was wearing high-heeled
sandals, short shorts, and a form-fitting ribbed cotton-blend bodysuit
that was tight enough to create a bas relief of any underlying garments
that might lie beneath on its surface.  There were none.  Even though he
was only in his early teens, Connor had become an expert on whether any
given woman's figure was receiving support from beneath, regardless of the
nature of the overlying outfit.  The protuberant nipples easily visible
through the cloth and the slightly raised areolae around them that would
not have been discernible to a less trained eye were also a dead giveaway.
 In fact, it was their perfectly centered position at the apex of each
firmly rounded breast and the degree to which they defied the pressure
created by the overlying fabric to stand as tall as they did that
initially drew his eye to her.
	He drank in her image as a connoisseur of fine wine might sip a
classic vintage.  She was absolutely exquisite; the stuff of wet dreams. 
Smoothly sculpted calves blended with muscular, but not "bumpy" thighs.  A
deep crevasse in the material of her shorts marked where the back of each
thigh met with the wide, strong, teardrop-shaped buttocks that so
magnificently filled out her backside.  In front, the muscularity of her
quadriceps crisply defined the V that hid her southern femininity.  Her
shorts climbed almost to the bottom point of that V, yet even with his
sensitive vision Connor could not see even a glimpse of a wayward hair
peeking out -- she must shave often, and fairly closely.  No sign of
panties either.  Hips that one could easily rest hands upon flared out
from a narrow waist.  A ribbon about that waist would form a perfect
ellipse with a circumference of no more than twenty-two or twenty-three
inches.  The bodysuit showed a perfectly flat stomach; a well-placed
dimple in the fabric suggested a navel that was an innie rather than an
outie.  Directly above two faint ridges that defined the lower margin of
her ribcage dwelt two breasts the likes of which provided inspiration for
sculptors and artists.  His initial reaction to them had been -- implants.
 How else could they ignore gravity like that?  Especially as large as
they are -- each rivaled a cantaloupe sizewise, but on this tall drink of
water they not so oversized as to invite snickers and pointed fingers. 
Upon further examination, however, he was forced to recant.  They were
*too* perfectly shaped.  He was convinced that no plastic surgeon in the
world could have created such beauty.  The way they sloped out and down on
top, up and out on the bottom, with those fantastic nipples capping the
junction of those two curves -- that had to be the work of a divine hand. 
The way they moved with her was perfect, too; they didn't look like two
hemispheres that were glued to her chest, as he had seen so many implant
jobs look.  No, this girl was 100% natural, right up to her broad, mildly
curved upper chest, well-defined collarbone, long neck, and short-coiffed
head sporting eminently nibble-able ears (he liked ears).  Eyes to get
lost in, breasts---wasn't he just looking at her breasts?  Yes, but his
eyes kept being drawn to them.  There was something special about them
besides their splendid shape and size.  What that could possibly be he
didn't know, but it added to his fascination.
	Connor became instantly, strongly obsessed with this woman, as
teenaged boys are sometimes wont to do.  He would make it his goal in life
to see what she looked like naked.  It never occurred to him to try to
pursue her sexually.  He was a voyeur by preference, and so was perfectly
happy to get his jollies from afar.  Besides, she was too old for him --
she would only laugh at him.  So he would be content to follow her
whenever he saw her, to try to catch a fleeting glimpse of the curve of
her breast backlit through a thin blouse, the outline of pussy lips
through a particularly tight pair of slacks.  Maybe he would even be
resourceful enough to be in the right place at the right time when she was
in the changing room of their building's swimming pool.
	He found out what apartment she lived in (although, dammit, her
mailbox didn't have her name on it), and made it a point to be in the area
when she got home from work.  He didn't get many chances to see her,
however; she seemed to spend a lot of time away and often got home quite
late at night.  He had been content with sideways glances in the common
areas of the complex and the occasional passing by in the hallways (God,
how he loved the way her boobs jiggled when she walked!), until one day
when he had happened to be in the hall when she dropped an armful of
groceries she was carrying.  With his heart in his throat, he made the
decision to assist her.  She was wearing a very loose blouse scooped low
at the neck.  When she stooped to begin gathering the errant items, the
material gaped far enough to reveal the inner curve of her right breast,
all the way down to the nipple.  He felt the blood leave his head and
gather in his crotch as he dropped down next to her and lent a hand,
gathering cans while getting a complete eyeful with the practiced veiled
stare he had perfected years before.
	This was as close to nirvana as Connor had gotten in a long time. 
What fantastic knockers this girl had!  She could shame every centerfold
that resided in the footlocker at the back of his closet.  The shape, the
size, the color, even the...what the hell?  As he continued to look, he
saw the woman's eyes momentarily widen, and then the most amazing thing
happened.  At the tip of that perfect nipple he saw a droplet of thin
whitish liquid form, then disappear as it rolled down the lower half of
her breast, out of sight.  He had seen this in one of the raunchier (and
more dog-eared) mags he had under his bed -- this girl must have milk! 
This was better than his wildest fantasy!  As he was reeling with this
revelation, the show suddenly ended.  She hurriedly collected the rest of
the spilled goods, murmured some quick thanks, and promptly vanished into
her apartment.  It was several more seconds before enough strength
returned to his legs to permit him to rise and go off to his own room,
where he spent the remainder of that afternoon frantically beating off
while his mother wondered whether he was feeling well.
	Today Connor happened to be in another part of the building when
he spotted his dream girl knocking on the door of a neighbor's apartment. 
She was dressed for the swimming pool, with a thin robe over what he hoped
was a skimpy bikini, flip-flops on her feet, and a towel thrown over her
shoulder.  He hid at the end of the corridor and watched as she continued
to rap on the door, growing impatient until she finally yelled, "Come on,
Sherri, the sun isn't going to wait for us!"
	"I'm almost ready!  Keep your shirt on!" he heard a muffled voice
behind the door say.
	"That's not what I'm planning!" replied the woman.
	He watched the door open and her friend come out.  She was
shorter, older, red-haired.  Her robe could not hide a very large chest. 
Wow, her friend's stacked too, he thought.  What was that she was holding?
 It looked like a sign which said "Pool closed for maintenance".  Why
would she have that?  Then it hit him.  They were going to hang that on
the gate to keep other people out!  The gate and fence surrounding the
pool were high and effectively sheltered it from outside eyes -- omigod,
they were going to sunbathe nude!  He was sure of it.  He had to beat them
to the pool and find a place to hide there.
	He took an alternate route and to his relief found the pool
abandoned.  He squatted down behind a group of bushes that formed part of
the landscaping around the inside of the fence, found a place to get a
good view unobserved, got comfortable, and waited.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:30:13 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLI
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:30:13 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLI:  THE VOYEUR, PART TWO

