Article 51762 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXI: The Video Store (mf, breast, lactation)
Date: 8 Feb 1995 01:23:15 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXI
THE VIDEO STORE
Christine finished her mental mini-review of the events that
had led up to her being able to purchase the shiny new car beside
which she was standing. Her mind back on the present, she turned and
entered the video store. She was immediately aware of the stare the
pimply faced teen behind the counter fixed upon her as soon as she
cleared the doorway. After all, she was not dressed appropriately for
the time of year, and the material of her cropped T-shirt was
revealing as much as it concealed. She felt the erection of her
nipples intensify, until even the bumps of the Montgomery's glands
that peppered her areoles were visible through the fabric.
It must be the warm weather, she thought. It's giving me a
premature case of spring fever. I can't remember the last time I got
so horny over a kid half my age staring at me. Chris felt her breasts
rapidly filling and knew that she would have to make her selection
quickly and rush home, or else she would be forced to use her mental
control to shut down her milk production so as to avoid discomfort,
something she didn't like to do unless absolutely necessary. She
decided to pick out something particularly steamy to help get her
through the upcoming milking session, so she walked to the appropriate
section of the store and began looking at the selections. "9-1/2
Weeks"? Seen it. "Two Moon Junction"? Nope. "Red Shoe Diaries"?
Been on cable already. "Like Water for Chocolate"? Damn, it's out.
There just doesn't seem to be anything here that's hot enough for what
I want...
Without really thinking about it, Chris found herself heading
toward the door at the back marked "Must Be 18 to Enter". Strange,
she thought. I've never rented -- nor even seen -- an X-rated movie
before. I must be hornier than I thought. Even with all of the sexual
awakenings Chris had experienced since The Accident, the world of
adult film had not been one of them. She had been living the
experience without having to view it on a screen. Her curiosity at
what lay behind the door before her combined with her horniness to
create an unquenchable desire to find the most explicit video she
could and then spend the rest of the evening in her milking chair,
watching it over and over, masturbating furiously and setting new milk
yield records. Anything to help the orphans, she thought wryly.
As she opened the door, she was surprised to find the room to
be larger than she thought it would be. Row upon row of cassettes
with vivid packaging greeted her. The room was dimly lit, and
contained a faint smell of old cigarette smoke. There was only one
other person in the room. It was a young man, perhaps 22 or 23, in a
leather jacket and jeans, peering intently at the shelves as if
searching for a specific movie.
How does one possibly choose from all of this? Chris wondered.
She chose one of the racks at random and began looking at titles. She
noticed immediately that many were permutations of established movies
and TV shows. "Sex Trek: The Next Penetration"? Who thinks up this
stuff? Chris wondered. She then read a title that made her giggle out
loud. The young man jerked his head in her direction. His face had
an embarrassed look on it.
Chris felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry, I'm not
laughing at you. Some of these titles are just so funny, that's all."
The young man appeared to accept this; he turned away to resume his
search. Chris noticed that he already had two cassettes in his
possession. She was suddenly seized with a strong desire to know what
they were. What kinds of videos turn guys on, anyway? she wondered.
Maybe if I can see what he's got, it'll help me pick out something for
myself.
Under the pretense of continuing her own search for a title,
Chris maneuvered herself nearer to the young man. As she got closer,
she noticed that he was really quite handsome, not the trenchcoat-
wearing stereotype she always had imagined frequenting places like
this. He had sandy hair, a strong nose and chin, wire-rimmed
glasses... What's a guy like this need with porno movies? Chris asked
herself. He looks like somebody who could get the real thing anytime
he wanted. He looks like somebody *I'd* like...
She was almost standing next to the young man now. She
noticed as she sidled closer that he was stealing more and more
frequent glances at her, particularly at her chest. This knowledge
caused her nipples to become so hard they ached, and her breasts to
flood with warm milk. Finally she was close enough to make out the
words on the cassette cases the young man held in his hand, and what
she read nearly made her wet her panties. One movie was titled "Milk
Mania", and the other "Magnificent Milky Maidens". The guy was into
lactation! What were the odds of that? In that moment the hormonal
onslaught won out; Chris knew she had to have this man. A plan formed
instantly, unbidden.
She waited until he began to reach for another cassette (this
one entitled "Squirting Boobies III"), then she started to reach for
the one immediately next to it. As he once more glanced in her
direction, as she knew he would, Chris willed her breasts to begin
leaking milk into her T-shirt. Two dark stains immediately appeared
over her finger-thick nipples and began spreading rapidly. Chris
withdrew her arm and pressed it against her bosom. She had timed the
incident perfectly. The young man had seen it and was now opening
staring.
"Oh, Dammit," she said, feigning dismay. "This always happens
at the worst times." She tentatively dabbed at her chest,
deliberating making her boobs jiggle slightly, then looked up into the
young man's eyes, which were as wide as they could possibly be. "I'm
terribly sorry. I hope I'm not grossing you out. It's just that I
have so much milk that sometimes it just comes out on its own. Oh,
jeez, just look at me." She began flapping the front of her shirt in
an attempt to "dry" it, allowing the undersides of her breasts to
flash in and out of view. The two stains joined into a single large
one that spread out to cover most of her front. Rivulets of milk
began to appear on her exposed stomach. All the while Chris
apologized profusely, pretending to be upset over her "accident" and
frantic that it wasn't stopping. The young man stood transfixed,
unable to either move or utter a word. There was a sizable lump
forming in his jeans. Finally Chris asked him outright for a
handkerchief. He produced one from his back pocket and presented it
with trembling hand. Chris unfolded it and thrust it up inside her
shirt, dabbing it across her oozing nipples, fussing constantly,
pretending to be embarrassed. She had to be careful here, or she'd
have an orgasm on the spot, and that would be messy indeed. She
decided that her little show had had the desired effect, and so
performed the mental ritual that shut down the flow of milk.
She began to hand the hankie back to him, then thought better
of it. "Oh, my, I've really gotten this wet. Tell you what, I'll
take it home and wash it, then I'll send it back to you. What's your
name and address?"
Finally the young man was able to speak. "It is all right.
You keep. I have others." His tenor voice was thick with a European
accent Chris didn't quite recognize. This guy was obviously not from
the neighborhood.
"Well I don't usually take an article of someone's clothing
without knowing who it came from," Chris said, smiling radiantly. She
extended a hand. "My name's Chris."
"I am Uwe," he said, pronouncing it "oo-vay". His mouth then
dropped open slightly as he took her hand and realized that it was
slightly damp with milk. Chris took note of that reaction -- arousal,
not disgust. Good.
She zipped up her jacket to cover herself. "I think it's
stopped now. I apologize again. Believe me, I don't often meet men
this way, especially in a place like this!"
"Please, do not say more. You do not offend. It is... natural
for this sometimes to happen, yes?"
"Well, yes, but I usually have more control over it than this.
Something must have distracted me," Chris said, letting a gleam come
into her eye. "I couldn't help noticing your accent. Have you been
in the States long?"
"Zwei Monaten. Two months," Uwe replied. "I am on holiday
from Austria."
"Traveling alone?"
"Ja."
"Austria, eh? I've always wanted to visit Europe", Chris
said. "Forgive me for saying so, Uwe, but this place isn't exactly
listed in the Michelin Guide."
He must have understood the reference, for he appeared to
blush, although it was difficult to tell from his dark complexion.
"Two months is long time without..." He let his voice trail off.
There are times when poor command of a language is good, Chris
thought. There's not as much room for subtlety. She cut through
Uwe's building embarrassment by chuckling. "No need to explain. I'm
here for the very same reason," she lied.
Uwe's eyes widened again. "Excuse me, but I think that is not
to believe," he said. "A woman so beautiful as you should not have
to..." Again he did not complete the sentence.
Chris risked touching Uwe's arm. He did not flinch. "That's
very sweet of you. Are all the men of Austria as gallant as you?"
Uwe did not answer, but he did smile warmly. "You know, I've never
met an Austrian before. If I'm being too forward, tell me, but...if
you'd like some company to watch those movies with, I'd be happy to
oblige."
"I do not know what means 'forward', but I think I would like
that," Uwe said. She smiled again. Of course you would, she thought.
What lactation lover wouldn't jump at the chance to live out his
deepest sexual fantasy? Uwe wasn't so cautious about meeting strange
women in strange places that he would flatly turn down an opportunity
like the one Chris was offering.
"Great! And here I thought I'd be spending the evening alone.
Tell you what. Let's pay for these and go over to my place. I, ah,
need to change my shirt anyway."
As Uwe followed her toward the front of the store, Chris could
not help thinking of a puppy, nipping and drooling at her heels. For
a moment she wondered if she wasn't doing something completely crazy,
taking advantage of a young man's fantasies like she was, but her
animal side was in full control now, and her only regret became that
this young man would probably pop his cork way too soon....
Article 54312 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXII: The Foreigner {mf, breast, lactation, f ejac}
Date: 18 Feb 1995 00:16:42 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXII
THE FOREIGNER
Christine noticed as she drove home from the video store that
Uwe's rental car rode her back bumper much too closely. When they
arrived at her building, he was on the step directly behind her all
the way up. This is one eager beaver, she thought, and was amused
instead of annoyed. He wants to make sure not to lose me. Well don't
worry, my little Austrian strudel. The chain of events has already
progressed past the point of no return.
Once through the door, Chris indicated the sofa across the
living room from her entertainment center where Uwe was to sit. She
hurried into her bedroom to change her milk-soaked T-shirt. She caught
a glimpse of her naked bosom in the mirror and instantly recognized
the visual signs of oncoming engorgement. Poor Uwe is going to get
inundated, she thought. I hope he's equal to the challenge...
She chose a bustier and an unbuttoned, see-through blouse as
replacements for the T-shirt. Provocative, yet easy to get out of. Her
splendiferous breasts threatened to spill out of their barely adequate
restraints as she returned to the living room. She stopped at the
linen closet to remove a small stack of towels, which she placed in an
empty chair. Uwe had not budged from his spot on the sofa, not even to
remove his jacket. He inhaled sharply when he saw the stack of towels.
He's foreign, not stupid, Chris thought. In Uwe's white-knuckled grip
were the three videocassettes he had picked out at the store. Chris
saw a need to put the nervous young man at ease.
"Please, be comfortable," she said soothingly. "Take off your
coat. Can I get you something? A beer, maybe?"
