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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE:
THE THINGS CHRIS DID
Christine awoke and was greeted by a sharp twinge
in her neck. She was unused to sleeping on the sofa.
The nursing pads in her bra were sopping wet, despite
the fact that she had crammed two into each cup before
going to sleep a mere four hours before. She remembered
hearing, through her connections with the now-defunct
Lac-Station, that some overproducing mothers actually
put entire disposable diapers into their burgeoning
bras. She made a mental note to pick some up later that
day. She thought about the mess in her bedroom and
dreaded having to clean it up. That thought was
immediately followed by a strengthened resolve to have
this over with and to pursue a means to dry her milk up
-- involution, to use the formal term. But this
resolution was superceded by a stronger one. Before
giving up the unique aspect of her sexuality that her
lactation ability provided her, Chris would have one
last great extended sexual indulgence, making use of her
milk in ways she had not yet experienced. This would
take some creativity; in the two years since The
Accident Chris's sexual exploits had been many and
varied -- there was little she hadn't tried in that
time. She would need some suggestions, and there was no
one she knew more sexually creative than her friend and
occasional lover Sherri.
Chris strode over to the phone, unheeding of her
rather comical look -- nude except for a nursing bra
whose cups were open and flapping about as she walked.
She almost savagely punched out Sherri's number and
tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Sherri to
answer. After almost twenty rings, she finally heard
someone pick up.
"This had better be pretty fucking important,
goddammit," came a sleepy but angry voice over the
receiver.
Chris suddenly realized that it was only 7:30, on
a Saturday morning. "Hello to you too," she said. "I'm
really sorry; I didn't realize how early it was."
"Baby, what's wrong?" Sherri replied, all traces
of indignation gone from her voice. If Chris was
calling this early on a Saturday, something must be up.
In the background, Chris heard a masculine groan and a
rustle of sheets. Oops, she thought.
Chris hurriedly related her experience of the
previous night and her decisions both to dry her milk up
and to go out in a blaze of glory before doing so. She
was surprised at how close to tears she was. Deciding
to shut down her magnificent milk factories was, in her
mind, tantamount to something as momentous and
shattering as deciding to put a pet to sleep. There
were the same feelings of loss and "necessary evil"
involved. She didn't want to become sexually "ordinary"
again, but the price of remaining "unique" had become
too high.
Sherri was expectedly sympathetic. "Welcome to
the club, sweetheart," she said. "Losing your ability
to control whether or not your breasts made milk put you
in the same boat with all of us 'normal' lactating
women. We can't just start and stop like you could. If
you're really serious about drying up, the best advice I
could give you is not to go cold turkey. I tried that
and was miserable. I was so engorged that I couldn't
stand even the touch of a silk blouse. I got a fever
and had to spend days with an ice pack strapped to my
chest. No, if you want to do it, do it gradually.
Start by cutting back very slowly on your pumping
sessions, maybe eliminating one every other day and
spacing the others out appropriately. Then eliminate
another, and another, until you can just quit without
too much discomfort. If it's true that whatever
happened to you in Jamaica made you into a just-plain
overproducer, then your body should respond normally to
the old law of supply and demand." There was silence
for a few seconds, then Chris heard Sherri sigh loudly.
"I know that this decision was difficult for you, but
I'd be less than honest if I said I wasn't going to miss
the fun of draining your breasts in all kinds of
interesting ways. You tasted so sweet, too...I'm sorry.
I'm not making this any easier."
"Well, hon, you won't have to give it up right
this second," Chris said, and told her about the second
part of her decision.
"Well shit fire, lady, now you're talking! You
have definitely come to the right slut. Let me take
care of a few things here and I'll meet you for
breakfast. We'll talk about it over a couple of monster
cinnamon rolls." There was another pause. "You know,
this could take a while to exhaust all the
possibilities."
"I'm prepared to spend as much time as it takes,"
Chris said firmly. "I can live with these out-of-
control boobs of mine for a few weeks more."
As it happened, a few weeks was an
underestimation.
