Lactogenesis

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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: 

THE VOYEUR, PART TWO

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: 

THE PLANNING

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


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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: 

THE CRUISE, PART ONE

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: 

THE CRUISE, PART TWO

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: 

THE CRUISE, PART THREE

   Christine let Jonah lead her off the observation
deck and down through several levels of the ship.  She
was still a bit disoriented from the combination of
sensations still coursing through her body:  pain from
the collision with Jonah which had resulted in his
saving her from going overboard, residual tingling from
the orgasm which had almost been her last, the remains
of the buzz from the wine she'd consumed earlier that
evening, and strong attraction, on several levels, for
this second officer of the Carib Mermaid.  Prevailing at
the moment was gratitude for her rescue, but a close
second was how taken she was with how almost regal the
man was in his mannerisms, his politeness, the
seriousness with which he took his job, and his
undivided attentions toward her.  Over dinner that
evening she had noted that he was good at hinting that
he had a naughty side without being outwardly crude,
which intrigued her.  Her traffic-stopping body,
enhanced as it was by the cut of her dress, had clearly
made an impression on him then, and he had been able to
communicate his interest to her while the other guests
at the Captain's Table had no clue of the building heat
between them.  Chris remembered how moist she had gotten
when that realization had hit her.  There was no doubt
in her mind that Jonah must have seduced dozens of
female passengers before her, yet he made her feel like
she was the first.  The fact that he was absolutely
gorgeous and she was extremely horny didn't hurt,
either.
   Chris noted as Jonah led her through the ship that
the corridors were very narrow and unadorned.  Piping
hung close overhead; paint was peeling from the walls;
and the lighting was dim.  It was also eerily quiet;
true, it was late, well into the wee smalls, but she
expected to see at least a few other people up at this
hour.  When she inquired about this, Jonah smiled.
   "I wondered how long it would be before you
noticed something different," he said.  "This ship is in
many ways like an old Gothic mansion.  There is an
entirely separate set of corridors and hatchways that
the crew uses and the passengers know nothing about. 
There are even entire sections of deck that are
inaccessible to our paying customers and which they
don't even suspect exist."
   "Are you taking me to one of those now?"
   "Very astute of you.  You're about to see a part
of the Mermaid that very few people, even crew, see with
any regularity."  He finished the sentence just as they
arrived at a bulkhead.  Jonah undogged the hatch which
swung open, releasing into their faces a current of warm
moist air laced with the faint smell of cedar and
something else...lavender, perhaps?
   Chris stepped through the hatch and into what was
so obviously a den of seduction that she had to keep
from laughing at the sheer audaciousness of it.  The
room was multi-leveled, with an extensive bar along one
wall, a large raised area dotted with person-sized
pillows along another, and a wide, multi-sectioned
picture window (with curtains currently drawn) spanning
the long wall directly in front of her.  Set in the
center of the room were not one, but two jacuzzis, both
bubbling furiously, but not so much that the thrumming
of the ship's engines could not be heard.  Flower petals
danced on the bubbles.  The ceiling was mirrored and
illuminated by a means not immediately obvious.  The
walls and floor were covered with a deep red patterned
fabric, giving the overall feeling of a turn-of-the-
century bordello.  Towels, robes, glasses, an ice
bucket, a bottle of asti spumante, a vase of roses, and
even a small dish containing what looked like marijuana
cigarettes stood at the ready.
   "My God," said Chris.  "You sailors don't believe
in subtlety, do you?"
   "There's usually not enough time for that," Jonah
said honestly.  "How long are you going to be aboard? 
Three days, four at the most.  Extended courtships
aren't generally practical under those conditions."
   Chris pointed to the dish.  "Are those what I
think they are?"
   Jonah just cocked his head.  "We do visit Jamaica
often, you know."
   "Of course.  Silly me."
   Even though this was not Chris's idea of the most
romantic setting in the world, it was another new
experience for her, so she decided to go with it.  She
walked into the room and up to the window, whose
curtains parted at her approach.  They opened to reveal
that they were now at the stern of the ship.  The view
was different from, but no less impressive than, that
afforded by the observation deck they had just come
from.  She must have been staring out the window for
some time, for when she turned back, Jonah had already
opened the champagne and had poured two glasses.  Chris
simply smiled, undid a couple of strategically placed
fasteners, and in a single motion stepped out of her
dress.  The unusual lighting played across her
magnificent frame, accentuating the large upturned
breasts, the smooth mons, the flared hips, the well-
turned thighs.  Chris decided to play the part the
setting seemed to expect of her to the hilt.  She pushed
her chest forward, half-lidded her eyes, and slid like a
reptile down into one of the jacuzzis.  Jonah smiled
appreciatively, but didn't move toward her, as she
expected.  Instead, he turned his back to her.  Chris
blinked in surprise, wondering what was going on, but
relaxed and smiled when she heard the crinkle of the
foil covering on the bottle of spumante.
   "I'm not thirsty yet," Chris said, trying to get
Jonah's attention.  "I will be later though..."
   Jonah glanced over his shoulder as he worked on
the bottle.  "What do you think of our little nest? 
Several crew members worked together to build it.  This
used to be part of a cargo hold.  I think the captain
knows it exists, but doesn't let on.  Decent fellow, the
captain."
   Small talk now, when I'm wet, naked, and ready?
thought Chris.  What's with this guy?  Maybe he just
needs a little persuading....
   "There's plenty of room for two, Second Officer
Ballwin," she said.  "I'm still a little sore from our
altercation on the deck and could use a good neck rub." 
Jonah did turn at that, and when he did, Chris started
moving her body under the water, almost as a belly
dancer would on land.  She would let parts of her
fabulous body become momentarily visible, then
resubmerge them.  Her underwater dance was enough to
make a dead man come.
   Still Jonah Ballwin kept his distance, smiling
blankly, soon returning to the business of opening the
bottle of asti spumante.
   Chris couldn't believe it.  She thought she was a
pretty good judge of when a man wanted her, and Jonah
had exhibited all the classic signs.  Here she was
practically sending semiphore, and he stood unmoving. 
Am I being rejected here?  Is he gay?  Is he teasing me? 
All kinds of questions started going through her mind.
   Well, I'll give him another sixty seconds to
finish opening that goddamn bottle, then I'm suddenly
going to get the mother of all headaches, Chris said to
herself.  Is this rejection?  I'd almost forgotten how
it felt, she thought, somewhat alarmed.  Indeed, since
The Accident, she hadn't had anyone turn her down when
it came to sex.  Maybe Jonah was trying to remind her
that nobody is irresistable.  Now is no time for
lessons, she thought, somewhat annoyed.  I don't need
this, especially on vacation.