"Es tut mir... I mean, I am sorry," Uwe said. "I am having...
moths in the head?"
Chris laughed. "If you mean butterflies in your stomach, don't
worry. I won't bite unless you want me to. Why don't you start one of
the movies? That will give us something to talk about."
When she returned from the kitchen, "Squirting Boobies III"
was just appearing on the TV screen. Uwe was already riveted to the
introductory scenes, a rapid-fire montage of shots of women squeezing
milk from their breasts. A tinny electronic soundtrack started as the
scene shifted to a single woman, pretty but still carrying some post-
pregnancy weight, caressing a pendulous pair of stretch mark-covered
breasts, eventually (after what seemed to be an inordinately long
time) coaxing a thin dribble of milk from one of them. Chris found
herself watching with a sort of detached, clinical interest. She
shouldn't have fed the kid just before filming, she was thinking. Uwe,
in contrast, was transfixed. By the position of the lump in his pants,
Chris figured he must be in some discomfort. He tried to shift his
weight unobtrusively to free his growing erection. Chris decided not
to try to help him... not yet, anyway. If this is getting his rocks
off, he must *really* be into lactation, she thought.
The scene shifted to another woman, a black woman with the
biggest pair of natural breasts Chris had ever seen. Their coal-black
areoles, each at least three inches in diameter, rested in her lap
when she wasn't fondling them. Within seconds after appearing
onscreen, this woman was squirting thick streams of milk into her own
mouth while a fully dressed man stroking an average-sized erection
protruding from his fly looked on. The scene went on for several
minutes, during which time the flow of milk showed no signs of
abating. This finally produced a response in Chris. A memory from the
first few days after her milk had first come in resurfaced. She
remembered the taste of her own milk, how she had actually been able
to fill her stomach from drinking it, how long it had taken her, and
how, as orgasm after orgasm shook her, she had wondered whether her
breasts would ever stop squirting. She felt her nipples threatening to
burst out of the cups of her bustier, the hot milk building up behind
them, the juices seeping out from between her pussy lips. She looked
over at Uwe, who was still staring at the TV, now absently rubbing an
impressive swelling through his jeans.
"It's so sweet and warm," Chris said, breaking a long silence.
"You haven't lived until you've tasted mother's milk. I used to wonder
why so many men were turned on by milky tits until I tasted it
myself." They watched the scene a little longer. "My, she sure has a
lot... almost as much as me," Chris said. "In fact, watching this has
made me feel full again." At those words, Uwe was finally able to tear
his gaze away from the TV and onto Chris's chest. She responded by
brushing back the material of her blouse and lightly caressing the
mounds that welled up from the cups of the bustier. "They get so hot
when they're producing," she said seductively. Impulsively she reached
out and grabbed one of Uwe's trembling hands. "Here, feel," she said,
firmly planting it across her chest.
At first Uwe, too shocked to move, did nothing. Then he ever
so gently began moving his hand, across, around, feeling the heat that
was the byproduct of the manufacture of milk that was going on just
millimeters beneath. Chris was immensely turned on by the
tentativeness of his movements. Jeremy was a veteran at this; his
approach was straightforward, while Uwe was clearly exploring, unsure
of his next move. Chris found that very titillating. She moved his
hand aside temporarily and used the flats of her fingers to pull her
breasts up and out of the bustier. Her nipples popped forth, and
single drops of blue-white fluid appeared at their tips.
On the screen, the man had undressed, and the woman was
soaking his erection down with her milk -- from a distance of several
feet. Again an old memory surfaced in Chris; she remembered spattering
her bedroom window while standing in the doorway to the room, which
had to have been ten feet away. She suddenly had the urge to do that
again. "I can do that," she said, referring to the video. "Watch." Her
fingers and thumb instinctively knew the correct positions to take
around and behind her areoles, knew the correct amount of inward
pressure to exert, to produce a cluster of fine, sharp, forceful
streams from her nipples. A moan of surprise and extreme arousal
escaped Uwe's lips. The milk formed a long parabolic arc, fanning out
and striking the full-length mirror on the far side of the room. Again
and again she sent jets of milk skyward as she related to Uwe how good
it felt to be releasing the pressure, how her nipples were tingling as
the milk shot through them. Suddenly she stopped spraying, turned to
Uwe, and said, "Would you like to taste?"
The look on Uwe's face told her she had just granted his
fondest wish. She repositioned herself so as to aim her blasts into
his open mouth. The force of the first one took him by surprise; he
almost choked as it struck the back of his throat. As Chris continued
to squirt, Uwe's mouth came closer and closer until his lips finally
locked onto her breast. He sucked hard, almost as hard as an infant.
Chris felt her letdown reflex intensify, and quickly bent her head to
catch in her own mouth the streams that began spontaneously shooting
from her free breast. The familiar taste immediately triggered an
orgasm which came up so quickly that Chris was completely unprepared
for it. She felt her cunt juice gush into her slacks and seep up into
the crack of her ass. The flow from her breasts increased until Uwe no
longer needed to suck to have his mouth filled to overflowing. The
action on the screen continued, but it soon paled against what was
going on in front of it.
Chris pushed Uwe back onto his back, swinging her shoulders
back and forth so that first one, then the other spewing breast came
in contact with his grasping mouth. He had her firmly about the waist
as she ground her saturated crotch against the fly of his jeans.
Somehow, a hand (whose?) unzipped the zipper, liberating an
uncircumcised cock that ranked among the longest Chris had ever felt.
Pausing just long enough to rip off her wet pants, Chris, quite
simply, jumped on top of Uwe. She promptly yelped and leaped back off
as the impact drove his cock all the way up inside her and bumped up
hard against her cervix. Not letting Uwe's mouth wander far from her
spurting nipples, Chris tried again, this time lowering herself
slowly, feeling inch after inch after inch after lovely inch slide up
and in, feeling her muscles squeeze and release as she pushed him
further. She stopped just short of bottoming out, and realized that at
least two inches were still outside of her. Jeremy was thicker, but
Uwe was longer. She realized in that moment that Jeremy's cock was the
only one she'd had inside her for a long time, and that she had
forgotten how different one man can feel from another. As Chris
gyrated upon Uwe, she felt every little difference there was to feel,
and as she did, her orgasms came thick and fast. She straightened up
and threw her chin toward the ceiling as she came like a Thompson gun.
It almost felt to Chris as if her uterus was being repositioned --
trying to get out of the way of Uwe's impressive sword. Uwe's blue
jeans turned a very dark indigo as her ejaculate cascaded over them.
Her breasts, now free from Uwe's grip, sent pulses of whiter hind-milk
over his head in rhythm with her vaginal contractions. Uwe had
probably come within seconds of beginning all of this, but so much
fluid was present that it was hard to tell what was his and what was
hers. All he could do was hang on, screaming to himself in his native
language that this was all there was in the world now, while Chris
released herself upon him.
As the last orgasm (sixth? eighth? who counts any more?)
drained from Chris like a locomotive speeding away into a foggy night,
she looked down on her victim. He lay motionless, his eyes tightly
shut, his mouth gaping. He could have been mistaken for dead except
for his gasping breath. He babbled something in German, then opened
his eyes to meet Chris's. It was clear from the look on his face that
he could die then and have no regrets.
She hadn't seen a look like that on Jeremy's face since they'd
first started making love. It warmed her at first, then saddened her,
for it made her think that perhaps she and Jeremy were reaching the
beginning of the end. She tried not to think about it. Instead she
said, "What was that you said, love?"
He smiled weakly. "Wenn der Putz steht, liegt der Sechsel in
d'Erde."
"Meaning?"
Uwe paused, struggling with the translation as he sat up and
tried in vain to wipe all of the bodily fluids from his face and what
was left of his clothes. Finally he said, in very clear English, "When
the prick stands up, the brains go in the ground."
Chris's melancholy lifted immediately, and she began laughing
heartily, the action serving to shake the last few drops of milk from
her bobbing boobs. That phrase must be her mantra. Wasn't that very
thing (the female equivalent, anyway) that had caused her to just have
sex with a total stranger, now as those many months ago at the
Halloween party? Was Chris really a slave to her glands? Did she care?
She regarded the mess they'd made of the room around them and
suddenly realized that the towels still sat neatly folded on the
chair. Yep, the brains definitely had gone into the ground.
"Oh, God, ain't that the truth!" she laughed, falling onto
Uwe's heaving chest and temporarily knocking the wind out of him.
He recovered quickly.
The other two movies went unviewed that evening.
Article 54313 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXIII: The Staff Meeting, Part One {lactation, breast}
Date: 18 Feb 1995 00:16:56 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXIII
THE STAFF MEETING, PART ONE
Chris pulled up in front of Jeremy's home (she still called it
an "estate" in her mind -- she'd never gotten used to its size) ten
minutes late. Jeremy had called a staff meeting of The Lac-Station for
that evening, on fairly short notice, which was not like him. It was
also not like him to have it at his own house. A meeting of all six
employees of the company was quite rare, but when it did happen, Chris
usually hosted it since her converted spare bedroom had come to be
regarded as the company's headquarters. Chris had never been quite
able to figure out why that was, when Jeremy had so much spare room at
his place compared to Chris's apartment, which was tiny by comparison.
Chris was late because she had just finished a milking session
which took longer than she thought it would. The movie she had been
watching during it had been a rather violent thriller, which might
have caused some emotional reactions that were counterproductive to
good milk flow. She would remember in future to listen to soothing
music or watch a good mellow romance or steamy X-rated film if she was
in a hurry and had to drain her breasts quickly.
She trotted up the stairs (too quickly -- her expansive,
unsupported bosom bounced almost painfully) and rang the doorbell,
which sounded a series of deep brassy tones. She smiled; it didn't
seem all that long ago when pressing that button had produced a
recording of a woman screaming. How many times have I been here since
the Halloween party? she wondered. Not very many. Jeremy usually likes
to come to my place. Probably because I'm better equipped to handle
the mess we usually make...
Chris was expecting to see Jeremy's welcome smile behind the
door and so was startled when a woman she'd never seen before opened
it. From the look on the woman's face, it was clear that she
recognized Chris but didn't seem to be too pleased about it. Chris
knew immediately that she was at a disadvantage, but she rallied
quickly. She realized that this woman must be the mysterious fifth
lady whom Jeremy had hired without consulting the others, the one none
of them had met in the several weeks that had elapsed since, the one
Jeremy declined to discuss even when pressed on the subject.