	Not more than a minute later the two women entered the pool
enclosure.  "Oh, good," Connor heard the one named Sherri say.  She hung
the sign on the gate, closed it, took a padlock out of the small bag she
had with her, and used it to lock the gate.  They walked over to two
lounge chairs (good, they picked two that were directly in his line of
sight), put down their gear, and doffed their robes.  He had to keep from
gasping aloud when they did.  Both women were wearing the tiniest bikinis
imaginable.  Sherri's covered more on top, but that wasn't saying much;
his dream girl's top was little more than two tiny strips of cloth just
wide enough in front to cover her nipples.  Fully eighty percent of her
glorious bosom was exposed.  Connor gently, silently shifted position so
that his growing erection wouldn't get caught at an uncomfortable angle.
	He watched them stretch out on the chairs, bottles of sunscreen in
their hands.  "Mmmm, isn't this sun wonderful?  First of the season," said
Sherri.
	"Are you sure nobody can get in here?" asked his dream girl.
	"Positive.  I've done this a lot.  I'm kind of surprised that our
neighbors haven't complained more about the pool being down for repairs."
	"And nobody can see us, right?"
	"Chris, will you relax?  I'm an old hand at this."
	Chris!  Her name is Chris!  Somehow just finally knowing her name
made Connor feel that much more excited to be here watching her.
	He watched, transfixed, as the two women removed their tops.  His
breath caught in his throat as he saw the full landscape of Chris's
splendorous body come into view.  Perfect.  Absolutely goddamned perfect. 
I can die now, he thought.  He couldn't stand it any more -- he slowly
unzipped his fly and liberated his hard-on, which he started stroking
absently.
	"Well, if you're sure," Chris said, and arching her back, slid off
the almost non-existent bikini bottom as well, revealing a completely
hairless snatch.  He stopped stroking for fear of coming right there.  He
had never seen a bald beaver before.  Chris lay back, slightly spreading
her legs to let the sun in, and giving him a perfect view of her naked
pussy.  Her impossibly firm breasts rose upward as she lay back, almost
completely obscuring her head from Connor's viewpoint.  The sight was
enough to cause a pleasant ache to begin in his balls.
	He watched as the women applied sunscreen to themselves, following
their fingers as they rubbed the lotion into their exposed skin, observing
how the flesh of their breasts responded to their touch.  As Chris moved
her hand across a nipple, he watched it bend beneath it and then snap back
upright after it passed.  That was too much -- with a barely controlled
jerk he spurted his load into a handkerchief, biting his lip to keep from
making a sound.  Once he recovered, he strained to listen to their
conversation, which up to now he had ignored.
	Sherri had been talking, and Chris had been laughing.  Connor was
soon ready to come again from what the laughing was doing to those
incredible boobs of hers.  There was a short silence, then Sherri spoke
again.
	"I've been meaning to ask you something."
	"Shoot," said Chris.
	"Funny you should pick that particular word."
	"Why?"
	"Well, I'm curious about a particular talent of yours."
	"Which one would that be?  I've got a million of 'em," said Chris
with a smile.
	"I've noticed that you can apparently squirt your milk whenever
you want, not just when you're excited or engorged.  True?"
	"True.  However did you come to know this?" Chris sounded
surprised.
	"We used to spend a lot of time together, or have you forgotten?"
	Chris blushed.  It made her wine-colored nipples an even darker
red.  She reached across and stroked the back of Sherri's hand.  "Of
course not.  How could I?"
	Sherri paused, then asked, "Can you teach me how to do that?"
	Chris did a double take.  "I'm not sure.  Why?"
	A devilish smile crossed Sherri's lips.  "This guy I'm with right
now?  He likes me to tickle him while I'm on top.  He's got chest hair
like a fucking bearskin rug.  I love to run my hands through it while I'm
fucking him.  Trouble is, he also likes me to squirt him while I'm riding
him.  Can't be squeezing my boobies and doing all that other stuff at the
same time.  I need to have my hands free."
	Chris laughed again.  (Oh God, stop doing that, he said to
himself.  You're killing me.)  "I see your point."
	"How do you do it?"
	Chris lay back on the chair.  "Well, I don't really think too much
about *how* I do it.  It's just part of the way I control my lactation."
	Sherri shook her head slowly.  "I'd almost give one tit to know
how to do that.  Many is the time I've embarrassed myself in a public
place when my milk let down unexpectedly.  I have to take a jacket with me
even in hot weather to cover up with!"
	Chris smiled sympathetically.  "Well, I sort of just concentrate
on relaxing all the muscles in my upper body.  You know, like what they
have you do in those stress reduction tapes?  I think of running water,
floating in a pool, that kind of thing.  Pretty soon I feel the reflex
kick in, and the rest is automatic.  To stop, I think of the desert, water
soaking into sand, muscles contracting, flowers closing up at night. 
Works every time.  Here, watch."
	Connor felt his eyes begin to sting, and realized he'd been
staring for some time.  He blinked away the tears that started to form so
that they wouldn't blur his view of what was to come.
	He saw Chris settle deep into her chair, watched the muscles in
her neck and shoulders relax.  He saw her nipples lengthen and thicken and
become moist.  He saw a wave ripple across the muscles of her stomach, and
suddenly her breasts erupted in twin geysers of milk, launching branching
streams of white high into the air.  The fountain continued for several
seconds before abating to a thin trickle.  She hadn't even touched
herself.
	With a muffled grunt, his whole body tensed and he ejaculated a
few drops of a second load into his sticky handkerchief.  He felt a
charley horse form in his leg and pinched his eyes tightly shut against
the pain.
	"Fan-fucking-tastic," he heard Sherri say.  Amen, sister.  "Let me
try."  When he heard that, he forced his eyes open again.
	He saw Sherri go through the same relaxation process as Chris. 
For a long time nothing happened, then, as he stared, he saw dribbles of
milk emerge from Sherri's fat nipples and run down her pendulous hooters. 
Chris sat up and applauded.  Amazingly, Connor felt his dick stir once
more.  That had never happened before.
	"Not bad, not bad," Chris said.  "We'll work on your form later." 
They both laughed.  He watched Chris get up and kneel down next to her
friend's chair.  "You know, I haven't tasted you in a long time.  I kind
of miss that.  Do you mind?"
	Sherri raised herself to a sitting position.  "Please do," she
said.  "Otherwise I'll have to go inside and pump, and I don't want to
waste the rest of this marvelous sun."
	Connor couldn't believe what he saw next.  He watched Chris lean
across Sherri and fasten her lips onto one of Sherri's swollen nipples. 
He could tell she was sucking on her and swallowing as fast as she could. 
Sherri started moaning and reached for her other breast, which she started
squeezing.  He saw stream after stream of milk shoot out of Sherri's
breast as she milked herself and Chris continued to drink from the other
breast.
	He felt a third orgasm building.  He couldn't believe he had
anything left.  As it continued to build, he felt his head get light, his
vision blurred....
	He passed out.
	With a crash he fell through the bushes to sprawl out onto the
deck.
	The women screamed and leaped to their feet.  Hurriedly they threw
on their robes and cautiously approached his supine form.
	Sherri bent down and peered at him.  "Oh, shit.  It's only
Connor."
	"You know this kid?" Chris asked.
	"Yeah, he lives in the building.  I've caught him peeping several
times.  I used to think it was cute, but now the little shit's gone too
far.  Wake up, dickhead," Sherri said, kicking water from the pool into
his face.
	Sputtering, Connor came to and scrambled to his feet.  He started
to run for the gate, then stopped, realizing he was locked in.
	"All right, you little fuck," Sherri said, advancing on him with
teeth clenched and hands on hips.  "This stops now.  I ever catch you
slithering around me or my friends again, I'll come into your room while
you're asleep and Bobbitize you.  Don't think I won't do it, either.  I
ever find out you said anything about what you saw here, and I'll make
sure your parents find out about your sordid little hobbies.  *Then* I'll
Bobbitize you.  You savvy?"
	Embarrassed beyond the ability to speak, Connor only nodded.
	Sherri unlocked the gate.  "Get the fuck out," she hissed.  Connor
scurried out like a dog before a rolled-up newspaper.
	As soon as he was out of earshot, Sherri and Chris looked at each
other, then fell laughing into each others' arms.  When they finally
recovered, Sherri said, "Well, one thing's for sure -- we'll be in his wet
dreams for a long time to come!"
	That night, as Chris sat in her milking chair, hooked up to her
pump, she thought about the young Connor pounding his pud with visions of
her dancing through his puerile little brain.  She realized that in some
small dark recess of her mind, she'd always wanted to be the subject of a
young man's masturbatory fantasies.  Now she knew that had come to pass. 
The realization gave her a very satisfying orgasm and filled the milk
receptacle quickly.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:30:58 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLII
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:30:58 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLII:  THE PLANNING

	Christine and Sherri sat at Chris's kitchen table, each with a
pint of Ben & Jerry's (New York Super Fudge Chunk for Chris, Chunky Monkey
for Sherri) and a colorful stack of brochures in front of her.  The
contents of each were ever-changing as they passed the flyers and
spoonfuls of ice cream back and forth to one another.  Outside the sky
swirled with an unusually late spring snowstorm, the wind carrying record
low temperatures with it.
	Sherri pushed yet another brochure toward Chris.  "What about
Switzerland?  The Alps, those cute guys in those leather shorts..."
	Chris tossed her head in the direction of the nearest window. 
"Take a look outside and tell me that 'beach' is not an operative word
here," she said.  "The weather's been so shitty lately that warm water,
warm sand, and warm sun are the primary considerations."  She paused. 
"Why can't I convince you to come with me?"
	"Honey, we've been through this.  You need time alone.  We all do.
 Jeremy's been working us to death.  Lately I've been feeling more like a
dairy cow than a woman.  The client he lined me up with last week damn
near sucked my nipples off, he was into it so much.  I need to give the
old milk shakes a rest."  This time Sherri paused.  "You know, I never
thought I'd hear myself say that."
	Chris sighed.  "Well, it's like I've been trying to tell Jeremy
for weeks now.  There's more to life, and more to sex, than just
lactating.  I can't believe how obsessed he's gotten with the business. 
He looks at me now, all he sees are these."  She indicated her perfect,
fully functional breasts.  "I tell you, Sherri, I'm ready to hang it up."
	"You?  Yours don't hang at all."  Sherri leaned across the table
and plucked at Chris's shirt, her own milk-laden boobs brushing along the
tabletop as she did so.  "You got an anti-gravity device hidden in there?"
 That got a smile from Chris.  "Well, I think Jeremy's realized we're all
starting to feel that way.  That's why he's springing for these
vacations."
	"Don't kid yourself," said Chris.  "He knows what side his bread's
buttered on.  He's not giving us time off out of the goodness of his
heart.  Believe me, it's purely business.  He doesn't want his 'prime
herd' to burn out on him."
	"You mean 'dry up', don't you?" said Sherri.
	Chris didn't acknowledge Sherri's attempt at humor.  "Notice that
he's only letting two of us go at a time?  Do you have any idea what the
work load on the others is going to be while we're gone?  I almost feel
guilty taking this vacation."
	Sherri thought for a minute.  "This is ruining my mood.  Fuck
Jeremy anyway."
	"I'd like to, believe me," sighed Chris.  "Monique is handling
that department very well on her own, though."  She stopped and shook her
head.  "No, I don't mean that.  It's really over between us.  I guess it's
just been too long..."
	"See?  All the more reason to just go off somewhere by yourself. 
You need to find some strapping young stranger on a nude beach somewhere,
drag him into the jungle and fuck his brains out."
	Chris smiled again, her good mood restored.  "Capital suggestion."
 She grabbed a handful of brochures.  "The question is, where?"  She paged
through a few, pitching some into a nearby wastebasket.  "You absolutely
sure you won't go with me?"
	Sherri shook her head.  "As much as I'd love to, I have a feeling
that we'd only remind each other of home and The Lac-Station.  I for one
won't want to be talking shop.  Besides, Jeremy doesn't know this, but I
plan to pocket my vacation money.  One of my clients has offered to spirit
me away to the Costa del Sol for a couple of weeks, and I've decided to
take him up on it."
	Chris grinned broadly.  "That's great!  When do you leave?"
	"Day after tomorrow.  I didn't want to go before making sure you
were taken care of, though.  That's why I brought you all these."  She
looked at the brochures on the table.  "You know, we're doing this too
scientifically.  We've already eliminated everything that's not beach and
ocean, so why not just close your eyes and pick one?  Be impulsive! 
You're on vacation, for chrissake!"
	Chris sat for a few seconds, then suddenly reached out, gathered
up all the brochures, and with eyes closed threw them into the air.  When
she opened her eyes again, she saw that one particularly colorful one had
landed right in her lap.  She and Sherri exchanged an excited look.  Chris
thrust the brochure at Sherri.  "I can't look," she said.  "You read it."
	Sherri scanned the paper, a wide grin slowly spreading over her
face.  She read silently for several seconds, occasionally saying
"Yes...yes..."
	Finally Chris could stand it no longer.  "Well?!" she exploded. 
"Where am I going?"
	Sherri held up the brochure.  "Negril!" she said happily.  When
she saw no sign of recognition from Chris, her eyes widened.  "I can't
believe you've never heard of it.  It's in Jamaica!"
	"Jamaica, eh?  That sounds nice."  Chris seemed only mildly
enthused.
	"Nice?!  Girlfriend, this place is fantastic!  Beautiful white
sand, crystal clear water, ganja everywhere..."  Sherri pushed the flyer
at Chris.  "This is one of those all-inclusive singles resorts, where all
you have to do is eat, sleep, drink, and fuck.  It is absolutely perfect
for you, lady.  Negril is THE most laid-back place on the island, maybe in
the whole Caribbean!  Believe me, this is the place!"  She could tell
Chris was warming to the idea.  She added, "And best of all, it's
expensive as hell.  Jeremy's going to pay out the ass for this.  For
example, did I mention that this package includes a cruise on a big-ass
boat?"
	In her mind Chris had a vision of Jeremy with pants around ankles,
hands on knees, straining, bills and coins shooting out of his butt.  It
made her laugh out loud.  It'd serve the bastard right.  He did promise to
bankroll any two weeks they'd care to take...
	"Sign me up!" she cried enthusiastically.
	"All right!" Sherri yelled.  "OK, right after we book this sucker,
we're going shopping.  I know your wardrobe doesn't contain the proper
clothes for this."  She jumped up and headed for the phone.
	Sherri started punching numbers but was suddenly stopped by the
feel of Chris's warm, firm breasts spreading across her back as she hugged
her from behind.  "Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you," Chris
said softly.  "You're my guardian angel."
	Sherri put down the phone and turned in Chris's arms to face her. 
Each had to lean back slightly to accommodate the combined magnificence of
their bustlines.  Sherri softly tousled Chris's hair and lightly brushed
her cheek.  "Hey, somebody's got to keep you sane.  Might as well be me."
	Chris looked down along Sherri's torso, down to where their belt
buckles touched.  "You know, we're each going to be gone for a couple of
weeks.  That's a long time..."  She reached up and unsnapped the topmost
snap on Sherri's shirt.
	Instantly two wet spots appeared on that shirt, each centered over
a stiffening nipple.  "Damn, girl, you really know how to push my
buttons," Sherri mused.  She leaned back to allow Chris to finish
unbuttoning her.  As Chris's hands disappeared inside the open shirt,
gently caressing, hefting, tweaking, Sherri leaned forward and nibbled at
her earlobe, her own hands seeking Chris's hardened nipples through her
shirt.  "You're still going alone, though..."
	She felt Chris's breath on her neck as she murmured, "I'm going to
miss you, but I wouldn't dream of trying to change your mind..."
	Sherri straightened up and lifted her breasts toward Chris's
mouth.  Twin trickles of milk ran down across her fingers, which were
half-buried in the soft flesh of her bosom, and dripped on the kitchen
floor.  "Shut up and drink," she said.  "Before we make too much of a mess
in here."
	Chris only giggled softly.  She knew that a mess was inevitable. 
It always was with the two of them and the copious fluids they produced...