The First Thing Chris Did: Chris had only
occasionally partaken of her own milk, and then usually
while masturbating. Her lovers had all mentioned that
it was sweet and warm, rather like sweetened condensed
milk thinned out to the consistency of skim. Chris
decided that before her milk was gone forever, she would
drink as much of it as she could, or until she got tired
of it. She took to saving out a couple of bottles
extracted from her still multiple-times-daily milking
sessions and keeping a supply in her refrigerator. She
used it on her cereal, in her coffee, and occasionally
she would pour herself a large tumbler and just swig it
down. After a few days of this she decided she liked it
better warm than cold, and so took to suckling herself
when she felt full rather than hooking herself up to her
breast pump. Over the two years she had been lactating,
her breasts, though still high, voluminous, and firm
enough to make any centerfold jealous, had softened
sufficiently to allow her to get her nipple and areola
into her mouth. She soon found a suction and rhythm
that drained her breasts most efficiently while
providing the maximum sexual pleasure. Her biggest
difficulties were A) keeping her nipple in her mouth
while orgasming (as she usually did while suckling
herself) when all she wanted to do was throw her head
back and howl in pleasure, and B) keeping the fountain
from her free breast contained. By the end of the week
she was hardly using the pump at all.
The Second Thing Chris Did: Chris remembered
Janine mentioning that she enjoyed cooking topless,
particularly the feel of warm steam rising from a pot of
boiling water, for example, on her full bosom. Chris
started doing this, and took it a step further: she
began incorporating her breast milk into recipes. She
found that it made a superior pudding and excellent
cream sauces. As an ironic twist, she even made a
lobster bisque with it. Her only difficulties here were
that the warmth from the stove often helped trigger a
hellacious letdown which would turn her on so much that
she would have to get herself off right then and there -
- this sometimes resulted in a neglected (and therefore
burnt) entree as she stood spurting into the kitchen
sink. There was also an unfortunate incident involving
spattering grease from frying bacon...
The Third Thing Chris Did: Sherri, well aware
that Chris's sexual status was about to change, began
asking to bed her more often than usual. Although she
had gone through involution several weeks earlier,
Sherri's pendulous mams still produced a small amount of
thin fluid. One of her and Chris's favorite bedtime
activities became assuming a position in which the two
women would lie with their heads facing opposite ends of
the bed. They were each sufficiently endowed that in
this position they could suckle each other
simultaneously while fingering themselves to orgasm.
Chris would have to work hard to draw even a few drops
from Sherri, but the harder she sucked, the more Sherri
liked it. In Sherri's case, satisfaction could only be
obtained if her entire fist was buried in her cunt, and
on several occasions she would have a butt plug firmly
in place at the same time. Chris, on the other hand,
preferred a lighter touch; her clit was so sensitive
that she would be able to come just from having a
feather tickle it while Sherri slurped greedily at her
free-flowing nipples. The only disadvantage to this
practice was that when Chris would come, as she did
numerous times per session, her copious ejaculations
would soak harmlessly into a large towel specially
positioned for that purpose. Sherri would have
preferred getting them full in the face, but she could
not nurse and get squirted at the same time. Chris
would occasionally compromise by sitting up and bending
over Sherri as she ate Chris out, squirting milk down
onto her face and head. This way when she came, Chris
would drench Sherri with milk and pussy juice
simultaneously, and this would almost always send Sherri
over the edge, often without her having to touch herself
at all.
The Fourth Thing Chris Did: As might be expected,
Sherri had several ex-lovers who had been bitterly
disappointed when Sherri had decided to stop lactating.
With Chris's permission, Sherri gave her number to these
gentlemen, and within hours Chris started getting phone
calls. She would get briefed on each guy from Sherri,
finding out in advance what kinds of things he was into.
The first gentleman, a husky fellow named Jim, liked tit
fucking. Chris was rather surprised to realize that in
all this time she had never done that particular thing.
She discovered that she enjoyed it very much. Her
generous bosom provided more than enough of a tunnel for
Jim's fat cock, and her milk provided ample lubrication.
Her favorite aspect of this was when, in the throes of
passion, Jim would grab her breasts in an effort to wrap
them ever more tightly together around his pistoning
pole. This would invariably produce a geyser of milk
which would splash across his hairy chest and even
occasionally strike the ceiling. Chris hadn't been used
to much rough handling of her precious mammaries, but
she found that she rather liked Jim's manipulations.
She enjoyed sitting across the room from him, trying to
hit his open mouth with her sprays. It was a difficult
target since Jim was usually jacking off furiously at
the time and so could not keep still. Chris was most
gratified when she could squirt him while keeping her
hands on top of her head, with only the force of her
letdown reflex propelling the milk over the fifteen or
so feet that separated them during this exercise.
The Fifth Thing Chris Did: Realizing that her
milk supply would soon be gone, Chris indulged a certain
scientific curiosity she'd had about her abilities ever
since she stopped helping Dr. Ellis with her research.