Only a few seconds of silence went by as the two women scanned
each other, but in that short time Chris learned a lot. The mystery
lady was quite small, maybe five feet even, maybe even an inch or two
shorter. Chris towered over her. She looked to be in her mid thirties.
She had short-cropped blonde hair that clung tightly to her head,
almost like a swim cap. Her eyes were huge and almost turquoise blue,
with just the slightest hint of an almond shape; her cheekbones were
high and wide; her mouth small and thin-lipped. Her tiny ears also lay
tight against her head. She was beautiful in an elfin sort of way. Her
frame matched her height -- she might weigh eighty or ninety pounds.
Her hips were so narrow as to be almost boyish; her breasts were
barely there, looking like little more than exaggerated pectoral
muscles. Fairly prominent nipples showed through the fabric of her
white dress. Jeez, attach wings to this girl and she could be
Tinkerbell, Chris thought. That's what I think I'll call her.
"Come in, Chris," Tinkerbell said in the kind of voice Chris
expected: a thin, high soprano. "The rest of us are in the salon." The
way she said that last word -- just a hint of a French accent. Hmm.
What's this girl's story? Chris thought. Where'd Jeremy find her?
Tinkerbell led Chris through the house to the spacious
enclosed back porch that she had called the "salon". Sherri, Eleanor,
and Janine were sitting together on a huge overstuffed sofa, chatting
amiably back and forth. Jeremy sat in a large leather-covered lounger
that looked almost like a throne. A large plate of canapes sat on the
glass-and-brass coffee table. Sherri and Janine were drinking glasses
of beer; Eleanor, white wine; and Jeremy, what looked to be champagne.
A second glass of champagne sat on a small table next to his chair. It
had lipstick on it. Tinkerbell's.
Upon Chris's entrance, Eleanor smiled and nodded. Janine waved
childishly, a huge grin on her face. Sherri put down her beer, strode
over and gave Chris a big hug, or at least, as big a hug as their two
outstanding bustlines would allow. "There she is! How are you, hon?
You know, the only thing I don't like about this job is being too busy
to see you. This guy really keeps me hoppin'... or should I say,
humpin'!" She laughed heartily. No one else did.
"Let's get started, shall we?" Jeremy said in an all-business
tone. "We've got a lot to cover tonight. So much, in fact, that if
you've made plans for later, you should cancel them now." He indicated
a nearby telephone.
"But Jer, what about my appointment tonight?" Janine asked.
"Don't worry about it. Already taken care of," he said curtly.
"But if I don't... you know... I'll get all... "
"I said don't worry about it. I've got it covered," Jeremy
replied, cutting her off.
What bug crawled up his ass? Chris wondered.
"Shit, Jeremy, you know tonight's my night off," Sherri said
indignantly.
"I know, and I'll make it up to you. This is too important."
Eleanor moved to the phone, talking more to herself than to
the others. "I should call our au pair and tell her I'll be home late,
tell her to feed the baby... How late, Jeremy?"
"Don't know yet."
"Wonderful." Eleanor scowled and began punching numbers.
"We have four things on the agenda this evening," Jeremy said.
"The first one is fairly trivial, so I'll get it out of the way now. I
wanted to show you all our new corporate logo." He got up and walked
behind the sofa, where an easel was set up. He picked up a large
cloth-covered placard that was resting there and placed it on the
easel. "A friend of mine at Graphic Descriptions designed it." Out of
the corner of her eye Chris saw Tinkerbell smile and nod slightly. She
had curled herself up on the floor, at the foot of Jeremy's chair, and
was sipping her champagne. The artist is probably one of her regulars
returning a favor, Chris thought. Who the hell IS she??
With a flourish, Jeremy flung away the cloth covering. The
revealed logo was in large white lettering on a blue background. "The
LAC-STATION Ltd.", it trumpeted in large rounded-block lettering.
Below, in smaller italics, "When Nothing But Nature Will Do". Chris
stared, then tried to keep from laughing as she realized that the A's
in "Lac-Station" had been replaced by milk bottles (that actually said
"MILK" on them), and that little cartoon droplets of milk were coming
out of the tops of the stems of the "L" and "N".
Sherri, as expected, was first to comment. "Christ, Jeremy,"
she said derisively. "You've got to be kidding."
Eleanor was next. "I'm not carrying business cards with that
printed on them. No way."
Janine piped up. "I think it's kinda cute."
Jeremy looked at Chris, clearly waiting for her opinion. I
can't tell him how ridiculous it looks, she thought. I don't want to
hurt his feelings. "I don't know," she said tentatively. "This doesn't
look like the logo of an organization that wants to be taken
seriously."
Jeremy and Tinkerbell exchanged a long look. Chris took this
to mean that these two had already decided for the rest of them that
this logo would be the one; they clearly hadn't expected any
resistance. Jeremy finally spoke slowly, saying, "Maybe I should have
him keep working on it."
Tinkerbell glared at him. Wrong answer, Chris thought. Where
does this chick get off trying to get her way here? Wait a minute,
wait a damned minute. She studied Jeremy's face, gauging his
discomfort, and a sudden realization hit her like a lightning bolt.
He's pussy-whipped! Chris shouted to herself. This bitch has him
completely under her control! What the fuck is going on here? Anger,
disappointment, sadness all swept over Chris at once. No wonder she
hadn't seen much of Jeremy lately. She'd thought his two businesses,
real estate and the Station, had been keeping him away. She suddenly
knew the real reason -- that her main man was in the thrall of a
pint-sized prick-teaser with a body like a boy and hair like a helmet.
She suddenly hurt all over.
"It looks like something a fucking novelty shop would use,"
Sherri said, heedless of the silent drama before her. "I vote no."
"I'll remember that when this becomes a democracy," Jeremy
shot back. Sherri's eyes widened; she hadn't expected that. "Okay,
let's table this for now. We can't take any more time with this." He
took the placard back down, deliberately avoiding Tinkerbell's
withering stare as she tried to freeze the very air around him with
her disturbingly beautiful eyes.
Jeremy reseated himself in his chair. As he did so, Tinkerbell
stood up and moved to an empty chair at the other end of the room, but
not before refilling her glass. He tried to ignored her, but wasn't
doing a good job of it. Chris could see his body language telegraphing
"I'm sorry". Looking at no one in particular, he said, "For the second
item on the agenda, I'd like to get your updates on how your various
appointments have gone over the last few weeks. You know, find out who
the weirdos are, whether or not we need to do some weeding out,
whether you're still enjoying yourselves, whether there's too much or
not enough going on, etc., etc. Storytelling time, ladies!"
Chris opened her mouth to speak, but Sherri beat her to it.
She set her beer down on the table with a loud noise and said, "Oh, no
you don't. Not so fast, my friend. I'm not staying another second
until I get something straight." She swiveled in her seat to face
Tinkerbell and addressed her directly. "Just who in the hell are you?
What are you doing here, and how is it that without saying three words
you seem to have taken over here?"
Bless you, my dear friend, Chris thought.
Tinkerbell didn't respond other than to once again fix Jeremy
with an angry look. Jeremy rose from his chair and walked over to
stand behind Tinkerbell's chair. "Of course, how silly of me not to
have made introductions right away." He rested his hands on both of
her shoulders; she stiffened as he did so. "Ladies of the Lac-Station,
allow me to introduce Monique Marcoux. Your new executive vice
president."
Article 55240 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXIV: The Staff Meeting, Part Two (breast, lactation)
Date: 22 Feb 1995 21:52:40 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXIV
THE STAFF MEETING
PART TWO
Despite her irritation at Jeremy, Monique managed a thin smile
upon her introduction to the rest of the staff of the Lac-Station. It
was not returned by any of them. The predominant emotion evident on
most of the faces was confusion; on Chris's it was open hostility.
"'Executive vice president'? What do we need one of those
for? We aren't IBM, for Chrissake," Sherri said.
Eleanor joined in. "To bring in a total stranger without
consulting any of us and elevate her to a position of such authority
was rather presumptuous of you, Jeremy. If there is indeed a need for
such a position to be created, then the post should clearly go to our
co-founder, Christine." Chris, even through her anger, was surprised.
Eleanor was the last person she expected to come to her defense.
"Yeah, what makes this Ms. Marcoux so qualified, besides the
fact that you're fucking her?" Sherri said venomously. Again Chris
was surprised; she thought she had been the only one to notice that
aspect of the situation. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about
me like I wasn't even in the room," Monique said. Chris immediately
took note of the fact that she made no move to deny the accusation.
"All right, calm down, everybody," Jeremy said sternly. "One
of the major reasons I called you all here tonight was to make formal
introductions. I didn't want to make a big deal out of appointing
Monique until we were sure it was going to work out for her. The
truth is, the Lac-Station has succeeded beyond my wildest
expectations. Even I had no idea how many people have a thing for
mother's milk. The demand for our services is beginning to outstrip
my ability to handle it. I'm sure you've certainly noticed the steady
rise in business." The women slowly nodded. Come to think of it, it
*has* been a while since I've had two nights in a row to myself, Chris
noted. I guess I've been having too much fun to notice how hard I've
been working on this. Her breasts actually tingled at the thought.
Jeremy continued. "A couple of weeks ago I realized that I
needed somebody to take over for me. Now Chris, I want you to know
that you were the first person I considered for the job. But think
about it for a minute. First, it would require you to quit your job
at the paper. Would you want to do that?" Chris shook her head no.
"I didn't think so. Second -- and don't get pissed off -- you don't
have the necessary connections to make this work. I'm sorry, but you
don't. You have to have a kind of a dark side to make a business like
ours run profitably, and sweetheart, you have a naughty side, not a
dark one. That's to your credit."
Janine raised her hand. "Can I ask, then, what Monique's
qualifications are?"
"You may indeed," Monique said, rising from her chair. "First
of all, I've been a group leader with the cross-town chapter of La
Leche League for five years. I've also worked as a lactation
consultant at two hospitals and a free clinic during that time. Up
until about a year ago I also worked part-time in the very milk bank
that precipitated the formation of this company in the first place. I
think that qualifies me as an expert on the subject. Also, I have
been lactating for the past six years, even though my daughter was
weaned over three years ago. The simple fact is, I love the feeling
of having milk in my breasts; it makes me feel special, more...
complete, perhaps you'd say. In fact, I was getting worried that
perhaps I was allowing that aspect of my life to control my life to
too great an extent. I was finding myself excusing myself from my
desk eight, ten, twelve times a day to go express more milk, just for
the rush I used to get from it. I was concerned that I'd have to
finally give it up, until I met Jeremy."
