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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE:  

THE SAILORS' SOIREE, PART THREE

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO:  

THE FRIENDLY COMPETITION

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE:  

THE ESCAPE

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR:  

THE CLEARING

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE:  

THE INTRUDER, PART ONE

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX:  

THE INTRUDER, PART TWO

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN:  

THE RETURN HOME

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT:  

THE REUNION

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

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CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE:  

THE OTHER REUNION

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

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER SIXTY:  

THE LAST STRAW

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