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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: 

THE CRUISE, PART FOUR


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

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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: 

THE ROAD TO NEGRIL

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: 

THE HOTEL

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


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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: 

THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART ONE

   Christine examined herself in the full-length
mirror that comprised the closet door of the hotel
suite's bedroom, wondering whether the tight, beige
slacks and floral bikini top she'd just changed into
were appropriate.  Jonah had told her to dress very
casually for the party in Montego Bay that evening. 
"Don't wear anything you wouldn't mind getting beer
spilled on" had been his exact words.  He had warned her
that this gathering was virtually certain to become
rowdy, raunchy, rude, and riotous.  The recurrent
party's guests, mostly select crewmembers from the Carib
Mermaid and whatever other cruise ships happen to be in
port at the time, with some local ladies thrown in for
good measure, usually didn't consider the bash a success
unless several arrests for disturbing the peace and/or
lewd and lascivious behavior were involved.  Ever the
gentleman, Jonah had described in painstaking detail the
highlights of the last such party he had been to,
roughly four months earlier, so as to give Chris an idea
of what she would be agreeing to if she accepted his
invitation.  However, he had done so while they had been
furiously copulating in a jacuzzi, and so Chris was
fuzzy on most of the details, but she seemed to remember
him saying something about a woman who had a unique
method for turning bananas into projectiles, and
something else about a German shepherd, or was it a
German purser?
   It sounded positively decadent, like something
that was custom-made for the sexual explorer that the
hormonal stew that constantly raged, albeit under tight
control, through Chris's bloodstream as a result of The
Accident had awakened within her.  She was fairly
certain that Jonah would not have invited her had she
not inadvertently demonstrated her ejaculatory and
lactation talents to him while she thought she was alone
on the Mermaid's forward observation deck.  Something
told her that the women at this party would all be there
because of some special sexual gift they possessed. 
This intrigued and excited her to the point that she was
able to dismiss less intense feelings of exploitation
that threatened to ruin the sexual charge she felt
building up inside her.  She took another look in the
mirror.  Yes, the slacks were tight enough to
brilliantly accentuate her beautifully rounded ass; the
bikini top cupped just enough of her incomparable
breasts to tease but not give too much away.  She
retrieved a thin jacket from the closet to protect
against the cool night breeze and was ready to go.  Just
before leaving the suite she visited the bathroom long
enough to don a maxi-pad, since she had already started
to moisten in anticipation and didn't want to stain her
slacks with her liquid desire too prematurely.  She
remembered when she'd bought those pads for a different
reason.  She now used them exclusively to wick up her
copious pussy juice; she still had not resumed
menstruating.
   She took a particular glee in the looks she got as
she walked briskly through the lobby, her jacket open,
her considerable cleavage flashing into and out of view
as she moved.  Here I am in a place with more centerfold
types per square foot than anywhere except maybe
"Baywatch", and I can still turn heads, she thought with
satisfaction.
   Outside the hotel she immediately began scanning
the parking area for the yellow taxi she had reserved an
hour before.  She was mildly angry when she didn't see
one and was getting ready to go back into the lobby to
phone the cab company again when a loud beep turned her
around.  The window of a green taxi rolled down and
Jonah Ballwin's winning smile appeared in it.
   "I sent your taxi away," he explained as Chris
trotted toward the car.  "I wanted to make sure you were
taken directly to the party and not on some wild goose
chase.  Hop in."  He opened the door from the inside and
Chris plopped onto the seat, her bosom jiggling slightly
as she did so.  Jonah, of course, noticed instantly. 
"Good Lord, you look fabulous," he said with genuine
admiration, tinged with lust.  "You'll be the hit of the
party."
   The taxi roared off as soon as the door was