What has this turned into, a meeting of "Lactators Anonymous"?
Chris wondered scornfully.
"How exactly *did* you meet?" Sherri asked.
"Jeremy, resourceful fellow that he is, found out where
several of us meet for coffee after our LLL meetings," Monique
explained. "He approached our table, introduced himself, and began
talking about the Lac-Station. As he talked, I realized that it was
exactly what I needed. We talked about it over the course of several
meetings, and about two weeks ago he asked me to work for him."
"But why as executive VP?" Eleanor asked.
"Jeremy thought it would be a good idea if you had someone you
didn't know well take on the supervisory chores. Don't you agree that
it's usually more difficult to suddenly start taking orders from a
friend who's been promoted over you than it is to do so from a
stranger who comes in out of nowhere?" Chris had to admit she had a
point. One avoids a lot of resentment and loss of friendship that
way.
"More important than that, however," Jeremy added, "is that
Monique has that dark side that I mentioned earlier."
"That's right," Monique said, now avoiding eye contact with
the others. "It's not something I'm proud of, but I think it'll help
me help Jeremy run the company. I was -- and am -- actually addicted
to lactation, much as some people are addicted to sex. At one point I
was... excuse me, I didn't realize how difficult this would be to say
out loud... I was actually prostituting myself just so that I could
never lack for eager men to suck the milk out of my breasts. It got
to where I would do almost anything to feel that rush, the tingle of
the letdown, the release of the milk squirting out. I began to
develop some rather unsavory connections in what I now call my 'shadow
world' to keep this going. As a result, I've learned a lot about the
secret desires -- yes, and perversions -- of the 'normal', everyday
person on the street. Jeremy seems to think this aspect of my
personality will help maintain a high level of activity for the
company."
"And my job will then be to act as a filter for the people
Monique brings to us," Jeremy quickly assured his staff. "I'll make
sure the true perverts, the criminal element, etc. never get through.
I still want the Lac-Station to be a high-class operation."
"Damnit, Jeremy, you never let us have any fun," Sherri said
sarcastically. She seemed to be warming up to the situation.
"I'm not trying to take over, or bust up what you have going
here," Monique continued. "I'm hoping to be able to help take us to
the next level, that's all. I also hope to get to know all of you
better in the process. I really need this. All I'm asking for is a
chance and your cooperation." She sat down again, speech apparently
over.
"You *are* fucking him, aren't you?" Sherri asked point-blank.
Before Monique could answer, Jeremy interjected, "That's none
of your goddamned business, Sherri."
"Okay, okay. Just curious. Easy there, tiger," Sherri said
soothingly. She aimed a wicked grin in Chris's direction.
It's my business, though, Jeremy, Chris thought. She had to
restrain herself from saying that out loud. She didn't want to open
that particular can of worms at this time and place. This was
something she and Jeremy would have out privately later.
Janine, ever the camp counselor, was determined to lighten the
mood. "Well I for one am glad to have another person on board. I was
starting to spend too much time away from my kid! Welcome, Monique."
Her infectious good humor began to spread among the others. Smiles
began to appear. Monique relaxed visibly.
"If you don't mind me saying, though," Janine went on, "you
don't really look like you could be making very much." She was
referring to Monique's figure, which more strongly resembled a barely
pubescent 12-year-old than that of an actively lactating woman who had
borne a child. A quick review of the others showed them all to be
fairly well endowed. Sherri led the pack with her F-cup chest,
followed closely by Chris, who only looked as large because her
breasts were extraordinarily firm. Janine's rack was a solid 36D,
while Eleanor's, although somewhat smaller, was still fairly
impressive. Monique sported mosquito bites by comparison.
She only smiled. "That's a common misconception, Janine," she
stated authoritatively. "People think that large-breasted women must
automatically make more milk. In reality, larger breasts usually
contain more fatty tissue, not necessarily any more glandular
structure... although from what Jeremy's told me, our own Christine is
probably a rare exception to that rule. Small breasts can make just
as much milk as large ones. They all respond to the law of supply and
demand. Since my personal demand is quite high, so has my output
been. You might be surprised to know that these can easily produce
over 1500 cc per day."
Sherri snorted. "Bullshit," she said. "Those aren't big
enough to hold anything!"
Monique replied, "I probably empty my breasts far more often
than any of you. That's how I'm able to make as much as I do. But
you're right, Sherri, it doesn't take much for me to become engorged.
In fact," she said, looking down at herself, "all this talk has got me
going pretty well." Sure enough, the small swells under her tight-
fitting dress did look larger than they had when Chris had first seen
her. There might even be some dampness there, but it was difficult to
tell with the white material. She rose. "Will you excuse me for a
minute?"
Jeremy frowned. "You haven't forgotten the rest of the
agenda, have you?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't worry, Jeremy," she said. "I'll
be full again in fifteen or twenty minutes."
"Hang on there a sec," Sherri said to Monique as she prepared
to leave the room. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I think
we're being handed a tall tale here. I just can't believe those itty
bitty titties can make a drop, let alone a quart. I'd like to see you
express right here, in front of all of us."
"Well, I don't know..."
"C'mon, La Leche leader. Don't you people do this sort of
thing all the time?"
Monique considered for a few seconds, then sat down. She
drained her champagne glass in one gulp, then said with a smile, "All
right. In the interest of better employee relations, I'll do as you
ask. Then will you get off my case, Sherri?"
"Deal."
"And the rest of you. Would such a demonstration be
sufficient to prove to you that I am 'worthy'"? She said the last
word while crooking her fingers as if to simulate quotation marks.
All eyes in the room swung to Chris. So it's up to me, huh?
she thought. I could tell this girl to screw off, but I can tell
she's gotten under everybody else's skin. It almost seemed to Chris
as if their common bond of having milk-filled tits had created a kind
of sisterhood among the women in the room. This must be why LLL is
such a strong organization, she said to herself. I wonder why I don't
feel that connection to the others. She scanned the others' faces.
Jeremy's was practically pleading; Janine's and Eleanor's were
silently saying "We could use the help"; and Sherri's wore an
expression of "Oh, what the hell, why not". Monique's face held a look
of earnestness, of genuinely wanting to be a part of this group.
Suddenly Chris knew that she couldn't deny Monique that, even if she
were the person directly responsible for the growing chasm Chris knew
had formed between herself and Jeremy. She slowly nodded her assent.
Monique smiled widely, showing her perfect teeth. Without
another word, she started wriggling out of the top of her dress.
Article 56276 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: Lactogenesis XXXV: The Staff Meeting, Part 3
Date: 1 Mar 1995 00:55:28 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXV
THE STAFF MEETING
PART THREE
Monique's dress was soon bunched about her waist. In sharp
contrast to the women sitting around her, her breasts could barely
fill an A cup. It was doubtful she had ever worn a bra in her life.
Yet they seemed to fit her diminutive frame perfectly; if she had been
more heavily endowed, it would've ruined the pixie-ish line of her
figure. Her areoles were barely darker than the surrounding skin
which looked as if it had never seen the sun. They were large for
such small breasts, about three centimeters in diameter. The most
striking feature were the nipples, which were not particularly long,
even when erect as they were now, but which were quite fat, almost as
thick as a man's thumb. They were crisscrossed with tiny fissures
that were brimming with a liquid that was quite undeniably mother's
milk.
Monique showed no hesitation in baring her breasts before a
group of strangers. Chris suspected that such activity occupied a
substantial part of Monique's waking hours. I must try to sneak into
a La Leche League meeting sometime, she thought. I wonder if this
kind of thing goes on during them as well.
Monique held her empty champagne glass under one breast. With
the other hand, she stretched the skin on either side of one areole,
then pressed inward toward her chest wall while squeezing and rolling
her fingers and thumb forward. What little breast was there was so
incredibly firm that her fingers hardly dented the tissue. The other
women gasped as an amazingly thick stream (actually the consolidation
of at least a dozen tinier streams) of milk gushed into the glass,
filling it almost an eighth of the way just from that one squeeze.
She had to repeat the motion only a few more times from each breast
before the glass was completely full, and even then it was clear from
the rate at which her nipples continued to drip that Monique herself
was nowhere near empty.
When Chris could tear her eyes away from Monique's display,
she noted with some amusement that every other woman in the room
except herself had their forearms pressed tightly against their bosoms
in a classic move designed to stave off an uncontrolled letdown
reflex. Monique's squirting had undoubtedly triggered a similar
response in each of them. Chris, of course, had the advantage of
superior subconscious control of her reflex. She did notice a little
more fullness in her own tits, however.
When the other women finally noticed their collective
reaction, they all began laughing. It was as if all the girls sharing
an apartment suddenly realized that their periods were synchronized.
In that moment the bond among them strengthened. Monique instantly
ceased to be an outsider as she laughed with them. Even Chris was not
fully immune to the effect she was having on the group.
Sherri, who was clearly aroused from this (Chris remembered
that hers had been the only other set of lactating breasts Sherri had
ever seen besides her own), whistled and slowly shook her head. "I'm
ready for a piece of humble pie, girl. I would never have thought in
a million years that those little things could make so much. How is
it possible?"
"My doctor tells me that I have an unusually dense
concentration of glandular tissue in my breasts," Monique replied as
she casually dabbed her nipples dry with a napkin and began pulling up
her dress. "In fact, my breasts are almost all gland. Very little
fatty tissue. That's why my nips are so big -- there are a lot of
ducts that connect to them." She offered the glass. "Anyone care to
taste?" There were no takers, so Monique promptly drank her milk
herself. Eleanor's lip curled slightly in disgust. "That's why I've
never considered implants. There's so much intricate plumbing and
enervation in there that any attempt at surgery would probably sever
the necessary connections and dry me up for good, and I wouldn't like
that." She stole a quick wink at Jeremy, who smiled back.
