http://www.mrdouble.com




Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6936                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:04
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis I (1/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS I:  THE SHOPPING TRIP

     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 he didn't ordinarily
scrutinize.  Let's start at the top, she thought.  I like what she's done
with the hair, a "do" reminiscent of Barbra Streisand's, but shorter. 
Same color, though.  Thank God, no gray yet, but she's only 24, for crying
out loud.  Eyebrows maybe a bit too thick, nose perhaps a bit too long,
eyes...now stop that, she caught herself.  Always looking at the dark
side.  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 hand Nature
dealt, and the opposite sex had responded well.  She'd had enough dates in
her life, but it had been a while...maybe being here would help that.  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 easy it had been to find something in her
size.  Just a plain old garden-variety 34B, plenty of those around. 
Shouldn't complain, she said to herself.  Sherri across the hall must have
a hell of a time finding clothes that fit with that enormous chest of
hers.  Impulsively she removed the top and took a good long look at
herself.  They may only be 34B, she thought, but they're *my* 34B's.  If
she were to attempt a pencil test, she would have passed.  The coral pink
nipples still pointed slightly upward, and slightly away from each other. 
Gravity's been good to me, Chris thought.  If I lived on the moon, would I
still look like this in forty years?  She cupped her breasts briefly, but
withdrew her hands quickly.  Boy, they were sensitive today, she thought,
as a quick bolt of warmth shot from them to her groin and her nipples
responded with alacrity.  Must be because I'm so aware of them right now. 
She replaced the top and shortened the strap around the back of her neck,
thinking it would increase her decolletage, but the effect was to flatten
her bust and squeeze her breasts back toward her armpits.  She rolled her
eyes and loosened the strap a little.  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 get rid of all of it; I've
always wondered what that'd be like.  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 were probably her best
feature, but she was still concentrating on her breasts.  The erection of
her nipples was only now beginning to fade, and she noted with some
satisfaction that it wasn't very visible through the fabric.  Good, she
thought, I can get cold on the beach and not broadcast it.  A quick
breath, a sharp nod.  She'll take the suit.  Good thing, since the bottom
part, she noted sheepishly as she removed it, was slightly damp.
     She emerged from the revolving door of the main mall entrance and
blinked back the bright late spring sun.  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.  What will future
archaeologists think when they unearth them?  She stood in the middle of
the drive adjacent to Section B, doing a slow 360, searching for the
dented hatchback that made her Subaru different from all others.  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 the world exploded in a
dark red fog.
     Pain, and again dark red, becoming lighter.  Awareness returning
frustratingly slowly, as if swimming up from very deep water.  Why won't
my eyes open? Chris thought, but the words were 
forming so slowly in her mind.  Then a crescent of white light which grew
larger as her reluctant eyelids finally obeyed her commands.  The red fog
cleared, leaving sparkles at the edges of her field of vision.  The first
thing she focused on was a thin clear plastic tube snaking its way upward
to attach to an inverted bottle within which a steady stream of bubbles
arose.  Instant recognition, and instant panic.  An IV unit.  I'm in a
hospital!  What the hell....?  She tried to sit up and was rewarded with
the return of the red fog and a feeling which must be what getting one's
head impaled on a spike must be like.  She paused to take stock of her
condition.  Her head was wrapped tightly in bandages; in fact, where she
reached up to touch her face, all she felt was cloth.  No, just the nose
and the upper jaw were covered.  Her lower jaw ached, and her mouth felt
like it was packed full of cotton.  She raised her arms into her field of
view and saw a splint on one hand and nothing on the other.  Tentatively,
she wiggled toes, moved legs, flexed her back.  Sore, but bearable.  Her
personal inventory was interrupted by the smiling face of a young man
bending over her.  The suddenness of his appearance startled her, and she
jumped slightly, which caused fireworks to go off behind her eyes.  A
slight moan escaped her throat.
     "Sorry," the doctor said.  "I shouldn't be hovering like this.  Just
checking my handiwork."  Chris heard the scrape of a stool across the
floor as he sat down at her bedside.  He paused a minute, as if collecting
his thoughts, then smiled again.  "OK.  Lots of questions.  First, you're
in room 223 of Memorial Hospital.  I am Dr. Frankenmuth.  That's '-muth',
not '-stein'.  I'm your doctor.  Seems some maniac trying to flee mall
security with ten dollars' worth of shoplifted doodads in his possession
tried to mow you down in the prime of life."  Frankenmuth noted the fear
building in her eyes and his manner immediately changed.  "You're hurt
pretty badly, but we've put everything back where it belongs.  The worst
injury was to your head.  Your EEG shows normal, but there was some
fracturing.  We had to go in through the roof of your mouth to repair the
damage.  You'll be here a couple of weeks, but you'll make a full
recovery.  We've given you medication for the pain and to help you sleep. 
You're going to be fine.  I and a number of my colleagues will be checking
in on you from time to time, but for now, just rest."
     Chris was mildly surprised at how easy it was to follow that advice.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6938                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:04
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis II (2/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS II:  THE HOSPITAL

     The next several days were a confusing time for Chris.  She slept a
lot but was being constantly awakened for blood samples, urine samples,
stool samples.  There seemed to be an endless parade of specialists
marching past her bedside, doing their pokings and proddings.  There were
physical therapists, nurses, X-ray technicians, consultants, orderlies. 
As the major pain subsided, Chris became aware of less intrusive
discomforts.  She had been catheterized; the tube was chafing her vulva
slightly.  Great, she thought.  I've got a sore pussy for all the wrong
reasons.  The IVs were starting to irritate the veins in her arms, but the
stitches in her mouth still prevented her from eating all but the softest
foods.  She began to feel the pain along her side where the car had hit
her, but at least the fireworks had stopped in her head.
     Finally came the day when Chris got enough courage to get out of bed
and walk shakily to the full-length mirror in the bathroom.  She gasped
slightly at the bandaged, black-eyed spectre staring back at her.  Christ,
she thought, the last time I looked in a mirror I was trying on a bikini. 
Now look at me.  Well, in for a penny, in for a pound...and with that she
untied the strings of her hospital gown and let it fall to the floor.  She
was actually relieved at what she saw.  A deep blue bruise covered most of
her right hip, but it was already yellowing at the edges and beginning to
fade.  No major contusions otherwise.  She had lost those extra couple of
pounds -- nothing like not being able to eat to make one lose weight. 
When her eyes fell upon her breasts, however, they went wide.  She had
expected them to be smaller, in proportion to her weight loss.  On the
contrary, though, they seemed larger!  As she became aware of that fact,
she also became aware of a new heaviness and warmth about them.  These
can't be mine, she thought.  The nipples seemed thicker, the areolae
larger and slightly darker in color.  Faint blue veins showed beneath the
skin, which somehow seemed almost translucent.  They're beautiful, she
thought, but how...?
     Her reverie was shattered by the sound of the door opening.  Chris's
eyes closed tightly and she felt a blush starting at the base of her neck.
 There was no way she could hide herself; there was still enough pain that
quick movement wasn't a good idea.  So there she stood, before the mirror,
stark naked, clutching an IV stand with a catheter tube snaking from
between her legs, as Dr. Frankenmuth entered the room.  She felt like
dying, but Frankenmuth seemed not to take much notice of her nakedness.
     "If you can get yourself to the bathroom, you don't need that
catheter any more," he said approvingly.  "Get back up in bed, and I'll
remove it."  Chris made a move to pick up her fallen gown and winced as
her hip reminded her of its bruised condition.  Frankenmuth just smiled. 
"Believe me, I've seen every square inch of you.  If you really want it,
though..." and he moved to pick it up.
     "No, that's OK", Chris replied, her voice still thick from the
rapidly receding swelling in her mouth.  She was almost surprised at
herself.  Maybe it was the residual thrill of seeing her new body that
caused her modesty to be pushed into the background.  She shuffled over to
the bed and stiffly but ably sat up on its edge.  Frankenmuth put on
sterile gloves and retrieved the necessary equipment from a nearby
cabinet.
     "You might feel a little pressure, perhaps a wee bit of discomfort. 
I'll try to make this fast."  Frankenmuth lowered the bedside stool and
moved it close, then sat down.  Chris realized that a handsome young man
was sitting with his face inches from her naked femininity, and rather
than embarrassing her, she found the thought arousing.  This is
ridiculous, she told herself.  I'm so banged up I can hardly move, I've
got a tube up my peehole, and I'm getting horny!  It's been longer than I
thought.  She found herself going with the feeling as Frankenmuth's gloved
fingers gently spread her labia.  Chris felt the insides of her thighs
tingle with his touch and a dull but pleasant ache start in her belly. 
Deftly, smoothly, he pulled out the catheter.  By the time he was
finished, Chris's lower lips were coated with her nectar, her eyes were
half-lidded, and her nipples extended a full half-inch from her areolae. 
What's *happening* to me? she thought absently.  She glanced down at
Frankenmuth and noticed that his smile had changed subtlely.  Can he see
how turned on I am?  She got her answer mere seconds later, as
Frankenmuth's thumb shifted around to caress her clit, which was ruby red
and glistening.  Chris took a sharp, shuddering breath.  Her hips shot
forward (no pain, Chris noticed with a tiny fraction of her
consciousness), her thighs began quivering, and she came forcefully...and
voluminously.  Through the bright haze of her orgasm, Chris was amazed to
see a veritable fountain of fluid gush from her pussy, cover the doctor's
hand, and splash across the front of his white coat.  Frankenmuth uttered
a wordless sound of surprise and scooted the stool back several feet. 
Chris was shocked right out of what arguably had been the most intense
orgasm of her life.
     "Oh, my God, Doctor, I...."  Words suddenly failed her as she clamped
her legs tightly together.
     "No, it's OK, really," Frankenmuth said as he looked down at the
stain on his coat.  "I'd heard of female ejaculation, of course, but I
have to tell you, that's the damndest thing I ever saw."
     "You don't understand, Doctor.  I don't do this.  This has never
happened to me before.  I'm...I'm actually a little bit frightened." 
Chris gathered the bedsheets tightly around her, uncaring that a good
portion of them was soaking wet.
     For someone who had just provided a patient with an incredible
orgasm, Frankenmuth was 
quickly able to don his professional demeanor.  "Don't be," he said
reassuringly.  "Maybe we can find out what's going on.  Do you always
achieve orgasm so quickly?"
     "No.  I often don't come at all.  When I do, it usually takes a
while.  And I *never* get this wet.  Doctor, there have been other things,
too."  She told him about the change she had noticed in her breasts.
     Frankenmuth rubbed his chin.  "You know, I think I'm going to have an
endocrinologist look at you.  There's a chance the bump you took to the
head has provided you with some fringe benefits."  He stood up and turned
to leave, then realized what he must look like.  He removed his gloves,
took off his coat, rolled it up under his arm, and smiled again.  This
time there was a definite twinkle in his eye as he left the room.
     Chris sat in her bed, still not quite able to fathom what had
happened.  Not even ten minutes had passed since she dared looked at
herself in the doorway mirror, and in that unbelievably short time she had
had a sexual epiphany unlike anything she had ever experienced.  I don't
know what's going on, she thought, but I think I like it.  I wonder what
other surprises are on the horizon.  Wicked thoughts began playing through
her mind as she put her hospital gown back on and rang for the nurse.  She
was going to need fresh sheets.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6939                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:04
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis III (3/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS III:  THE ENDOCRINOLOGIST