closed, pitching Chris backward, directly into Jonah's
arms.  The driver glanced into the rear view mirror and
cackled at the result of his handiwork.  "Sorry, mon,"
he said.
   "No you're not, not in the slightest," Jonah
replied.  "Chris, this is Edward, an acquaintance of
mine.  Although he drives like a maniac, we actually
couldn't be in better hands."  Chris smiled a greeting,
which Edward returned in the mirror.  She then turned to
Jonah, taking his hands in hers.
   "I really am looking forward to this," Chris said,
somewhat breathlessly.  Jonah looked particularly
delicious in his khakis and a muscle-enhancing polo
shirt -- a decidedly different look from the uniform she
was used to seeing him in.  "In fact, I'm a little
surprised at myself as to how much.  Even though I'm a
lot braver these days about such things as a result of
all the changes I've been through, I have to confess to
being a little apprehensive about what might happen
tonight.  Promise me you'll never be far away."  She
squeezed his hand tightly.
   Edward answered for him.  "Don't you worry, pretty
lady," he boomed.  "My man Jonah is a gentleman of the
old school.  He'd never let any harm come to one as
lovely as yourself.  But if by some chance Jonah fall
down on the job, ol' Edward, he'll be around."
   "You're coming to the party too?" Chris asked.
   This time Jonah answered.  "Edward is one of this
particular gathering's 'founding fathers', so to speak. 
He's the designated driver, in fact.  Rumor has it he's
had more fun with the guests in his cab than they did at
the party!"
   "Hold your tongue, Jonah!" Edward said, laughing. 
"Ol' Edward, he don't want all his secrets told right
away!"
   "Well, Chris, I certainly understand your
apprehension," Jonah said, turning his attention back to
her.  "Since a great deal of my job involves helping
people relax, I was fortunately able to anticipate your
nervousness and take the appropriate countermeasures."
   "You're starting to talk like a naval officer
again," Chris chided as Jonah reached beneath the seat
and extracted a large thermos and two glasses.  Before
Chris could say "margarita," Jonah presented her with a
large one, complete with salt around the rim of the
glass.  "Ah, but this is more like the second officer of
a pleasure ship," she said as she sipped.
   The ride from Negril back to Montego Bay was a
long one.  The three people in the taxi chatted amiably
as the kilometers passed.  Chris did not notice that
Jonah was very careful to keep her glass full, and as a
result she imbibed more than she thought she was.  As
her comfort level increased, Chris related the story of
her trip to the hotel and her first contact with some of
her fellow vacationers.  Edward's eyes widened as Chris
laughingly talked about her various milky emissions
during those episodes.  A look passed between him and
Jonah that Chris didn't catch, but which nonverbally
said something like "This may be your best yet."
   As they approached Montego Bay, Chris began to
notice that she felt a lot more "comfortable" than she
should be after only a couple of margaritas.  She
recognized the sensation -- one of total calm rather
than intoxication.  It was just like when she had gone
to an oral surgeon to have her wisdom teeth removed.  He
had shot her so full of intravenous Valium that a
supernova could have gone off right in front of her and
she wouldn't have given a damn.  She suddenly realized
that the drinks had been spiked; she had been
tranquilized.  That son of a bitch, she thought.  I said
I needed to relax, but I didn't need to be sedated! 
Look at him -- he hasn't taken a single sip, the
bastard!  Well, I feel too damn good to be pissed off,
but that's it for Captain Ballwin here.
   Chris smiled at how easy her decision to dump
Jonah at her earliest opportunity had been.  By drugging
her and thereby squelching any complicated emotional
internal struggle over her feelings for him that she
might ordinarily feel while considering a decision of
this type, Jonah had unwittingly hastened his own
dismissal.  Still, Chris needed him to get into and out
of this party, so she decided to keep him around until
the end of the evening..
   This second decision had come at a most propitious
moment, for just then Edward turned the cab down a
poorly lit Montego Bay side street to park in front of a
small restaurant whose partially burnt-out neon sign
read simply, "CAFE".
   "We have arrived," Edward said needlessly.
   Gird your grid, girl, Chris said to herself. 
Feeling like I do now, I'm ready for anything.  Now I
know why Valium is so popular.

[Leselampe]

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CHAPTER FIFTY: 

THE SAILOR'S SOIREE, PART TWO

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