~Subject: LACTOGENESIS L:  The Sailor's Soiree, Part Two
~From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
~Date: 22 Nov 1995 04:04:06 -0500
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS L:  THE SAILOR'S SOIREE, PART TWO

	"Where is everybody?" asked Christine.
	"We be early a bit," Edward replied.  "My man Jonah here, he like
being first to come and last to leave."
	"With any luck at all, good friend, I won't be the first to come,"
Jonah cracked.  Edward made the windows of the taxi vibrate with his loud
laughter.  Chris was only mildly amused; she was still upset with Jonah
for having spiked her margaritas with Valium -- or at least, as upset as
her tranquilized mood would allow.
	"Come on, let me show you around," said Jonah, and with that he
practically dragged Chris by one wrist out of the cab.  Chris was a bit
concerned by the amount of time it took to get her feet firmly beneath
her.
	The threesome did not directly approach the front door of the
darkened cafe, but instead walked through a very narrow alley around to
the back.  A particularly smelly dumpster almost completely occluded a
ratty screen door over a heavy wooden one that marked the back entrance. 
Jonah used both fists to pound out a complicated rhythm on the doorjamb
which was clearly the entrance code.  The inner door opened a crack. 
Chris couldn't make out specifics in the dim light beyond, but she could
tell that whoever was guarding the entrance was a very large person
indeed.  Jonah mumbled something incoherent, but which sounded like
French, and the door swung wide to admit them.
	As Chris took the screen door from Jonah, who preceded her, she
was not prepared for how strong the spring on it would be.  She let go of
it too soon, and the door slammed hard into her right side, her breast on
that side catching most of the impact.  Chris's eyes went wide with
unexpected pain.  That hurt, a lot!  She suddenly realized that both of
her breasts were very tender, and had swollen enough over the past hour or
so to cause the straps of her bikini top to begin to cut into her
shoulders.  At first she discounted it, thinking that while on vacation it
wouldn't be possible to maintain her normal schedule of draining her
breasts of their marvelous bounty, and so a little discomfort was to be
expected.  Of course she hadn't been able to bring along her milking chair
or any of the other accessories she usually used at home to keep her milk
flowing freely.  All she had with her was a small hand-held breast pump --
and that was back at the hotel.  She hadn't thought she'd need anything
special; since having left home she had relied on her mental control over
her lactation abilities to keep from becoming uncomfortably full.  It
seemed now that her control was not doing the job, and she was becoming
painfully engorged.  After a second or two of puzzlement -- the last time
she'd been this over-full was that landmark first time in Dr. Ellis's
office -- she attributed it to having been unknowingly pumped full of
Valium, and so was unconcerned.  Besides, in her current condition, it was
biochemically impossible for her to be concerned about anything.  When the
Valium wore off, she'd regain full control, she was sure.  Until then,
she'd just have to squirt hard and long at her earliest opportunity.  As
she felt her right breast throb in time to her pulse, she hoped that
opportunity would not be long in coming.
	As she entered the back room, she saw that indeed, the person at
the door was huge.  He had to be close to seven feet tall, with the frame
of a world-class bodybuilder.  It almost bowled Chris over, then, when she
saw that atop this Arnold-like body was a head sporting a face painted
with outlandish cosmetics, a beehive blonde wig, and baubles dangling from
triply pierced ears.  Oh, brother, she said to herself.  I thought I was
prepared for anything.  Something tells me this is going to be one weird
night.  A transvestite bouncer.  What's next?
	She got her answer within a few seconds.  After greeting the
bouncer, Jonah turned to Chris and said, "Leslie here tells me there's
practically no one here yet.  Why don't we take this opportunity to grab
something to eat?  Experience has taught me that one should not party on
an empty stomach."
	The suggestion started a rumble in Chris's stomach, and so she
nodded her assent.  Jonah turned and roughly slammed open a pair of double
doors to his immediate left, making quite a racket in the process. 
"Enrique, you old son of a bitch, are you in here?" he yelled
simultaneously.
	A thin reedy tenor voice immediately rebounded from the large
kitchen beyond the double doors.  "Hey!  Fuck off, you gas-bloated spawn
of a venereal wart!" it said.
	"Good to see you too, you spirochete," Jonah said as he caught up
in a bear hug a skinny, thickly mustachioed man who suddenly appeared from
behind a rack of hanging pots and pans.  Chris made a mental note.  She
was seeing quite a transformation starting to take place in her young
Jonah.  The veneer of the polished, polite second officer was peeling away
to reveal an earthy, beer-swigging hedonist beneath.  So far she was
intrigued by what she was seeing, but wasn't sure she'd continue to like
it as the evening progressed and the party got wilder, as it was certain
to do.  She'd already decided to blow Jonah off for having drugged her --
she was beginning to see that she might have to do so earlier than she'd
originally thought.
	Jonah broke the embrace and turned Enrique to face Chris. 
"Enrique, this is the milker I told you about," he said.
	What the hell kind of an introduction is that, Chris thought.  If
I weren't so full of happy juice, I'd be pissed.  She was therefore
surprised to hear herself laugh.  She extended her hand.  "I've never been
referred to quite like that before," she said.  "I think I prefer
Christine."
	"Of course," Enrique said, kissing the back of her hand.  His
mustache tickled.  It was all Chris could do to keep from drawing away in
reflex.  "Leave it to Jonah to start getting crude before the first beer
has even been spilled."
	"We're starved," Jonah complained.  "Have you got anything back
here we can nibble on before the party gets going?  Besides Christine, I
mean."
	Enrique encircled Chris's shoulders with one arm and was openly
staring at her breasts.  As always, when she felt eyes on her bustline,
her nipples became instantly erect, pushing against the material of her
bikini top and making the straps dig deeper into her shoulders.  Without
glancing up, Enrique made a vague motion with the other hand and said, "A
tray of stuffed shrimp just came out of the oven.  Help yourself."
	Jonah promptly disappeared deeper into the kitchen.  Chris tried
to follow, but Enrique held her fast.  "I'm wondering whether you could do
me a great favor before joining Jonah."
	"That depends greatly on what it might be," replied Chris.
	"I am currently working on a lobster bisque that is already the
best in these islands, but I'm looking for something that will make it
absolutely unique.  I have run a bit short of cream, and I was wondering
if you might be able to provide the missing ingredient."
	Where Enrique was still staring left no doubt as to what that
ingredient might be.  Chris tried to be appalled at Enrique's forwardness,
but the Valium and her reconsideration of what this evening was all about
prevented her.  In fact, she was surprised to feel the mere suggestion of
releasing her milk trigger the familiar tingle which signalled a pending
letdown.  The tingling grew rapidly in intensity until Chris knew that her
top would soon be soaked if she didn't try to close down the letdown
mentally.  She invoked her usual procedure and went wide-eyed when to her
dismay it failed to lessen the building sensation.  She realized that she
had better do something fast.
	She smiled and said, "I've always wanted to be part of a culinary
masterpiece.  Lead the way, Monsieur Chef."
	Enrique responded with a lecherous grin and led her through the
large kitchen to a huge stove, atop which was a large pot.  The
unmistakable smell of lobster bisque steamed from it.  Jonah was nowhere
to be found.
	Enrique handed Chris a glass measuring cup and indicated the door
to a pantry off to one side, suggesting that she could go there and
express the milk privately.  Chris knew there wasn't time for that, and
decided to give Enrique a show.  Wordlessly, she pushed away the offered
cup, reached behind her neck, and untied the straps to her bikini top.  As
soon as it fell away, her nipples grew to full erection and immediately
began dripping milk at a fairly rapid pace.  Enrique's lips peeled back
from his teeth in shock at the view before him.
	Chris turned to the pot, which Enrique hurriedly uncovered.  The
warm steam rising from it curled about Chris's burgeoning boobs, which her
height placed just above the edge of the pot.  The moisture and heat acted
just like a hot shower, kicking the letdown reflex into high gear.  Milk
began streaming from Chris's nipples even before she had a chance to begin
milking herself.  The force of the twin blasts striking the inside surface
of the pot made the same sort of sound that milking a cow into a metal
bucket makes.  Her milk made white swirls in the bubbling surface of the
bisque as it poured in from above.  Chris closed her eyes against the
rising pleasure of the release and began tugging hard on her nipples,
feeling her fingers grow slippery and milk running along her hands and
down her upper arms as she worked.  Somewhere in the fog of her building
orgasm -- Boy, this is a quick one, she thought distantly -- she felt
another pair of hands on her breasts and dimly realized that Enrique was
standing behind her, gently trying to replace her hands with his own.  She
let her arms drop to her sides as Enrique took over the task.  He was
surprising adept at coaxing jet after jet of milk from her throbbing
breasts, squeezing and tugging as fast as he could.  The flow continued
unabated for what seemed like forever and was probably actually a good ten
minutes before Chris finally gave in to the orgasm she had been trying to
keep at bay.  Enrique felt her buttocks tighten and tremble against him as
she whimpered and shuddered and came, her breasts giving up a final,
amazingly long, solid arc of milk as her climax reached its peak.  The
maxi-pad Chris had donned before leaving the hotel just barely was enough
to contain the force and volume of her southern squirt.  It was now
completely soaked and completely useless.
	Chris came down quickly from the orgasm, blinked her eyes open,
and noted with some satisfaction that the liquid level in the pot had
risen appreciably.  Her wondrous, milk-slick breasts gleamed proudly in
the dim light of the kitchen, her nipples refusing to lose their thick
erection.  Enrique, oddly, was now completely ignoring Chris and was
instead staring down into the pot of lobster bisque, stirring it almost as
if caressing it, and frequently sampling it, his eyes closed in
gastronomic bliss.  Chris knew then that Enrique's was a food fetish, and
vaguely wondered what other "unique ingredients" might be in his other
dishes.
	Seeing Enrique's fixation on his bisque, she knew that trying to
communicate with him was pointless, and so as she corralled her bosom back
into the bikini top (which miraculously was still dry), she looked around
for Jonah.  She found the tray of stuffed shrimp Enrique had mentioned,
untouched.  She wolfed a few down.  There was a tang in the stuffing she
could not identify and wasn't sure she wanted to.  A quick inspection of
the rest of the kitchen could not turn up her escort.  She realized with a
start that she was now on her own.  Briefly she considered using the
opportunity to make a strategic retreat, but remembered that had no money
with her.  She would be alone at night in Montego Bay trying to hitch a
ride to Negril.  Not a good idea.  Besides, her animal side, boosted by
the lack of inhibitions the Valium was still providing, was still growling
within, telling her not to miss the party but to become the hit of it. 
She could already feel her breasts refilling.  The night was young.  She
decided to make it even more memorable than it already was.
	Chris found the double doors marking the entrance to the rest of
the cafe.  She stood there for a few seconds, then suddenly reached into
her slacks, removed the soaked maxi-pad, and threw it into a corner, where
it landed with a soggy splat.  She took a deep breath, stripped off her
bikini top, and stuffed it into the pocket of her windbreaker, which,
unzipped as it was, now only barely covered her upper body.  Her tightened
nipples pointed the way as she stepped through the doors and into the
heart of the Sailors' Soiree.  "Geronimo," she whispered.