     Chris sat in the endocrinologist's office, watching impatiently as
Dr. Ellis ("call me Sheila", she had said) pored over an imposing-looking
stack of laboratory results.  In the two weeks since she'd left the
hospital, she'd visited this office three times, each time giving up what
she thought was an inordinate amount of blood for tests and submitting to
microscopic goings-over of her ever-changing body.  At those times Chris
had thought that Dr. Frankenmuth had had a gentler touch -- or maybe that
was because Frankenmuth had been a man.
     Chris thought back over those last two weeks.  She remembered getting
dressed the day of her discharge from the hospital.  It was her first time
in street clothes in almost a month.  The outfit she had worn the day of
the accident was a total loss, of course, but her neighbor Sherri had
brought her outfits from Chris's apartment.  Chris had tried to put on her
undergarments, and laughed out loud at the result.  She was still thin
from the weight loss she'd experienced, so the panties were loose on her,
but the bra was ridiculously small.  She'd even checked the tag on it: 
sure enough, 34B.  Her breasts had swollen to 36C by that time.  She had
had to forgo the bra for the trip home.  She hadn't done that in some
tIme, and reveled in the feel of the fabric of her blouse teasing her
nipples as she moved.  By the time she'd gotten home, they were so hard
and sensitive they ached, and she was sure she'd have to change those
too-big panties.
     That first day home had been a one-woman orgy.  Consumed with
curiosity as to whether her gushing orgasm at the hands of Dr. Frankenmuth
had been just a fluke, Chris couldn't wait to attain the privacy of her
own apartment before seeing for herself.  She'd thought about it in the
hospital but was afraid someone coming for yet another blood sample would
catch her in the act.  She hadn't even unpacked her valise before dashing
into the bedroom, stripping off her clothes, and going straight for her
nightstand, where sure enough, the vibrator was just where she had left
it.  It was one of those G-spot vibrators with the bent tip, designed to
hit that magic place within the vagina.  She remembered that it had felt
better than a standard bullet-shaped model, but she'd never achieved
anything with it like the tsunami that had happened in her hospital room. 
Maybe that would change.
     She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.  She felt the warmth and
weight of her breasts as they pressed against her rib cage.  They didn't
spread out much, not as much as they used to.  Not only were they getting
bigger, they were getting firmer, too.  She brushed her fingertips against
her nipples, which were now a full three-quarters of an inch long and as
big around as her little finger.  A pins-and-needles feeling spread from
the tips of each breast, down her tummy to her cunt.  On impulse, she
pinched both nipples between thumbs and forefingers and tugged.  The
tingles intensified, and she could feel herself getting wet.  She began
stroking, kneading, squeezing her breasts.  She was amazed at the feeling
-- the flesh didn't feel like what she was used to, and that was
incredibly exciting for her.  She returned to massaging her nipples,
tracing slow circles around the wine-red areolae (they'd continued to
darken during her stay in the hospital).  She could feel her hips
beginning to rise and fall of their own accord, so she clamped her legs
tightly together to intensify the slow burn that was beginning in her
clit.  She pulled her nipples so hard that her breasts rose from their
resting place, and that put her over the edge.  A wave of ecstasy rolled
across her body, and sure enough, the floodgates opened.  Her legs were
pressed so tightly together that her juice sprayed forcefully straight
into the air and down into the mattress.  She opened her eyes to find
everything below her navel dripping wet.  Oddly enough, her fingers were
wet, too.  She looked down at her breasts and was mildly shocked to find a
yellowish fluid seeping slowly from her still-hard nipples.  Her joy
overcame her shock, though.  She had just brought herself off without even
having touched her clit.  That was *really* unusual for her, and that
first squirting orgasm hadn't been a fluke after all.  Somehow she was now
able to ejaculate.  Chris remembered having seen a porn film featuring an
actress named Fallon who shot juice from her pussy, and remembered how
she'd been convinced she was only peeing.  Now she knew better.  
     The session hadn't ended there, though.  The vibrator had yet to be
touched.  Chris turned it on and guided it slowly along her waist and
across the insides of her thighs, feeling the vibrations merge with the
trembling of her muscles.  She reached her clit and pressed the head of
the vibrator just above the hood.  Suddenly she felt an overpowering urge
to have that thing inside her.  She flung her legs wide and with a single
motion buried it to the hilt in her sopping wet snatch.  The bent tip was
facing forward, and Chris felt it nudge a swollen area of tissue deep
within her vagina.  She came immediately, and more forcefully than before.
 She felt hot liquid splash along her calves as she rode the crest of the
wave.  When she came down, she saw that the fluid from her distended
nipples had formed rivulets that coursed down into her armpits, and her
bedclothes were wet all the way to the foot of her bed.  Lost in the
wonder of the fantastic and as yet unexplained changes that had happened
to her body, Chris masturbated for hours that day, eventually losing count
of her orgasms, each of which produced liquid both above and below, but in
ever-decreasing amounts until she was finally spent.  And very thirsty.
     Those two weeks had brought on numerous repeats of this activity. 
Chris was completely taken up in reveling in this new body of hers, which
had continued to change.  She became more svelte; her skin, loosened by
the weight loss, tightened around a tummy that was now washboard flat. 
Her hips became more defined.  Her bush had proliferated considerably, to
the point where Chris decided to shave it completely off.  *That* had been
quite an experience; she barely had kept from nicking herself with her
shaking hands.  The sight of her bald beaver had so excited her that she'd
had three orgasms in rapid succession from only the slightest of
manipulations.  By then she had learned to put a plastic drop cloth on the
bed.  Her breasts continued to change.  They now leaked this same
yellowish fluid more often, not just at orgasm.  They also continued to
grow and get firmer.  Chris had had to make two trips to the store for
bras as she continued to outgrow them.  She finally seemed to level off at
38D, but she was having to use the last set of hooks and even those cups
seemed a trifle confining.
     Her thoughts returned to the present, for Sheila had completed her
examination of the lab results and was looking up at her.  

