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CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE:  

THE THINGS CHRIS DID

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resolution was superceded by a stronger one.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

Code: Alles auswählen

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO:  

THE END

	Christine smiled tentatively at the woman standing 
in front of her, and the woman smiled back in kind.  She 
allowed her gaze to move slowly along her body, taking 
note of small details she didn't ordinarily scrutinize.  
Let's start at the top, she thought.  I like what she's 
done with the hair, a very short style reminiscent of 
Major Kira's on "Deep Space Nine", but a touch longer.  
Thank God, no gray yet, but she's only 31, for crying 
out loud.  Eyebrows maybe a bit too thick, nose perhaps 
a bit too long, eyes...now stop that, she caught 
herself.  I thought you stopped doing that years ago.  
Now start again, and be nice.  Where were we?  OK -- 
face:  I wouldn't call her her drop-dead gorgeous, but 
she hasn't broken the changing room mirror or 
anything...hey!  What did I just tell you, she 
admonished herself again.  She'd been satisfied with the 
repair work the surgeons had done, and God knows the 
opposite sex had had no objections over the intervening 
seven years.  She was not here to reminisce, however.  
So let's get down to it, shall we?  She let her eyes 
move further downward to examine the bikini she was 
trying on.  Summer's on the way, melanoma be damned.  
I've got to get some color into this whiter-than-white 
skin, she thought.  Actually, I do look pretty damned 
good in this...
	The spaghetti straps of the halter top moved 
smoothly over a well-defined collarbone and down past a 
small mole on the left pectoral and a tiny strawberry 
mark on the right to plug into the two triangles of 
fabric which made the suit just barely legal in public.  
Her lip curled slightly as she thought of how difficult 
it had been to find something that fit properly -- she 
hoped that this would have to be the last place she 
tried.  Not exactly a plain old garden-variety 34B, with 
plenty of matching suits around.  Depending upon the 
article of clothing, she could be considered a very full 
C or just barely D cup.  She'd had to concentrate on 
stores that offered separate tops and bottoms so she 
could find something that fit.  Shouldn't complain, she 
said to herself.  Sherri has an even worse time finding 
clothes with that enormous chest of hers.  Impulsively 
she removed the top and took a good long look at 
herself.  Back when I was a 34B I would have passed a 
pencil test, she thought, but after all these have been 
through, they still hold up well.  The wine red nipples 
still pointed straight out from her chest, and slightly 
away from each other.  Thank God for good ligaments, 
Chris thought.  What will these look like in forty 
years?  She cupped her breasts briefly, but withdrew her 
hands quickly.  Boy, they're sensitive again today, she 
thought, as a quick bolt of warmth shot from them to her 
groin and her nipples responded with alacrity.  Almost 
like the old days.  She stepped back from the mirror and 
completed the visual tour.  She noted in passing a 
couple of extra pounds around the waist -- nothing some 
more time on the Stairmaster wouldn't take care of -- if 
only she didn't love Ben & Jerry's so much.  A slight 
look of chagrin crossed her face as she noted some wisps 
of pubic hair peeking out of the sides of the suit.  If 
I buy this, I'll need some Nair, she thought.  Hell, 
maybe I'll just go back to shaving it all off -- I 
actually liked being completely nude.  She didn't give a 
second thought to her legs.  That same Stairmaster had 
sculpted them into a perfect blend of bone, muscle, and 
just a hint of fat, just enough to smooth the lines out.  
Her legs and the firm butt they were attached to used to 
be her best feature, but for the past seven years her 
bustline had been what people noticed first.  And this 
suit made good use of it.  A quick breath, a sharp nod.  
She'll take the suit.  Good thing, since today was The 
Day, and she had sworn to make a purchase before end of 
business, so as not to break with tradition.
	Every year at this exact time Chris shopped for a 
new bikini in order to acknowledge the anniversary of 
The Accident.  Seven years ago today, after having 
bought a new bikini, she had stepped out of this very 
mall, into a bright late spring sun, only to be mowed 
down by a speeding car driven by a shoplifter trying to 
escape police.  Even after all this time she wasn't sure 
whether to curse or thank that driver.  The side effects 
of her injuries had caused her pituitary hormones to go 
crazy, causing her breasts to grow and spontaneously 
lactate to an extent so unusual that she had been the 
subject of a medical study that had won its author a 
position as chief researcher at a prestigious medical 
center.  Sheila never did even so much as thank me, 
Chris remembered.  Chris had also developed the ability 
to ejaculate upon orgasm, an ability which she retained 
to this day, albeit without the spectacular volumes of 
fluid she could generate in her heyday.  Her breasts had 
also decreased in impressiveness once she'd stopped 
lactating, but they were still considerably larger than 
their pre-Accident proportions and despite the years, 
were every bit as firm.  The fact that she still 
retained most of the advantages of the Accident was the 
reason she celebrated every year by treating herself to 