<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:34:11 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLIII
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:34:11 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLIII:  THE CRUISE, PART ONE

	Christine pressed a crisp $5 bill into the outstretched palm of
the young man who had delivered her luggage to her cabin.  I'll bet I'm
going to be running into this one a lot during this cruise, she thought,
as she took note of the fact that his eyes never left her chest throughout
the transaction.  Over the months since The Accident and its subsequent
physical manifestations, which had caused the opposite sex's interest in
her to increase exponentially, Chris had learned to read the hormonally
driven behaviors of men quite well.  She could tell, for example, that
this fellow had already memorized her cabin number, was aware she was
traveling alone, and judging from where his eyes were riveted, had not
seen such a perfectly sized and shaped bustline as her own in several
Miami-to-Montego Bay runs.  He was going to be trouble.  She was surprised
at herself, however, to discover that she was amused and not put off by
the porter's obvious gaping.  Well, maybe there's a little treat in store
if he plays his cards right, she found herself thinking.  As she closed
the door on him, she shook her head and said aloud, "I must really be
getting into vacation mode."  Indeed, the stirrings she felt within as she
entertained the notion of "treating" the porter were considerably stronger
than usual.  Reining in her libido, Chris decided to get familiar with her
cabin.
	Sherri had taken care of all the arrangements and the arguing with
Jeremy about the price.  Her intercession on Chris's behalf had netted
Chris one of the better cabins on the uppermost passenger deck:  very
spacious, comfortable, quiet, and well positioned away from the cramped,
busier, less luxurious lower decks.  A perfect place for "entertaining",
Chris thought.  As she began unpacking her luggage, she periodically
paused to hold in front of her one of the new outfits she and Sherri had
picked out for this trip.  She had packed nothing from her existing
wardrobe; everything, right down to the racy Victoria's Secret lingerie,
was going to be showing up on Jeremy's Gold Card next month.
	Last to come out of the suitcases was a small but powerful breast
pump and attachments, safely ensconced in a fabric bag.  Although she
could have chosen, through the use of her finely honed mental discipline,
to shut down her milk production for the duration of the trip, she had
decided instead that, if anything, she might try to increase it.  After
all, this cruise line was famous for its onboard food, which was available
nearly around the clock.  She figured she would eat as much and as often
as she liked, and simply convert the excess calories into milk.  She hoped
that she would meet at least one man during the three days it would take
to reach Negril who would be willing to assist her in this regard.  The
idea of "pumping and dumping" never did appeal much to her.
	By the time she had settled in, the "all ashore that's going
ashore" announcement had been made and final preparations for casting off
had been completed.  Chris took her place at the rail, confetti and
streamers in hand, and took part in the traditional "bon voyage" sendoff,
even though there was no one she knew waving back from the pier.  The
crowd at the railing was so thick that as it began to disperse, Chris
found herself being jostled somewhat violently.  An errant elbow caught
her in her left breast, not hard enough to be painful, but hard enough to
make her realize how full and heavy her breasts were.  She realized that
she had not thought to shut down her lactation during the long flight to
Miami, the time at the airport, and the trip from there to the pier.  No
wonder she was feeling tender!
	Chris returned to her cabin and jumped into the shower with the
intent to relieve herself by performing her common practice of allowing
the cascading hot water to intensify her already awesome letdown reflex. 
Under normal circumstances, the feeling of the increased flow of milk
blasting out of her nipples (at home she could probably send the spray
fifteen feet or more if the shower wall weren't in the way) was enough for
a satisfying orgasm even without strategically directing the flow from the
shower head.  But when she walked into the small stall and noticed an
unfamiliar type of faucet, she realized suddenly that she hadn't been away
from home for an extended period since The Accident over a year before. 
The strangeness of her surroundings detracted from her enjoyment of
emptying her breasts somewhat, but she was still able to come twice from
the directed spray on her clit, each time challenging the floor drain with
the flood of juices pouring from her pussy.
	She moved from the bathroom into the main part of the cabin,
enjoying the delicious feeling of walking around naked in a strange room. 
She dressed for dinner, choosing a teal-and-white dress that was clingy
and provocatively cut, and whose design allowed only a pair of French-cut
panties as foundation.  She knew from examining a layout of the main
dining room that her assigned table was quite close to the Captain's
Table.  In this outfit I should be able to catch the eye of an officer or
two, Chris thought with a twinkle in her eye.  I've never done it with a
man in uniform before...  The thought made her breasts tingle anew.
	As she made her way along the ship's corridors, down the elevator,
and toward the dining room, she was awestruck at the size of this vessel,
the Carib Mermaid.  She walked past the entrances to a nightclub that was
at least as large as most of those she frequented on land; a casino
rivaling those in Atlantic City for noise and sparkle; a well-equipped
health club; a duty-free shop; two smaller dining areas; an arcade; a
beauty shop and a myriad of other services.  The central "commons" area of
the ship was several decks deep.  It resembled a small shopping mall or a
gigantic hotel lobby, sporting a number of levels accessible by glass
elevators.  This is one big damn boat, Chris marveled to herself.  Sherri
sure knows how to pick 'em.
	There was a short line at the entrance to the surprisingly large
main dining room as guests waited to be directed to their assigned tables.
 Upon Chris's reaching the head of the line, a too-young crewmember escort
waiting there broke into a wide grin, extended his crooked elbow into
which Chris slipped her gloved hand, and personally escorted her to her
table, which for the moment was still empty.  She noted with satisfaction
that few other women were being given such preferential treatment.  In
full hunting mode now, she used the time before the arrival of her
tablemates to scan the room.  Sure enough, the Captain's Table was only a
few feet away.  Several people, including a few officers, were already
seated.   She must have been putting out pheromones like crazy into a
favorable breeze, for the man she set her sights on, a fellow worthy of
the cover of GQ whose uniform suggested fairly high rank, met her gaze
within seconds of it alighting upon him.  He smiled broadly, his eyes
crinkling slightly.  He raised his champagne glass to her, cocking his
head as he did so.  Chris immediately felt her nipples straining at the
flimsy fabric of her dress as she smiled back with all the lust she could
muster without actually drooling on the tablecloth.  Jeez, she said to
herself.  Reel it in, girl!  Who's running the show here, anyway, you or
your glands?  She must have been frowning, for when her attention once
again focused on her quarry, his attention had been diverted elsewhere. 
She tried again to catch his eye, but in vain.  Dammit, she thought.  Why
did you have to pick that moment to admonish yourself?  Now you've blown
it!
	Within a few minutes the other occupants of Chris's table arrived.
 They included an elderly couple whose bronze skins told of many years
chasing the sun; a newlywed couple barely out of their teens who never
stopped touching each other; and a third couple who looked like they were
on a second honeymoon.  I'll need to have a talk with the cruise director,
Chris said to herself in disappointment.  I'd have thought they'd seat us
singles together.  She was just beginning to resign herself to eating her
dinner in silence when she felt a light touch on her shoulder.  She looked
up into the aquamarine eyes of the officer she'd been trying so hard to
interest these last several minutes.
	"I don't mean to interrupt, but I couldn't help noticing that
perhaps an error has been made here," he said in a rich New England
baritone.
	"I'm sorry?" said Chris, not comprehending.
	"You appear to be traveling alone.  We usually try to seat singles
at the same table so that they can meet each other."
	Not only is he gorgeous, but he can read minds too, thought Chris.
	She turned up the pheromones another notch and smiled blazingly. 
"That's very kind of you to notice, but I don't mind at all," she lied.
	"Well, nevertheless, I'll be sure to speak to the cruise director
and get you reseated.  In the meantime, I would be honored if you would
join me at my table."  He extended his hand in a very formal manner.
	Chris took it and fairly floated to her feet, letting one of the
spaghetti straps of her dress fall off of one shoulder as she did so.  She
allowed the officer to guide her toward the Captain's Table, one hand
placed in the exposed small of her back.  She didn't even bother to say
goodbye to the others at her table.
	As they arrived, Chris felt the eyes of the important-looking
guests there move to her.  The men at the table rose to their feet.  The
women tried to look indifferent.  Chris detected slightly raised eyebrows
on one or two of them.  Mildly embarrassed, she smiled and tried valiantly
to suppress the vigorous erection of her nipples brought on by the
proximity of her target.  The officer pulled out the only other vacant
chair at the table beside his own.  As he did so, he leaned in close to
her and whispered quickly, "In my haste to correct the oversight, I
neglected to ask your name.  I have to make your introduction and have no
idea how to do it."
	"My name's Christine," she whispered back.
	"I'm Jonah Ballwin, Second Officer aboard the Mermaid," he
returned.  "I'm charmed to meet you."
	Not as charmed as you're going to be, thought Chris.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:34:30 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLIV
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:34:30 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLIV:  THE CRUISE, PART TWO