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6940                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:05
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis IV (4/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS IV:  THE BEGINNING

     "This has been a truly fascinating case for me," Dr. Sheila Ellis
said in genuine awe as she regarded Christine across her desk.  "We both
know you've never had a child, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear your
blood chemistry was that of a postpartum woman."  With the enthusiasm of a
new med student, she launched into a long speech punctuated by phrases
like "This is going to make one hell of a paper."  Chris heard words like
prolactin, alpha-lactalbumin, progesterone, hypothalamus, lactogenesis,
oxytocin.  "Your body has been fooled into thinking it has to feed a
baby," Sheila said.  Chris was beginning to grow impatient.  She had heard
plenty of *how*, and now she demanded to know *why*.
     "As near as we can figure, something happened to your pituitary gland
as a result of the accident.  Part of the surgery you had was in that area
of your skull, and although the pituitary is buried pretty deep, it's
possible that a piece of bone or other trauma has disturbed the
neurochemical connections between your pituitary and the rest of your
body.  The hormones the pituitary produces have been going crazy, and
they've been what's triggered the changes in you.  Increases in breast
size and vascularization, pigment changes in the nipples and areolae,
discharge of colostrum -- that yellowish fluid that leaks from your
breasts -- elevated serum prolactin...all of these are consistent with
stage I lactogenesis.  Your breasts have undergone a tremendous
proliferation of secretory alveoli, lactiferous tubules, and myoepithelial
cells...."
      Yeah, yeah, it's all Greek to me, Chris thought.  I sure wish she'd
stop with the technobabble.  She started fidgeting in her chair.  She was
becoming rather uncomfortable.  She had noticed a slight ache in her
breasts when she arrived at Sheila's office, and it had been steadily
growing worse.  Now she was beginning to feel real pain, her breasts felt
even larger than ever (if that was possible), and she began to feel like
she might burst the confines of her bra.  This was new; it was also very
disconcerting.
     Sheila was in the middle of explaining how Chris's hormonal changes
had also triggered a proliferation of cell growth in her Grafenberg Spot,
which in turn was responsible for her ejaculations, when she noticed Chris
scrunching her shoulders together and wincing slightly.  "What's wrong?"
she asked.
     "I'm not sure.  My breasts really hurt all of a sudden."
     "Let's take a look."
     Chris hurriedly removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra.  Her
breasts sprang free from their confinement but barely sagged at all upon
removal of their support.  They looked absolutely huge to her -- could I
really have once been a 34B? she thought absently.  The skin was stretched
taut, and the veins beneath glowed purplish blue.  The areolae looked
puffy and had small patches of dried colostrum on them.  Her nipples, now
exposed to the cool air of the office, sprang to life.  Her boobs felt
heavy and hot, and they *hurt*.
     Sheila came around her desk and lightly ran one hand around the side
of one breast.  She felt the heat, saw the distention, and knew
immediately what was happening.  "You're engorged, my dear.  Your milk has
come in."  Chris wasn't surprised to hear it; she felt full.  All she
wanted now was to be emptied.  Despite the pain, she felt a familiar
stirring in her crotch.  It had been fun watching the colostrum leak from
her breasts during her sexplay, but now she was going to be able to gush
liquid from her nipples, just as she had been doing from her pussy.  I'm
going to be a damn human fountain, she thought.  She looked up at Sheila,
who was still staring, almost transfixed, at her chest.  After a few
seconds Sheila looked up into Chris's eyes and saw an unspoken question,
"What now?"
     Sheila turned back to her desk and picked up an empty coffee cup.  "I
don't have a breast pump in the office; you'll have to pick one up on the
way home.  We can express some of that milk, enough to relieve the
engorgement.  Here."  She handed Chris the cup.  Chris leaned forward
slightly, placed the lip of the cup under one swollen nipple, and
squeezed.  Nothing happened.  She tried again with the other breast --
same result.  Jeez, she thought, you'd think I'd be spewing milk by now.
     Sheila watched her for a few seconds, then blinked and said, "I'm
sorry.  I forgot you'd have no idea how to do this.  Let me show you. 
It's easier if..." and she walked behind Chris's chair.  Sheila reached
down past Chris's shoulders and cupped her right breast.  Her hand was too
small to hold all of it.  She moved her hand forward slightly until her
thumb and fingers bracketed Chris's half-dollar-sized areola.  Chris
closed her eyes and involuntarily tipped her head back slightly.  Sheila's
cool hand on her hot breast felt good.  "Now hold the cup up," Sheila
said, and with that pushed her thumb and first two fingers back toward
Chris's chest wall while simultaneously rolling the areola forward.  She
was rewarded by a few drops of pale bluish-white liquid dripping from
Chris's diamond-hard nipple.  Sheila repeated the motion, and this time
the drops became a weak stream.  Again, and this time two streams emerged.
 Chris was getting caught up in the feeling of Sheila's hand on her.  The
milking motions she was applying were very much like the nipple-tugging
she liked to do while masturbating.  Through barely open lips she
murmured, "Something's happening."  And it was.  Through the heat and
heaviness of her breasts, Chris could feel a new kind of warmth, a sort of
pleasant burning sensation that started up high, near her ribs, and spread
downward toward her nipples in an ever-intensifying swell.  Within seconds
it felt like she was going to explode.  Her lips formed an "O", and she
exhaled in a soft, long moan.
     At that moment, Chris's breasts erupted.  At least a half dozen
needle-thin streams of hot milk sprayed from each throbbing nipple, arcing
several feet into the air and splashing across Sheila's desk.  Sheila
immediately snatched her hand back from Chris's breast, but the torrent
continued unabated.  Chris, completely transported by the ecstatic feeling
of sudden release, unconsciously moved her hands up to her streaming
breasts, grabbed them, and began imitating Sheila's milking motions.  The
sprays of milk were doubly renewed; seeming gallons shot forth.  Sheila
valiantly tried to catch as much as she could in the cup, but wasn't very
successful.  Finally she simply stood back and stared in wonder at the
spectacle before her.  Chris squirted and moaned, squirted and moaned for
what seemed to her to be several minutes until finally the intense
pressure abated and she was able to regain control of herself.  Had she
come?  She was so hazy from the intensity and newness of the experience
that she wasn't sure.  When she finally opened her eyes and sat up, she
gasped.  Puddles of milk were seemingly everywhere.  Sheila was wiping off
the folder containing Chris's lab results, shaking her head in disbelief. 
"That was the most astounding letdown reflex I have ever seen.  You must
have shot ten feet."  The good doctor was obviously beside herself.  Was
she breathing a little heavily? Chris wondered as she fumbled with her
bra.  Sheila smoothed the front of her white coat (which had some small
wet spots on it), chuckled slightly, and said, "I think you've gone past
stage II and are in full lactation."  No shit, Chris thought wryly.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6941                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:05
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis V (5/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS V:  THE DECISION