<<to be continued>>


Subject:      FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis LI
From:         trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date:         1996/08/18
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LI:  THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART THREE

        What surprised Christine the most upon emerging from the kitchen
into the main room of the cafe was the immediate increase in the ambient
noise level.  The double doors through which she strode had to be
soundproof, because the racket that greeted her entrance was sudden and
almost mind-numbingly loud.  Where did all these people come from? she
thought, mildly confused.  When we arrived there was almost no one here.
How long was I milking into that pot of lobster bisque anyway?  The clock
on the wall was no help, since she hadn't noted the time when they
arrived, but it told her that it was already well past ten p.m.  The
raucousness of the crowd told her that she had already missed the party's
preliminaries.
        The party had broken up into a series of mini-parties, each with
one of the cafe's very large circular tables as its focus.  People seemed
to have gravitated toward particular areas; there was very little traffic
between tables.  Chris found herself to be essentially the only "social
butterfly" in the room.  As she came closer to the nearest table, she saw
that each table was a sort of miniature stage, with a different activity
going on atop it.  It didn't take but a moment to realize that each
activity was intensely sexual in nature.  Another moment later Chris
realized that even though her incredible, bare breasts were in almost full
view, covered only by her unzipped windbreaker, her state of undress was
more the norm than the exception.  People were dressed (or not) in all
manner of costume, reminiscent of Mardi Gras or Carnaval.  Feathers,
sequins, lame', rhinestones, beads, and gewgaws of all descriptions dotted
bodies all over the room, male and female alike.  I'm *really*
underdressed, Chris thought, then laughed aloud at her inadvertent play on
words.  Her curiosity and her animal side drew her toward the nearest
table, from which very little noise was emanating.
        As Chris approached the first table, all she could see were the
backs of several men, all bent over and clustered about the center of the
table.  A woman's head and shoulders stuck out above the group; she was
evidently sitting on the tabletop.  She appeared to be nude.  The look on
her face was that of the cat who'd eaten the canary.  She was stroking the
heads of two of the many men who surrounded her.  As Chris got close
enough to see through the crowd, she gaped.  The woman's breasts were of a
size that the word "elephantine" was barely adequate to describe.  Each
was at least the size of a large watermelon; Chris couldn't think of
anything appropriate to compare them to exactly.  Her areolae were the
size of saucers, and they were capped with nipples the size and shape of
upside-down cupcakes.  The men were busy quietly caressing and kissing
these monstrous mammaries, the ragged scars on which gave away their
artificiality.  Some of the men were openly masturbating.  The woman had
to be carrying gallons of silicone inside her.  She was sitting
Indian-style, but her lap was completely obscured by the huge globes of
tit-flesh that rested on it.  Just at that moment one of the men grunted
and came, shooting an arc of semen onto one immense nipple, just missing
the cheek of another man.  The woman smiled and winked at Chris, who
smiled weakly in return, turned, and proceeded to the next table.
        Sitting atop the second table was a pair of nude women, both dark
haired, very thin, and fairly flat-chested.  As Chris approached and was
able to make out their facial features more clearly, she saw that they
were twin sisters.  One was in the process of wiping the last vestiges of
what appeared to be shaving cream from her crotch with a damp towel, which
she handed to one of the men who were sitting in a ring around the
circular table.  She had evidently just finished shaving off her pubic
hair as her sister had also done.  From the same man the woman received
two identical rubber penises attached to flat rubber bases to which were
glued thatches of fake black hair such as what one might find on a
Halloween fright wig.  She handed one to her sister, then took from the
man a large tube of what appeared to be some type of adhesive.  She and
her sister smeared copious amounts of this material on the bases of their
dildos, glued them to their naked pubes, and adjusted them so that the
penises pointed downward.  They then began taunting the men surrounding
them, stroking their "members" and cooing suggestive come-ons at them.
Chris surmised that they were simply waiting for the adhesive to set
before proceeding.  From a safe distance she watched as the women spat on
their fingers and used the saliva to lubricate their labia (although from
the looks of it, supplementary secretions were hardly necessary).  They
then positioned themselves crotch to crotch, facing in opposite
directions, and inserted their attached penises into the other's vagina.
With practiced precision they moved against each other, the dildoes
sliding out the same distance from each gaping slit and then disappearing
completely from view as their pussies slammed together with a wet
squishing sound.  Chris winced in sympathetic pain as she saw the skin of
their pubes where the penises were attached stretch under the strain,
particularly as the women neared orgasm and clamped their vaginal muscles
more tightly around their toys.  The men cheered them on.  The two nearest
the panting mouths of the twins liberated cocks glistening with pre-come
which the women promptly swallowed whole.  Chris found herself stroking
her own bald cunt outside of her slacks as she watched.  Her animal side
was telling her that she needed to stop being an observer and start being
a participant.  Her more rational side was almost ready to acquiesce, but
was insisting that a different forum be found.  So she moved on.
        At the third table the centerpiece was a transsexual who was
receiving a blow job from a large man wearing a wig and earrings.  Chris
recognized the latter as the bouncer who had greeted them at the back door
of the cafe.  In addition, two women were frantically sucking on the
transsexual's budding breasts, which though developing nicely, had not yet
lost their masculine qualities.  Definitely not my cup of tea, Chris
thought, and continued on.
        At the fourth table a crowd of both men and women was watching a
man dressed in an oversized baby bonnet who was lying on his back on the
table as a nude, large-breasted woman was finishing smearing baby oil on
his shaved, erect penis that was ten inches long if it was a millimeter.
She then dusted the shining pork sword with powder and finished fastening
a large diaper around the man.  Chris marveled at the woman's strength as
she then lifted the man's upper body off the table and cradled him in her
arms.  He made gurgling noises -- amusing to Chris because they were
supposed to emulate a baby's vocalizations but had a baritone pitch -- and
sought out the woman's nipple, where he latched on and began nursing
avidly.  Now this is a little more up my alley, Chris thought as she made
her way to the front of the crowd.  From her improved vantage point, Chris
noticed that the nursing part of the man's fantasy was just that -- a
fantasy.  The woman was not producing any milk.  Chris decided she would
do something wicked.  She stood up straight and opened her windbreaker,
allowing her magnificent milk machines to come into view.  This caught the
woman's eye, and she smiled.  The man looked at Chris out of the corner of
his eye but did nothing.  Chris then cupped her full breasts, squeezed,
and shot multiple streams of hot milk across the table, splashing both
participants.  The man immediately sat bolt upright, knocking the woman
backward, and thrust both arms out toward Chris, who merely laughed and
quickly backed away.  The man fell into the crowd in his haste to reach
Chris, but by that time she had made good her escape.  I like nursing men,
she thought, but I'm not into infantilism.  She realized too late that she
shouldn't have let only one squirt of milk go, because now that
stimulation had kicked her breasts into high gear.  She could feel them
reaching maximum capacity and knew she'd have to do something fast, even
if it meant revisiting Enrique's pot of lobster bisque and topping it off
with more mother's milk.
        Fortunately, what eventually transpired at the fifth table, which
was off in a far corner, was enough to make her end her search.  Here was
where Christine would make her mark, where she would put on a sexual show
that would have people talking about the 1995 party for a long time to
come.

<<to be continued>>



~Subject: LACTOGENESIS LII:  The Friendly Competition
~From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
~Date: 22 Nov 1995 08:50:58 -0500
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LII:  THE FRIENDLY COMPETITION