	Christine stood at the railing at the bow of the ship, several
stories above the water line, blinking watery eyes caused by the wind
generated by the movement of the Carib Mermaid as she made her way toward
the port of Montego Bay.  It was late, well past 1:00 am, on a perfect,
cloudless night.  Chris was amazed at how many stars were visible once one
got away from the lights of the mainland.  Even though there was no moon,
one could easily see by the starlight, although mainly in dim hues of
bluish gray.  Chris was wearing a thin billowy sundress with nothing
underneath and was reveling in the sensations the cool breeze provided as
the fabric rippled across her amaranthine body.  From this lofty vantage
point she saw no other people above decks at all; those few passengers
still up at this hour were at the casino or nightclub.  Chris felt like
she had this gargantuan ship all to herself.
	Perched at the very front end of this boat as she was, Chris was
reminded of the old-fashioned figurehead, usually the undraped torso of a
lovely lady, carved into the bow of classic wooden sailing vessels.  She
suddenly felt an impulsive desire to be the Mermaid's figurehead.  With a
quick glance around her to confirm she was alone, she reached up and
untied the strings holding her dress around her neck and shoulders.  The
top fell away to where the material was gathered at her waist.  Chris
leaned out over the railing, arching her back and throwing back her head
in classic figurehead pose.  Her awe-inspiring breasts thrust forward,
proudly defying gravity by even curving slightly upward as she bent back. 
The caress of the cool night wind felt good on the hot skin of her bosom;
the glands beneath had been working overtime to compensate for Chris's
increased caloric intake -- the midnight buffet she had attended earlier
had been her fifth meal that day -- and were once again filling the myriad
lactiferous sinuses within to capacity with warm, sweet milk.  The breeze
finally lowered her skin temperature enough to raise goose pimples and
turn her nipples into twin 3/4" cylinders of solid ruby.  She recalled
that she rarely displayed herself out in the open like this, and when she
did it was usually in a controlled environment, like a fenced-in swimming
pool.  The knowledge that she was now fully exposed to both the elements
and potentially to any one of the thousand or so people aboard who might
happen to wander up to this particular lookout proved to be very erotic
for her.  The three glasses of wine she'd consumed at the buffet were
definitely helping suppress her inhibitions as well.  Chris felt a
coolness in her crotch as the breeze penetrated the fabric of her dress
and tried to evaporate the moisture that was beginning to collect there.
	The sensations were so novel, and the situation so unique, that
Chris decided to run with them.  As the last of her inhibitions melted
away, aided by the wine, she retained just enough conscious sense to turn
to the port side railing so that the wind would not be directly in her
face.  Leaning out over the railing with eyes closed, chin lifted
slightly, and tits outthrust, she concentrated on the sound of the ocean
far below striking the bow of the ship -- millions of gallons of water
rushing past in a continuous, mighty surge.  She imagined herself surging
with that kind of power, and sure enough seconds later her breasts began
spewing forth torrents of hot milk.  The wind caught the needle-thin
streams and blew them to a white mist that quickly dissipated into the
night.  As the tingling of the letdown intensified, Chris used her
lacquered fingernails to lightly stroke the long sides of her aching
nipples, stimulating the tiny muscles along her milk ducts to contract
even harder, pushing the streams out with even greater force.  Not content
even with this, Chris cupped her incredible boobs and began tugging and
squeezing in an attempt to increase the flow even more.  The small
openings in her nipples had reached capacity, however, so her actions only
served to increase the feeling of pressure inside her breasts, which was
sufficient to push her toward orgasm.
	She felt her nectar start to run down the inside of her legs, so
she released one breast, gathered as much material from her dress up
around her waist in one hand as she could, and planted her feet wide apart
so she would splash directly onto the deck.  She let go of the other
breast, trapped both of them between her forearms, and squeezed them
together to keep the flow of milk going at maximum.  The index finger of
her free hand disappeared into the folds of her bald beaver, sought out
her slippery, engorged clit, and began a vigorous circular motion.  Chris
held her breath to keep from crying out as she mounted the final hill, and
the subsequent drop in oxygen to her brain took her immediately into an
orgasm of superluminary porportions.  Her nipples felt as if they would
pop off from the pressure of the milk rushing through them, and the force
of the flood from her pussy made a loud splat as it struck the deck. 
Caught up in unreasoning ecstasy, Chris actually forgot to resume
breathing, and her knees began to buckle.  The night seemed to take on a
reddish hue, and as she began to faint, she felt something hard strike her
across the midriff.  As consciousness began to flicker out, she realized
that it was the railing -- she was beginning to pitch forward over it! 
She gasped for breath and fought to regain control of her body, but it was
too late -- she felt herself in the grip of gravity and in stark white
panic realized she was about to fall overboard!
	In that millisecond she felt her head snap back as a second impact
across her middle jerked her violently backward.  When awareness returned
she found herself sprawled in a heap several feet back from the railing. 
There was hoarse breathing in her ear and a strong arm wrapped tightly
about her at just below the level of her breasts, which now pointed upward
and were still dribbling milk down their smooth slopes to soak into the
sleeve of that arm.  She slowly realized that she was not lying on the
deck, but had landed on top of someone.
	The breathing in her ear turned into a male voice laced with
concern.  "Christine!  Are you all right?" it said.
	How does he know my name? she thought, still badly shaken.  Wait,
I recognize that voice...  She looked back over her shoulder, right into
Jonah Ballwin's bluer-than-blue eyes.  She tried to speak, but realized
that she was still struggling to regain her breath.  Jonah had had to come
from several feet away to keep Chris from going over the railing, so his
collision with her had been a rough one.  She nodded yes instead.
	Jonah looked toward the railing.  "God damn it!" he swore with
feeling.  "I've always thought those railings were too low!  What were
those stupid designers thinking?!"  He was practically trembling with
anger and adrenaline.  He forced his eyes closed and took several deep
breaths to calm himself.
	Chris reached up and stroked his cheek.  "I seriously thought I
was going to die.  Thank you."  She also looked toward the railing.  "I
don't know what I was thinking, getting so close."  She felt herself
blushing, the heat in her cheeks more noticable in the cool air.  "I guess
I was caught up in the moment."
	Is he blushing too?  It's so hard to tell in this light.  "To be
honest, so was I," she heard him say.  "This particular overlook is a
little difficult to get to, so not many passengers come up here.  I often
do because the view is so spectacular.  Tonight it was particularly so." 
His eyes briefly flicked down across Chris's body, which made her realize
how fully exposed she still was.  Oddly, however, she felt no immediate
need to disengage from his grip and cover herself.  The wine must still be
exerting some influence.  Besides, the salt air was definitely becoming
nippy, and he was nice and warm.
	She snuggled a little deeper into his chest and straightened one
leg that had gotten caught at a funny angle when they had tumbled to the
deck.  Smiling mischievously, she said, "How long had you been standing
there?"
	"Long enough," he replied.  "Long enough to see that you are the
most incredible woman I have ever met.  If I hadn't seen what you just did
with my own eyes, I would never have believed it."
	Chris blushed again.  "Believe me, I don't do that sort of thing
every day."
	"Then I feel doubly fortunate to have been here when I was."
	Chris shifted slightly, purposely pressing one warm, firm breast
into Jonah's side.  "I wasn't done, you know," she said seductively.
	Jonah's eyebrows lifted.  "Oh, should I have just let you go over
the side, then?" he inquired.
	"Of course not, silly," said Chris.  "But you don't notice me
wriggling about trying to get my dress back on, do you?"
	"I suppose I was sort of wondering why you weren't."
	Chris turned to face Jonah, in the same movement pushing him back
down to the deck.  "Right now I owe you a debt, and I'm the kind of person
who likes to pay off her debts promptly," she said as she started
unbuttoning his shirt.
	"Excellent policy," Jonah said with a grin.  "Might I suggest,
however, that we adjourn to someplace more comfortable than this deck?"
	As soon as he mentioned comfort, Chris realized that she had
skinned one of her knees, and in her half-naked state, even through the
false warmth of the wine, she was getting cold.  Hiking her dress back
into position, she asked, "I assume you have a particular 'someplace' in
mind?"
	Jonah got to his feet and helped Chris to hers.  "Indeed I do. 
Allow me to show you the Carib Mermaid that most paying customers never
get to see."