Chris suddenly understood how Jeremy could prefer Monique to
herself. Her tiny stature made Jeremy, who was small himself, feel
taller. Jeremy was also absolutely obsessed with lactating women --
he wouldn't have started the Lac-Station otherwise. While Chris
enjoyed her special talent very much, it was not something that
controlled her life. Although it had enriched her sex life immensely,
she knew she could live without it. One of the side effects of The
Accident had been her ability to completely control her ability to
lactate, down to shutting it down completely if she wanted to
(although she hadn't tried to do that for quite some time). As a
result, Chris never felt as if her breasts ran her life. Monique's
very existence, on the other hand, appeared to rotate about her milky
boobs. No wonder Jeremy was so enamored of her. Chris's anger toward
Jeremy gradually melted into indifference, perhaps tinged with a
little pity. There is more to life than milk, she thought. These
poor people don't seem to know that. I wonder if Jeremy could ever
get off with a woman who wasn't lactating. Probably not. For
Monique's part, I'd be willing to bet that she's one of those women
that, if she were ever diagnosed with breast cancer, would rather die
than have a mastectomy. They're made for each other. In that moment,
Chris realized that her affair with Jeremy was over. She was mildly
surprised to be feeling relief rather than sadness. It had been that
way with Carl, too.
When she snapped out of her reverie, Chris realized that the
meeting had gone on without her. The others were regaling the group
with reports of recent encounters with their various clients. Eleanor
started off, speaking with pride about her experience wet-nursing an
infant who had recently had surgery to correct a cleft palate. Its
mother had been unable to keep her own milk going while the baby
recovered. Despite its disadvantage, the little boy had thrived from
Eleanor's rich milk. Chris smiled when she spotted Sherri fidgeting.
Her body language was clearly saying "Fine, fine. Now let's get on to
the juicy parts."
Sherri didn't have to wait long. Janine was next. Her most
recent assignment had been as a private dancer for a bachelor party.
The young men in question were the spoiled progeny of very well-to-do
parents. They lived in a very exclusive fraternity house of a private
university outside of town. Janine related with some amusement that
by the time she had arrived, the guest of honor was already three
sheets to the wind and had been forcibly dressed in an oversized
diaper, baby bonnet, and pacifier and tied to a chair by his
boisterous brothers. Appropriately raunchy music blasted from the
stereo as she performed a seductive lap dance for the hapless fellow.
The diaper was poorly fastened on him, so as the dance progressed and
Janine slowly shed her clothing down to a barely-there G string, the
tip of the young man's erection protruded from the top. As
instructed, Janine produced a large baby bottle filled with her own
milk from a bag she'd brought along and replaced the pacifier in the
fellow's mouth with it. He sucked hungrily at it and soon had drained
it. "Still thirsty?" Janine asked, and when the young man nodded, she
proceeded to wet him down with blast after blast from her engorged
breasts, all the while continuing to dance to the music. The place
went up for grabs as she continued; Janine figured that at least a few
of the spectators were openly masturbating during her performance.
The drenched guest of honor came all over himself, causing gales of
rauccus laughter to erupt from the crowd. Having suitably humiliated
the groom-to-be, Janine made as if to depart, but was accosted at the
door by two hulking drunkards who tried to get a taste of her milk for
themselves. She had had to spray them with Mace in order to get away.
Oddly enough, as she related this particularly frightening aspect of
the tale, Janine remained her bubbly self, as if that sort of thing
happened to her all the time.
"Well, no more college boys from now on," Sherri growled.
"I agree for now, but we may have to reconsider that decision
later," Jeremy replied, ignoring the indignant stares from his staff.
"That was a particularly lucrative evening for us."
Sherri was next on the agenda. She started off by saying flat
out that she was pissed off at Jeremy for giving her assignments that
didn't go well with her personality. Sherri was essentially a
bisexual nymphomaniac (she'd be the first to admit it), and so had
hoped when she joined the Lac-Station that most of her clients would
also be bedmates. So far, that had for the most part turned out not
to be true. Her current client, for example, was a strange little man
who paid an exorbitant amount of money simply to have Sherri come by
early each morning and anoint his coffee and breakfast cereal with her
milk. That was it -- they didn't even exchange conversation. She'd
come into his apartment (which was in a complex only a few doors down
from hers and Chris's), whip out a breast loaded down with an
overnight supply of milk, lighten his coffee and soak down his corn
flakes, collect a fat wad of bills, and depart. It was a completely
unsatisfying situation for Sherri, and she let Jeremy know that in no
uncertain terms. "I'm not going to be a cow for you, Jeremy," she
spat. "I don't care how much money is involved."
Jeremy and Monique exchanged a look. "Your objection is
noted," he said emotionlessly. "I will arrange for you and Monique to
trade clients."
"What are you working on, Monique?" Sherri asked.
"Have you ever heard the Rockefeller story?" Monique replied.
No one answered. "I'm talking the famous multimillionaire
Rockefellers here. I don't remember which Rockefeller it was, but one
of the old coots once got it into his head that he would be able to
prolong his life if he drank mother's milk straight from the source every
day. He actually employed several young mothers in shifts. They would
come to his room every night, sit in his lap, and nurse him." There were
some snickers. "I am not making this up, although for all I know the
story may be in the same urban-legend category as the boy who put his
wet cat in the microwave to dry it off. Anyway, my client evidently had
heard this story and decided to try it himself. After all, the
Rockefeller in question lived well into ripe old age, so there might
have been something to it."
"Sounds better than what I'm doing," Sherri said.
"Only marginally, I'm afraid," said Monique. "The guy's
pushing eighty himself, so if you're thinking sex, you'd better forget
it."
"Oh, I don't know," Sherri replied. "Have you ever made it
with an old man? Some of them can last forever, and they treat you
well, too. Sure, I'll trade with you." There were some surprised
looks, but Chris just smiled. She knew Sherri to be someone who would
try just about anything if getting laid were even remotely involved.
Chris was the last to give her report. She sure as hell
wasn't going to tell the group about her encounter with Uwe; Chris
liked to maintain a distinct line between her personal life and her
work with the Lac-Station. Perhaps this was another reason why she
was not upset that she and Jeremy were through; she had not exactly
been totally faithful to the relationship either. However, besides
Uwe, Chris really had not been busy with one-on-one encounters lately;
most of her company time had been spent in her milking chair, cups
firmly attached to her upturned bosom, the powerful pump extracting
large volumes of milk from each translucent- skinned, ruby-nippled,
perfectly formed breast as she squirmed under the onslaught of orgasm
after dripping wet orgasm. Roughly half of her impressive output was
going to the Lac-Station's milk bank; the other half was being
delivered to a couple who had an interesting viewpoint on macrobiotic
diet. They were convinced that mother's milk was the perfect food not
only for infants, but for humans of all ages. Though they were
lacto-ovo-vegetarians, they had long ago stopped using standard dairy
products. The woman had tried to induce lactation in herself but
failed, which brought them to Jeremy. They went through at least a
gallon of Chris's milk a week, at a price several fold higher than the
bovine variety. Chris described to the group how they had tried to
get her to try some cheese and ice cream that they had made from her
milk. She had been intrigued but had declined.
Sherri howled. "I know how much you love Ben & Jerry's,
Chris," she said through her laughter. "You should tell them about
this! I wonder what'd they'd call it -- Titty Ripple?" Her own tits
rippled as she continued guffawing. "How about Booby Nut Crunch?!"
"How about Heavenly Hooter?" Janine said, getting into the
joke.
By now all the women were laughing heartily. Jeremy had to
raise his voice to be heard. "All right, all right already! We've
still one more item on the agenda tonight. Shall we get to it?"
Sherri abruptly stopped laughing. "You've already ruined my
night off," she said, wiping her eyes. "This had better be damned
good."
"Oh, I think it is, definitely," Jeremy said, and the old
twinkle in his eye suddenly returned.
Article 56277 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXVI: The Reluctant One (breast, lactation)
Date: 1 Mar 1995 00:55:31 -0500
LACTOGENESIS XXXVI
THE RELUCTANT ONE
Jeremy finished scribbling a few notes and set his pad aside
to address the group. "I realize that the assignments over the last
few weeks have been, shall we say, tedious to say the least." Sherri
snorted. "I have just received a new assignment that involves all of
you, and it's one I think you'll all get a kick out of."
"It's about goddamn time," Sherri said in her inimitable
fashion. Chris silently echoed her sentiments. She had told herself
at the outset that she would be involved with the company for only as
long as it was still fun. Lately it hadn't been, and she was on the
verge of quitting. She had decided that tonight would be Jeremy's last
chance to inject a little fun into the proceedings; perhaps now that
chance had come.
"Shall we cut to the chase, Jeremy dear?" said Eleanor.
"Let me state at the outset that the coffers of our little
enterprise will be increased by a hefty five-digit figure tonight,"
Jeremy said gleefully. "Our new client is of the kind who hires
people to wipe her ass with hundred-dollar bills."
"A woman, then?" Eleanor said.
"Yes. She's here tonight, in fact, in another part of the
house, waiting for this meeting to end. I can tell you nothing about
her except that she is a well-known figure in the entertainment
business -- well enough known that she wishes to keep her identity a
secret, so she'll be wearing a veil when you meet her, and she won't
speak at all. I don't want to hear so much as a snicker out of any of
you about that, clear?" He was looking directly at Sherri, who
shrugged assent. "She told me she'd thought she'd done just about
everything sexual there is to do, so she was practically falling over
herself to contact us when she heard of our service. What she's
proposed for tonight is quite... unique, shall we say. I think it
could end up being our crowning achievement so far."
"Wait a minute," Eleanor said. "Did you say tonight? She
wants to do whatever this is tonight?" Jeremy nodded. "Jeremy, you
know how I feel about this sort of thing. I don't do kink, and you
know it. I'm leaving right now." She stood up. So did Jeremy.
"Don't you dare," Jeremy said, a pleading note creeping into
his voice. "The deal is for all of us, or none. If you leave, you'll
be responsible for losing us a hell of a lot of money, as well as
tarnishing our reputation from here to kingdom come. This woman knows
*everybody*!"
"I don't care! I don't like you bringing us here under false
pretenses! This is not why I joined this group!"
"There weren't any false pretenses! I told you earlier to
cancel your plans for tonight, and you all agreed to do so, even you,
Eleanor. Please, it's not that kinky anyway! It's not like she's
asking us to bite the heads off bats or anything like that."
"What exactly are we being asked to do, Jeremy?" Chris asked
calmly but with ice in her voice.
"Throw her a shower," Jeremy said. "Literally."
That took a couple of seconds to sink in. Then: "Oh, my
God," from Eleanor, Sherri, and Janine simultaneously.