	Atop the fifth table was a stunningly lovely Thai girl, probably
just barely of legal age, although with this crowd it was difficult for
Christine to tell what was legal and what (or who) wasn't.  She was in the
final stages of an exotic dance, removing a sequine-studded G-string to
reveal a pussy adorned with a V-shaped strip of painstakingly shaved pubic
hair.  Chris was amazed at the size and fleshiness of the girl's labia,
the inner lips of which were large enough to dangle down from her crotch
and sway slightly as she moved.  Small, brightly colored baubles hung from
them by tiny clamps; the labia themselves were not pierced.  Intrigued,
Chris moved closer.
	The girl completed her dance to the appreciative applause of the
group that surrounded the circular table.  Chris was surprised at how much
more quiet and reserved this group was from the hooting, hollering hordes
that surrounded the other tables.  The girl smiled and sat, her heels
close in to her butt and her knees spread wide.  Chris almost gasped at
the sight which was revealed by this action.  The girl's cunt was, in a
word, cavernous.  Nestled between a pair of perfect thighs was a ragged,
gaping hole which looked for all the world like a train tunnel surrounded
by raw meat.  As Chris watched, the girl contracted her vaginal muscles. 
To Chris's amazement, the huge void between the girl's legs started to
shrink.  The dangling inner labia appeared to withdraw behind the outer
lips, which then closed over a ruby-red clit that was pulled back under
its hood like a turtle's head under its shell.  When the contraction was
over the girl's pussy actually looked like it might be slightly smaller
than average.
	Chris had never seen that kind of muscular control.  She prided
herself on the strength of her own pubococcygeus muscle, which she used to
control the force and velocity of her ejaculations and clamp down hard on
the cocks of her lovers, but she certainly couldn't control the size of
her vaginal opening to the inordinate degree this young lady had just
demonstrated.  Her intrigue began to turn into arousal; her animal side
knew that somehow, some way, she had to be part of what was going on at
this table.  Her rationale side, now just a distant flicker of its normal
self, wondered why this girl, out of all the unusual sexual activity
happening around her, should "pull her trigger", so to speak.  Was it the
heightened sexual tension that was resulting from her almost painfully
full breasts?  That hardly seemed likely.  How many dozens of times over
the past year and a half had she experienced this same sensation of
fullness without succumbing to it, ripping her clothes off, and fucking
and spraying down the first man (or woman, for that matter) she saw?  Why
should it be any different now?  She searched for the signs of residual
Valium in her bloodstream and found none.  The drug Jonah (whom she still
hadn't seen since they arrived) slipped her had worn off unnoticed some
time before.  Perhaps it was all the pheromones in the air -- indeed,
among the smells of tobacco and cannabis, beer and food, the odor of raw
sex hung heavy in the atmosphere.
	Chris became vaguely aware of fingertips caressing her nipples
into bullet-hard erections and realized they were her own.  Her
windbreaker was in a pile on the floor, leaving her naked from the waist
up.  She hadn't remembered removing it.  The girl on the table was now
staring directly at Chris, fondling herself and getting very wet.  The
girl shifted her gaze to a man standing near her.  "Thirsty," she said,
and pointed to an untouched bottle of beer in the man's hand.  He smiled
and handed it to her.  Rather than placing it to her lips and drinking,
however, the girl rocked back on her tailbone, folded her legs beneath
her, and deftly inserted the beer bottle into her cunt until only the
bottom half protruded.  The crowd gasped; Chris's eyes went wide.  The
girl then let go of the bottle, holding it in place with her powerful
muscles, and arched her hips upward.  The crowd watched in silent
amazement as the beer inside the bottle disappeared just as if someone
were chugging it.  Within seconds the bottle was empty.  The girl removed
it; her pussy lips closed tightly behind it, keeping a full twelve ounces
of beer inside.  She then motioned to a woman standing in the crowd who
was dressed in red satin outfit embroidered in the Oriental fashion.  Her
companion, no doubt, Chris figured.  From seemingly nowhere the woman
produced three hard-boiled eggs, which the girl promptly inserted, one by
one, into her pussy.  Not a drop of beer was spilled; the eggs almost
looked like they were being sucked up into the girl's vagina.  Chris, with
the last shred of her rational side that remained, was thinking that this
must be one of those Bangkok girls she'd heard of, those girls that can
open beer bottles, smoke cigarettes, or carry razor blades with their
talented twats.  Her animal side, far and away the most prominent now,
wanted to leap up on the table and add a few ounces of breast milk to the
mixture within this girl's apparently bottomless cunt.  It was just
waiting for the right opportunity...
	The girl closed her eyes and with one index finger teased open the
uppermost portion of her lower lips, exposing a glistening red clit which
she began to massage gently.  Her hips began moving to some unheard
rhythm, rolling up and down like swells on the ocean.  One could almost
hear everything inside her sloshing about.  The woman in the red satin
motioned to the people standing directly in front of the girl, warning
them that they might want to stand aside.  Foam began to appear around the
girl's pussy lips.  Suddenly the muscles in the girl's abdomen tensed, and
one of the eggs shot out of her cunt and rolled off the edge of the table.
 She arched her hips higher and fired the second one in a long graceful
arc where it struck a fellow standing at another table in the back of the
head.  Laughter erupted as he turned to try to find the source of the
missile.  The girl then lay flat on the table and brought her legs up near
her head so that her genitals were directed upward.  She tensed, and with
a loud whoosh the third egg was propelled straight up at the top of a
column of froth as she ejected the beer from her vagina in a single blast.
 One young gentleman did not get out of the way fast enough and received
the falling column full in the chest, soaking him to the skin.  More
laughter and another round of applause followed.  The girl sat up and
bowed her head in acknowledgement.
	"Hell, I can squirt like that -- from three places -- and I don't
need any beer to do it," Chris muttered, feeling a little jealous of this
girl's talents and the attention she was receiving.  Here Chris was
standing with clearly the firmest, most shapely pair of breasts and
nipples in the room fully exposed, and no one was giving her a second
look.  Since The Accident Chris had grown used to being the sexual center
of attention whenever she unleashed her formidable mammaries, but here
such exhibitionism was commonplace.
	She hadn't intended for her comment to be heard, but several
people standing in her immediate vicinity turned to look at her.  The girl
on the table was once again staring as well.  I must have shouted it,
Chris thought.
	"Sounds like a challenge to me," one of the men said.
	"I'd certainly like to see that," a female voice piped up.
	"How's about it, sweetheart?" came another voice.
	The girl now had a look of defiance in her eyes.  "No need beer,"
she said challengingly.
	The woman in red satin made her way around the table to stand in
front of Chris.  "What about a little friendly competition?  Best squirter
wins?"  She turned to the people around the table, rubbing thumb and
forefingers together.  "Shall we make it interesting?"  Within seconds a
pile of bills, mixed American and Jamaican money, appeared on the
tabletop.  The girl scooted over on the table and patted the area next to
her, indicating that Chris should join her.
	Chris's rational side succumbed totally at this invitation.  She
was running on full animal instinct now, just as she had at the Decade
Eight wet T-shirt contest all those months ago.  In seconds Chris was
completely nude, sitting next to the Thai girl, her bald beaver already
drooling in anticipation.  Chris brought her hands to her mouth, wet her
fingers, and resumed caressing her nipples.  The coolness from the
evaporating moisture caused her erections to reach near record
proportions.  It was all she could do to keep milk from spurting out
prematurely.
	The two women began masturbating, each soon becoming oblivious to
the other and the crowd around them.  Chris couldn't help cooing and
moaning as her fingers found those touch points that through many hours of
self pleasuring she knew would bring her off quickly but deeply.  Her
thumb ran circles around her clit as two fingers explored the ventral wall
of her vagina, searching for the bump of swollen tissue that marked her
G-spot.  The green tablecloth developed a dark stain under Chris's ass as
she got wetter and wetter.  She could feel milk beginning to run down the
sides of her breasts and along her rib cage as she leaned back to get
better penetration with her fingers.  She dimly heard some exclamations as
the crowd saw this, and distantly felt fingers scoop up the rivulets of
milk as they coursed along her skin, presumably to taste it.
	Chris could feel the energy of the crowd surround and permeate her
as she built toward orgasm.  She felt them silently urging her on; she
felt as if they were with her and not her competitor.  She heard the girl
hissing as she too approached orgasm, so she purposely began moaning
louder to drown her out.  Her breasts felt hot, stretched, as if they
would pop.  The milk sang in her breasts, churning inexorably toward the
gates of her nipples, with the irresistability of a tidal wave.  With a
loud yell she opened those gates, spouting geysers of milk upward and
outward as a river of molten desire burst from her pussy just as Chris
contracted her muscles, heightening her orgasm and tightening the stream
of emerging pussy juice into a high-velocity blast that caught a man who
had purposely placed himself in harm's way full on his extended tongue. 
He sputtered slightly, not having expected that much volume, but smiled
and said in a loud voice, "Well, it sure ain't piss!"
	Chris didn't hear him.  She collapsed back onto the tabletop, her
hands now frantically milking her breasts, sending jets of milk that
rivaled Old Faithful in their height and volume into the air as she
continued coming.  Juice dribbled from her trembling pussy as she slowly
began to resolve from the pinnacle of her orgasm, one of her better ones
in a long time.
	Just as her milk began to slow to a trickle, the girl next to her
reached her zenith.  With a keening banshee wail she came, firing a thin,
ropelike stream of fluid from her pussy, which had once again reached
mammoth proportions as she slammed almost her entire fist into it.  The
same man who had caught Chris's ejaculate had his face down near the
girl's cunt now as well, but he drew back quickly just in time to be
missed by her stream.  "Hey!" he yelled.  "That came out her pee hole! 
She's just pissin'!"  Indeed, with the girl's pussy spread so wide, it was
easy to tell that her ejaculate had a golden tint -- clearly urine.
	The man who had made the initial suggestion of the challenge took
one of Chris's now limp, wet hands from her heaving breast and thrust it
into the air.  "I believe we have a winner!" he exclaimed, and a third
round of applause arose.  Chris sat up slowly, smiled her appreciation,
and without another word dropped down onto the floor where she quickly put
her slacks and windbreaker back on.  As she collected the wad of bills
from the tabletop (I wonder how much is here, she wondered), she saw that
the crowd was already scattering, off to find the next new thrill.  Left
behind was the Thai girl, who was leaning against the woman in red satin,
her face showing close to tears, her lower lip trembling.  The woman was
staring at Chris with a look that could freeze helium.  As Chris watched,
she motioned two large men over to her and began whispering into their
ears, occasionally glancing back over at Chris with a deep scowl.
	Chris, her wits fully about her again, began looking about for
Jonah or Edward.  Something told her it was time to leave the party, and
the sooner the better.

<<to be continued>>



~Subject: LACTOGENESIS LIII:  THE ESCAPE {milk, ff, crowd}
~From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
~Date: 30 Nov 1995 03:51:02 -0500
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LIII:  THE ESCAPE