a new swimsuit.
	She emerged from the revolving door of the main 
mall entrance and smiled as the bright sunlight caused 
her to blink rapidly and begin searching her purse for 
her sunglasses.  Even the weather's the same today, she 
said to herself.  She hadn't gone ten meters before she 
realized she had forgotten where she'd parked.  Mall 
parking lots are the bane of my existence, she thought.  
She stood in the middle of the drive adjacent to Section 
B, doing a slow 360, searching for the dented back 
bumper that made her Miata easy to identify.  She 
clutched her tiny package under her arm, only vaguely 
aware of it.  She was so intent on her search that only 
the barest fraction of her mind heard the screeching of 
tortured tires and the over-revving of an engine.  She 
had just completed her full revolution when deja vu 
gripped her like a vise.  Panicked, she spun about 
again, searching for the source of the sound, and was 
infinitely relieved to see a car speeding away several 
aisles down.  "God, that was too weird", she said aloud 
as she stood recovering from the effects of an 
adrenaline surge.
	Back at her apartment, Chris tried on the bikini 
again, this time to see how it would go with the other 
beachwear she had in her closet.  Her experience in the 
parking lot -- the certainty she'd felt that she was 
about to do it all over again at the hands of yet 
another crazed driver -- had served to stimulate her 
memory, and she found herself going over those two years 
during which her entire lifestyle had been ruled by the 
incredible sexual urges and abilities The Accident had 
bestowed upon her.  Chris stood before her full-length 
mirror, resplendent in her tiny swimsuit, but her mind 
was elsewhere:  Her living room, where Sherri had 
suckled her for the first time.  Jeremy's palatial home, 
where a decadent Halloween party was her first exposure 
to the world of sexual excess.  The hospital, being a 
guinea pig for Drs. Ellis and Frankenmuth.  The creation 
of the Lac-Station, and the recruitment of other 
lactating women into that organization.  The mysterious 
first client.  The various seductions she'd performed.  
The pivotal trip to Jamaica where the dark side of sex 
caused her to begin questioning her new lifestyle.  The 
decision to steer her life back into some semblance of 
normalcy.  The case of VD that had brought her 
promiscuity to a screeching halt.
	As her experiences of those two years marched 
across her brain, Chris was surprised at the intensity 
of her memories of the physical sensations involved.  
Over the past five years she had grown so accustomed to 
her post-lactation body that she'd completely forgotten 
how much higher her level of arousal had been during 
that time, and how much more powerful her orgasms were.  
Now that she was plumbing the depths of those 
experiences, her somatic memory surged forward, and she 
was swept with sexual feelings that she had thought were 
gone forever.  She opened her eyes and saw her image in 
the mirror, with face, throat and upper chest flushed 
pink, her ribcage expanding with her quickened breath, 
nipples poking smartly through the fabric of the bikini 
top, and a surge of moistness becoming noticable at the 
crotch of the bikini bottom.  Before she knew what she 
was doing, Chris was out of the swimsuit, the two 
fingers of her right hand flying to her pubic region.  
Suddenly the feel of hair down there seemed wrong, alien 
somehow.  As she furiously vibrated her fingers across 
her swollen clit, memories of herself squirting like a 
fountain from breasts and cunt, drenching her lovers 
with sweet secretions while lost in indescribable 
feelings of release, filled her head.  In seconds she 
was coming with such force that her legs gave out from 
under her, and she landed with a thump on her pussy 
juice-coated behind.  She blinked uncomprehendingly at 
her image in the mirror, sitting splay-legged before 
her, its quivering, drooling pussy still pulsing with 
each heartbeat.
	I haven't come like that in years, Chris thought, 
when rational thought was again possible.  Could it be 
that I've missed it that much?  Her next thoughts came 
to her in such a jumble that she was unable to sort them 
out, and so she gave herself over to instinct.  She 
found herself moving into the second bedroom, which had 
long since been converted into a study.  She opened the 
closet, which had remained closed for years, and therein 
found a stack of boxes.  Inside one, she knew, was the 
super-duper breast pump that she had seen fit neither to 
repair nor dispose of.  Inside another was her 
collection of breastfeeding and lactation treatises, 
untouched for half a decade.  She pulled that box out, 
opened it, and started tossing books aside until she 
found the one she wanted.  Paging furiously through it, 
tearing pages with her urgency, she found the chapter 
she was looking for, read it like an Evelyn Wood 
graduate, carried the book to the phone, hit the speed 
dial button, and waited for an answer.
	"Sherri?  Hi, hon, it's me.  Listen, are you 
sitting down?  I've got a crazy idea for you..."
	She spoke excitedly, hurriedly, at times 
incoherently, for a few minutes, hung up, got dressed, 
and left the apartment with such haste that one would 
think it was on fire.
	The book she had so urgently consulted was left 
open to a chapter that might casually interest a normal 
reader, but that for Christine had ignited new passions 
and old dreams that were suddenly, tantalizingly 
irresistable.
	Its title?  "Re-lactation and Induced Lactation".

FIN