     Dr. Ellis took a Kleenex, wiped off her chair, muttered something
about how long this was going to take to clean up, sat down, folded her
hands, and looked serious.  "We need to discuss how you want to handle
this," she said.
     Christine didn't like the tone in her voice, and instantly her brain
kicked into overdrive.  She's right, she thought.  What am I going to do
about this?  Am I going to be making a mess everywhere I go, spewing milk
like a Guernsey cow?  What if I'm traveling, or on a date, or in a store,
and I...what was the term Sheila used?..."let down" like that?  Am I going
to be engorged all the time?  Am I going to have to wear those ugly
nursing bras?  Am I always going to be washing milk stains out of my
blouse?  What are *guys* going to think about this?
     At the same time, another part of her was almost panicked.  Ellis is
going to suggest something like surgery again to correct this, or hormone
therapy.  She remembered a friend of hers who had undergone hormone
therapy to treat endometriosis.  The drugs had completely changed her
personality, transforming her from a pleasant, ordinary type to a weepy,
bitchy bundle of nerves.  Chris shuddered at the prospect of becoming like
that.  Her body was screwed up enough now; she didn't want Sheila or
anybody else compounding the problem.  And did she really want to go back
to her old body?  No doubt when the milk dried up, her breasts would
return to their previous 34B, maybe even less.  They'd probably droop and
be covered with stretch marks.  The calories that were going into making
milk now would redeposit themselves on her hips, and she would once again
be a slave to her Stairmaster.  Hospital nurseries needed mother's milk;
perhaps she could donate hers.  Lastly, dammit, she realized, she liked
it!  *Really* liked it!  Since her transformation began, her degree of
sexual fulfillment had been orders of magnitude greater than anything she
had previously experienced -- and she smiled inwardly when she realized
that this was in spite of the fact that she hadn't gotten laid in months. 
Her orgasms were more intense, frequent, and yes, even multiple now.  She
was beginning to open up to herself sexually, too -- would she have shaved
her pussy on a whim a year ago?  She thought not.  Being able to give milk
and to squirt at orgasm somehow made her feel like she had attained a new
level of physical and sexual development -- almost as if she had been in
"standby" mode all these years and only now was becoming a fully
functional sexual being.  After all, weren't tits *designed* to have milk?
 All the gushing, squirting, and spraying was an exquisite form of release
for her -- it felt so much more *thorough* than what she had experienced
before.  She also liked her profile in the mirror; she liked the feel of
her big new breasts, new baby-smooth mons, newly talented pussy.  She was
sure that most guys would kill for a night with a woman who could do the
things Chris could now do.  Besides, hadn't she read somewhere that
lactating tits were less likely to develop breast cancer than the regular
models?  The decision was quickly made:  Chris would keep lactating as
long as her extraordinary pituitary and mammary glands would let her.
     What Sheila said next made Chris wonder if she could read minds.  "I
hesitate to recommend doing anything invasive at this stage," she said. 
"It's possible that the pituitary is damaged somehow -- we could do a MRI
scan to see for sure -- but surgery in that area is a tricky prospect, and
there's a good chance we could do more harm than good."  Sheila paused for
a few seconds, then continued.  "Obstetricians have been giving 'dry-up'
drugs like bromocryptine to postpartum women who didn't want to breastfeed
for decades, but some new studies indicate that they can be very harmful,
and the FDA just recently banned their use for that purpose.  That leaves
us with a third option of doing nothing.  Normally, if a lactating woman
does not drain the milk she produces, the pressure produces a feedback
mechanism that signals the machinery to shut down, and she dries up within
a few days.  It's an uncomfortable few days during which there's a lot of
engorgement.  Some women even develop a mild fever.  We could try that if
you want, but frankly, the way your hormones are raging, I doubt the
feedback mechanism would work.  You'd just be miserable.  Let me ask you
this:  does the prospect of producing a lot of milk for the foreseeable
future bother you?"  Chris pretended to mull it over for a while, then
shook her head no.  Sheila went on.  "In that case, I can put you in touch
with the local milk bank regarding donations if you'd like to do that. 
I've already mentioned a breast pump; that will become one of your closest
companions, I'm afraid," she added.  Yeah, right up there with my G-spot
vibrator, Chris thought with amusement.  "I can also give you the number
of the local La Leche League chapter; they can give you a lot of tips as
to the daily care and feeding -- pardon the pun -- of those lovely breasts
of yours."  She handed Chris a slip of paper.  "I want to see you
regularly over these next weeks and months.  I'll be honest with you.  You
would make a terrific research project in lactation without pregnancy. 
You are definitely a rare find.  Would you consider helping out in that
regard?"  Chris was mildly surprised but answered yes.  "Great," Sheila
replied happily.  "Call me if you have problems, otherwise, I'll see you
in...two weeks," she said, glancing briefly at her calendar.  "Goodbye
now."  Sheila briskly walked over to a paper towel dispenser, pulled out
several, and began mopping up the puddles of milk Chris had deposited on
her desk.
     Chris mumbled some thanks and stood up to leave, somewhat perplexed
by the suddenness of her dismissal.  She thought she had seen a twinkle in
Sheila's eye similar to Frankenmuth's when he had witnessed her sexual
uniqueness.  For a split second she had imagined that there was more than
just a professional interest there, but evidently she was wrong.  Chris
had never been with another woman before, but with everything that had
happened, it seemed nothing was outside the realm of possibility now.  She
thought it might be interesting, and Dr. Ellis was actually fairly
attractive.  She shook her head slightly as if to drive the thought out. 
Boy, do *you* need to get your ashes hauled, she thought.
     As she started to walk to the door, she felt a trickle of fluid run
down the inside of both thighs.  Her panties were absolutely glued to her.
 I guess I must have come after all, she thought.  Thank God I wore a
skirt today.  She stole a glance at the chair she had been sitting on. 
Sure enough, there was a puddle there, too, and it certainly wasn't milk. 
As she looked up again, she caught Sheila dipping a finger into some of
the milk on the desk, putting the finger in her mouth, and smiling
blissfully.  Just then she caught Chris's eye and turned away as if
embarrassed.  Chris smiled and left the office.  I am going to have *fun*,
she thought as she approached her car.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6942                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:06
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis VI (6/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS VI:  THE ADJUSTMENT

    Christine came through the doorway of her apartment, loaded down with
grocery bags.  She went straight to the refrigerator, opened the freezer
compartment, and began loading pints of Ben & Jerry's into it.  Four
different flavors this time.  Blast those guys for inventing this stuff,
she thought.  It's more addictive than cocaine.  She smiled as she
remembered all the hours she had had to spend on the Stairmaster as a
result of her addiction.  She still used the machine fairly often; she
still enjoyed the endorphin rush from it, but at least now she didn't
*have* to use it.  One of the fringe benefits of her new ability to
lactate was that she could easily turn all those sinful calories back into
milk instead of wearing them as fat.  In fact, Dr. Sheila had recommended
that she increase her calorie intake substantially to compensate for the
increased activity of her mammary glands.
     In the weeks since the day when Chris accidentally soaked down the
desk in Sheila's office with her first blasts of milk, that activity had
increased considerably.  She had found out early that the more often her
breasts were drained, the more milk she produced.  She had had to graduate
from the small battery-powered breast pump she had bought at the drug
store that first day to a plug-in model that could do both breasts at once
that she rented from a medical supply house.  The local milk bank had a
standing order with her; she had become their most prolific donor.  On a
good day she could deliver close to two liters of fresh milk to them on
her way to work each morning.
     She didn't mind the work involved in expressing all this milk; in
fact, the breast pump had replaced the vibrator as her main source of
masturbatory assistance.  She couldn't get enough of the rhythmic pulsing
of the suck-release-suck-release cycle of the big pump, and the wonderful,
warm, tingling sensation of the milk letting down would always set up a
similar feeling in her crotch.  She was grateful that her nipples had not
become tender and sore as a result of all the stimulation.  On the
contrary, they had become her primary erogenous zones, sending electric
shock-like sensations through her even in such non-erotic situations as
being in the frozen food section of the grocery store and having the cold
air from the freezers bring on the inevitable response from "nature's
thermometers".  She was coming so much these days from the thrice-daily
act of relieving the pressure behind her nipples that she had taken to
wearing maxi-pads most of the time to soak up the gush of fluid that
accompanied each orgasm.  She had little other use for them, as she had
stopped menstruating -- Sheila had told her that was not unusual in an
actively lactating woman.  Between her breasts and her vagina, Christine
amusedly likened herself to the goddess statues on the big fountain in the
park, who constantly spewed water from practically every orifice.
     Now that having milk had become such a big part of her life, Chris
decided to become an expert on the subject.  In these last weeks, she had
spent a lot of time in the local college's medical library, reading every
treatise on lactation she could lay her hands on.  She found out about the
close relationship between milk production and emotional state:  women who
had a positive attitude about lactation produced more milk.  No problem
there, Chris thought.  It's getting so I can't remember what my body was
like before the accident.  Conversely, she read that the flow of milk can
be stopped completely by relatively simple distractions.  Mind over
matter, she thought, and was intrigued.  Armed with this new information
and some stress control exercises she remembered from the treatment she'd
received for a bout of depression some years before, Chris embarked on a
program whereby she was eventually able to completely control her milk
production by force of will.  By clearing her mind and concentrating on
her wondrous mammaries, Chris was able to summon up that familiar pleasant
burning sensation that always signaled letdown at a moment's notice. 
Without even touching herself, she could, if she so desired, shoot her
milk several feet.  On the same hand, if she knew she was going to be in a
situation in which she could not easily drain herself, she could
consciously halt her milk production at a state of pleasant fullness until
such time as she could be alone.  Sheila had called it the most remarkable
case of conscious control she had ever seen.  Contrary to what Chris had
read, occasionally halting the flow of milk from her breasts did not cause
a diminution of the supply.  She had even taken to occasionally sampling
some of her own milk and had found it sweet and really quite tasty,
without worrying about depriving the orphans for whom her donations to the
milk bank were intended.
     Chris had, in short, become master over this wonderful new ability of
hers.  Gone were the painful episodes of engorgement when she felt her
breasts might explode from the pressure.  Gone were the hideously ugly
maternity bras stuffed with always-wet nursing pads.  She was able to wear
sexy lingerie again (and now that her bust had leveled off at 40DD, she
looked absolutely devastating in it) and with the extra firmness imparted
to her breasts, she often went without any underwear with no fear of a
sudden letdown causing embarrassing circles of moisture to form on her
blouses.  Despite their enormous size, Chris's breasts stuck almost
straight out from her chest, resisting gravity in a most aesthetic way. 
Sheila had said that somehow the supporting ligaments and musculature had
proliferated right along with the extra glandular tissue -- another side
effect of the hormonal treasure trove caused by the head injury.  The
hormones had also imparted a new lustre and smoothness to her skin, and
with the veins barely visible under the taut skin of her bosom, Chris now
looked almost as if she had been carved from fine Italian marble.
     Chris was a very lucky woman.  Instead of her run-in with a reckless
driver rendering her a twisted lump of broken flesh, it had sculpted her
into a heartbreakingly beautiful definition of pulchritude.  So why hadn't
she had so much as a date, let alone a sexual liaison, since the accident?
 Surely the guys at work had noticed the change in her figure.  She'd
gained six inches along her bustline; such a thing does not go unnoticed! 
She'd felt the eyes on her in stores, on the street...was it that her
incredible new figure was actually intimidating men?  Did they think she
had been artificially enhanced?  What was the deal here?
     Chris was thinking just such thoughts as she sat alone at her kitchen
table, with an open pint of Cherry Garcia in front of her, when she heard
her doorbell ring.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6943                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:06
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis VII (7/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS VII:  THE NEIGHBOR