	Christine walked over to the cafe's dimly lit bar and grabbed a
handful of cocktail napkins, which she used to wipe off the droplets of
mother's milk which still adorned her face, neck and chest.  She pulled
her open windbreaker aside and quickly surveyed her upturned breasts. 
Drops of milk still clung to her thick nipples.  She dabbed them away, but
they quickly reappeared.  I can't still be full after the show I put on,
she thought.  Well, I can't be walking around dripping like a leaky
faucet.  Let's see if this'll work now...  
	She tried to ignore the cacophony surrounding her from the party
that was still going full blast in the cafe as she invoked the mental
discipline that she had used to control her extraordinary milk production
since only a few weeks after The Accident.  Thoughts of arid places or a
total lack of moisture, coupled with some autonomic commands to her
pituitary, hypothalamus, and mammary epithelium that never reach a level
of conscious awareness were usually enough to stop the milk.  Drier than
dry, Chris said to herself as she went into a high alpha state of
awareness.  The surface of the moon.  The cold reaches of space where any
liquid flashes to molecules in the vacuum...  Chris completed the exercise
and again looked down at her breasts.  To her dismay drops of milk were
rolling off the tips of her nipples and running down the lower slopes of
her bosom.  It hadn't worked.  She was sure that the Valium Jonah had
slipped her, which had interfered the last time she'd tried to shut down,
had long since worn off -- unless that crafty bastard had also included a
galactogogue in the mix!  She remembered from all the reading she had done
after the unexpected development of her lactogenesis that there were drugs
available which stimulated milk production; they were sometimes used in
nursing mothers when all else failed.  If her already overzealous glands
received a pharmacologic stimulus, who knew what the result might be? 
Evidently she was finding out.  Yes, she could feel the familiar warmth
and heaviness in her breasts build fractionally just within these last few
minutes.  She swore under her breath, cursing Jonah for turning her into a
human dairy.  She had no idea how long it would take for the stimulant to
wear off, but she didn't want to wait around in this place while it did. 
She wanted very much to be back in her hotel room, reclining in the
whirlpool tub, letting the milk stream into the warm water while her body
slowly returned to normal.  For any other woman, even an actively
lactating one, that would still be extranormal, but at least Chris's body
would once again be under her full control.
	Chris blinked, startled by a loud rapping on the bar.  She looked
up and found the bartender staring quizzically at her, waiting for her
drink order.  She asked for a mimosa.  While she waited, she stuffed more
napkins into her windbreaker and zipped it up, hoping that the makeshift
"nursing pads" would stay in place until she was able to be alone.  She
looked ridiculous with the wads of paper making her large bust look
irregularly shaped, but she didn't care.  The less attractive she looked
right now, the better.  She received her mimosa and began sipping absently
while scanning the large room for either Jonah or Edward.  She had still
not seen either of them since the incident in the kitchen.  It was when
she stopped searching with her eyes and started with her ears that she was
able to filter the unmistakable sound of Edward's booming laugh from the
myriad of other sounds which filled the room.  She finally spotted him
standing by the table that had earlier showcased the twins and their
stick-on toys.  She wondered why she hadn't seen him there before.
	Chris began threading her way across the room toward Edward, who
was talking with several people and had not yet seen her approach.  She
was less than a dozen feet away when a very drunk woman stumbled and fell
directly in her path.  Startled, Chris changed direction abruptly and
collided head-on with a large, muscular man.  She started to mumble an
apology, then realized that this was one of the woman-in-red-satin's
henchmen.  He immediately fixed her upper arms in a viselike grip which no
amount of struggling would break.  He was joined by the other man Chris
had seen the Red Satin Woman talking to just after Chris had won her
contest with the Thai girl, who was obviously in the Red Satin Woman's
employ.  Each took an arm and, oblivious to Chris's struggles and shouts
for assistance (which were lost in the din), backed her against a nearby
wall.  There the woman in red satin joined them, the same deep scowl still
on her face.  The Thai girl was nowhere to be seen.
	"Look, if this is about the money I won, take it.  I don't care,"
Chris said.  "It's in my pants pocket..", and she tried to reach for it.
	"Hold her, boys," the woman commanded, and Chris found her arms
gently but firmly pinned to the wall.  She tried to kick, but her legs
were also held against the wall by the two men's more muscular ones.
	The woman stepped close enough to Chris to be heard over the
party.  "Screaming or spitting won't help, if you're considering those,"
she said.  "The people here will think it's just another kink."  Chris
realized she was probably right, and stopped struggling.  "Looks more like
the money's stuffed in your coat."  The woman ripped the zipper on Chris's
jacket down, and the napkins spilled out.  Chris's naked bosom heaved with
her breathing, her breasts thrust out and apart by the way her arms were
positioned.  With the napkins gone, her nipples once again began leaking
milk.
	"What a little heifer you are," the woman said, only partly with
contempt.  "But to business.  I don't appreciate what you did to my girl,
humiliating her like you did.  I wanted to make sure you knew that."
	"Just take the money.  I meant no harm, believe me."
	"Oh, I know you didn't, which is why I'm going to let you leave
here in one piece tonight.  Understand this -- I don't ordinarily do so,
and it's only because I appreciate your considerable talents that I'm
being magnanimous."
	"Then let me go so I can give you the money."
	"All in good time, dearie.  I plan on having a little fun first."
As she spoke, the woman took one red satin gloved finger and traced the
amazing curves of Chris's breasts.  Chris tried to pull away but was held
fast.
	"Please..." she whispered, but she was not heard.
	The woman turned and gestured to a young man standing nearby.  He
disappeared into the kitchen to return seconds later holding a tin can
whose top had been crudely punctured by something other than a can opener.
 He handed the can to the woman, who approached Chris with it.
	"I happen to like chocolate milk myself," she purred.
	She tipped the can over Chris's tits, and a drizzle of chocolate
syrup came out.  She targeted Chris's nipples perfectly.  The syrup mixed
with the milk that was dripping from them and flowed down her boobs and
stomach to where it began to stain her slacks.  The woman bent down and
began to lick the mixture from Chris's boobs and nipples.  Despite her
discomfort, Chris couldn't deny that this woman had a talented tongue. 
She began to become aroused in spite of herself.  She felt a new surge of
milk welling up inside her and soon was almost fully engorged.  The woman
somehow seemed to sense this, for just as the drops from Chris's nipples
turned into streams, she sucked one nipple deep into her mouth.  Chris's
breast instantly responded, sending a jet of hot milk into the woman's
mouth.  She drank greedily, stopping every so often to alternate breasts
and pour more syrup on the swollen nipples.  Whenever she released a
nipple, milk sprayed forward with such force and volume that it got the
attention of several people standing nearby.
	"Come on, everyone, there's enough for all!" the woman cried. 
Chris could only watch incredulously as people actually began lining up to
have a taste of her chocolate mother's milk.  Two by two the people came
up to her, waited until the woman had coated Chris's nipples with
chocolate, and then sucked hungrily, getting at least a couple of
mouthfuls before being pushed away by the people behind them.  Chris
continued to pour forth, even after several people had drunk their fill. 
The sensation of all those different mouths touching her, the different
styles and intensities of their sucking, was getting to Chris; she could
feel her pussy begin to get slick with juice.  She was beginning to fade
into that familiar fog of pre-orgasmic bliss, even as she continued to
protest with as loud a voice as she could muster.
	Suddenly, Chris saw the woman in red satin get shoved sideways
with considerable force.  She flew into the crowd, and several people
ended up in a heap on the floor.  Next she heard a heavy glass object
shatter in close proximity to her head, accompanied by a wet crunch and
milliseconds later a ragged scream of agony.  Her right arm was released. 
She glanced up to see one side of the muscular man's face now a bloody
pulp, pieces of broken glass protruding sickeningly from it.  With her
free hand she swung to her left and punched with all her force at the
other goon's testicles.  He let go of her other arm and crumpled to the
floor.  Chris was free.  Suddenly her arm was grabbed again, but this time
by Edward, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  In his free hand he
held the bloodied handle of what used to be a beer mug.
	The next few minutes were a blur to Chris.  She let herself be
half-led, half-dragged out of the restaurant by Edward, who threw her into
the back of his cab and took off in haste.  Chris, in all the confusion,
thought she even heard gunfire in their wake, but wasn't sure.  Maybe it
had just been the cab backfiring...
	Soon the hum of the cab's engine was the only sound.  It was a
huge relief from the constant blast of sound that had assaulted Chris for
the last few hours.  She sat up in the back seat and took stock of
herself.  Her slacks were a mess of chocolate syrup, mother's milk, and
blood.  She had blood on the side of her face as well.  None of it was her
own, she was happy to learn after doing a quick inventory.  Her still
naked torso was smeared with chocolate and saliva.  The money in her
slacks was gone.  She looked like the sole survivor of a Friday the 13th
movie, and felt like it too.
	"Thank you, Edward.  You're a life saver," she managed to croak
out.  Her throat was raw from all the shouting she had been doing.
	"You don't know the half of it," Edward replied over his shoulder.
 "That woman, I've seen her.  She wouldn't have let you go so easy, not
without drawing some blood.  I saw you just in time, I think."  He
chuckled.  "I guess it wouldn't have been the same party if something like
this hadn't happened tonight."
	"Where the hell was Jonah during all this?" Chris asked.  She was
angry at not having had a chance to confront him.
	"Playing strip poker in another room," Edward replied.  "My man
Jonah, he got the gambling jones.  He probably was so into his game he
didn't hear a thing."  He looked at Chris in the rear view mirror.  "Jees,
mon, you look like the devil's whore herself.  Now you just sit back and
close your eyes and let old Edward take you back home."
	"With pleasure," Chris sighed, sinking back in the seat.  "Thank
you again, Edward."
	"It's what I live for, dear lady," he said, and chuckled again.

<<to be continued>>


~Subject: LACTOGENESIS LIV:  THE CLEARING {milk, mast}
~From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
~Date: 5 Dec 1995 03:50:24 -0500
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LIV:  THE CLEARING

	Christine stirred and began the process of returning to the world
of the living.  Though she was only now beginning to awaken, details began
filtering in despite her closed eyelids.  Judging from her seated
position, she was still in the back seat of Edward's cab.  She moved her
head and felt matted hair sticking to her neck.  She was still filthy,
covered with the residue from the party-turned-disaster away from which
Edward had abruptly spirited her.  She must have dozed off as the cab sped
away back toward Negril.  It must be very late, or perhaps early the next
morning.  Everything was strangely quiet; there was no sensation of
motion, no engine or wind noise.  They must be stopped somewhere.  Maybe
something's wrong, a flat tire perhaps.  She felt cold.  She moved a
little and felt the seat back rub against bare skin.  She must still be
naked from the waist up, a consequence of having been forcefully removed
from the party just before being heavily damaged by the woman in red satin
and her beefy male cohorts.  As Chris climbed up toward full awareness,
she noticed something else, some activity in the vicinity of her
breasts...
	Her eyes snapped open; she let out a little yelp and jerked
backward.  Immediately she felt a hand remove itself from her left breast.
 It was Edward's.  It was wet with mother's milk, as were his lips and
chin.  When he'd realized that Chris had fallen asleep, Edward had pulled
the cab over, climbed into the back seat, and started fondling and even
trying to milk her.  His clumsy attempts had been only partially
successful; he'd gotten some milk but had also awakened Chris.
	"What *is* it about this place?" Chris cried indignantly.  "Is
everybody here sex-starved or something?  Can't I exist here without
somebody trying to turn me into a human drinking fountain?!"
	"Not looking like that, you can't," Edward replied coolly,
referring to Chris's state of undress and her fully functional mammaries.
	"I don't appreciate being taken advantage of," Chris said
savagely.  "Were you planning to rape me, Edward?"
	"No, sweet lady, no!"  Edward said.  "Old Edward, he just wanted a
little taste, that's all."
	"Look, Edward, I appreciate what you did for me tonight, and under
other circumstances I might have considered it.  But this was too much. 
I'm burned out.  I've had it.  Just take me back to the hotel."
	"Now let's not be ungrateful.  I could have left you to the wolves
without a second thought," Edward said ominously.  "Come on, girl, just
let me have a little taste of your sweet momma's milk.  I don't want
nothing else..."  He moved to try to pin Chris against the seat, his hands
again going after her breasts.
	Chris braced her hands against Edward's shoulders. 
"I...said...NO!!" she yelled, and at that locked her legs around the lower
portion of Edward's rib cage and began squeezing for all she was worth. 
All those hours on the Stairmaster back home were paying off -- Edward was
now caught in a vise from which there was no escape.  Chris could hear the
breath wheezing from his lungs as she compressed them.
	"I'll break every rib you've got.  I swear to God I will," she
said.
	Edward's eyes began to bulge, and he could not speak, but his face
was defiant, and he again began to grope at Chris's exposed bosom.
	Chris gritted her teeth and squeezed harder.  A muffled popping
noise soon followed.  Edward threw his head back and tried to yell, but
only a weak gurgle escaped his gaping mouth.  He went limp, and Chris
threw him off of her.  She fell out of the cab, picked herself up and ran
off down the road, leaving Edward writhing in the back seat, the
imperative to breathe causing him agony.
	Chris ran for several minutes until she'd rounded a curve in the
road and the cab was well out of sight.  Even though Edward was in no
shape to pursue her, she knew that she couldn't stay on the road,
especially half-naked and covered with someone else's blood.  Dawn was
just beginning to break and she could begin to make out her surroundings a
bit better.  A few meters ahead was a clear though not very well-used
trail that led off into lush tropical growth.  Taking a chance that the
trail would lead to shelter, she trotted off down it.
	After a few hundred meters she slowed her pace.  The long, crazy
night was beginning to take its toll.  Chris realized that she was
absolutely exhausted.  Her unsupported breasts, which were already full
again (when would that galactogogue wear off?), were causing her pain from
all the jostling they'd taken during her run.  Her face and hair, already
caked with dried blood, were streaked with sweat.  She fought back tears
as fatigue, hunger, and the realization that she was totally lost on an
island a thousand miles from home overtook her.
	Somewhere in her growing despair a calm inner voice welled up,
telling her to just keep walking, at a pace she could handle.  The path
had to lead somewhere.  There was bound to be something to eat in this
botanical treasure trove that surrounded her.  If nothing else, there was
her own milk...
	That thought made Chris realize how incredibly thirsty she was. 
She sat down next to the path, bent her head, and tried to bring one of
her nipples to her mouth.  But she was too engorged; her breasts were so
hard that she couldn't easily push them up to her lips.  Her neck started
to get sore as she strained to latch onto herself.  I should be able to do
this, she thought frantically.  I used to suck myself in the shower all
the time.  She growled in frustration, but then remembered that all she
had to do was express enough milk to relieve the hardness in her breasts. 
She leaned back against a rock and began to milk herself.  The sprays
hitting the broad leaves of the plants around her made it sound like it
was starting to rain.  Even with all that had just happened to her, Chris
was still able to experience the extreme pleasure that milking always had
provided her.  It lifted her spirits.  Her tits soon softened enough for
her to be able to suckle herself, which she did, deeply.  There was enough
milk in both breasts to quiet the noise in her stomach and the thirst in
her throat.  She even almost reached orgasm as her lips tugged at her
nipples, drawing out the much needed nourishment.
	Rested and satiated, Chris's predicament began to look less
hopeless to her.  The morning had brightened into a spectacular day.  The
jungle around her was green and beautiful.  Brightly colored birds were
beginning to appear in the trees, scolding Chris for invading their
privacy.  And what was that sound in the distance?  Running water?  God, I
hope so, Chris thought, looking down at her glistening nipples, still
stretched to inch-long pegs from the suction.  I could really use a
bath...
	She moved off down the path at a renewed clip, following the
increase in volume of the sound of the water.  A few minutes later the
path abruptly ended at a dense stand of palm trees.  The water was roaring
now -- it had to be just on the other side.  Chris picked her way through
the palm grove, stumbling repeatedly in her haste to break through.
	When she did, she stopped short, brought up by the sheer spectacle
of the scene before her.  She had entered a large clearing, almost
perfectly circular in shape.  It was dominated by a large pool, one end of
which was bounded by a mossy stone outcropping about twenty feet tall over
which a small waterfall plunged.  A rushing stream exited the other end of
the pool.  Large, smooth boulders, carved into a myriad of shapes by the
water, popped up here and there from the edges of the pool.  There were
huge flowers of unimagined intensity of color dotting the shore, and set
back near the edge of the jungle were what looked like several banana
trees.  The morning sunlight had turned the surface of the water into
liquid silver.  To Chris's abused, exhausted self this was the Garden of
Eden.
	Almost without thinking Chris ran to the edge of the pool,
stripped off her ruined slacks, and scampered out into the water,
squealing with the coldness of it.  Her already large nipples became dual
cylinders of solid garnet in response.  Fortunately, at no point in the
pool was the water deeper than about chest level.  Chris waded toward the
waterfall.  She stood beneath the crystalline cascade, feeling the
depravity and unpleasantness of the previous night's conclusion slide off
of her and be replaced with a clean, strong feeling of pure delight.  She
sighed deeply.
	The water was quite cold, so Chris moved to the shore as soon as
she was clean.  She found a large flat boulder which the sun had already
warmed to a pleasant temperature.  She stretched out on it, reveling in
the sheer primal nature of this place.  Her nakedness made her feel like
Eve before the apple, a creature unencumbered by shame or modesty, at one
with her surroundings.  She was totally unconcerned that she was still
lost, her immediate future still far from certain.
	Chris had forgotten how quickly it can get hot in Jamaica.  The
climbing sun began to turn the air steamy and the boulder she was lying on
uncomfortably hot.  She looked for refuge and saw another large smooth
rock nestled nicely in a hollow behind the waterfall.  She walked around
to the rock outcropping from which the waterfall sprang and found an easy
entrance into the hollow.  The temperature under there was warm enough for
her to feel comfortable nude, but not so warm as to be oppressive.  The
water falling in front of her formed a jeweled curtain, and the roar of it
was a soothing sound, like white noise.  The rock upon which she sat had
been sculpted and polished by the water into a series of curves which
seemed to mold themselves to her body.  The rock almost felt like it was
radiating its own heat, as if it were alive.  Chris found herself moving
against it, rubbing herself against the bumps and ridges which almost
seemed to flow under her pressure.   She lay on her stomach, her face just
inches from the water, her breasts cupped by depressions in the stone, a
curved ridge of rock pressed up between her legs, against her pubic bone. 
She began to undulate against this ridge, feeling her naked mons rubbing
along it, her hardening clit unfolding from its hood, her labia parting. 
The sides of the rock began to become stained as her nether nectar began
to flow down them.  Likewise the depressions cupping her breasts began to
overflow with milk as Chris gave herself up to the ecstasy of it.  This
was masturbation on the most basal level, being fucked by Mother Earth
herself.  She needed this release, to purge herself once and for all from
the memory of her recent experience.  Chris writhed on the boulder, moving
her hips against the ridge, wishing the rock would sprout a stone dildo
that she could impale herself on.  She came once, twice, thrice, four
times, seconds apart, squirting wildly, barely able to maintain contact
with the rock as she shook with the force of her orgasms.  Milk and nectar
spewed across the surface of the stone, which was so smooth that it became
slick.  It was only when Chris actually slipped off that she was jolted
out of her activity.
	She sat on the ground next to the rock, absently twirling her
finger in a puddle of breast milk that lay in a depression on its surface.
 "My God, that was amazing," she said aloud.  "I've had lovers that were
like rocks in bed, but who'd've thought I'd ever find a rock that was like
a lover?"  She stood up and surveyed her glorious body -- it was dotted
with white droplets; her thighs were slick with love honey; and her
nipples were still oozing.  She decided to jump back under the waterfall
to rinse herself off.  She used her hands to divert some of the flow onto
the rock to wash it off as well.  She stepped back out of the curtain of
water, closed her eyes, and leaned back to squeeze the water out of her
hair.  She straightened up, opened her eyes, and screamed.
	Someone was standing in the entrance to the hollow.