"That's sick," said Eleanor.
"Far fucking out," said Sherri.
"Cool," said Janine.
"I have to admit, it sounds like fun," said Monique.
Chris was pleasantly surprised at her own reaction. It was
immediate and visceral, as if someone had planted an electrode
directly into the pleasure center of her brain and sent several volts
through it. She was reminded of the early days of her metamorphosis,
when the hormonal cascade precipitated by her damaged pituitary gland
was bombarding her unacclimated body with a flood of new sensations,
most of them thrilling. She remembered how, when faced with a new
sexual situation, her reaction had been just like this instead of one
of uncertainty or disgust, as it would have been before The Accident
modified that aspect of her personality. Over the following year, as
her experience base grew, that primal rush, the feeling in her gut and
pussy and breasts that she had likened to what one feels in the pit of
one's stomach when zooming down a roller coaster, had happened less
and less frequently, until she had almost forgotten what it was like.
Upon hearing the mystery client's proposal, however, that old
sensation resurfaced like a bubble bursting as her endocrine system
poured a fresh batch of the hormones of arousal into her bloodstream.
It was enough to make her forget the negative emotions that had
weighed heavily on her since her revelation concerning Jeremy and
Monique earlier that evening. Her enhanced libido decided it was time
to have some fun. What was it Uwe had said? Wenn der Putz steht...
For Chris, it was definitely time for the female equivalent.
A memory of she and Sherri playing in her shower, squirting
milk all over each other while giggling in orgasmic bliss, prompted a
familiar dampening in her crotch and a rush of blood to her tingling
breasts. She vigorously nodded her approval of the mystery client's
proposal.
Now all that was left was to change Eleanor's mind. Chris
knew what button to push. "You say it's sick, but you don't mean that
at all," she told her. "In fact, I'll bet you're more turned on by
the idea than any of the rest of us."
"That's absurd. I find the very idea repulsive." Eleanor's
voice dripped with revulsion, but she made no second move to leave.
Chris took that to indicate that she'd struck a nerve, so she
proceeded.
"Then why did you join us in the first place?"
"To help the women and children who were being cheated by the
milk bank."
"That's the reason you're most comfortable with, but it's not
the main one."
"What are you talking about?"
"You were our first client, Eleanor. I still remember your
reaction when I first began to suckle your son that night at your
house. You were the very picture of control, but as my own excitement
grew, I could tell that you too were extremely aroused by what you
were seeing. Your husband was creaming his pants, and you saw the look
on his face and it turned you on. When I accidentally squirted all
over your carpeting, your own letdown kicked in and soaked your
blouse. You pretended to get all huffy about it, but I could see it
in your face -- you were close to coming yourself. The truth is,
Eleanor, that you joined us because you loved that sensation and
wanted more. You wanted to escape the plain-vanilla sexual existence
you felt trapped in. That's why you didn't let yourself dry up in
order to go on playing your social butterfly role. You saw in me the
sensual side of lactating and wanted it for yourself. You've been
waiting for an opportunity like the one Jeremy's just given you, but
your white-bread upbringing is getting in the way." Chris could tell
by the deep flush spreading upward from Eleanor's throat that her
words were hitting home. She decided to be less adversarial. "You're
with us, Eleanor. It's okay to let go a little. We're all together
in this; we share the common experience. Everything we discuss,
everything we do here is held in the strictest confidence." She
stared at Jeremy during this last sentence, her glare saying, Isn't
that right, Jeremy? He nodded in response.
Chris crossed the room to sit next to Eleanor, whose hands
were now fumbling about in her lap. She was clearly undergoing the
classic internal conflict which the media so often depicts as an angel
on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Chris lowered her voice to
a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll bet that since you've kept your milk,
sex with your husband has never been better, isn't that right?"
Eleanor nodded yes. "You feel more in touch with your body now, don't
you?" Another nod. "Not too long ago I was just like you, afraid to
try new things. It took an altercation with a car to broaden my
horizons. It'll be tougher for you, but the rewards are definitely
worth it. Your improved relationship with Mr. Overstreet is a step in
that direction. Woman does not live by superego alone, you know.
You've got to let that id out once in awhile, or you'll just explode."
Chris patted Eleanor's hand. "And if that's not enough incentive,
just think of how this'll supplement that next trip to Neiman-Marcus."
That got a weak smile.
"It's not like I'd be cheating on my husband," Eleanor said.
"Probably no more than your husband's getting into a circle
jerk would be considered cheating on you," Sherri interjected. A
puzzled look from Eleanor caused her to add, "I'll explain that term
later."
Eleanor looked at Chris. Her face was now so red from
embarrassment that she almost looked sunburned. "I'll admit that the
idea has its appeal," she confessed. "I just didn't want anybody to
think I was a pervert or anything."
The other women smiled, and Chris said, "Do you see any of the
rest of us bolting for the door? How can perversion exist where all
are of the same mind?"
This last bit of logic appeared to cement the argument.
Eleanor looked up from her lap as the redness drained out of her face.
She turned to Jeremy and said, "Well, love, how is this supposed to
go?"
Impulsively the others leapt up from their seats and rushed to
give Eleanor a group hug. Jeremy slapped his knee and exclaimed,
"That's my girl!" When the mutual displays of affection had subsided,
Jeremy said, "Our client is waiting in the spa at the rear of the
house. I've drained the jacuzzi to a little less than knee-deep.
That's where we'll be. Everybody ready?" Enthusiastic nods and
murmurs in the affirmative. Jeremy picked up a house phone, dialed an
extension, and after a few moments said simply, "We're on our way."
He hung up, stood up, and gestured toward the door. As the women
filed out, Chris felt Eleanor take her hand and squeeze tightly. She
squeezed back reassuringly, as much to quiet the butterflies in her
own stomach as in Eleanor's. She felt her breasts heat up with a
fresh supply of milk as she packed her own superego away for the night
and prepared to let the id monster out to play.
Article 64759 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXVII: The Preparation {group, breast, lactation}
Date: 20 Apr 1995 00:13:00 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XXXVII
THE PREPARATION
The five women of The Lac-Station walked down a long hallway
toward the back of Jeremy's huge home, with Jeremy himself leading the
pack. As they walked they exchanged excited speculations about who
their mystery client might be and what exactly they would be asked to
do to earn the five-digit sum Jeremy had mentioned they would be paid
this night. Eleanor remained mute, her grip still tight on Chris's
hand. This small crowd exuded excitement; one could almost smell the
pheromones in the air or the sweet warm smell of the milk that had
already begun leaking from several of their breasts in response to the
mutually elevated hormone levels they were all experiencing. It was
as if their separate endocrine systems were galvanizing into a single
entity that would synchronize their upcoming actions and transform
them into a unified, purely sexual being. Even Jeremy was not immune
to this; he was as aroused as he could ever remember being, and was
having trouble walking because of the tumescence in his crotch that
was so intense that it had actually become painful. He was the victim
of a chemical siren song that his body was finding impossible to
resist.
They reached a part of the house that was all tile and light
colors. Jeremy indicated a door. "Through there is the locker room
and showers. Our client has requested that you all disrobe and shower
there, then put on the robes she's left for you and go through the
door at the far end. I'll join you in the room beyond. Don't take
too long!" He winked, turned on his heel and continued off down the
hallway.
Sherri pushed open the door and the rest followed her in.
They entered a miniature version of a well-appointed shower/locker
room like one might find in an upscale health club. At the front was
a changing area with roughly a dozen lockers, padded benches, and an
area with two sinks and a large mirror (fogged over at the moment).
At the rear was a large open shower area with four gold-plated shower
heads, two on each facing wall. The walls glittered with a mosaic of
tiny turquoise and white tiles flecked with gold leaf. The air was
warm and thick with humidity; it smelled lightly of disinfectant. The
lockers were assigned, so each went to her own and opened it. Inside
each found a thick white towel, a fluffy floor-length white terrycloth
robe, a pair of sandals, hangers for their clothing, and a small case
containing various toiletries, each tailored to the individual taste
of their owner.
Sherri whistled. "Man, whoever this is sure did her
homework." She held up two small bottles from her toiletry case.
"These are my favorites!"
"Feel these robes!" Janine marveled. "I'd love to cuddle up
next to a fire dressed in nothing but this."
"I'm sure you'll have that chance," Chris said. "Let's not
keep our benefactor waiting, shall we?" The high humidity caused
Chris to want to get out of her restricting garments, so she began
disrobing. The others followed suit. As they finished removing their
last vestiges of undergarments, something made them all stop cold.
They realized that this was the first time they had all seen each
other in a state of total undress. They gazed in mutual admiration at
each other. To a woman their skins were flushed with their arousal;
their pussies glistened with moisture; and nipples were erect and in
most cases tipped with a droplet of milk.
"My goodness, will you look at us!" Janine said.
"Indeed, I am impressed," Monique added.
This gathering was indeed one of superlative feminine
architecture. The added bonus of their all becoming engorged only
added to the splendid combination of curves and hollows. Breasts
thrust out proudly, stretched tight with the liquid within; shapely
buttocks tensed with excitement. Seeing themselves naked had only
served to kick the level of arousal in the room up a notch.
Chris walked into the shower, her own fantastic breasts so
full and hard that they didn't jiggle one iota with the slapping of
her bare feet on the tiled floor. She went from one shower head to
the next, turning them all on and directing the sprays toward the
center of the room. Soon steam filled the area. The women ran
headlong into the downpour, giggling as the needle-hard streams struck
their bodies, which had been made sensitive by their arousal.
Instead of soap, small crystal bottles filled with a golden
liquid sat in the soap trays. Chris poured the contents of one into
her hand, and instantly a warm, earthy, wonderful smell greeted her.
The lotion's odor was like that of wildflowers crushed beneath and
mixed with the juices of a couple wildly fucking in a green secluded
meadow in early summer. As she rubbed it into her skin, the fluid
erupted into clouds of thick lather that felt like liquid silk. The
feel and smell of it had a strong aphrodisiac effect; Chris felt her
skin grow more sensitive to her touch as she lathered herself up. She
felt herself begin stroking her breasts and pussy, but she also felt
oddly detached, as if someone else were controlling her hands. The
effect was scary and incredibly erotic at the same time. She couldn't
help but go with it.