     Christine quickly replaced the ice cream in the freezer, and hurried
to the door.  As she peered through the peephole, she felt a pang of
embarrassment.  Standing in the hallway was her neighbor Sherri, who had
taken care of Chris's apartment while she was in the hospital.  Chris's
embarrassment stemmed from the fact that in the weeks since she'd been
home, she had not once visited Sherri to thank her for the work she had
done to keep the place up and for generally being the kind of neighbor
most people wished they had.  Her mind raced as she tried to think of a
proper apology.  It was several seconds before she realized she hadn't
opened the door yet.
     As the door swung open, Sherri held up a set of keys, which she
jingled.  "Just returning these," she said.  "Sorry I've taken so long to
get them back to you."
     "Oh, Sherri, it's me who should apologize.  Please, come in."
     Chris stood aside to admit her neighbor, stammering out poorly chosen
words of apology as she did so.  "I'm really sorry I haven't been by to
see you.  I've been meaning to thank you for helping out while I was hurt.
 The place really looked great, and I appreciate..."
      Sherri simply waved one hand.  "Listen, glad to do it.  If I were
laid up like you were, with no family around to help out, I know I'd want
to have somebody keeping an eye on my place while I was gone.  I just
wanted to drop by to see how you were doing.  You look...er...you
look...uh, great."  Chris suddenly realized that Sherri's gaze was riveted
on her breasts.  Chris had chosen a body suit and jeans that morning; the
skin-tight outfit accentuated her outrageous figure more than usual.  Of
course, Chris thought, she hasn't seen me for a while.  God, I'll bet I
really look different to her.  Sherri, at 5'2", was a full five inches
shorter than Chris, which made her staring at Chris's bosom all the more
comical, like someone who had been hypnotized.  Chris felt the awkwardness
level in the room growing, so she decided to use a little levity.  She
passed one hand rapidly in front of Sherri's face, playfully shouting,
"Hello?  Hello?"  Her breasts jiggled slightly as she did so.
     Sherri shook her head slightly, tossing a mane of thick,
reddish-orange hair.  She blinked a pair of huge, gray-green, long-lashed
eyes and then immediately covered them with her hand.  "Jesus, I'm sorry,"
she said softly.  "I can't believe I did that.  It's just that you're
so...so *different*..."
     "Hey, no problem.  Look, I had to do *something* to compete with you.
 I couldn't let you get *all* the stares."  They both laughed, and the
tension in the room was broken.  Chris hadn't exaggerated.  Although
Sherri was pushing 40, there was nothing in her smooth, lightly freckled
face to betray her age.  Her slight frame had thickened slightly over the
years, but she still had a drop-dead hourglass shape and a chest that
turned heads.  In fact, Chris had had to borrow some tops from Sherri
while she had retooled her wardrobe to her new dimensions.  They had fit
quite well.  As she motioned for Sherri to be seated, Chris could see the
questions in Sherri's eyes, and decided to save her further embarrassment
by beating her to the punch.
     "Little fringe benefit from the accident," she said simply.  "They
tell me my pituitary gland got kicked into overdrive.  I had no idea that
little thing could cause all this.  If I'd've known this would happen,
I'd've jumped in front of a bus years ago."
     "Well, from the looks of things, maybe you'd better give me that
guy's license number."  More laughter.  "Seriously, I can't get over
what's happened to you.  You look, well, fantastic!  I gather you didn't
have to take in any of the clothes I lent you.  Even looks like you might
have me by an inch or two.  Who'd've thought I'd have the *second* biggest
set in the building?"  It was true.  Until now, there had never been a
problem getting Sherri's underwear mixed up with anyone else's in the
laundry room.  Anything with a tag that said "38D" had to be Sherri's. 
Chris smiled.  She had always admired Sherri's slightly earthy,
no-bullshit personality.  Sherri was clearly envious of Chris's new
bustline, and was making no bones about it.
    "Speaking of clothes, before I forget, I want to give you those back,"
Chris said, as she rose and quickly strode toward her bedroom closet.  She
quickly returned with a small handful of hangers from which hung several
blouses.  "I meant to get them to you earlier, but I had to send a couple
out to get some milk stains removed.  They did a good job; you can't even
tell..."  She stopped herself.  She hadn't meant to say "milk".  The
stains had happened before Chris had gotten conscious control over her
ability to lactate.  She'd gotten so used to having milk that she hadn't
thought about how other people would react.  Had she said too much
already?
    "That's OK.  I thought you didn't like to drink..."  Sherri stopped in
mid-sentence.  Her pale features became even paler and her big eyes
widened to almost cartoon-character size.  "You don't mean...you don't
mean those actually *work*?"  The way Sherri put that, Chris couldn't help
herself.  A quick, nervous spasm of laughter escaped her lips.
     She recovered quickly.  "Yeah.  They sure do.  Pretty wild, huh?"
     Sherri was glancing around the floor, trying to find a place to fix
her gaze.  Her eyes were still wide as she said, "Well, that explains
those funny rhythmical noises I've been hearing from in here.  You're
using a pump, aren't you?"
     Chris cursed inwardly.  The walls in this building are thinner than I
thought, she said to herself.  Maybe I'll have to do that in the kitchen
from now on.  She looked up at Sherri, trying to think of something witty
to say.  Suddenly she noticed how Sherri's demeanor had changed.  Her
hands were clasping and unclasping in her lap; she seemed to be fidgeting;
her eyes were darting everywhere; and she actually looked a little
flushed.  It didn't quite look like embarrassment -- it looked like...My
God, Chris thought.  She looks like she's *excited*!  I'd best tread
softly here...
     "Are you all right?  Should we change the subject?"
     "Oh, no!  No!"  Sherri burst out.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said
anything.  It's just that..."  She glanced down, afraid to meet Chris's
eyes.  "It's just that, I've always wanted to be able to do that.  It's
been a long-standing fantasy of mine.  I've always been proud of these
boobs of mine, and men have always appreciated them.  I've just been
wanting to give them, and myself, more..."  She looked up.  "Oh, boy, I've
said too much.  I'd better go..."  She stood up quickly.
     "No, wait.  Sit down, hon,"  Chris said soothingly.  "I'm not
offended.  Frankly, I'm intrigued, and flattered that you'd want to
confide in me like that.  You know, I haven't really talked to anybody
about this except my doctor, and she's so *clinical* about it.  Stay. 
Let's talk.  I'd like to get this off my chest."
     She realized the double entendre just as Sherri did.  The two friends
stared at each other for a few shocked moments, then dissolved in helpless
laughter.  Chris knew in that moment she had found a confidante, someone
she could tell anything to.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6944                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:06
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis VIII (8/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS VIII:  THE SECRET REVEALED