One Saturday she retreated into her second bedroom,
which was still set up as her "milking room", made sure
the refrigerator was stocked with provisions, hooked
herself up to her pump, and remained hooked up for the
entire day. The pump threatened to overheat, but kept
up a steady rhythm, stopping only when Chris had to use
the john, which wasn't often considering that her excess
fluids were being drawn off in other ways. She tried to
keep tabs on her orgasms, but lost count after twenty.
She soon became so disoriented from the constant high
level of arousal she was experiencing that after about
six or seven hours she was almost zombie-like, lying
almost motionless, hypnotized by the cadence of the
pump, visibly trembling every so often as another orgasm
hit, a steady dribble of milk being extracted from her
besieged nipples. The pump finally gave up the ghost
and came to a noisy halt after thirteen straight hours,
at which time Chris had shattered her old one-day
production record by almost a liter and had produced God
only knew how much ejaculate. She also had succeeded in
dehydrating herself despite a steady influx of protein
drinks and spent most of the next day in bed trying to
get her electrolytes back in line. Her peerless bosom
also needed to recover; red rings from the pump cups
were visible on her breasts for several days, and her
nipples were so sore that she needed to apply lanolin
cream to them for almost a week afterward. The
experiment put her behind schedule with her involution;
her body, confused by the sudden increase in demand,
stepped up milk production again for a few days, and
Chris became painfully engorged on more than one
occasion. As for the excess milk, she decided to make a
gift of it to Connor, the fellow who had spied on her
and Sherri as they indulged themselves by the swimming
pool. Chris had a soft spot in her heart for the
constantly horny young man -- after all, who wouldn't
enjoy being the center of an adolescent sexual fantasy?
One morning she substituted a gallon of milk left
outside Connor's apartment by the milkman with a gallon
of her own milk, most of which had come from that single
session. She wondered whether he would be able to tell
the difference.
The Sixth Thing Chris Did: Elliott was the second
of Sherri's referrals. He preferred having sex at his
own place, for one obvious reason: His bedroom was set
up in an unusual manner. Instead of a bed, two loosely
woven mesh hammocks, one above the other in bunk-bed
fashion, hung from heavy hooks set into the walls. The
hammocks were adjustable such that, when both were
occupied, the top person would lay suspended only
millimeters above the lower one. Elliott enjoyed lying
face down in the top hammock, his penis protruding
through the mesh. When all rope tensions were just
right, he could penetrate his partner without having to
touch her with any other part of his body. Chris turned
the tables on Elliott, requesting that she be allowed to
be in the top hammock. He had to adjust the ropes so
that the hammock was strung on a slight angle so that
Chris's cunt could envelop his cock properly, but the
new arrangement worked very well. Chris's breasts were
too large to poke through the mesh. The pressure of the
web of rope that encircled her areolae when she put her
weight on it worked just like her own fingers with
respect to the manual expression of breast milk. As she
fucked Elliott from above, her nipples, protruding down
through the mesh, jetted milk at their maximum flow
rate, quite effectively drenching the hapless young
man's top half within seconds. His bottom half became
sodden mere moments later when Chris's orgasm deluged
him with hot pussy juice. Chris enjoyed that particular
orgasm in that it was the first time in two years she
had been able to lie on her stomach while making love.
In a normal bed the pressure on her milk-filled boobs
from the weight of herself and her partner was usually
uncomfortable enough to be distracting.
The Seventh Thing Chris Did: Figuring that her
figure would return to its pre-Accident proportions once
she stopped lactating, Chris decided she would show it
off more during her Last Fling (she was taking to
thinking of those words as being capitalized). The
weather cooperated beautifully, growing steadily warmer
as the weeks passed into summer. Chris stopped wearing
her nursing bra and went back to being sans underwear.
She began wearing shorter skirts and lower necklines.
Her perpetually erect nipples turned heads with
increasing frequency. She still suffered from
occasional inappropriate letdowns, but instead of hiding
them or acting embarrassed, she tried to make the most
of the situation. Once while walking briskly through a
park, the jiggling set off a letdown which drenched the
front of her tank top. As she continued to walk, the
breeze began evaporating the milk, causing her nipples
to harden even more. Overtaken by the feeling, she
simply sat down on a park bench, closed her eyes, and
masturbated by performing Kegel exercises, not touching
herself in any way. Needless to say, her clothing was
saturated above and below when she finally came. She
camouflaged the huge stains on her clothes by joining a
small group of people who were cavorting in the park
fountain, wetting herself so thoroughly that everyone
who saw her after that simply assumed she had fallen in.