The mysterious potion was having the same effect on the
others. They had their heads thrown back and eyes closed as their
hands roamed over their bodies, turning the lotion into foam. Soon
hands began moving from their own bodies to others, and within moments
all five women were exploring each other with their fingers. As the
rushing water rinsed away the lather, mouths fell upon the newly
exposed skin, licking and kissing, occasionally playfully nipping.
Hands caressed breasts, teasing nipples and coaxing the occasional
spurt of milk from them. Fingers separated labia, briefly sliding
across erect clits and causing their owners' thighs to quiver and jerk
involuntarily. A chorus of moans formed a rich polyphony that
reverberated from the hard walls of the room. The warm water was
causing many of the women to let down their milk; it flowed and even
sometimes spurted from their hard nipples, mixing with the water and
often disappearing onto an outstretched tongue.
Soon Janine had Chris in a tight embrace, her hands each
firmly gripping a buttock, her face lost in the expanse between
Chris's breasts. Her muffled cries of disbelief at her own horniness
were lost in the sound of the rushing water and the moans of her
colleagues. One of Chris's hands was firmly ensconced in Sherri's
pussy, capturing her clit between her fingers; the other was doing the
same to Monique. Sherri and Monique were leaning across Janine's
back, wildly French-kissing while their trembling hands tugged and
twisted each other's nipples, sending jets of milk across Janine's
body that were quickly washed away. Eleanor flitted around the
outside of this tight knot of squirming pulchritude, stealing kisses
and caresses, licking or stroking any projection or orifice that would
come into view, all the while masturbating with abandon.
The groans, laughs, and shrieks of their mutual passion rose
to a crescendo that drowned out even four shower heads at full blast.
Five women came, amazingly, at exactly the same moment, for a few
seconds almost mimicking the Buckingham Fountain as milk shot from
their nipples and juice flowed down their legs. In Chris's case, the
water on the floor beneath her was completely displaced by her
ejaculate, which must have been a record for sheer volume. Their
orgasms (or was it a single, achingly drawn-out one shared by them
all?) fed off of each other -- each woman was even more turned on by
the sights and sounds of passion emanating from the others, and so
their cumming continued far beyond their normal experience, until they
collapsed in a heap on the shower floor, gasping for air and coughing
as water found its way into their open mouths.
Chris was first to recover. "I knew we were horny, but this
was beyond horny," she panted. "I never believed in aphrodisiacs
before, but I'm willing to bet that whatever is in those bottles is
the real thing. I felt completely out of control of myself as soon as
that stuff touched my skin."
Eleanor nodded her agreement. "I never act that way. I felt
like something had taken over my body. Something wonderful, I might
add."
"I hope our client will let us take some of this stuff home,"
Janine said, as she fingered one of the exquisitely carved bottles.
"I would use it very sparingly, if I were you," Monique said.
"We emptied all the bottles, and look what it did to us."
"I think we've kept the lady waiting more than long enough,"
said Sherri, pulling her wet hair back out of her face. "Even with
what we just did, I can't wait to get in there." She pointed to a
door at the far end of the shower room whose outline was just barely
visible in the pattern of the tiled wall.
They turned off the showers and padded back to the locker
area, their bodies dripping with water and a little milk, their skins
reddened by the heat of the shower and the aftereffects of the
aphrodisiac lotion. As they towelled themselves off, they continued
giving each other looks of affection and admiration of each others'
assets -- no doubt a lingering effect of the lotion as well. On
impulse Janine stretched her hand into the center of the room in the
gesture sports teams use before going out onto the field. One by one
the women put their hands one atop the other into the center of the
circle, which they then broke with an enthusiastic yell.
They hurriedly donned their robes and sandals, dabbed their
pulse points and cleavage with their individual perfumes and, with
Sherri in the lead, tentatively and with almost palpable excitement
walked through the shower area and opened the tiled door to the room
beyond.
Article 64760 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXVIII: The Mystery Client, Part One {milk, group}
Date: 20 Apr 1995 00:13:01 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XXXVIII
THE MYSTERY CLIENT
PART ONE
The room into which they walked was small and cubical. Every
surface was covered with the same turquoise, white, and gold tiling as
was in the shower room. The main feature here was the jacuzzi, which
was large, round, deep, and recessed into the floor. Several levels
of concentric steps, wide enough to sit on, ringed the tub, which was
only partially filled. The jets were turned off. The air hung heavy
with steam. It was imbued with the odor of the aphrodisiac lotion, at
just above the level of detectability. As the women filed in
silently, the vapor tickled their brainstems just enough to restore
their previous level of arousal. Chris rolled her eyes when she felt
her genitals and breasts start tingling again, despite her best
efforts to use her mental control to suppress it. What are we letting
ourselves in for? she asked herself.
Seated on cushions in the two far corners of the room were
Jeremy and the mystery client. They were both dressed in the same
white robes and sandals as the women. Jeremy smiled at them as they
took seats along the top step, completely encircling the jacuzzi. The
client was sitting rigidly in lotus position. Her head was completely
covered with a wide-brimmed white hat below which hung a dense white
veil, gathered at her throat, that totally obscured her facial
features. The adornment looked completely out of place among the bath
attire everyone was wearing. Chris tried to keep from giggling. The
woman looked like a beekeeper. How the hell can she see or breathe in
that thing? she thought.
Despite of or because of its appearance, it was a perfect
disguise. There was no way any of them could even tell their client's
hair color. For now the voluminous robe hid her body well enough to
not give anything away. The client could be Dolly Parton and they
wouldn't be able to tell.
The women sat quietly while Jeremy outlined the "rules". It
was all right for them to talk amongst themselves, but they were not
to ask the client any direct questions. They would allow the client
to touch any part of their bodies, but they were not to touch her
unless she specifically requested through Jeremy that they do so.
There were to be no attempts to reveal her identity. Jeremy would
remain in the room to answer any questions or clarify any of the
client's desires. Evidently he and the client had worked out a series
of signals ahead of time.
"And now if you would, ladies," said Jeremy, "Please remove
your clothing and stand in a circle in the jacuzzi."
They did as they were asked. They stood facing each other in
their glorious nakedness, nipples tight, skin beading with new
moisture, the aphrodisiac roiling in their nostrils and stimulating
the most primal areas of their brains. They tried to read the
expressions in each others' faces. Eleanor and Monique were standing
almost at attention, their chests rising and falling almost in unison
with rapid breathing. Janine was fidgeting like someone waiting for
her doctor to come in and start an examination, but she was smiling.
Sherri was so worked up that the muscles in her thighs were quivering;
milk was already beginning to run from her distended nipples, dripping
into the water around her shins.
Chris was experiencing mixed emotions: certainly strong
arousal, but that was induced; curiosity about the client;
exhilaration at the newness of it all; but there was also an
undercurrent of humiliation, of feeling as if she were reduced to
being a slave to this mystery woman's every whim. She had never had
to be this submissive before, and though most of her didn't like it, a
small part of her was enjoying it because it was a new aspect of her
sexuality -- and discovering new aspects was one of the main reasons
why she had decided way back at her first visit to Dr. Sheila's
office to retain her ability to lactate rather than have her initiate
treatment to dry her up.
For what seemed like several minutes the client did not move
or make any sign of even being conscious. The women began glancing at
each other: why isn't anything happening? Let's get this show on the
road, said Chris silently. She was having to use her mental control
to keep her over-full breasts from becoming uncomfortable. Then she
realized that this was what the client was waiting for -- she wanted
to make sure that everyone was full of milk to bursting before
beginning. She was waiting for whatever weird chemicals she had put
into the air to complete their work on the women's bodies. The others
weren't faring as well as Chris. Some of them were beginning to use
the palms of their hands to wipe away errant drops of milk that were
appearing at the tips of their seemingly spring-loaded nipples.
Sherri was flowing freely now, twin rivulets of milk running down her
stomach and legs. Her arousal was so intense that she looked as if
her legs would give out any minute as she fought to keep her hands
away from her enflamed clit.
Evidently the client realized Sherri's predicament, for she
chose that moment to stand and slowly walk down into the center of the
circle. She did a slow 360, facing each woman in turn, then opened her
robe and let it drop into the water. Her skin was a bronze color, not
quite a deep tan, but clearly darker than any of the others'. She
appeared to be about 5'5". She had a body that spoke of hours in the
gym and a percentage of fat in the single digits, with muscles that
almost could define her as a bodybuilder. Her breasts were of
moderate size and stuck straight out from her body. Tiny lines along
the lower half of deep brown areoles indicated implant surgery. No
tan lines were evident. Her buttocks were of carved granite, adorning
hips very wide for the wasp-waisted torso that rose from them. A wide
gap showed between her lithe thighs. Her smooth cunt looked as if it
had never had hair. Her clit was so large and erect that it almost
looked like a tiny penis. A small gold ring pierced it right through
the middle. It was flushed deep red and stood out proudly from its
hood and the surrounding labia, which also sported gold rings. This
was one turned-on lady.
Janine and Eleanor raised their hands to cup their laden
breasts. "No, not yet," Jeremy said, and they lowered them again. The
client went clockwise around the circle, closely examining each of
them in turn. Her fingers, adorned with long nails (some set with
small jewels) traced their jawlines and collarbones, gently
circumnavigated breasts, collected droplets of milk from the tips of
nipples, traced the V formed by thighs and crotch, toyed with ringlets
of pubic hair.
When she reached Sherri, she tarried a bit longer. She traced
a webwork of patterns over Sherri's quivering body, causing her
breathing to come in shudders. She crouched in front of Sherri,
leaning so close that Sherri could feel her breath on her hot cunt
through the veil. She reached around to cup Sherri's buttocks and
trace a finger along the crack of her ass, down to where she dipped
into the moisture of Sherri's honey pot. She stood and wiped the
finger along a dent in the veil that marked her mouth. "Oh, for the
love of God," Sherri whispered, her eyes pleading for release. The
client seemed to understand. She reached down, clamped her hands onto
Sherri's weeping nipples, and pulled hard, lifting the pendulous
breasts clear from her body, rolling the nipples as she pulled. Sherri
immediately let out a long groan and came, her knees wobbling from the
impact of her orgasm and her hands trembling as she fought to keep
from pulling the client into an embrace.
The client lifted her hands, whose palms were laced with
Sherri's milk, to her face and inhaled deeply. One hand moved toward
her cunt, but stopped halfway. It was clear that she was not immune
from the effects of the vapor either.
