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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:  

THE VOYEUR, PART TWO

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:  

THE PLANNING

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE:  

THE CRUISE, PART ONE

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR:  

THE CRUISE, PART TWO

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE:  

THE CRUISE, PART THREE

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX:  

THE CRUISE, PART FOUR


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

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CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN:  

THE ROAD TO NEGRIL

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT:  

THE HOTEL

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

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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE:  

THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART ONE

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY:  

THE SAILOR'S SOIREE, PART TWO

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