<<to be continued>>


~Subject: LACTOGENESIS LV:  The Intruder, Part One {mf, milk}
~From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
~Date: 18 Jan 1996 04:35:30 -0500
~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LV:  THE INTRUDER, PART ONE

	Christine gasped at the sight of the young man standing in the
entrance.  He was close, barely three meters away.  How could she not have
heard him coming?  Involuntarily her hands flew to cover her nakedness,
but the resplendence of her ripe body could not be so easily hidden.  She
ducked down behind the weirdly shaped rock she had just used as a
masturbatory device, but squatting down low as she did only served to make
her bald beaver that much more visible.  She tried to bring her legs
together and succeeded only in barking one shin against the rock.  She
grimaced out of a combined feeling of pain, embarrassment, helplessness,
and fear.  Her eyes were fixed on the ground, unable or unwilling to meet
those of the intruder.
	For his part, the young man was rooted firmly to the spot, unable
to move as the result of having been taken completely aback by the vision
of unabashed voluptuousness that had greeted his unprepared eyes, which
were now frozen open.  He looked to be in his late teens, with
close-cropped hair and smooth skin as black as human melanocytes could
make it.  His taut musculature, which showed through frayed jeans cropped
at the knee and an unbuttoned white shirt, suggested near constant
physical activity.  His legs were corded with hard muscle, poised and
ready to flee, but an overload of other hormones was cancelling out the
adrenaline, rendering him a virtual statue.
	Long seconds ticked by while befuddled brains struggled mightily
with the situation.  The only sound was the rush of the waterfall that
formed one wall of the enclosure.  Chris's discomfort grew to the point
where finally it overcame her embarrassment, and she stood up, tossing all
pretense to the winds.  The young man visibly flinched as her full
complement of assets came into view.  She was clearly the most amazing
specimen of undraped femininity he had ever had the pleasure to witness. 
He made a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes, but his gonads wouldn't
permit him.  He continued staring.
	Fighting to keep from stammering, Chris haltingly described her
situation, explaining her presence and state of undress.  She wondered how
much of her one-woman sex show the young man had seen prior to making his
appearance, then decided that the shock that still registered on his face
indicated that he had only just arrived.  She glanced around for her
clothing as she spoke, and finally found it, wadded up next to the edge of
the pool, very far out of reach.  She wondered if he'd let her retrieve
it.
	In equally halting fashion, the boy explained in a heavily
accented but understandable baritone how he'd come to be here.  He worked
nearby, at one of the resort hotels of Negril Beach.  At the mention of
that name, Chris's heart leapt -- she was close to "home" after all and
wasn't as hopelessly lost as she'd thought.  This little spot of paradise
was actually well known among the hotel workers, who used it as a retreat
when things got a bit too hectic on the job.  He explained that the main
building was just a kilometer or so away, on the other side of the palm
grove that surrounded the pool.  He had not meant to intrude, not
expecting to find anyone, much less a gorgeous naked woman, in what he
thought was his personal retreat.
	Chris apologized profusely for her own intrusion, and received a
warm smile in return.  The smile lit the boy's? man's? face and for some
reason which Chris was unable to fathom, instantly transformed him into an
extremely desirable person.  To her amazement, Chris felt her inner animal
stir once again, fed by the raw desire the mannish boy's eyes were still
exhibiting beneath the veneer of strained politeness.  His muscles
continued to ripple beneath his clothing, still waging the internal
fight-or-flight hormonal war, adding to his desirability.  The enclosed
area was thick with pheromones.  Chris decided that the only way to break
the deadlock and get out of here was to try to gain the upper hand, and
the only way she could think of to do that was to make use of her
unclothed state rather than to try to hide it.
	She leaned against the rock (and almost slipped -- it was still
slick with her milk) in such a way that her breasts thrust out and up, her
ruby nipples presenting themselves at full attention.  She smiled and
teased the boy, telling him that he looked as if he'd never seen a naked
woman before.
	He smiled awkwardly and denied her statement, saying that in his
line of work he was privileged to see nude lady tourists every day on the
beach, but he was quick to add that none of them could hold a candle to
her.
	Chris asked him point-blank if he liked her body.
	His response was a furrowing of eyebrows that seemed to say,
"What's not to like?"  His erection, a huge one by the looks of things,
also became more prominent.
	Chris suggested that perhaps her nudity was causing the boy undue
discomfort.  She indicated her clothing and suggested she retrieve it. 
She began moving in its general direction, making sure her torso swayed
provocatively as she did so.  She also made sure her path took her within
centimeters of the poor paralyzed lad.  Her exaggerated undulations caused
one foot to slip on the wet rock floor near the entrance, and she pitched
sideways.  The boy's apparent paralysis vanished in that instant as his
arms shot out to break her fall.  Chris's arms involuntarily circled the
boy's neck as she tried to regain her footing.
	In those first milliseconds of contact, a multitude of biochemical
stimuli and responses passed between the two, far too quickly to register
in their conscious minds.  Chris's first sensations were of muscle and
sinew, rigid yet mobile like animated bronze, unyielding from her impact
yet smooth to the touch.  A pungent whiff of nervous perspiration.  A
thrilling sensation escalating rapidly to almost an ache, from where one
forearm and hand encircled her ribcage and brushed the underside of a
breast.  Pins and needles radiating downward toward her nipples as new
milk rushed from deep within down into her lactiferous sinuses.  Minute
movement below as her inner labia were pushed aside by the advance of her
swelling clit.  Nipples undergoing a phase change from rubber to diamond.
	The boy's first sensations were of wet hair striking his chest and
shoulder, a faint odor of yesterday's shampoo still evident.  Damp cool
skin along one side of his body, curves sculpted as from soapstone.  The
firm sponginess of the underside of a breast, the shape impossibly
opposing gravity, the curvature seemingly designed to maximize arousal in
a male.  Buttocks flaring from dimpled sacroiliac striking his thigh, a
suggestion of rock beneath rubber beneath satin, but more subtle than any.
 A wave of disorientation surging from head downward as his blood was
redirected toward his pelvic region where it began pooling and reinforcing
certain structures.
	He did not want to let go of her.  She did not move to free
herself.
	Something clicked inside Chris as her inner animal took full
control.  She spun in his arms and locked her mouth to his.  His lips were
much fuller than any other man's she had ever kissed.  Her own lips and
tongue seemed almost lost in them.  She flicked her tongue past teeth to
seek its counterpart, found it, tried to encircle it as it tried to do the
same.  Her breasts, hardened now with desire and a fresh supply of
mother's milk, spread across his chest, warming it.  His hands slid down
her spine, over her butt cheeks, squeezing and separating them as they
moved, down to the backs of her thighs, where they clamped down and lifted
her completely effortlessly until her dampening crotch was even with his
navel.  He moved his head from side to side, his face disappearing and
reappearing as her breasts swept across it.  The boy carried her as if she
weighed nothing at all out from under the waterfall, a few meters beyond
to a small, moss-covered hillock.  He tried to gently lay her down on the
moss, but she would not relinquish her grip on him as she tried to press
her breasts and hips ever harder against him.  So instead he sat on the
moss, his face all but invisible inside the canyon whose walls were
Chris's bosom, her legs entwined tightly about his waist.  She felt her
milk welling up behind her nipples.  She would feed him.  Her desire would
become liquid and flow salty-sweet down his throat.
	Chris melted against this ebony sculpture of a man, ready for the
inevitability of what was to follow.