On another occasion she was sunbathing nude on the
balcony of her apartment, uncaring who might see her.
She felt the sun warm her breasts, stimulating them to
release their bounty. She allowed it to happen,
spraying milk over the railing to the walkway below.
She heard a surprised yell, and realized that someone
down below was getting sprinkled. Recognizing the
voice, she got up from her lounger and went to the
railing. Peering up at her was young Connor, who was
still acting as her constant shadow whenever she was in
the public areas of the apartment building. His face
was dotted with white. Her physical assets in full view
of him, she leaned over the railing and waved to him,
her superlative breasts still dripping with milk. His
eyes threatening to explode from his skull, Connor
raised his arm and weakly waved back. He licked off
some of the droplets of milk that had landed on his
lips, and instantly recognized the taste. The
realization that he had recently, and quite unknowingly,
consumed a gallon of Chris's own milk was too much for
him. A dark spot appeared on his khaki shorts over the
lump that marked his straining erection just before he
fainted dead away.
The Eighth Thing Chris Did: Chris knew that
Sherri enjoyed being wetted down with all manner of
bodily secretions during sex: semen, female ejaculate,
mother's milk, and lately, those of the "golden"
variety. Although Chris could not bring herself to
indulge Sherri in the lattermost fetish, she did suggest
that the two of them get messy in a different way. One
night, instead of bringing honey to drizzle over her
nipples, Chris brought two huge bottles of vegetable oil
and a large plastic dropcloth to their lovemaking
session. The sensation of all that mammary tissue
sliding over and around itself was new to Chris. The
lack of friction was exciting in that it caused her to
focus more strongly on the feelings in order to get the
same level of arousal that she was used to without the
oil. It took her longer to come, but when she did, the
orgasm lasted much longer than usual, rolling up to a
high but rounded peak before dying away over a period of
what seemed like minutes. At session's end, the two
women were coated with an emulsion of mother's milk and
vegetable oil that Sherri jokingly commented could be
made into a servicable salad dressing with the addition
of a few spices!
The Ninth Thing Chris Did: One evening, while
fucking Jim's brains out, Chris suddenly jumped up out
of bed and went to stand before the full length mirror
in her bedroom, beckoning Jim to join her. She
instructed him to penetrate her from behind as they
watched themselves in the mirror. As Jim drove into her
ass, he reached around and grabbed Chris's breasts. In
a flash of inspiration, Chris guided his hands as she
allowed her milk to flow, quite legibly writing "Chris
was here" in milk on the mirror. The quickly melting
words were soon obliterated by the white shower which
followed as Jim's talented tool propelled her to yet
another double explosion of fluids.
The Tenth Thing Chris Did: Chris never forgot the
intense stimulation she received from actually nursing a
baby. Suckling adults was one thing -- they were doing
it for their own pleasure and so did not have the
urgency that an infant, who does it out of the primal
urge for survival, did. She was amazed at the powerful
suction (and incredible orgasms) such small mouths could
produce. Once she'd gotten past the awkwardness of
being sexually stimulated by a baby, she'd grown to
enjoy breastfeeding. One evening she had an opportunity
to babysit twins, about four months old. Their mother,
an acquaintance of Chris's from work who was unaware of
her abilities, had left bottles of her own breast milk
in the refrigerator for Chris. Aware that the twins
might not take to a strange pair of breasts, Chris
anointed her nipples with some of the bottled milk so
that they would recognize their mother's unique chemical
signature. Chris had never nursed two babies
simultaneously, and being unused to handling two at
once, had a little difficulty at first. Using the
"football hold", where each baby was essentially tucked
under an armpit, she was able to position them
appropriately. Smelling their mother's milk on Chris's
oozing nipples, they latched on with a vengeance. Chris
almost passed out from the intensity of having two
little powerhouses pulling away on her at once. It felt
as if her nipples and areolae were being stretched out
like rubber bands by the action of the hungry twins. It
was all she could do to keep the babies positioned
properly while she trembled with orgasm after orgasm,
completely drenching the bath towel she had shoved under
her skirt. Her reverie was broken only when one of the
twins started to splutter and cry, the victim of a
torrent of milk she could not swallow fast enough.
Fortunately the twins' parents were out for most of the
evening, and the little ones had ravenous appetites, so
Chris had an opportunity to repeat the experience before
the parents came home. She made sure to dump out the
bottles to give the proper illusion.