     Christine and Sherri laughed for a long time over Chris's "get it off
my chest" line.  As the laughter began to die down, Chris impulsively
reached out and hugged Sherri to her.  She immediately felt the unfamiliar
but pleasant sensation of another woman's body against hers.  It was the
first time Chris had had close physical contact with another person since
her body had changed.  Sherri had gone up on tip-toe, and Chris became
acutely aware of her breasts pressing against her own.  Seventy-eight
combined inches of mammary tissue squashed together, creating a huge soft
cushion any man would have been more than happy to suffocate in.  Chris
found herself holding the embrace longer than she thought she would have. 
It felt soft and safe in Sherri's arms.
     It was Sherri who broke it off.  "Oh, I shouldn't have squeezed so
hard, but I haven't laughed like that in weeks.  Did I hurt you?"
     "No, don't be silly," Chris replied.  "They're full, but it's not
like they're going to pop or anything."
     Sherri sat down again abruptly.  "Oh, Chris.  Tell me what it's like.
 Is it uncomfortable?  Do you like it?  Is it inconvenient for you?  Does
it make you feel sexier?"  A flood of questions followed, and Chris
answered as best she could, when she could get a word in edgewise.  She
decided to be honest, and not hold anything back.  She told Sherri about
the incident in Sheila's office, about how much she enjoyed using the
pump, even about how the letdown sensation always enhanced her orgasms and
how she was now able to ejaculate.  She found herself going into
painstaking detail.  She also discovered that relating these experiences
was proving to be extremely arousing for her.  She was reliving her sexual
awakening.  The memories of how she had received the new sensations her
body had provided were actually reviving those sensations.  She couldn't
help noticing Sherri's reactions, either.  As Chris went on, Sherri
occasionally would reach up a hand to absently stroke a breast, or she
would rub her thighs together gently.  The look on her face was one which
a man marooned in a desert would have when his eyes beheld a drinking
fountain.  Finally, as Chris was describing a particularly intense orgasm
she had had in the shower, when the blasts of water, vaginal juice, and
breast milk had combined just before disappearing down the drain, Sherri
could contain herself no longer.
     "Please, show me."  She was almost begging.  "I must see what it's
like.  Show me, please, Chris."
     Chris was so turned on by her own narrative that Sherri's request
actually sounded reasonable.  Her excitement had cranked up her hormone
levels, and her breasts were in need of relief.  Why not, then?  Without a
word, Chris stood and walked to the kitchen cupboard, from which she
produced a large drinking glass.  She walked back over to the sofa, put
the glass on the coffee table, and began unbuttoning the top of her
bodysuit.  She pulled the stretchy fabric down over her shoulders and
allowed it to bunch at her waist, revealing a lacy, sheer, half-cup bra
that seemed to only barely hold its contents.  Chris unfastened the front
clasp and the cups swung to the sides like the gates of heaven.  She
thought she heard Sherri gasp as her bosom came into full view.
     "Oh, Chris, they're beautiful."  Sherri suddenly leaned forward to
touch her neighbor's swollen breasts.  Gently, almost with a feather
touch, Sherri's hand traced the smooth curves, brushed the extended
nipples with butterfly-wing tenderness.  Chris found herself moaning
softly, captivated by the softness of Sherri's touch and how totally
electrifying it was.  She felt a hard coolness in one hand and opened her
eyes to find that Sherri had pressed the glass into it.  She looked up and
met Sherri's eyes, which wordlessly were pleading Do it, do it.
     Chris placed the rim of the glass along the lower margin of her left
areola.  With her left hand she pressed in and down, and was immediately
rewarded with a gush of milk.  The thin fluid streamed freely, pulsing
anew with each press from Chris's fingers.  The glass began filling
quickly.  Sherri sat transfixed, her eyes never blinking.  Her hands were
busy however; one rubbing a tit while the other was buried between her
legs, fluttering like a wounded bird against the fabric covering her
pussy.
     Through the buzzing of pleasure in her head, Chris felt the
now-unequal pressure on her chest, and almost unconsciously switched
breasts.  Now her right breast sprayed hard and long into the glass, while
a thin dribble continued from her left breast, dripping onto her thigh. 
Chris knew that if she continued, the glass would soon overflow, so she
started the mental exercise that would slow the flow without taking away
the pleasure.  As the bluish-white jets from her turgid nipple became slow
droplets, Chris felt Sherri grab the glass away.
     Sherri was like a woman obsessed.  "I *have* to taste this.  I simply
must..."  Her words were cut short as she thirstily slurped at the
contents of the glass.  Without taking the glass away, she began
murmuring, "Oh, God, it's so sweet and warm.  I had no idea how good..." 
Her voice sounded strangely hollow as she spoke through the bottom of the
glass.  Abruptly she stopped drinking, lowered the glass, and stared at
Chris with a look that practically screamed "please".  Somehow, Chris knew
what Sherri wanted, and somehow, she welcomed the idea.  Sherri quickly
dropped to her knees next to Chris, leaned forward, and fastened her lips
to Chris's dripping nipple.
     Chris inhaled sharply at this new sensation.  This was not some
inanimate plastic cup applying a suction like the vacuum of space itself,
this was a live, warm, human being.  Her body reacted intensely to the
feel of skin on skin, a feeling it hadn't experienced for months, and
never in this incarnation.  Sherri sucked like a starving woman, and
Chris's breast responded in kind.  Sherri's breathing became erratic as
she tried to handle a flow so strong that she could barely swallow fast
enough.  Her right hand went up to fondle Chris's free breast, and for a
moment Chris lost her mental hold, allowing fresh milk to cascade over
Sherri's kneading fingers and down her arm.  Sherri's left hand was firmly
entrenched in her crotch, her fingers a blur as she masturbated right
through her clothing.  As she neared orgasm, Sherri's mouth lost its grip
on Chris's nipple.  Milk still blasted forth, hitting the back of Sherri's
throat as she opened her mouth wide to scream forth her pleasure.  Her
orgasmic yell became a choking cough as the milk went down the wrong pipe,
but Chris was too far into her own orgasm to hear it.  She felt the
maxi-pad between her legs swell with the liquid being poured into it, and
the extra pressure that created heightened the sensation even more.  Her
body was actually trembling as she reached for a tissue to dab some errant
drops of milk from her pulsing nipples.  The maxi-pad had reached its
limit, and a dark spot was forming on her jeans.  Sherri's outfit fared
little better.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6945                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:06
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis IX (9/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS IX:  THE FAVOR