<<to be continued>>



Subject:      FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis LVI
From:         trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date:         1996/08/18
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LVI:  THE INTRUDER, PART TWO

        The young man's strength became even more apparent as with one arm
he lifted Chris off his lap while with the other he quickly jerked down
his pants, still in a sitting position.  His hand cupped her pussy as it
moved back up, and he got the sensation of his fingers swimming in warm
glycerine as her juice covered them.  As soon as her butt touched his lap
again, he felt the hot nectar slide across his thighs.  His rigid dick was
so large it could not stand up straight but rather paralleled one thigh.
Chris's labia wrapped around it like a bun around a hot dog.  It felt to
her as if she were straddling a polished log.  She began rolling her hips
along it, as if her cunt were trying to polish it even smoother.
        Moving from outside to inside was the primary consideration for
the young man now.  With one strong hand he lifted her ass off his lap
while with the other he positioned his cock to become the spike upon which
to impale her.
        Chris, through the thickening fog inside her head, realized what
was about to happen and tightened her legs around his waist.  "Gently,
gently," she whispered in his ear.  "Let me."  She brought her legs around
until she was straddling his hips.  She moved backward and felt the head
of his pole slide up across her anus and perineum.  When she felt it part
the drooling lips of her cunt, she lowered herself slowly, feeling it
stretch her slit wider and wider until she felt as if she were birthing a
child in reverse.  She could almost feel her uterus and cervix tipping
forward to make more room for this monstrous intruder.  She couldn't
remember the last time she felt more full, and there were still a couple
of inches to go.  When she finally was able to rest her weight on his
thighs, it almost felt as if the tip of his dick would come out the top of
her head if he were to get any bigger.  For a few seconds she sat quietly,
almost afraid to move for fear that something might tear.  Right now it
felt indescribable, but she was on that ragged edge of pain.  She felt her
insides rearranging; a couple more seconds and she would be able to
accommodate some thrusting.  For a change the fullness in her breasts was
a secondary consideration.
        The young man couldn't wait a few more seconds.  His hands moved
to Chris's hips; it became obvious that he was getting ready to move her
up and down on him himself.  Chris knew she wouldn't be able to handle
that, so she grabbed his head in both hands and forced him to look at her.
 "Shhhh," she soothed.  "You'll hurt me, lover.  Let me do this."  She
guided his head to her warm breasts.  Don't start sucking yet, she
thought, until I've told you what to expect...
        Chris began doing Kegel contractions around the young man's
gigantic rod.  At first it was difficult because of how stretched the
muscles were, but she could feel the strength of the contractions
increasing with each repetition.  To him it felt as if she were trying to
reshape his cock into something longer and thinner.  She kneaded him like
a rope of dough, rippling along him as if she were trying to take him even
deeper inside her.  He lost his imperative to thrust; it felt like she was
doing it for both of them without either actually having to move.
        Now was not the time for a lot of words, so Chris simply
whispered, "I have milk.  Taste me."  Immediately thick, soft lips
encircled a nipple and it and most of the areola disappeared into his
mouth.  Chris felt her nipple lengthen and flatten as powerful suction and
his tongue pressed it against his palate.  She gasped again; this felt
just like when a baby latched on to nurse.  Something told her she was not
the first milker this fellow had ever been with.  He clearly knew the
optimal technique for drawing milk out of a woman.
        Her breasts responding appropriately.  A river of milk issued
forth from both, the uncovered breast spouting past his ear and into the
foliage beyond.  She began to squirm on his lap, spraying him down and
turning his skin into a polka-dot pattern of white on black.  He would not
relinquish her breast, swallowing rapidly and maintaining incredible
suction.  Chris felt his cock trying to swell against the pressure of her
internal muscles and the counter-swelling of her G-spot.  Something had to
give soon.
        When it did it felt like a bomb had gone off inside her.  She felt
his urethra expand rhythmically as gouts of come blasted through it only
to become pressurized in the limited volume at the far end of her vagina.
Her own orgasm came quickly, doubling the distance the milk shooting from
her uncovered nipple traveled.  Her own ejaculate had nowhere to go; she
was plugged too tightly.  The increase in pressure immediately sent her
off into another orgasm.  The young man was past his by this time, and the
intensity of it had rendered the head of his penis so sensitive that the
combined squeezing of her muscles and all that trapped fluid became quite
painful.  He released her breast, getting a faceful of milk in the
process, and quickly lifted her off his trapped tool.  Chris yelped as her
insides were again forced, much more quickly this time, to rearrange
themselves with the rapid withdrawal.  A gushing was heard even above the
roar of the nearby waterfall as he removed himself and what seemed to be
quarts of combined ejaculate poured across his lower half.  The young man
groaned loudly as his pummeled penis flopped free.
        It took a couple of minutes for them to recover.  The young man's
cock twitched in time to his heartbeat, a drop of come still dangling from
its tip.  Chris's cunt was also throbbing to a similar beat, her vagina
slowly returning to its normal length and diameter.  As they cooled down,
the young man nursed from her other breast, draining it as efficiently as
he had the first.  Chris was surprised that this action didn't send her
toward a third orgasm -- the first two must have been powerful enough to
satisfy even her apparently insatiable inner animal.
        When they finally disengaged, Chris found herself with nothing
really to say in the way of post-coital conversation.  This man-child was
not only a complete stranger, but a member of a completely different
culture.  Other than basic sex, what else could they have in common?
Chris silently and gently untwined herself from him, walked back under the
waterfall to rinse herself off, then went over to where her clothing lay,
and began to rinse it out in the pool.  The young man watched her quietly
for a while, then went to the waterfall, cupped his hands under it, and
used the water to wash the drops of white from his torso.
        Chris was able to remove the majority of blood from her slacks and
windbreaker and put them on.  It was a struggle to squeeze into the wet
slacks; her attempts brought a smile from the young man.  When she was
dressed (such as it was -- her breasts were still quite visible), she told
him the name of the hotel she was staying at and asked if he would take
her there.  He shook his head yes, and without another word led her off
down a different path -- one Chris had missed completely -- leading away
from the pond.  Within less than fifteen minutes the jungle gave way to
beach, and Chris was able to see her hotel several hundred meters down the
strand.  She turned to thank her young guide, but he had already set off
in the direction of one of the other hotels.  All in a day's work for him,
I guess, thought Chris.
        It was only after she was safe in her own room (she had been
oblivious to the stares she got as she padded, disheveled and half naked,
across the hotel lobby) that it occurred to Chris that she had just had
sex with a black man for the first time, and completely on impulse at
that.  She was intrigued to realize that once the inner animal had taken
over, all considerations of race had gone out the window.
        Those were her last lucid thoughts as the events of the last 24
hours finally caught up with her and she fell asleep across the bed, still
clad in the ruins of yesterday's outfit, her amazing breasts exposed,
rising and falling with her soft breathing.  Her exhaustion was so
complete that the horror of the last minutes of the Sailors' Soiree did
not intrude into her slumber.

<<to be continued>>


Subject:      FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis LVII
From:         trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date:         1996/08/18
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LVII:  THE RETURN HOME

        Christine dropped her carry-on onto the pile of luggage that had
gathered just inside the entrance to her apartment, and sighed heavily.
The floral print dress she was wearing, a few souvenirs, some undeveloped
photos in the camera, and some very unusual memories were now all that
remained of her sojourn to Jamaica.  She was very glad to be home.
        Chris had decided to stay only two more days in Negril -- the
amount of time it took to rearrange her travel schedule -- following her
less-than-optimal experiences with Jonah Ballwin's party, the cab ride
back to Negril, and getting lost in the jungle.  She'd decided to convert
her return cruise ticket into airfare and cut short her stay at the hotel
for fear Jonah or Edward, or worse, the Woman in Red Satin or one of her
goons, would come knocking at her door.  The carefree vacation she'd
planned had turned into anything but.  The stress of her adventures had
played havoc with her endocrine system, to the extent that she was having
less and less success controlling her lactation.  At one point during the
flight back, a baby in the row ahead of her started to cry, and instantly
she'd found her blouse clinging to her, wet through with breast milk.
She'd had to drape a magazine across her stupendous bosom and retreat to
the cramped lavatory, where she spent the next half hour draining her
overactive breasts into the sink while her blouse dried out.  She'd been
grateful that the blouse's color did not show dried milk very well.  Now
she hoped that a return to normalcy in her lifestyle would cause the same
to happen to her mental control over the sexual juggernaut The Accident
had transformed her body into.
        The apartment smelled of potpourri, and was immaculately clean,
just as it had been after Chris's return from her last long absence, which
was her hospitalization following The Accident.  Silently she thanked
Sherri for keeping an eye on the place.  At the thought of her, Chris felt
a little pang in her heart, her breasts, and her cunt.  Suddenly she
realized how much she had missed her friend and confidante.  Part of her
wanted to run over to her apartment right that second, but most of her was
just too tired.  She went to her refrigerator and opened the freezer.
Sure enough, front and center was a pint of Ben & Jerry's with a note
shouting "WELCOME HOME!" in red marker attached to it.  Chris smiled and
her eyes brimmed with tears of relief at being back home in one piece and
gratitude for Sherri's thoughtfulness.
        She plopped down at her kitchen table, ice cream and spoon in
hand, and reached for the "play" button on her answering machine, which
was blinking madly at her.  The counter read 22 messages.  Gee, I hope
Sherri reminded Jeremy and everybody that I was going to be out of town
for a while, she thought.  For a second she considered just punching
"erase" and blotting them all out, but then reconsidered.  Wearily she
pressed the button and waited while the tape rewound.
        As she feared, the first seven messages, spaced over two days,
were from Jeremy.  The first couple were simple questions about some
upcoming appointments with Lac-Station clients.  The next two were
admonishments about having missed those appointments.  The next two were
quite angry, amounting to essentially "Where the fuck are you?".  The last
one from him was basically Jeremy firing her from the Lac-Station.  The
very next message was from Sherri, who was apologizing for neglecting to
tell Jeremy about the vacation.  She said that she'd spoken to Jeremy and
that all was forgiven.  Chris had mixed feelings after hearing those
messages.  She hadn't liked the way Jeremy sounded.  Maybe it was time to
leave the Station...
        The next several messages were from old clients of Chris's.  Most
of them were calling out of the mistaken notion that she was sick; the
messages were basically get-wells.  A few mentioned that they couldn't
wait to experience the taste of her milk once again before hanging up.  A
couple were considerably more suggestive, and one or two actually made her
grimace in disgust.  She'd have to make sure someone else in the group got
them next time.
        There were calls from all of the other staff of the Lac-Station
except for Eleanor, which didn't really surprise Chris; she and Eleanor
weren't really very close.  When she heard Monique's voice, Chris expected
another beratement (she and Jeremy were of the same mind when it came to
running the Station), but instead was surprised when it turned out to be a
good wish for a happy vacation and a suggestion that the girls get
together informally after she got back.  Several of the messages that
followed were of plans and counter-plans for a welcome-back party, finally
culminating in a time and place two days hence that could accommodate
everyone's schedules.
        The final message, timed only an hour before Chris's arrival at
her apartment, was from Sherri.  It started as an apology for having used
the apartment for a wild party the night before.  Come to think of it,
Chris thought as she sniffed the air, I do smell marijuana underneath that
potpourri.  She mentioned having broken a vase that had been a gift from
Jeremy.  Chris just shrugged and smiled.  She laughed out loud when Sherri
promised to return the sheets from her bed as soon as she'd finished
laundering them.  "The salad oil is proving a little difficult to get
out," she said.  Sherri's apology soon turned into an admission that she
missed Chris more than she thought she would, and then she began going
into exquisitely filthy detail about what she wanted to do with Chris as
soon as they could be alone together.  As Sherri described a favorite
activity of theirs -- pressing their four nipples together and combining
their streams of milk into a single torrent rivaling Angel Falls -- Chris
felt herself getting wet.  She freed her bosom just in time for milk to
begin dripping from her erect nipples.  She grabbed two hand towels from
the sink and placed one on her chair and the other on the table in front
of her.  With the abandon born of being back in familiar, safe
surroundings, she masturbated lustily, replaying Sherri's last message
twice as she did so, forming her words into visions of deliciously wicked
couplings to come.  And come she did, soaking both towels simultaneously
with different fluids.
        By the time she'd finished cleaning up, the pint of Ben & Jerry's
was gone, and all the phone messages erased.  Even though it was only the
middle of the afternoon, Chris was very tired from her travels.  Her body
seemed to know it was back home and so could completely relax.  She'd take
a quick nap, and then call Sherri.
        She was still asleep six hours later.