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 18:05:37 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLV
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 21:05:37 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLV:  THE CRUISE, PART THREE

	Christine let Jonah lead her off the observation deck and down
through several levels of the ship.  She was still a bit disoriented from
the combination of sensations still coursing through her body:  pain from
the collision with Jonah which had resulted in his saving her from going
overboard, residual tingling from the orgasm which had almost been her
last, the remains of the buzz from the wine she'd consumed earlier that
evening, and strong attraction, on several levels, for this second officer
of the Carib Mermaid.  Prevailing at the moment was gratitude for her
rescue, but a close second was how taken she was with how almost regal the
man was in his mannerisms, his politeness, the seriousness with which he
took his job, and his undivided attentions toward her.  Over dinner that
evening she had noted that he was good at hinting that he had a naughty
side without being outwardly crude, which intrigued her.  Her
traffic-stopping body, enhanced as it was by the cut of her dress, had
clearly made an impression on him then, and he had been able to
communicate his interest to her while the other guests at the Captain's
Table had no clue of the building heat between them.  Chris remembered how
moist she had gotten when that realization had hit her.  There was no
doubt in her mind that Jonah must have seduced dozens of female passengers
before her, yet he made her feel like she was the first.  The fact that he
was absolutely gorgeous and she was extremely horny didn't hurt, either.
	Chris noted as Jonah led her through the ship that the corridors
were very narrow and unadorned.  Piping hung close overhead; paint was
peeling from the walls; and the lighting was dim.  It was also eerily
quiet; true, it was late, well into the wee smalls, but she expected to
see at least a few other people up at this hour.  When she inquired about
this, Jonah smiled.
	"I wondered how long it would be before you noticed something
different," he said.  "This ship is in many ways like an old Gothic
mansion.  There is an entirely separate set of corridors and hatchways
that the crew uses and the passengers know nothing about.  There are even
entire sections of deck that are inaccessible to our paying customers and
which they don't even suspect exist."
	"Are you taking me to one of those now?"
	"Very astute of you.  You're about to see a part of the Mermaid
that very few people, even crew, see with any regularity."  He finished
the sentence just as they arrived at a bulkhead.  Jonah undogged the hatch
which swung open, releasing into their faces a current of warm moist air
laced with the faint smell of cedar and something else...lavender,
perhaps?
	Chris stepped through the hatch and into what was so obviously a
den of seduction that she had to keep from laughing at the sheer
audaciousness of it.  The room was multi-leveled, with an extensive bar
along one wall, a large raised area dotted with person-sized pillows along
another, and a wide, multi-sectioned picture window (with curtains
currently drawn) spanning the long wall directly in front of her.  Set in
the center of the room were not one, but two jacuzzis, both bubbling
furiously, but not so much that the thrumming of the ship's engines could
not be heard.  Flower petals danced on the bubbles.  The ceiling was
mirrored and illuminated by a means not immediately obvious.  The walls
and floor were covered with a deep red patterned fabric, giving the
overall feeling of a turn-of-the-century bordello.  Towels, robes,
glasses, an ice bucket, a bottle of asti spumante, a vase of roses, and
even a small dish containing what looked like marijuana cigarettes stood
at the ready.
	"My God," said Chris.  "You sailors don't believe in subtlety, do
you?"
	"There's usually not enough time for that," Jonah said honestly. 
"How long are you going to be aboard?  Three days, four at the most. 
Extended courtships aren't generally practical under those conditions."
	Chris pointed to the dish.  "Are those what I think they are?"
	Jonah just cocked his head.  "We do visit Jamaica often, you
know."
	"Of course.  Silly me."
	Even though this was not Chris's idea of the most romantic setting
in the world, it was another new experience for her, so she decided to go
with it.  She walked into the room and up to the window, whose curtains
parted at her approach.  They opened to reveal that they were now at the
stern of the ship.  The view was different from, but no less impressive
than, that afforded by the observation deck they had just come from.  She
must have been staring out the window for some time, for when she turned
back, Jonah had already opened the champagne and had poured two glasses. 
Chris simply smiled, undid a couple of strategically placed fasteners, and
in a single motion stepped out of her dress.  The unusual lighting played
across her magnificent frame, accentuating the large upturned breasts, the
smooth mons, the flared hips, the well-turned thighs.  Chris decided to
play the part the setting seemed to expect of her to the hilt.  She pushed
her chest forward, half-lidded her eyes, and slid like a reptile down into
one of the jacuzzis.  Jonah smiled appreciatively, but didn't move toward
her, as she expected.  Instead, he turned his back to her.  Chris blinked
in surprise, wondering what was going on, but relaxed and smiled when she
heard the crinkle of the foil covering on the bottle of spumante.
	"I'm not thirsty yet," Chris said, trying to get Jonah's
attention.  "I will be later though..."
	Jonah glanced over his shoulder as he worked on the bottle.  "What
do you think of our little nest?  Several crew members worked together to
build it.  This used to be part of a cargo hold.  I think the captain
knows it exists, but doesn't let on.  Decent fellow, the captain."
	Small talk now, when I'm wet, naked, and ready? thought Chris. 
What's with this guy?  Maybe he just needs a little persuading....
	"There's plenty of room for two, Second Officer Ballwin," she
said.  "I'm still a little sore from our altercation on the deck and could
use a good neck rub."  Jonah did turn at that, and when he did, Chris
started moving her body under the water, almost as a belly dancer would on
land.  She would let parts of her fabulous body become momentarily
visible, then resubmerge them.  Her underwater dance was enough to make a
dead man come.
	Still Jonah Ballwin kept his distance, smiling blankly, soon
returning to the business of opening the bottle of asti spumante.
	Chris couldn't believe it.  She thought she was a pretty good
judge of when a man wanted her, and Jonah had exhibited all the classic
signs.  Here she was practically sending semiphore, and he stood unmoving.
 Am I being rejected here?  Is he gay?  Is he teasing me?  All kinds of
questions started going through her mind.
	Well, I'll give him another sixty seconds to finish opening that
goddamn bottle, then I'm suddenly going to get the mother of all
headaches, Chris said to herself.  I don't need this, especially on
vacation.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:34:10 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLVI
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:34:10 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLVI:  THE CRUISE, PART FOUR