     Sherri coughed a few more times, then straightened up, her eyes
watering.  She accepted tissues, which she used to wipe off her mouth,
throat, and hands.  "Christ almighty, that was unbe-fucking-lievable," she
mused.  "I don't come like that, even with a cock in me.  You are truly a
wonder, you are."
     Chris sat very still, numbed by what had just transpired.  She had
just had an orgasm as the result of an encounter with another woman,
something that just a few short months ago she would have considered
unthinkable, repulsive even.  It slowly dawned on her that the hormonal
changes had affected not only her body, but her mind as well.  She
suddenly felt as if a great stone gate had been torn away from a hidden
place in her psyche, allowing a whole new world of possibilities to be
entertained.  Is this what it's like when a blind person regains her
sight?  Chris thought.  In a rush, she grabbed Sherri's head and pressed
it to her still-wet chest, tears beginning at the corners of her eyes. 
"Thank you, Sherri, thank you," she repeated over and over.  "You have no
idea what you have just done for me.  If there's any way I can repay
you..."
     Sherri allowed herself to be rocked in Chris's arms, blissfully
unaware of what she was talking about.  Through her post-orgasmic glow,
however, she clearly heard Chris's last sentence.  Her eyes brightened as
she sat up, took both of Chris's hands in hers, and said, "Actually, there
is something..."
     Chris blinked away the tears and smiled.  "Honey, after that, you can
have anything your lil' ol' heart desires."
     Sherri wasn't smiling, and there was a look of earnestness on her
face.  "I'm serious here," she said.  She paused a few seconds as if
framing a very important question.  "Chris," she said finally, "I want you
to show me how to do that.  I want *my* tits overflowing.  After seeing
what it's like, I just realized I've never wanted anything so much in my
life.  Teach me how to get milk in these babies.  Please."
     Chris sat back against the sofa.  She had not been prepared for this.
 She began refitting her bra and bodysuit as she tried to think of how to
respond.  Presently she said, "Sherri, I don't think this is anything I
can *teach* you.  You forget, I had to get my head practically smashed in
for this to happen.  This is a fluke, a one-in-a-million thing.  My
doctor's still not sure why or how I'm still like this, or how long it
will last.  There are just too many unknowns here."
     Sherri's shoulders drooped and her face fell.  "I know, I know," she
said resignedly.  "I shouldn't have asked such a silly thing.  I guess it
was just the tail end of my orgasm talking.  Forget I said anything." 
Chris was surprised; Sherri was genuinely disappointed, and seemed almost
on the verge of tears.  Chris couldn't let such a marvelous sexual
experience end on such a note.
     "Now hold on a minute, I didn't say it was impossible.  You know,
I've been doing a lot of reading lately, trying to figure out what's going
on in this body of mine, and I seem to remember...hey!"  Chris jumped up
and hurried over to her bookshelf, from which she extracted an
imposing-looking volume, one of the books on lactation she had borrowed
from the college's medical library.  She checked the index, then started
paging through the text furiously.  She stopped suddenly, and triumphantly
stabbed a finger halfway down one page.  "I knew I'd seen something about
this."  She scanned the page quickly, half mumbling to herself, while
Sherri sat bolt upright in anticipation of some great revelation Chris was
about to reveal.
     "It says here that it is possible to induce lactation in a woman who
has never been pregnant.  Guess I'm living proof of that!  Evidently
adoptive mothers have been able to produce enough milk to nurse their
babies, at least somewhat.  God, it even says it's possible for *men* to
make milk.  Let's see.  How to do it?  Hmmm...OK, here it is.  Looks like
you need to have your breasts sucked on several times a day for a long
time, maybe even months.  I'll lend you this book so you can read the
details for yourself, but it looks like frequent stimulation is all that's
really needed.  No drugs or anything."
     Sherri was smiling again.  "Frequent stimulation, huh?  Sounds like
something that's right up my alley.  Thank God the boyfriend likes to
nibble on me anyway.  Several times a day, though, I don't know.  Guess
I'll have to get me a pump, too.  'Course," she said, cupping her breasts,
"these are big enough for me to suck myself. I just hope my nips don't
fall off."  She looked up and her smile took on a wicked quality.  "I
wouldn't mind a little help now and then, if you're willing."  Sherri read
the expression on Chris's face, and added with a slight shrug, "Guess
there was no way you could have known I was bi.  Never came up in
conversation, did it?"  She snorted softly.  "Main reason Kent divorced
me.  Didn't want to share me with a woman."
     Chris shook her head.  This was rapidly becoming more than she could
handle.  First the realization that she could enjoy sex with a woman, then
Sherri's outrageous request, then her bombshell that she was
bisexual...Chris's head was swimming.
     Sherri sensed her friend's confusion.  Somehow she put the pieces
together.  "This was your first time with a woman, wasn't it?"  Chris
nodded gently.  Sherri almost laughed, but thought better of it.  "Hell of
an initiation.  Well," she said softly, reaching out to stroke Chris's
hair, "I'm glad it was with me.  If you find this kind of thing to your
liking, maybe we could get together once in a while.  In the meantime, I
hope we can stay friends."
     "What?  Of course, we're friends!  I'm sorry, Sherri, this has just
been a very eventful day for me."
     "Sure, I understand.  I remember my first time with a woman.  Blew me
away.  For a long time I wasn't sure of my sexual identity.  Took me a
while to sort it out."
     "Tell me about it?" Chris said earnestly.
     Sherri stood up, tucking Chris's book under her arm.  "It's a long
story, best told over drinks.  Tell you what.  There's a new club opening
across town tonight, an 80's retro kind of place.  Why don't we go out and
get wasted, and we can talk about, well, *everything*.  What do you say?"
     "Sounds great.  I need to talk.  These last weeks have been so
crazy..."
     "It's a date, then.  Come by my place at nine."  Sherri moved to the
door.  "Thanks for the book.  I've got a feeling the next few weeks are
going to be crazy, too."  Before Chris had a chance to react, Sherri stood
on tiptoe and kissed her on the mouth.  Chris was taken aback, but not so
much that she didn't appreciate the softness of Sherri's lips.  Before she
knew it, Sherri was gone.
     Chris touched her lips lightly, her head still cloudy from the last
few minutes' events.  She'd been living in the same building with Sherri
and had known her for quite a while, but never in a million years would
she have thought...  As Chris closed the door, she had a feeling the day
still had some interesting things in store.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6946                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:07
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis X (10/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS X:  THE NIGHTCLUB

     Christine stood in the hallway outside Sherri's apartment.  She rang
the doorbell, then checked her watch.  9:07 pm.  She glanced down at
herself to take final stock of her appearance.  She and Sherri were going
to a nightclub to drink and talk; she wasn't in the mood for cruising the
place for cute guys.  She was dressed accordingly:  an understated outfit,
characterized by loose-fitting fabric that de-emphasized her figure.  She
didn't want some drunk asshole slobbering all over her chest tonight. 
God, she thought, I feel like I'm going on a blind date or something. 
Relax!  It's only Sherri; this is only going to be a couple of girls out
on the town.  She reconsidered.  It was never again going to be "only
Sherri", not after what had happened in Chris's apartment earlier that
day.
     The door opened to reveal Sherri brushing her hair.  Chris's eyebrows
arched when she saw what Sherri was wearing.  The phrase "hunting outfit"
came to mind:  high heels, sprayed-on slacks, a form-fitting short-sleeved
striped top cut to reveal roughly a mile and a half of cleavage, lots of
jewelry, and just slightly exaggerated makeup.  The two of them looked for
all the world like a librarian and a hooker going out together.  Sherri
motioned Chris inside.
     "Before you say anything, this is how I like to dress when I go out,"
Sherri said.  Chris was beginning to realize just how good Sherri was at
reading facial expressions -- hers must have been telegraphing "slut". 
"And don't you dare dash off to change.  You look nice.  I figured one of
us would have to look outrageous so that we can get into this place."  She
checked her watch.  "Better get going.  I'll bet this place will be
filling up fast about now."
     A fifteen-minute ride downtown, a half-block walk from the parking
garage, and a ten-minute wait in line at the door later, Chris and Sherri
were sitting at a small table to one side of a stage in a club called
Decade Eight.  The band onstage was doing eighties covers at a volume that
did not exclude the possibility of conversation.  They weren't bad.
     Almost before she knew it, Chris was on her third gin and tonic, and
was working on a decent buzz.  She hadn't been on a night out since well
before the accident, and she realized that she had sorely missed her
social life.  Sherri was terrific company.  She kept the conversation
light, regaling Chris with tales of horrific-then-funny-now sexual
encounters with members of both sexes that left Chris's sides aching with
laughter.  Sherri's storytelling was as colorful as a sailor's.
     "I remember going down on this girl once," she recalled.  "She was a
squirter too, though I didn't know it then.  I was down there munching
away when without warning she came like a freight train.  I thought I was
going to fucking drown!  Juice went up my nose, down my throat, hell, into
my ears!  For a while I thought I was eating out Buckingham Fucking
Fountain!"  Sherri stopped to take a swig of her Manhattan, and went on
almost without taking a breath.
     "Oh, God, speaking of eating.  I once made it with this guy who was
into food during sex.  I remembered getting turned on during the
refrigerator scene in '9-1/2 Weeks', so I was game.  Son-of-a-bitch
practically covered me with whipped cream and chocolate sauce.  Licked it
all off me, all up and down.  Really fucked up the sheets.  Anyway, when
it came time to finally get down to it, he had such a stomach ache he
couldn't keep it up!  Can you imagine?  I'm lying there, all hot and
bothered and sticky as hell, and he's in the john popping Rolaids!"
     Chris was howling, but her imagination was working overtime.  How
*would* it feel to have somebody suck a maraschino cherry out of my pussy?
she thought.  She'd had no idea that Sherri was this sexually
rambunctious; it was no wonder her husband had left her.  Sherri seemed to
prefer the single life, and was living it like a woman fifteen years
younger.  Chris's own age, now that she thought of it.  Was there a hint
somewhere here?
     Chris had been so engrossed in her conversation with Sherri that she
hadn't really taken a good look at the club.  As the fourth round arrived
and Sherri excused herself to use the restroom, Chris had an opportunity
to check out her surroundings.  Not a bad place, she thought.  I've been
to better, but this place has a nice ambience.  What's that banner over in
the corner say?  Her jaw dropped slightly as she read it.  She had just
finished when Sherri returned.
     "Sherri!  What the hell is this?"  Chris pointed to the banner, which
now seemed to scream out, OLD-FASHIONED WET T-SHIRT CONTEST *TONIGHT*! 
FIRST PRIZE $250, SECOND PRIZE $100, THIRD PRIZE $50.  COME GET WET AT
DECADE EIGHT!  How the hell had she missed it?
     Sherri laughed and clapped her hands together.  "Isn't that a hoot? 
I haven't done one of these in years!  I wonder if I've still got a shot
at some of that money?"  She looked at her watch and had to blink a few
times.  She was getting drunk.  "Oh, shit, we almost missed the
registration.  Come on!"  She grabbed Chris's wrist and tried to pull her
out of her chair.
     Chris pulled loose from Sherri's grasp.  "Now wait just a damn
minute," she said, then stopped briefly as the room swam around in
response to her rapid movement.  She knew then that she was also half in
the bag.  "I came here to talk and have a couple drinks, not prance around
onstage in front of a bunch of strangers."
     Sherri made a razzing sound.  "Oh, lighten up, Chris.  I get a kick
out of these contests.  Musta won a couple of grand over the years.  Great
way to vent frustrations, too.  Besides, I've always been a breast woman. 
Like to check out the merchandise.  Why should the guys have all the fun?"
 She winked.  "Come on, it'll be a blast!  You do community theater, don't
you?  It's not like you've never been on a stage before.  Believe it or
not, Chris, you need to do something like this.  You've been locked away
in your apartment, just you and your breast pump, for weeks now.  I'm
willing to bet you're still a little intimidated by your recent...
developments."  She waved a hand drunkenly at Chris's torso.  "You need to
start feeling better about this gift of yours.  If you've got it, flaunt
it, kid, and believe me, you got it!  You're a lock on first prize!  Take
it from somebody who's been there!"
     The three and a half drinks, the ever-present pituitary hormones, and
Sherri's exhortations proved to be a deadly combination for Chris.  She
had already started down the road of sexual exploration as the result of
her new abilities, and now here was somebody willing to be a guide.  The
gift horse, and all that.  And hey, the $250 would be nice.  Her last
inhibitions vanished with Sherri's persistent tugging on her arm.  She
grabbed her drink off the table and downed it almost in a single gulp, in
classic movie cliche fashion.  Banging the glass back down, she even
quoted a movie as she said defiantly, "'Sometimes you just got to say
'what the fuck.'  So, what the fuck!"
     "That's the spirit!  Come on, registration's over here."  Giggling
like girls a fourth their age, the two headed for the table at the back of
the club.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6947                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:07
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis XI (11/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS XI:  THE CONTEST, PART ONE