<<to be continued>>


Subject:      FINAL REPOST:  Lactogenesis LVIII
From:         trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Date:         1996/08/18
Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories

LACTOGENESIS LVIII:  THE REUNION

        Christine glanced again at the scrap of paper on the seat next to
her, referring for the umpteenth time to the directions Janine had given
her to her apartment.  She looked up again just in time to catch the
turnoff that would take her to Janine's complex.  She cursed softly, for a
number of reasons.  First, she'd had to make a sharp turn, causing the
driver behind her to slam on his brakes.  Second, a rapid temperature drop
and an unexpected couple of inches of snow had slowed her progress more
than she'd anticipated it would.  Third, she was very late.  Janine was
hosting a little get-together for the ladies of the Lac-Station that had
been scheduled to begin almost forty-five minutes ago.  Chris was running
late not just because of the snow but also because of a little accident
she'd had.  She'd come out of the shower, walked naked into her bedroom,
and sat down on the bed next to the outfit she'd laid out there for the
party.  As she bent over to pick a pair of panties off the floor, she'd
spontaneously let down and squirted milk all over the dress she'd picked
out.  She'd had to quickly rinse out the dress and select another outfit.
This kind of thing was happening to her more and more often these days.
Her ability to mentally control her lactation was completely gone, and she
was beginning to understand what it must be like for "normal" women to
deal with having milk-filled breasts.  Her production rate seemed to have
gone haywire, too; she was never sure when she would next need to pump.
She'd finally decided that she needed to resume wearing the nursing bras
she'd bought when her milk had first come in, before she'd learned to
control it.  She'd had to dig deep into her lingerie drawer to find them,
and then she'd had to make a detour to the drug store to buy some nursing
pads.  She hated how she looked now; the unflattering bra ruined the line
of her magnificent figure, and the pads made her fantastic breasts look
strangely shaped.  All this had made her late, which was frustrating.
        Mixed in with the frustration was a healthy dose of concern about
what was happening to her body.  Why, suddenly, was having milk starting
to become more of a hassle than the sensual, sexually liberating
experience it had been for almost two years?  Had the galactogogue that
Jonah had slipped her along with the Valium during the drive from Negril
permanently screwed up her endocrine system?  (Had that really happened
almost three weeks ago now?) Why was she sometimes getting just a couple
of ounces during some milking sessions while at other times she could
extract half a liter?  Why didn't manipulating her breasts automatically
cause her to orgasm intensely as it had since the first few days after The
Accident?  She was still coming almost every time, which still meant at
least a few orgasms a day, but the frequency was beginning to noticably
decrease.  She made a mental note to voice her concern to Sherri when she
next saw her.
        The thought of Sherri immediately caused a flood of warmth to rush
through Chris's breasts and crotch.  She was slightly surprised at the
intensity of the feeling; she, who prior to The Accident had thought
herself a firmly entrenched heterosexual, now couldn't wait to get Sherri
into her bed.  Chris had not had an opportunity to see her since having
returned from her Jamaica trip, and she missed her friend and sometime
lover badly.  She was also looking forward to seeing her fellow colleagues
again; a few she hadn't seen since some weeks before the trip.  In fact,
she was not at all sure of the status of the Lac-Station, which was a
secondary reason why she was so interested in attending Janine's little
kaffee klatsch.
        She stole one more quick look at the paper with the directions on
it for the building and apartment number.  She found a parking spot and
carefully climbed the stairs to Janine's apartment.  Her frustration at
being late vanished when she heard the laughter of her associates through
the door.  She raised a mittened fist to tap on the door, but it opened in
mid-gesture.  Janine greeted her in a roomy sweater and skin-tight slacks,
with her trademark grin and a steaming cup of hot cider, complete with
cinnamon stick.
        "When I heard footsteps on the landing, I just knew it had to be
you, darlin'.  Come right in, we're all here.  Just toss your coat on the
kitchen table and join us in the living room.  I'm taking this in before
it gets cold..." and away she went.
        Chris did as she was invited.  The living room was dominated by
two large sofas, facing each other with a coffee table between them.
Seated there were Eleanor, Monique, Janine, and...Sherri.  When Chris's
eyes landed on her, Sherri bounded up, rushed over, and caught Chris up in
a hug.  The pressure of the embrace pushed the milk in Chris's breasts
near the fore, and absently she hoped she wouldn't soak the pads quite
this soon.  An electric charge shot from her pussy to her nipples as she
felt Sherri's body press into hers.  It was all she could do to keep the
hug short and friendly and not just melt into Sherri's arms in front of
everyone.
        "God, I've missed you," Chris whispered in Sherri's ear.
        "I hope you show me how much later on," she whispered back.
"Welcome back, hon," she said aloud.
        "Gosh, Chris, you don't look as tan as I thought you'd be," Janine
said.  "Did it rain in Jamaica?"
        "No, I just didn't get to lay out as much as I would have liked,"
Chris replied.  "As beautiful as Jamaica was, I'm kind of glad to be back,
snow notwithstanding."
        She seated herself next to Sherri and accepted a cup of cider from
Janine.  "I'm also glad you're all here today.  I have been wondering
what's up with the business.  I've been back more than two weeks and
haven't gotten a single call from Jeremy.  My fridge is almost at capacity
with bottles of milk.  Is he pissed at me for having spent so much of his
money on the vacation?"
        The other women passed looks back and forth, as if waiting for
someone else to be the first to speak.  Chris noticed immediately.  "What?
 Am I fired?  Is that it?"
        "No, not at all," said Monique.  "Not exactly, anyway."
        The silence grew and became awkward.  "Well, come on, you guys,"
said Chris.  "I'm a big girl."
        Finally Eleanor spoke up.  "Well, there's no easy way to say it,
so I'll just say it.  I'm afraid the Lac-Station is no more."
        Chris almost choked on her cider.  "Wha-aat?  I was only gone a
couple of weeks!  What happened?"
        "It was nobody's fault, really," Monique stated flatly.  "We've
all just...developed other agendas, that's all."
        "What Monique is trying to say is that one by one, we've all
decided we don't want to do this any more," Eleanor said.  "I for one was
getting pretty disgusted with all those twisted people Jeremy kept
introducing me to.  I joined the group really for just one purpose -- to
provide milk to mothers who couldn't nurse at a price that undercut the
milk banks.  If I had to do the occasional kinky, but expensive, thing to
keep that price low, I considered it a minor evil.  Finally I decided that
Jeremy was asking too much, and my husband didn't appreciate it much,
either, so I left the group."  Addressing Monique's frown in her
direction, Eleanor added, "I acknowledge that I was the first to leave,
but I categorically deny causing the demise of the company."
        "I wasn't accusing you," Chris said softly.
        "No, *you* weren't," Eleanor said sharply, staring at Monique.
        "Well, what did cause it?" asked Chris.
        "I suppose I was next to go.  You see," Janine said, blushing
slightly, "I've met someone."
        The other women, except Monique, smiled.  Chris, knowing of
Janine's situation as a single mother, was very pleased.  "Who's the lucky
fellow?" she asked enthusiastically.
        "His name's Geoffrey.  He started out being a client," Janine
replied.  "He was a patient at the hospital, in for a heart transplant.
Poor guy's only 31, but his heart was a mess.  I couldn't even begin to
pronounce what he had.  Anyway, he was having a lot of trouble with
rejection -- I mean his immune system went crazy after the operation.  His
doctors had read a study in which patients who are immuno...  immuno..."
        "...compromised," Eleanor assisted.
        "Right.  ...can benefit from having mother's milk as a part of
their diet during recovery."
        Eleanor chimed in.  "Evidently the idea is that these people have
immune systems that are kind of like a newborn's, so why not provide the
same kind of thing that they use to get strong?"
        Chris shrugged.  "Sounds reasonable."  She turned back to Janine.
"Well?  So?"
        "Well, anyway, I became one of Geoff's milk donors.  One day I
decided to visit him in the hospital, and took him some myself.  He
started off by telling me he preferred the taste of my milk over all the
others -- as if he could tell," Janine said, giggling.
        "We got to talking, and before too long we'd told each other our
life histories.  We started kinda dating right there in the hospital.  I
got to where I was seeing him a couple of times a day."  She blushed
again.  "I even started nursing him -- seemed kinda silly to go home, pump
the milk, and bring it back.  Well, that turned us on so much we actually
did the deed right there in his room, even though he wasn't supposed to do
anything stressful.  The rest, as they say, is history.  We're in love.  I
couldn't see myself basically turning tricks for Jeremy now that Geoff and
I are together."
        "I'll bet Jeremy was pissed when you told him," Chris said.
        "Yeah, he was.  My timing was lousy.  Eleanor had just quit the
day before," Janine said.  "But screw Jeremy.  I'm in love for the first
time in years, to a guy who loves me, my kid, and my milk.  Couldn't ask
for a better situation, especially since the doctors have given Geoff a
clean bill of health."
        "So that's why the company's kaput?  Couldn't Jeremy find two
replacements?" Chris asked.
        "Three," Sherri said.  "I quit too."
        Chris was dumbfounded.  That seemed impossible.  Sherri, with her
wild and wooly sexual style, was perfectly suited for the kinkier aspects
of working for the Lac-Station.  She had been the only one of the five of
them who had had to work really hard to induce lactation:  Janine and
Eleanor had had babies; Monique apparently had some sort of physiological
predisposition toward galactorrhea; and Chris, of course, had had The
Accident.  Sherri had been so turned on by Chris's having milk that she'd
embarked on an arduous regimen that had paid off admirably, to where
Sherri's 40-plus-year-old breasts were producing milk like a 20-year-old
mother of twins.  Lactating had become the centerpiece of Sherri's sexual
existence, and Jeremy had been providing her with every conceivable means
to exercise her new talents.  How could she just quit?
        "I got my reasons, which I'm not going to talk about right now,"
Sherri said, also staring at Monique, and Chris realized she'd voiced her
question out loud.
        "Yes, I'll admit I was very upset with all of you for just backing
out on Jeremy like you did," said Monique petulantly, ever Jeremy's
defender.  "But I've since come to realize that you have every right to
quit any time you want to.  Jeremy and I have decided to carry on, just
the two of us, unless that is, you want to continue, Chris?  You were,
after all, the Lac-Station's charter member."
        The question took Chris by surprise.  Until just a couple of
minutes ago, she had assumed that she would be taking up her duties at the
Lac-Station again at any time.  Now it sounded like there really wasn't
any Lac-Station any more, and suddenly that was not a bad thing.  Her
decision was immediate, and easier than she thought it would be.
        "No, I don't think so.  I went on that vacation to get away, and
now I find I don't want to come back.  I'll be honest, Monique, Jeremy was
a lousy boss.  He just didn't know how to treat his employees very well.
Throwing me over for you didn't help much, either, but to tell the truth,
he felt more like my pimp than a partner in a business."  There were
murmurs of assent from Eleanor, Janine, and Sherri.  "I think it was
inevitable that we each found something better and moved on."
        "And what have you found that's so much better?" Monique asked
pointedly.
        After a moment's thought, Chris said, "I guess, my personal
freedom."
        "Amen, girl," Sherri said, raising her cup.  The others raised
theirs in toast, and after a few seconds, Monique raised hers as well.