	"My, but you're showing remarkable restraint, both here and on the
observation deck," said Chris as she continued to undulate just below the
surface of the jacuzzi.  Occasionally a glimpse of magnificence would
appear for an instant and then vanish back into the bubbles.  "What do I
have to do, throw myself at you?"
	Jonah smiled and began to pour the asti spumante.  "Occupational
habit, I suppose," he said.  "Manners and decorum where the guests are
concerned...that's been drilled into me ever since I first signed on to a
cruise ship.  I guess I just have to be absolutely sure about a guest's
needs before taking action to avoid making any mistakes."
	"My needs should be obvious," Chris returned.  She arched her back
so that her breasts broke the surface.  The water running off their
exquisite curves was joined by two thin white streams as she allowed her
erect nipples to ooze a bit of milk by way of invitation.  Jonah's
training went out the porthole when he saw that.  He barely had time to
put down the glasses before jumping fully clothed into the jacuzzi,
scooping Chris up and hungrily fastening his lips around one glistening
nipple as she laughed her delight.  Finally! she thought.  Nothing like a
dairy treat to bring them running...  She rewarded Jonah by sending a gush
of sweet milk into his mouth, which he swallowed with a moan of pleasure. 
Jonah awkwardly began removing clothing and flinging it with a splat
against the wall.  This was doubly difficult, first because the clothing
was wet and heavy, and second because he was attempting to do it without
removing his mouth from Chris's breast.  His entry into her was fast and
totally devoid of manners and decorum.  Their frantic fucking soon doubled
the turbulence within the jacuzzi.
	It was over soon, much too soon for Chris's taste, but it had been
spirited, and that was enough to create a pleasant afterglow.  Chris
sipped her spumante, settled back against Jonah's muscled chest and
listened to the panting in her ear slowly lessen.  Strange how it almost
matches the rhythm of the engine noise, she thought.  Jonah is really in
tune with the workings of this ship.  She realized that she was also
breathing hard; she had forgotten how exhausting making love in a hot
jacuzzi could be.  The cold liquid hitting her throat and exploding into
fizz served to re-energize her.  Bubbles without, bubbles within, she said
to herself.  Nice combination.  Speaking of 'within'...  She gave Jonah,
who was still inside her, a playful squeeze with her vaginal muscles and
felt him re-harden in response.  He reached around the girl in his lap,
vainly trying to contain a breast in each hand (there was far too much
there for him to hold), and returned the squeeze, which this time sent
twin jets of milk several feet over the edge of the jacuzzi.
	"Amazing," he said for the third or fourth time.  "And you say
you've never had a baby?"
	"No," she said.  She craned her neck to try to look at him.  "Does
it bother you that I'm somewhat of a medical oddity?"
	"No!  No!  I don't consider you an 'oddity' at all.  I never
realized how much more -- is 'feminine' still an acceptable word today? --
milky breasts are.  They're doing what they were designed to do -- how can
one not find sensuality in that?"
	Chris smiled, snuggled deep into his shoulder, and Kegeled him
hard enough to elicit another deep moan.  "I'm so glad you said that," she
said.  "So many men are -- how shall I put this -- less than enthusiastic
about my having milk.  Even after being this way for more than a year, I
myself am still exploring new aspects of lactating."  As she said this, a
new one entered her mind.  "Say, Jonah, can you turn off the bubbles for a
minute?"
	"The switch is right here.  I'm sorry, are they getting to you?"
	"No, I just want to see something."
	The bubbles vanished.  The surface of the jacuzzi became calm. 
She slid Jonah out of herself, moved around to the opposite side, facing
him, and looked down at her breasts, most of which were below the water
level.  They would be bobbing slightly if they weren't so firm.  She
allowed herself to feel the hot water surrounding them, making them feel
even heavier and larger.  She remembered reading how taking a hot bath was
recommended for women who had trouble with engorgement, as it helps with
letdown.  She released her mental control, and sure enough milk began
pouring out of her.  She looked down to see what she had wondered might
happen:  billowing white clouds of milk forming around her bosom as it
jetted from her nipples and began dispersing in the water.  She looked
further down into the water and saw clear tendrils drifting up from her
pussy and realized that her pussy juice was also seeping out and mixing
with the water, forming swirling patterns like those that form when sugar
is allowed to slowly dissolve.  The roiling clouds of milk and nectar
spread outward as Chris continued to pour herself forth.  This was another
new post-Accident experience...and this one was having the same effect as
all the others, making her horny again.  She wanted to add a new
experience, right away...
	"Quick, darling, turn the bubbles back on!" she cried as she felt
her level of arousal increase.  As soon as the jets sprang back to life,
Chris straddled one, letting the full force of the jacuzzi strike her clit
head on.  She thrilled to the feeling of the high pressure blasting across
her clit, between her legs, and up the crack of her ass.  She came
instantly, sending more milk and pussy juice into the water with a force
rivaling that of the jets themselves.  When she was done, the water was
foaming from all the protein that Chris had injected into it.  Jonah could
only sit dumbfounded, realizing only vaguely that some of his semen had
also just joined this unusual mixture.  He also felt very lightheaded.  As
reason returned he realized that they had been in the jacuzzi for far
longer than the recommended time; both he and Chris were risking
heatstroke if they continued.
	They climbed out and began toweling each other off.  "Chris, we
dock in Montego Bay tomorrow morning, and we ship out again the next day. 
I wonder, if you haven't already made plans for tomorrow night, if you
would like to join me for a very special kind of party."
	"A party sounds nice.  What makes it 'very special'?"
	"Well, it's rather hard to describe what usually goes on, but let
us just say that one, games of chance are involved, and two, a woman of
your particular talents would be a major center of attraction there."
	"Now just what kind of woman does that make me?" she said, letting
a note of mock anger creep into her voice.  She was intrigued, but wanted
to tease him a little.
	"When we're in port, several of us meet up with some interesting
local people for a little gambling and a little entertainment not unlike
what you've just demonstrated."
	"Some sort of kinky Caribbean-style orgy-slash-poker party, is
that what you're inviting me to?"
	"Not exactly, but that's not outside the realm of possibility. 
Interested?"
	Maybe it was the residual thrill from the new experiences she'd
just had that was making her crave another, or maybe it was just being in
"vacation mode" that made Chris hesitate only a second or so before
agreeing to meet Jonah at a certain time and place the next night.
	Later, in his cabin, as she felt both sleep and Jonah's arms
encircle her, Chris wondered how it was that Jonah knew how agreeable she
would be to a proposition that would put most women off almost
immediately.  Are my pheromones that strong?  Or is he just that good? 
thought Chris just before the lateness of the hour -- God, could it really
be after four? -- finally overtook her.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:36:23 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLVII
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:36:23 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLVII:  THE ROAD TO NEGRIL

	Christine, carry-on in hand, came down the gangplank of the Carib
Mermaid, blinking against the brutal Jamaican sun despite a pair of dark
sunglasses.  She was grateful for the cruise director's advice concerning
the application of sunscreen; she was sure that without it she would fry
in minutes.  Even with the blast-furnace heat, the bright day and sweet
air were refreshing and stimulating.  As her feet touched the ground, she
realized that she was standing on soil that was not part of the United
States for the first time in her life.  She felt a thrill.  Chris could
hardly wait to start the next phase of her vacation.  	Clearing customs
did not take as long as she had anticipated, but she did wish the customs
area had made better use of fans.  If this heat keeps up, I'll have to
consume my weight in pina coladas to keep cool, she thought.  She was just
beginning to wonder what had happened to the rest of her luggage when she
happened to spot it at the curb, being loaded into a large van with the
name of her resort emblazoned across the side.  She also saw three people,
two men and a woman, waiting to climb aboard.  Chris recognized them as
being fellow travellers aboard the Mermaid, although she had not formally
met any of them.
	The fellow driving the van was a local, a man well-versed in the
art of welcoming tourists.  He immediately put his passengers at ease,
joking with them and giving them the nickel tour as he spirited them off
to the west, away from Montego Bay, counterclockwise around the coastline
toward Negril.  Chris couldn't get over how lush everything was.  She had
no idea that there could be this many shades of green.  As they sped along
the main highway, frequently passing run-down buses crammed with people
and sloshing cans of spare petrol, Chris wished the driver would slow down
so that she could better take in the scenery.
	The driver was busy admiring the view as well, but his was from
the rear view mirror tilted down in Chris's direction.  At that moment the
van struck a large pothole, almost throwing all four passengers out of
their seats.  Chris's large unsupported breasts bounced sharply and
heavily inside her tank top, reminding her of how full they were after
having converted many of the calories she'd consumed in her last,
undeniably decadent breakfast aboard ship into mother's milk.  The ache
from the jolt partially disguised the beginning tingles of a let-down
enough so that Chris could not prevent the leakage of a few drops of milk
from her suddenly erect nipples before recognizing what was happening and
mentally shutting down the process.  She stole a glance down at herself;
sure enough, wet spots had appeared on the rose-colored fabric.  Chris
hoped that they weren't noticeable.
	But they were.  As Chris returned to the window, she suddenly felt
eyes on her.  She looked back to find the two passengers sitting across
from her doing that trying-not-to-stare-but-can't-help-themselves look. 
The woman appeared especially shocked, and was not hiding it very well. 
She was a rather plain-looking brunette with an unremarkable figure and a
poor fashion sense.  Chris had a feeling that this woman was probably not
going to find what she was looking for on this trip.  The man in a straw
hat sitting next to her was her male equivalent to such an extent that
Chris figured they were brother and sister.  Teaming up on the great
adventure, eh?  Chris thought.  He was openly staring at her.  Chris
covered her protruding nipples with her forearm in a practiced gesture,
but this only succeeded in pushing the luscious roundness of her breasts
up above the neckline of her top, widening the nerdy little guy's eyes
even further.
	Chris was embarrassed, and she hated being embarrassed.  She was
proud of her body; it was her most prized possession, and she resented
anyone who made her feel otherwise.  "Something I can help you with?"
Chris said with sufficient acid in her voice to startle "Frick" and
"Frack" (as Chris had mentally named the brother and sister) into averting
their stares to the passing scenery.
	"Forgive us," came a voice from the fourth passenger, a fortyish
man with leathery skin and graying temples -- not extremely handsome, but
certainly passable.  French Canadian, by his accent.  "I am sure none of
us are accustomed to such sights."
	Chris managed a thin smile.  "I assume you mean the scenery."
	"Scenery, yes.  Of course."  He smiled back, then glanced at
Chris's arm nestled deep within the twin wonders of her breasts.  "Are you
in any discomfort?  Shall I ask the driver to stop?"
	"No, I'm fine, thank you.  I apologize if I shocked you.  It's
been a while since I last..." -- she paused to find an appropriate way to
phrase it -- "...took care of this."
	"Shocked?  By no means.  I find it quite...intriguing, no?  But I
embarrass you.  Let us speak no more about it, eh?"
	I'm filing this guy for future reference, thought Chris.  Polite,
galant, and not altogether bad looking.  And he's "intrigued" by breast
milk...
	Suddenly Chris was seized by an urge to use this opportunity to
make "Frick" and "Frack" very uncomfortable.  She allowed her arm to drop
into her lap and even allowed a bit more milk to leak from her breasts and
slightly widen the spots on her tank top.
	"No, I don't mind talking about it," Chris said.  "In fact, I
rather enjoy it.  But, if you'd rather not..."  She was talking to the
Canadian, but her eyes were fixed on the brother and sister, who were
staring out the window at nothing at all, trying to become invisible.
	"Not at all.  I just did not wish to seem rude.  I am a bit
confused, though.  I don't see a baby with you."
	"My daughter is with her father in Europe," Chris lied.  Hell, she
thought.  I can be anybody I want to here.  "I breastfed her until she was
four.  I enjoyed lactating so much that I decided to keep my milk after I
weaned her.  I've been publicly campaigning for the cause of breastfeeding
ever since.  Breast is best, you know.  Anyway, that was two years ago." 
She glanced at the two across from her.  "Frack", the sister, was now
doing nothing with her facial expressions to hide her distaste.
	"Forgive me again, but you do not appear to be old enough to have
a six-year-old daughter."
	"You're sweet, Monsieur.."
	"Please, call me Jean-Claude."  The Canadian extended a slender
hand.
	Chris swiveled in her seat to face the Canadian, took his hand,
pressed her shoulders back slightly, and let her nipples come to full
erection, pulling the fabric of her top with them.  She wanted to tease
these people until they begged for mercy.  God, this was fun!
	"So you enjoy having milk, eh?" Jean-Claude continued.
	"My, you *are* intrigued, aren't you.  Yes, I enjoy it very much. 
There's no feeling quite like it.  I like what it's done for my figure,
and I love how it makes me more aware of my own body.  It's very sensual,
very earthy.  It makes me sort of special, as my lovers would be the first
to say."  She smiled inwardly as a snort of disgust came from the
direction of "Frack".
	Jean-Claude cricked an eyebrow.  The beginnings of an erection
were becoming visible in his khakis.  "I remember when my ex-wife nursed
our son.  She dried up as soon as she stopped.  How is it you are able to
keep -- what was the word you used?  lactating? -- for so long afterward?"
	"Oh, you have to keep things stimulated," said Chris.  Unless you
get your pituitary scrambled by a speeding car, she added silently.  "My
lovers do a lot in that department.  Also, I belong to a sort of club with
other women like myself.  We keep each other's milk flowing as well." 
Strange that this last part, the most outrageous of this story, is the
truest part, she thought.  For a second she wondered what the other
members of the Lac-Station were doing, then immediately put the thought
out of her mind.  No thinking about work! she scolded herself.  She looked
again at "Frick" and "Frack" and almost started laughing.  Frick's fixed
stare out the window was beginning to glaze over.  He had removed his
straw hat and placed it in his lap, where he had one hand in a shorts
pocket playing a rousing game of pocket pool.  "Frack" was practically
squirming in her seat.
	Jean-Claude's eyebrow seemed permanently stuck in the "up"
position.  "Even more intriguing.  Isn't it a lot of bother, though?  My
ex-wife always complained about being uncomfortable, having to wear pads,
leaking at bad times..."  He was placing an inordinate amount of emphasis
on the syllable "ex".  Was he getting interested?
	"Yes, there are those things," said Chris.  "Like what just
happened, for instance.  But the pleasure far outweighs the
disadvantages." She leaned forward, which deepened her cleavage and
accentuated the wetness of her top.  Was Jean-Claude beginning to
perspire, even in this air-conditioned van?  "The men I've been with say
there's nothing to compare with making love to a lactating woman.  It
makes for some, shall we say, interesting variations."
	"I can only imagine," replied Jean-Claude, as he wiped absently at
his upper lip.  "I have never had the privilege, myself.  My ex-wife never
let me come near her when she was nursing."
	Chris sat back in her seat and made a show of plucking the damp
cloth of her tank top away from her skin to help dry it.  Poor
Jean-Claude, she thought.  I'm doing this to get at "Frick" and "Frack"
over there, and you're getting caught in the crossfire.  I may need to
reward you for playing your part so well.  She smiled seductively.  "A
pity.  Well, you might still have a chance, some day.  You can never tell
what fate may have in store."  She allowed more milk to leak out, and the
circles grew.  "Oh, dear," she said with mock surprise.  "We should stop
talking about this.  It's making things worse.  Sometimes just thinking
about my breasts is enough to bring on quite a downpour..."
	"All right, that's enough!" blurted "Frack".  "Don't you have any
shame whatsoever?  My word, the nerve you have!  That's...that's
*disgusting*!  And you're upsetting my brother!"  She looked nervously at
"Frick".  She obviously could not tell that he was in the middle of an
orgasm he was not doing well concealing.  He grimaced rhythmically, his
straw hat bouncing happily in his lap.
	"Forgive me a third time, but it appears he is not at all very
upset, unless it is about the condition of his underwear," Jean-Claude
said with a comical grin that was intended to match the silly one that was
slowly spreading across "Frick"'s face.  Chris laughed heartily, letting
her milky jugs jiggle invitingly.  She stifled it down to a chuckle after
an angry growl and a withering glare from "Frack".
	There was no more verbal conversation in the van for the rest of
the trip to the resort, but enough body language was used by Chris and
Jean-Claude during that time to fill volumes.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Sun Jul 07 16:38:19 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis XLVIII
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date: 7 Jul 1996 19:38:19 -0400