The Eleventh Thing Chris Did: One of the toughest
decisions Chris ever had to make regarding a sexual
activity was with respect to whether or not to try
bondage and discipline. While assertive, Chris did not
consider herself domineering, and ever since her near-
rape at the Sailors' Soiree' and her experience with
Drs. Ellis and Frankenmuth, the idea of being restrained
during sex had not held much appeal. However, her
resolve to try more new things before her Final Fling
was over was too strong, and so she sought out Sherri
for some advice on the subject. Her response was to
bring in two more "referrals", and the four of them went
to town. Sherri lent Chris some latex outfits, which,
because they were too small for Chris, lent outrageous
proportions to Chris's body when cinched up tight. The
men brought their own. Much as she tried, Chris could
not get into disciplining these fellows. The most
pleasure she was able to derive from the experience was
when she would stand over them, her breasts protruding
from cutouts in the rubber outfit, as the men groveled
at her feet, begging to catch the drips of milk that the
tight outfit were squeezing from her breasts on their
tongues. She found that the most fun she had was being
tied to the bed, helpless to stop the other three as
their hands and tongues explored her body. Sherri,
knowing what buttons to push better than anyone, waited
until she knew Chris was so engorged that she was ready
to explode, then stimulated a letdown that almost
brought the house down. Chris squirmed on the bed, her
breasts erupting skyward as the other three simply stood
back and watched while masturbating lustily. The geyser
of milk continued for a full two minutes, waving back
and forth as Chris writhed under Sherri's ministrations,
before slaking off to a dribble, like magma from an
underwater fissure. Then one man took to each breast
while Sherri buried her face in Chris's bald cunt. Not
being able to use her hands suddenly caused an image of
Sheila Ellis to reappear in Chris's mind. She was again
in the NMR examining room, strapped down on the table,
with Sheila standing over her, her body glistening with
Chris's dual secretions. The memory of Sheila's inch-
long nipples being moved teasingly back and forth across
her lips triggered a fresh flow of juices, surprising
all three people working on her with the volume of it
after all that had already transpired that night.
The Twelfth Thing Chris Did: Sherri's apartment,
being in the same building as Chris's, was laid out in
very much the same way. Chris knew that the balcony off
of Sherri's bedroom had a sliding glass door on it, just
as hers did. One early evening, as the two were about
to make love, Chris darted out onto the balcony, stark
naked, and slid the door shut behind her. As Sherri
stood in front of the door, wondering what she was up
to, Chris began a slow, sinuous dance out on the
balcony. As the tempo of the dance increased, Chris
began to stimulate herself, slipping a finger into her
pouting pussy and licking off the dripping juices,
squeezing drops of milk from her diamond-hard nipples.
Sheila reached for the door handle, but Chris gestured
for her not to. She then began to press her naked body
against the glass, spreading her full hot boobs against
its coolness. They began to release their contents
forcefully. The milk squirted out and around her
flattened bosom and cascaded in white sheets down the
glass. Chris ground her mons against the door, smearing
it from below with her sticky secretion. Sherri pressed
her body against the other side, her tongue flicking out
to trace patterns along the glass. Separated by only
those few millimeters, the two women undulated against
the door, each daring the other to be the first to pull
the handle open. Sherri finally succumbed, jerking the
door open and grabbing Chris's wrist in one quick
motion. She practically carried Chris to the bed and
went at her with unusual vigor. They almost wore out
the double-headed dildo that night.
The Last Thing Chris Did: ...was to notice a
discharge from her vagina one morning. The nature of it
was sufficiently different from her normal almost
constant state of moistness to cause her concern. A
visit to her gynecologist confirmed it: Chris had
contracted a sexually transmitted disease from one of
Sherri's referrals. She had been pretty careful in the
past to insist on her partners' wearing condoms, but in
these last weeks of total sexual abandon she had
abandoned caution as well, and was now paying the price.
One aspect of her treatment was complete abstinence, and
so, quite against her will, Chris's Final Fling ended as
abruptly as it had begun. Fortunately for our heroine,
her program of slowly cutting back on the frequency of
draining her breasts was coming to a close at the same
time, even having been delayed by her recent
"experiment". To Chris's immense relief, her body
responded as expected, slowly reducing its output of her
ivory ambrosia over time. Within three months after her
initial decision, Chris's days as the most amazing
milkmaid in recent medical history had come to a quiet
end.
