Lactogenesis

[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: 

THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART THREE

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

[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: 

THE FRIENDLY COMPETITION

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

[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: 

THE ESCAPE

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


[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: 

THE CLEARING

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


[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: 

THE INTRUDER, PART ONE

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


[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: 

THE INTRUDER, PART TWO

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


[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: 

THE RETURN HOME

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

[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: 

THE REUNION

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


[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: 

THE OTHER REUNION

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

[Leselampe]

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER SIXTY: 

THE LAST STRAW

   A quilt with squares consisting of every
conceivable shade of green and criss-crossing
geometrical shapes passed in slow review across Chris's
vision.  The quilt was a wrinkled one, shadows of the
wrinkles cast by a low late afternoon sun introducing
even more shades of green into the palette.  Yes,
thought Chris peacefully, from this altitude the
countryside does look like a wrinkled quilt.  The merest
wisp of cloud passed near enough to touch but
insubstantial enough not to register on her fingertips. 
The air was warm even though Chris knew she had to be
several thousand feet up.  She accepted this
inconsistency as easily as the fact that she was
airborne without benefit of any plane, glider, or other
manmade device, with the calm belief in the impossible
that comes from being in a dream.  This was one of
Chris's most common dreams, flying slowly, soundlessly
above a large expanse of bountiful farmland.  Her brain,
never having experienced floating in reality, concocted
a convincing facsimile.  She knew she was dreaming, and
welcomed the feelings:  the security that she would not
fall, the peace of the total silence.  She always seemed
to awaken more refreshed from this kind of dream than
any other.
   As she floated along, admiring the landscape
below, she became vaguely aware that she was nude.  She
remembered other dreams of being naked in public places,
but never before had that aspect crossed into her
current dream scenario.  Chris ran her hands over her
body, for the umpteenth time thanking whatever powers
there were that had sculpted such feminine perfection
from the ruin of The Accident.  She spread her arms and
legs wide against the warm sky, and slowly spun through
a lazy spiral.  As she completed the turn and was again
facing the ground, she felt a strange sensation in her
breasts, as if gravity had suddenly started tugging
harder on them.  She frowned as the sensation
intensified until it felt as if an invisible force was
trying to pull her breasts off her chest.  It was soon
joined by a feeling of pressure inside, similar to how
she felt when becoming engorged with milk, but stronger. 
To her horror, she saw her bosom begin to expand as if
being inflated.  The tugging from outside and pressure
from within continued to build, crossing the threshold
into pain.  Chris tried to cross her arms over her now-
basketball-sized tits, but something held her arms
pinned to her sides.  Tears stung her eyes as her
breasts continued to expand, growing beyond watermelons
in length and girth, with nipples the size of jelly
jars.  Their huge bulk soon began pressing back on her
rib cage, shortening her breath.  Panic joined with pain
as her bosom threatened to become as large as she was
tall.  Finally, her increase in mass overcame whatever
dream power was keeping her aloft, and she abruptly
began plummeting, screaming, earthward.
   Chris's eyes snapped open and her bed rocked with
the spasm her body gave as she jerked awake.  She was
immediately confused by conflicting sensory information: 
she knew she was awake and lying on her side, yet the
feelings of pressure and pain she'd had in the dream
persisted, though greatly diminished.  It was like
falling asleep with the radio on, hearing a song in your
dreams, and awakening to hear that same song playing. 
As awareness increased, she came to know that her sheets
were absolutely wringing wet.  For a startled moment she
thought that perhaps in her terror she had wet the bed
(for the first time since toddlerhood), but upon
throwing back the covers, she saw that her nightshirt,
sheets, and pillow were saturated not with urine, but
with breast milk.  Her breasts still ached from
fullness; she stripped off the nightshirt to see them
still running with milk.
   Chris sat on the edge of her bed, hugging herself
hard across the chest to slow the flow.  She felt tears
well up as her fatigue and utter frustration at having
lost control over her lactating bosom caught up with
her.  She wept at the loss of the joy and satisfaction
that having her very special abilities had once
conveyed.  Instead of getting superlative sexual
gratification from being able to lactate in quantity, of
having a shape worthy of the centerfold of any men's
magazine you'd care to name, of being able to ejaculate
volumes of hot fluid in a burst of orgasm rivaling the
eruption of a supernova, of being able to fuck any and
all comers right into the ground, Chris now felt as if
her body had betrayed her, turning all that had made her
special into a curse.
   Sobbing gently, Chris threw her sheets and
nightshirt into the hamper, stepped into the shower, and
used the hot spray to help her empty her breasts.  Her
spirits were bolstered by the fact that she did indeed
still get a bit of a sexual buzz from doing this, but
not enough to overcome the shock of waking up drenched
in one's own bodily secretions.  After drying off, she
surveyed herself in the mirror.  Her red-rimmed eyes
seemed to add years to her life.  Her swollen breasts
were no longer beautiful to her; even though still firm
and well-shaped, they looked somehow old, beaten up, as
if a dozen babies had suckled from them for years.  The
average male would not have seen anything untoward; to
him Christine would still be a stunning goddess whose
body defied gravity, worthy of total sexual devotion and
capable of being his ultimate wet dream, but Chris knew
her body better than anyone, and now had finally
realized that things had gone too far.
   It was still dark; her alarm clock read 3:40 am. 
Chris was too tired to make up the bed with fresh
sheets, too tired even to put on a fresh nightshirt. 
She grabbed up the relatively unscathed bedspread from
the floor and headed out to the living room, intending
to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the couch. 
As she lay back she became aware of the weight of her
breasts on her chest and realized that sleeping nude
might not be a good idea.  She fumbled in the dark back
into her bedroom and sleepily donned a nursing bra that
she had pre-stuffed with pads.  As she dragged herself
back into the living room, she caught a glimpse in the
mirror again, nude except for a ridiculous nursing bra. 
The sight thoroughly disgusted her.
   "That is the last straw," she murmured as she lay
down.  "Tomorrow I start seeing what I can do to shut
these things off."  As the enormity of her decision
started sinking in at the same rate sleep began to
overtake her, she added to the close darkness, "But not
before I have one last all-out..."  And she was asleep.