LACTOGENESIS XLVIII:  THE HOTEL

	The rest of the drive to the resort was uneventful.  An awkward
silence pervaded the interior of the van as "Frick" continued to glance
nervously out the window, shifting slightly in his cum-soaked shorts;
"Frack" stared bullets at Christine; and Jean-Claude and Chris exchanged
shy smiles.  The driver's voice announcing their arrival at the resort
startled all of them.  
	As they passed through the gate at the head of the complex, Chris
was dumbstruck by the sheer size of the place.  The main hotel building,
at least twenty stories tall, was just a small part of the overall resort;
it took several minutes to reach it from the gate.  There were smaller
bungalows scattered throughout areas so densely vegetated that they could
be called mini-jungles.  A large golf course dominated a large section;
tennis courts and what appeared to be a small shopping center/swimming
pool/spa combination sprawled across another.  The beach was not yet
visible, but Chris figured it must be huge.
	The group split up as soon as they went through the gigantic
revolving door at the main entrance.  Chris located a restroom in the
lobby and used the opportunity to express a little milk (her verbal
sparring with Jean-Claude had gotten her quite excited) and change tank
tops.  She then checked in, made arrangements to be taken back to Montego
Bay that night for Jonah's party, and rode the elevator up to her room. 
She keyed the door, stepped in, and immediately squealed with pleasure. 
Her room was actually a suite, a thousand square feet at least, furnished
with every amenity a hedonist could ever want -- far too many luxurious
appointments to list here.
	"Way to go, Sherri," Chris said aloud.  "Jeremy's going to shit a
brick when he sees the bill."  Her luggage arrived at her suite moments
later, and she busied herself with unpacking.  She stopped to take a break
and walked out onto the huge balcony that extended the length of both the
main sitting room and the adjoining bedroom.  She was immediately struck
by the architecture of the hotel.  The building was reminiscent of a Mayan
pyramid, with each successive floor smaller than the one below it.  Chris
was on one of the top floors, so the rest of the building spread out below
her.  The beach lay beyond a dense grove of palm trees; only a faint strip
of blue ocean was visible above it.  The building was also vaguely
horseshoe-shaped, with her suite located at the bottom of the "U", so she
could see most of this side of the it.  The balconies were positioned
along each floor so they were not stacked one above the other.  In this
way it was possible for her to look down upon most of the balconies on
this side of the hotel.  Not much privacy that way, thought Chris.  Did
the designers do that on purpose, so that people could see each other? 
This is a singles resort, after all.  The idea is to meet lots of
people...
	Unconsciously she began scanning along the building, looking for
fellow guests.  She was curious about what kinds of people frequented a
resort like this.  She knew that she probably wouldn't have picked this
place on her own.  It was only because Sherri had convinced her to choose
a location more or less at random, and then had made all the arrangements
herself, that Chris was here at all.  Still, she felt the visceral thrill
associated with knowing that practically anything she did here would be a
new adventure for her, and after all, wasn't that what had essentially
driven her entire existence, at least ever since The Accident had opened
new sensual vistas for her?  Live it up, she told herself.  You're on
vacation.  You're here to get rested, get drunk, get laid, get tanned, get
away, get pampered, get laid...did I say "get laid" twice?  Guess that
says a lot for my priorities.  Time's a-wastin', girl.  Might as well
start sending out signals now.
	Chris went back into the sitting room and over to the bureau, upon
which sat a bowl brimming with fresh tropical fruit and an ice bucket with
a small bottle of champagne in it.  She popped a wedge of passion fruit
(how appropriate, she thought) into her mouth, opened the champagne,
poured a glass, then blithely stepped out of her clothes and walked stark
raving gloriously naked back out onto the balcony.  The hot sun felt good
on her skin and was reflected back in the highlights of her hair, in the
drops of sweat that began to appear on her forehead, and in the drops of
milk that began to appear at the tips of her long, hard nipples.  She
squinted upward, looking at the undersides of the balconies above her,
actually hoping that someone -- male or female, didn't matter which --
would see her standing there broadcasting her availability and shout a
greeting.  She was too near the top floors, though; there weren't very
many rooms above her, and what few there were appeared empty.
	"Still, how's this for brazen?" Chris said softly.  "God,
sometimes I wonder if there's any end to what my crazy mixed-up glands
will drive me to do."  She chuckled to herself.  "Jeremy would go ape-shit
if he could see me now."  She sipped at her champagne, then playfully
dribbled some on her nipples.  The cold carbonation teased them, and they
stiffened even more and began to leak again.
	A faint shriek snapped her out of her daydream.  Her eyes swung
around, seeking the source.  It was a female voice, and the sound was not
one of fear or pain, but of surprised ecstasy.  Chris glanced across the
length and breadth of the building, but could see nothing.  Another noise,
this time a delighted giggle, the same voice.  Now Chris could zero in on
it.  She tracked it to a balcony two floors below and to the left of her,
and what she saw almost made her drop her glass.
	A broad, tanned, muscular back first greeted her sight.  When her
brain next allowed her eyes to move, she saw that it belonged to a nude
male who was supine over an equally nude female in the classic missionary
position.  The woman's long blond hair spilled out across the lawn chair
she was splayed across; her large breasts moving like jello molds on the
San Andreas during a 7.5.  Her lover pounded away at her like a
jackhammer.  She had three fingers of one hand in her mouth, sucking on
them like they were a cock, occasionally screeching in pleasure as he hit
her clit a certain way. Boy her voice carries, Chris thought absently
through her growing arousal. She could see sunlight reflecting off the
man's wet rod as it momentarily appeared from the depths of the woman's
pussy.  She saw her legs come up and her heels press down on his buttocks,
pushing him deeper inside.  He drove on and on for what seemed like
forever as Chris watched the woman come once, twice, thrice in rapid
succession.  
	Chris felt her own thighs becoming slick with juice as her cunt
pulsed in response to what she was witnessing.  She was barely aware of
the warm twin trickles of white that careened from her nipples down along
the undersides of her swollen breasts and along her stomach to be funneled
by the V of her crotch into a single stream that flowed down along her
hairless labia to mix with the nectar issuing therefrom.  Absently, she
reached for a nipple, tugged it gently, and promptly exploded in a
surprisingly sudden orgasm.  Fluids gushed in multiple fountains from her
body, splashing on the balcony floor and arcing out like twin shower heads
into the warm Jamaican afternoon.  Chris felt her thighs trembling and,
fearing a repeat of the incident on the Mermaid, threw both hands out to
steady herself on the balcony railing.  In so doing, she flung her
champagne glass over the side.  Chris yelped and tried to catch it, but it
fell and shattered against the sloping wall of the building below.
	Chris's yelp and the sound of breaking glass were enough to
distract the couple sufficiently for them to stop their wild fucking and
look upward, right into Chris's eyes.  She was mortified, but managed to
smile weakly and wave to them.  She was surprised when they both smiled
broadly and waved back.
	"Hello up there!"  the man yelled.
	"Hi," Chris shouted back, though not nearly as heartily.  "I'm
terribly sorry if I disturbed you."
	"Far from it!" the woman said.  "I was hoping somebody was
watching.  We're really into that!"
	"Did you enjoy it?" the man asked.
	"Well, now that you've caught me, I might as well confess.  Yes, I
did.  That was really amazing."  Chris was blushing right down to her
nipples.
	"Say, you're really fantastic looking," the man said.  "Do you
walk around naked all the time?"
	Boy, people don't mince words at this place, thought Chris.  He
did have her dead to rights, though, completely nude and playing Peeping
Thomasina.  "No, I really don't," she said.  "Something about this place 
really makes you lose your inhibitions."
	"You said it!" the woman shouted.  "I've been here a week, and
already I've done shit I wouldn't have dreamed about back in Baltimore!"
	"Hey, you want to join us?" the man said, his erection beginning
to return.
	"Maybe another time, OK?"
	"No problem!  See you later!"  With that, Chris was dismissed. 
The two turned to each other and fell to it again, as if Chris had never
interrupted them at all.
	Chris watched for another few minutes in total amazement.  As she
watched the man penetrate the woman anally while she drove a buzzing
golden vibrator in and out of her cunt, one thought repeated itself over
and over in her head:
	I'm really going to enjoy myself here.