After a few minutes of examining the others, the client moved
toward Chris. She stood before her, then glanced over her shoulder
and gestured at Jeremy in a complicated movement. "She wants you to
know that she thinks your body is absolutely magnificent," he
translated. Indeed, it sounded from inside the veil as if the
client's breathing had quickened slightly. Her hands hovered over
Chris's incredible breasts, her flat hard stomach, her voluptuous but
still-slim frame that had been sculpted by the miraculous combination
of hormones her own body had produced as a result of The Accident.
Chris was intrigued by the fact that the client did not touch her, but
it seemed as if her own arousal were being intensified almost more
than if she had. The client's slender hands were so close to Chris's
breasts that they could feel the other's body heat, but still there
was no contact. Suddenly she straightened and dropped her arms to her
sides. Although it was difficult to tell through the veil, it
appeared as if she were looking straight ahead, eyes closed, chin
tilted upward slightly. It also looked as if someone had hit her
"off" switch. She was completely immobile.
Chris took that opportunity to lean in close, trying hard to
peer through the dense cloth. She could hear air hissing in and out
of flared nostrils, but even at a distance of a few centimeters she
could not make out any features of the client's face.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Chris asked Jeremy.
Article 64761 of alt.sex.stories:
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)
Subject: LACTOGENESIS XXXIX: The Mystery Client, Part Two {milk, group}
Date: 20 Apr 1995 00:13:01 -0400
LACTOGENESIS XXXIX
THE MYSTERY CLIENT
PART TWO
At Chris's words, the client emerged from her mannequin-like
state and made a few more gestures to Jeremy. Chris wondered if she
were speaking in sign language.
"She wants you to touch her as you saw her touch the others,"
Jeremy said. "Use a gentle touch, and don't get too carried away."
The former request would be no problem, but the latter might
prove to be one. Now that the client stood only inches away from her,
Chris could detect a higher level of the aphrodisiac scent, as if she
were using it as a perfume. Chris's breasts began to ache as her
glands fought to produce even more milk against the pressure that was
already inside them. She wasn't used to that sensation, since she had
always been able to keep her production level under tight mental
control prior to this. She winced as her nipples, already at maximum
erection, tried to become even harder. She could feel her cunt juice
flowing freely down the insides of her thighs as she hovered on the
edge of orgasm without even having been touched.
Chris began tracing the curves and lines of the client's body
as she had seen her do with the others, using a touch just barely
perceptible. The client remained as motionless as she could, but
Chris could detect a faint trembling under her goose-pimply skin. As
she used her fingers to trace circles around the margin of the
client's artificially enhanced bosom, she was amazed to actually feel
it swell beneath her touch. Fascinated, Chris continued to caress the
client's breasts, watching them slightly inflate and become flushed
until they were roughly a cup size larger than they had been when she
started. The nipples were also amazing; under Chris's touch they had
grown to an incredible size-- almost the length of her pinky from
second knuckle to tip, and about as big around. They pointed not
straight outward from the surrounding breast, but downward, as if they
had been trained to do so by having weights hang from them. Chris
wondered absently if that were indeed the case; she wouldn't put
anything past this veiled mystery woman.
At one point, as Chris lightly traced the client's collarbone
and progressed upward along her throat, the woman must have thought
Chris would try to unveil her, for as Chris's hands fluttered upward
along her neck, the client's own hands flashed out and took Chris's
forearms in an iron grip, jerking them away from her. Chris was
shocked by the strength in the woman's hands and the pain of her grip,
which felt as if it would crack the bones in her arm. She heard a
soft whimper escape her own lips and felt her knees buckle slightly.
Chris's level of arousal remained high despite the pain, making her
wonder through the haze that washed over her brain whether that was
due to a heretofore unrealized streak of masochism within her or just
the aphrodisiac continuing to wield its chemical influence over her
glands.
"Hey!" Chris yelped. "I wasn't trying to see who you were!
Honest to God!" The client's grip did not lessen. "You're hurting
me! Jeremy!"
"That's enough!" she heard Jeremy shout. "She was only
carrying out your instructions!" The pain in Chris's arms lessened
only slightly. Chris heard Jeremy rise from his cushion and begin
moving toward them, with the intent to physically remove the client if
need be. He was heedless of the fact that such an action would
probably end the evening's events then and there with no money
changing hands. Chris looked up at the client's covered face, read
her body language, and realized that the woman was in the throes of an
intense, silent orgasm! As it began to fade, so did her grasp.
"Jeremy, stop! It's all right," said Chris as the client
released her wrists, allowing her to stand up straight. Another two
seconds and it would have been too late. Chris rubbed her arms, where
white streaks that marked where the client's fingers had been were
already turning red.
The client turned to Jeremy, who now stood directly behind
her, and made a complex gesture. Again Jeremy translated. "She's
just indicated that she is now sufficiently turned on for us to
continue. Ladies, take your positions, please."
The client moved back into the center of the circle and stood
with legs spread and her arms extended above her head. The woman was
so aroused that it was actually possible to see her accelerated pulse
in the vibrations of the ring that pierced her clit. The five women
surrounding her moved closer, to within two feet or so, and cupped
their breasts, pointing ten swollen milk spigots at the client.
After what seemed like forever, the client nodded once,
quickly. Jeremy also did so. Sherri immediately planted her index and
middle finger of each hand on either side of her areoles and squashed
her overloaded breasts into her chest, releasing a high-velocity spray
against the client's body. She flinched as the milk splashed across
her torso. Chris followed, squirting with abandon with jet after jet
of white ambrosia arcing across the two feet separating her from the
client, to join Sherri's milk in growing droplets forming paths down
her belly.
The other women joined in, completely enveloping the client in
a shower of milk, spouting from ten different directions, five
different shades of white mixing in rivers flowing down the client's
body. As they continued to loose their bounty upon the woman's
trembling figure, moans of varying pitch and intensity began to fill
the room. The client's head was thrown back, one arm dropping down,
fingers seeking her pulsing clit. Rather than diving directly into her
pussy, they sought the rings hanging from her pubes. Deftly, the
client threaded her thumb through all three rings and began tugging on
them, stretching her labia and clit in a way that had to be quite
painful. The four free fingers formed a cone which the client curved
around, into, and up inside her gaping vagina. She began pistoning
her hand while continuing to diddle the rings. It was a very unique
masturbation technique.
Watching the client doing this caused renewed vigor in the
other women, who were now expressing milk as fast as their nipples
could deliver it. Milk flowed, poured, gushed, jetted, surged,
streamed forth. The client's veil soon became soaked and began to
cling to her face. A rather prominent nose, large mouth, and high
cheekbones became discernible, but the veil itself remained opaque.
She gasped, screeched, yelled, and howled as orgasm after orgasm shook
her. She began to slowly turn about in place to make sure every
exposed inch of her became wet with mother's milk.
Sherri now was using her upper arms to press her breasts
together; the pressure was sufficient to keep her nipples spurting.
Her hands went to her cunt where they fought themselves for entry into
her dripping hole. Monique continued to fire thick white ropes of
creamy fluid at the client long after her tiny breasts should have
been empty. Janine was giggling continuously as she expelled her
milk, occasionally stopping to tug hard on her nipples to keep her
breasts stimulated. Eleanor's flow had slowed to a trickle, but she
seemed not to care as she continued to squeeze and knead her breasts
so hard that she had to be causing herself pain.
Jeremy was leaning against the wall of the jacuzzi, his eyes
unblinking, his fist a blur as he pounded away on his cock, the glans
a deep, angry purplish red. Not content simply with his hand, he came
up behind Monique and began caressing her shoulders. She responded
instantly, pushing her ass back against his throbbing member. Jeremy
reached around to cup his hand in front of her breast, withdrawing it
when it was full of milk. He used this to grease his prick which he
then unceremoniously plunged into Monique's anus. She winced and
grunted, but did not miss a squirt. Jeremy fucked Monique's ass like
an animal, uncaring that the others were staring at him or that he
might be causing Monique discomfort. He wasn't though; she was
clearly near coming from the onslaught. Jeremy made some noises that
sounded like a gorilla in heat, then went rigid as he dumped his load
into Monique's rectum. He then staggered backward, his pole
glistening and still dripping semen, and sat heavily on the lowest
step of the jacuzzi. Monique was hardly affected at all. Chris's
admiration for this wee slip of a girl increased when she saw how
deftly she had handled Jeremy's attack with hardly an ill effect.
Finally, after probably fifteen minutes or so, the flow of
milk decreased in intensity to a point where it no longer drenched the
client. The shin-deep water in the jacuzzi was now indistinguishable
from the fluid still spraying (though not very far) from Chris's and
Sherri's breasts. The others had long since slowed to drops and
dribbles. The client had been masturbating throughout this period,
and had had probably a dozen or more orgasms. Jeremy had been able to
rally and take Sherri from behind as well, causing her to hit what had
to have been her sixth or seventh. Finally the aphrodisiac could do
no more; all the sensory nerves had been completely desensitized;
there was no more metabolic energy available for either sex or milk
production. Exhausted, the client fell to her knees with a loud
splash; the women collapsed on the stairs of the jacuzzi.
When Jeremy could finally catch his breath, he asked the
client if she was all right. She could only nod weakly, but she
nodded yes. At that, Jeremy turned to the others, thanked them, and
requested that they all leave, clean up, and help themselves to any
bed in the house they wanted. Chris found herself unable to argue;
every cell in her body was screaming for sleep. The time had come to
pay the piper.
"What about her?" Sherri managed to say, pointing weakly at
the fallen client.
"She wants to take a milk bath now," Jeremy replied simply.
Chris and the others slowly climbed up and out of the jacuzzi;
filed silently back into the main body of the house (all too tired
even to shower again -- the thought of re-experiencing the aphrodisiac
in the lotion soap actually made them a little nauseous now); and
collapsed on the nearest soft surface they could find. They all slept
for several hours, awakening only with a loud pounding on the front
door. It was the police, responding to a call made by Eleanor's
husband after she had failed to return home the previous evening.
Jeremy, ever the smooth talker, defused the situation without the
officers having to actually observe five bedraggled, robe-clad women
whose faces and bodies were covered with a whitish residue that looked
like dried milk.
As the officers departed and Eleanor rushed for a telephone,
Chris wondered how they would have phrased their reports had Jeremy
been any less of a bullshit artist.