<<to be continued>>

From trekfiend@aol.com Fri Mar 22 19:14:06 1996
LACTOGENESIS LIX:  THE OTHER REUNION

	The get-together at Janine's apartment had broken up fairly early.
 Even though the subject of the Lac-Station's demise had not come up again
after Chris had announced that she, too, would not be returning, the fact
was that the only thing these five ladies had in common was lactation. 
After they found there wasn't much else for them to talk about, they'd
finished their cider and went their separate ways.  It was very likely
that none of them would ever see each other again, although Chris secretly
hoped that she'd be invited to Janine's wedding if she and Geoff were ever
to get hitched.  Janine's childlike demeanor had been one of the bright
spots of Chris's association with the Lac-Station.
	Now she and Sherri sat on the edge of Sherri's bed, each
unbuttoning the other's top.  It was something they always did whenever
they made love, and they fell into the routine easily.  As they undressed,
Chris asked Sherri again why she'd quit Jeremy's organization.
	"Two reasons, actually," Sherri said as she slid Chris's blouse
off her shoulders.  "First is that I'd had my fill of Jeremy.  All that
money he was getting from us was turning him into a real prick.  Second,
I've decided to move on to something else."
	"What do you mean?" Chris said, as she removed Sherri's shoes.
	"You really didn't expect for me to stay on the same kink forever,
did you?  I'm not all that into milk any more."
	"I'm shocked," Chris said, and she was.  "After how hard you
worked to get your milk to come in, and to maintain it?"
	"That's part of it.  It *was* a lot of work, not like for you,"
Sherri said.  "I developed more clogged ducts, each time more painful than
the last, and even though I loved the feeling of having milk, I decided
the hell with it.  I'm still making a little bit, but I've mostly dried up
now."
	"Can I ask what your latest thing is?" Chris asked.
	"You'd probably think it was too weird," Sherri said, a little
shyly.
	"Hey, it's me, remember?  The girl who squirts top and bottom? 
The one who survived the sailors' party?  How weird could it be?"
	"Golden showers," Sherri said.
	"Whoa.  That is a little weird.  How did this happen?"
	"One of the clients was into it.  Hell, it wasn't that much of a
stretch for me.  Mother's milk is a bodily fluid too, after all, and the
way you cum it was sort of like getting peed on."
	"I see your point."
	"I loved getting drenched by you," Sherri said into Chris's ear,
as she began to unhook her bra.  "This way I can be with guys and still
get drenched.  Different kind of liquid, is all."
	Chris shook her head wonderingly.  "You are something else, lady."
	"Shut up and drench me."
	"All in good time, my dear," Chris said, stroking Sherri's cheek
with the back of her hand.  "We need to take care of a little something
first."
	Chris shrugged out of her new Olga nursing bra.  It was much more
elegant an undergarment than the ugly generic types she had been wearing
until recently, but it was still a nursing bra.  Chris had had to begin
doubling up on the nursing pads lately, so she'd had to buy an F cup to
make room for them.  Even with the Olga bra, her bustline still looked
lumpy and ludicrously huge.  Four soaking wet pads fell out of the bra as
it hit the floor.  Sherri's bra joined it seconds later.  In almost exact
synchrony, both women, now nude, extended their arms upward and stretched
like cats in the warm sun, reveling in the freedom of clotheslessness. 
Milk evaporating from Chris's nipples cooled them into twin pegs of ruby,
surrounded by areolae the color of a fine cabernet.  The skin of her
bosom, normally pale and marbled with the miraculous vasculature that
provided the raw material for her milk, was flushed pink, partly from
ardor and partly from engorgement.  The areolae were so puffy from the
pressure behind them that the bumps of the Montgomery glands which were
usually so prominent were almost missing altogether.
	"I need to be drained a little before we get too carried away,"
Chris continued.  "I'd like to be able to really enjoy this, and I won't
if my boobs are causing pain."
	Sherri gently cupped Chris's burgeoning breasts.  She blinked at
the warmth they were radiating.  "Poor baby!  I've never seen you so
full."
	"I'm up to three quarts a day now," said Chris.  "It's a vicious
circle.  Ever since I lost my mental control, I have to pump more often to
relieve the buildup.  The more I pump, the more I make.  It's getting
ridiculous."
	"I've got just the thing," Sherri said with a mischievous grin. 
Taking Chris by the shoulders, Sherri guided her to sit with her back
against the headboard and placed pillows under each forearm.  Stretching
across Chris, Sherri opened the drawer of her nightstand.  Her ass was
just below Chris's face.  Chris caught the exhilarating odor of damp pussy
as Sherri slid by in front of her.  Impulsively she leaned over and nipped
Sherri on her left butt cheek.  Sherri yelped, then giggled.  From the
drawer she withdrew two containers, one a squeeze bottle of chocolate
syrup and the other one of those clear plastic bears filled with honey. 
She sat up and displayed them, rocking them in her hands, the grin still
wide on her face.
	Chris cocked an eyebrow.  "What's this?" she asked.
	"Well, quite frankly, I'm tired of just the one flavor," Sherri
said.  "You've got two nozzles there, why not a new flavor for each?" 
With that, she popped open both bottles and leaned toward Chris.
	"But your sheets..." Chris protested, but judging from her closed
eyes and parted lips, the protest had no teeth.
	"I'm into golden showers now, remember?" Sherri replied.  "Do you
think a little mess would bother me?"
	Sherri dripped chocolate syrup onto Chris's right nipple and honey
onto the left.  The sensation of the thick liquid oozing along and down
her hot breasts caused a surge of milk to flow into the sinuses behind her
nipples, and they began to drip.  Sherri eagerly caught the driblets of
milk on her tongue, swirling them together with the syrup.
	"I've always loved chocolate milk as a kid," Sherri said between
licks.  She drizzled some syrup directly into her mouth, then fastened her
lips around Chris's swollen areola and began to expertly suckle her. 
Chris flooded milk into Sherri's mouth, but she did not swallow it
immediately.  Chris could see that she was mixing it with the syrup in her
mouth first.
	For the next several minutes, Sherri consumed several ounces of
mother's milk from Chris's spurting bosom.  Chris was hard put to stay
sitting upright; she squirmed with pleasure as the milk flowed out of her.
 The sheet where she was sitting was becoming slippery with her pussy
juice.  Finally her breasts had softened enough to where she could raise
her weeping nipples to her own mouth.  Sherri held the spouts of the syrup
and honey above them and dripped the liquid confections down over the
nipple they now shared between them, a tongue on either side, lapping up
the milk mixture like hungry kittens.  The feel of two tongues at once on
her pulsing paps was electric; Chris moaned loudly and began to slide down
from her sitting position.
	"If you want to get drenched, now's the time," she panted. 
Quickly Sherri moved around to lie on her back, her own pendulous breasts
flowing back onto her upper arms.  Chris straddled her face, her hands
smearing chocolate and honey together with the milk that continued to flow
from her breasts all over her upper torso, enjoying the sensation of being
deliciously messy.  Uncaring of how much of a further mess she would make,
she began expertly milking herself, her hands sliding on her sticky skin
from her chest wall all the way down to the tips of her nipples, squeezing
out every last drop in a tight torrent that made a loud noise against the
headboard.  At the end of each stroke she would tug hard on her nipples,
which would cause her pussy to spasm with delight.  When she finally came,
it was in buckets.  Sherri's long mane of red hair caught the brunt of it.
 She slathered away at Chris's fleshy labia as the deluge blasted from it,
her face and neck becoming slick with saliva and love lava.  When she
finally came up to place a very wet kiss on Chris's sticky lips, she
looked as if she had just come out of the shower.
	Chris pushed Sherri back down on the bed and began massaging her
clit with a still-erect nipple.  Sherri began thrashing about, making her
clit a moving target.  Chris then inserted the nipple into Sherri's vagina
and renewed her milking until she had filled Sherri's space with sweet
mother's milk.  She then began lapping it up, her tongue occasionally
encircling Sherri's clit, as it oozed out, mixed with Sherri's juices. 
Sherri was helpless under this treatment, and within seconds arched her
hips upward as she too exploded in orgasm.
	They held each other for several minutes afterward.  To their
surprise, when they tried to separate, it was very difficult, since the
syrup and honey, breast milk and pussy juice, had combined to form a very
effective adhesive!
	It took almost an hour in the shower for them to get clean.  But
then again, they didn't spend that entire time simply washing.

<<to be continued>>