<<to be continued>>


LACTOGENESIS XLIX: THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART ONE

   Christine examined herself in the full-length mirror that
comprised the closet door of the hotel suite's bedroom, wondering
whether the tight, beige slacks and floral bikini top she'd just
changed into were appropriate. Jonah had told her to dress very
casually for the party in Montego Bay that evening. "Don't wear
anything you wouldn't mind getting beer spilled on" had been his
exact words. He had warned her that this gathering was virtually
certain to become rowdy, raunchy, rude, and riotous. The recurrent
party's guests, mostly select crewmembers from the Carib Mermaid
and whatever other cruise ships happen to be in port at the time,
with some local ladies thrown in for good measure, usually didn't
consider the bash a success unless several arrests for disturbing
the peace and/or lewd and lascivious behavior were involved. Ever
the gentleman, Jonah had described in painstaking detail the
highlights of the last such party he had been to, roughly four
months earlier, so as to give Chris an idea of what she would be
agreeing to if she accepted his invitation. However, he had done so
while they had been furiously copulating in a jacuzzi, and so Chris
was fuzzy on most of the details, but she seemed to remember him
saying something about a woman who had a unique method for turning
bananas into projectiles, and something else about a German
shepherd, or was it a German purser?

   It sounded positively decadent, like something that was
custom-made for the sexual explorer that the hormonal stew that
constantly raged, albeit under tight control, through Chris's
bloodstream as a result of The Accident had awakened within her.
She was fairly certain that Jonah would not have invited her had
she not inadvertently demonstrated her ejaculatory and lactation
talents to him while she thought she was alone on the Mermaid's
forward observation deck. Something told her that the women at this
party would all be there because of some special sexual gift they
possessed. This intrigued and excited her to the point that she was
able to dismiss less intense feelings of exploitation that
threatened to ruin the sexual charge she felt building up inside
her. She took another look in the mirror. Yes, the slacks were
tight enough to brilliantly accentuate her beautifully rounded ass;
the bikini top cupped just enough of her incomparable breasts to
tease but not give too much away. She retrieved a thin jacket from
the closet to protect against the cool night breeze and was ready
to go. Just before leaving the suite she visited the bathroom long
enough to don a maxi-pad, since she had already started to moisten
in anticipation and didn't want to stain her slacks with her liquid
desire too prematurely. She remembered when she'd bought those pads
for a different reason. She now used them exclusively to wick up
her copious pussy juice; she still had not resumed menstruating.

   She took a particular glee in the looks she got as she walked
briskly through the lobby, her jacket open, her considerable
cleavage flashing into and out of view as she moved. Here I am in
a place with more centerfold types per square foot than anywhere
except maybe "Baywatch", and I can still turn heads, she thought
with satisfaction.

   Outside the hotel she immediately began scanning the parking
area for the yellow taxi she had reserved an hour before. She was
mildly angry when she didn't see one and was getting ready to go
back into the lobby to phone the cab company again when a loud beep
turned her around. The window of a green taxi rolled down and Jonah
Ballwin's winning smile appeared in it.

   "I sent your taxi away," he explained as Chris trotted toward
the car. "I wanted to make sure you were taken directly to the
party and not on some wild goose chase. Hop in." He opened the door
from the inside and Chris plopped onto the seat, her bosom jiggling
slightly as she did so. Jonah, of course, noticed instantly. "Good
Lord, you look fabulous," he said with genuine admiration, tinged
with lust. "You'll be the hit of the party."

   The taxi roared off as soon as the door was closed, pitching
Chris backward, directly into Jonah's arms. The driver glanced into
the rear view mirror and cackled at the result of his handiwork.
"Sorry, mon," he said.

   "No you're not, not in the slightest," Jonah replied. "Chris,
this is Edward, an acquaintance of mine. Although he drives like a
maniac, we actually couldn't be in better hands." Chris smiled a
greeting, which Edward returned in the mirror. She then turned to
Jonah, taking his hands in hers.

   "I really am looking forward to this," Chris said, somewhat
breathlessly. Jonah looked particularly delicious in his khakis and
a muscle-enhancing polo shirt -- a decidedly different look from
the uniform she was used to seeing him in. "In fact, I'm a little
surprised at myself as to how much. Even though I'm a lot braver
these days about such things as a result of all the changes I've
been through, I have to confess to being a little apprehensive
about what might happen tonight. Promise me you'll never be far
away." She squeezed his hand tightly.

   Edward answered for him. "Don't you worry, pretty lady," he
boomed. "My man Jonah is a gentleman of the old school. He'd never
let any harm come to one as lovely as yourself. But if by some
chance Jonah fall down on the job, ol' Edward, he'll be around."

   "You're coming to the party too?" Chris asked.

   This time Jonah answered. "Edward is one of this particular
gathering's 'founding fathers', so to speak. He's the designated
driver, in fact. Rumor has it he's had more fun with the guests in
his cab than they did at the party!"

   "Hold your tongue, Jonah!" Edward said, laughing. "Ol' Edward,
he don't want all his secrets told right away!"

   "Well, Chris, I certainly understand your apprehension," Jonah
said, turning his attention back to her. "Since a great deal of my
job involves helping people relax, I was fortunately able to
anticipate your nervousness and take the appropriate
countermeasures."

   "You're starting to talk like a naval officer again," Chris
chided as Jonah reached beneath the seat and extracted a large
thermos and two glasses. Before Chris could say "margarita," Jonah
presented her with a large one, complete with salt around the rim
of the glass. "Ah, but this is more like the second officer of a
pleasure ship," she said as she sipped.

   The ride from Negril back to Montego Bay was a long one. The
three people in the taxi chatted amiably as the kilometers passed.
Chris did not notice that Jonah was very careful to keep her glass
full, and as a result she imbibed more than she thought she was. As
her comfort level increased, Chris related the story of her trip to
the hotel and her first contact with some of her fellow
vacationers. Edward's eyes widened as Chris laughingly talked about
her various milky emissions during those episodes. A look passed
between him and Jonah that Chris didn't catch, but which
nonverbally said something like "This may be your best yet."

   As they approached Montego Bay, Chris began to notice that she
felt a lot more "comfortable" than she should be after only a
couple of margaritas. She recognized the sensation -- one of total
calm rather than intoxication. It was just like when she had gone
to an oral surgeon to have her wisdom teeth removed. He had shot
her so full of intravenous Valium that a supernova could have gone
off right in front of her and she wouldn't have given a damn. She
suddenly realized that the drinks had been spiked; she had been
tranquilized. That son of a bitch, she thought. I said I needed to
relax, but I didn't need to be sedated! Look at him -- he hasn't
taken a single sip, the bastard! Well, I feel too damn good to be
pissed off, but that's it for Captain Ballwin here.

   Chris smiled at how easy her decision to dump Jonah at her
earliest opportunity had been. By drugging her and thereby
squelching any complicated emotional internal struggle over her
feelings for him that she might ordinarily feel while considering
a decision of this type, Jonah had unwittingly hastened his own
dismissal. Still, Chris needed him to get into and out of this
party, so she decided to keep him around until the end of the
evening..

   This second decision had come at a most propitious moment, for
just then Edward turned the cab down a poorly lit Montego Bay side
street to park in front of a small restaurant whose partially
burnt-out neon sign read simply, "CAFE".

   "We have arrived," Edward said needlessly.

   Gird your grid, girl, Chris said to herself. Feeling like I do
now, I'm ready for anything. Now I know why Valium is so popular.

   <<to be continued>>