     After signing up at the registration table, Chris and Sherri were
hustled backstage to a overly small dressing room where about ten other
women of varying ages, degrees of sobriety, and bust size were milling
about, waiting for the wet T-shirt contest to start.  During this time the
alcohol they had consumed had fully taken hold, and Chris in particular
was feeling the effects to the full.  Absently she wondered whether her
altered biochemical balance had affected her tolerance level.  She didn't
remember getting this tipsy the last time she'd had four drinks.  She
looked at the T-shirt the man at the registration table had thrust at her.
 At least a size too small, of course, thin material, of course, and
white, of course, so that it would become transparent and attach itself to
her skin when it got wet.  It was a tank top, like a man's undershirt. 
Chris giggled when she remembered how the registration guy had stared at
Sherri's ample cleavage but hadn't even given Chris a second look.  He'll
notice me in *this*, she thought.
     Sherri was already beginning to pull off her top.  "Hurry up and
change.  They're getting ready to start."  In a flash Sherri was naked
from the waist up.  Even though she and Chris had been sexually intimate
only a few hours before, this was the first time Chris had seen Sherri
undressed.  Her breasts were nowhere near as firm as Chris's, but they
were at least fifteen years older, and they weren't lactating (yet, but
that would change if Sherri had anything to do with it).  Her nipples,
however, were still years away from pointing to the floor.  A line
connecting them would have been almost exactly halfway between her
shoulders and her bush.  The left breast was slightly larger than the
right.  A faint sprinkling of freckles spread downward across her chest
and between her breasts.  An even fainter line of downy hair, the same
color as that on her head, traced its way south from her navel to
disappear into the waistband of her slacks.  Her armpits were unshaven. 
Chris suppressed a naughty urge to reach out and tweak Sherri's nipples,
and instead began unbuttoning her outfit.  It was then that she realized
that her clothing was in one piece.  Removing it would leave her
pantsless!  That thought concerned her for only a moment, however, as she
stepped out of it.  She giggled again when she remembered the age-old
parental admonition regarding wearing clean underwear.  She had on a pair
of red satin tap pants which showed off her toned thighs to great
advantage.  Maybe this little edge will help me win, she thought.  As
Chris removed her bra, she noticed that her breasts didn't move at all
under the force of gravity.  She stole a quick touch to one and felt the
heat, the stretched skin, and a swelling that even pressed back into her
armpits slightly.  Man, I'm really full, she thought.  The alcohol must be
affecting my control a little.  She felt Sherri's eyes on her and looked
up.
     "Damn, hon, you look even bigger now than you did this afternoon,"
Sherri said.  There was a slight slur to her speech.  "You're going to
knock that crowd on its collective ass."
     Chris wriggled into the T-shirt.  The front of it stretched taut,
pressing tightly against her bosom.  Chris had to use a mental exercise to
keep from leaking as a result.  The armholes of the shirt were too large,
so that fully half of her breasts were visible from the sides.  The snug
fit felt good, and her nipples responded appropriately, forming
well-defined 3/4" peaks through the thin fabric.  Sherri was shaking her
head and muttering something about not having a chance against a rack like
that.  Suddenly the music out front stopped, and was replaced by feedback
by an ill-placed microphone.
     A balding, bearded, overweight man in a too-small T-shirt emblazoned
with the words "LET'S GET WET" had taken the stage.  He motioned offstage
for someone to turn down the gain on the mike, then shouted
(unnecessarily), "All right, people, it's time!  Are you ready to get
wet?!"  Chris was surprised at the volume of the yell that followed.  The
club must be packed.  The man continued, "Outstanding!  OK, will those
lucky gentlemen who won the drawing earlier tonight please come up
onstage!"  As four men practically fell over one another to climb the
short stairway, the announcer yelled, "These guys have won the coveted
honor of getting to wet down our contestants!"  He gestured to one side,
where a small table held four seltzer bottles.  "Don't worry, ladies,
these are at room temperature!"  As the contest winners each took a bottle
and assumed positions equally spaced along the width of the stage, the
M.C. reminded the crowd of the prize money and made a few announcements
about upcoming events.  He started getting booed, so he wisely stopped,
turned to where the women would enter the stage, and shouted, "Let the
games begin!  Our first contestant..."
     Chris was seventh in line, Sherri sixth.  Most of the contestants
turned out to be rather poor dancers, or almost too drunk to even stand
up, but the crowd didn't care.  As soon as the seltzer hit the shirts,
causing them to effectively disappear, the din became a continuous roar
whose decibel level rivaled that of a jet engine.  The heat of the lights,
the deafening sound, and the alcohol were combining to strengthen Chris's
resolve with each candidate who left the stage.  I'm going to win this
thing, she said to herself.  I'm going to blow these amateurs away.  Never
mind that Chris was an amateur herself...
     It was Sherri's turn.  She turned and winked at Chris, then
practically slithered onto the stage.  Within seconds it became obvious
that she had done this before.  Sherri launched into a gyrating,
cock-stiffening dance, sometimes skillfully dodging the blasts of water,
sometimes seeming to drape herself on them.  She regarded the crowd with a
scalding "fuck me" look as she paraded up and down, her breasts bouncing
freely to the beat of the music.  The noise level increased even more as
she moved to the edge of the stage.  She bent down low so her boobs swung
to within millimeters of the faces of the men in front.  They screamed
their approval.  Just as her music was ending, Sherri grabbed the T-shirt
at the neck and ripped it down the middle.  Her breasts sprang free as the
crowd bellowed.  She cupped them, pointed them at the audience, blew them
a kiss, and skipped off stage.  The room went up for grabs.  No question
who was in first place now!

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)


Ä Area: ALT.SEX.STORIES ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
  Msg#: 6948                                         Date: 20 Dec 94  07:07
  From: TrekFiend                                    Read: Yes    Replied: No 
    To: All                                          Mark:                     
  Subj: REPOST:  Lactogenesis XII (12/29)
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
From: trekfiend@aol.com (TrekFiend)

LACTOGENESIS XII:  THE CONTEST, PART TWO

     Chris stood stock still, stunned by Sherri's performance.  Her iron
resolve melted away.  How in the hell am I going to top that? she thought
frantically.  She felt a hand on her shoulder as the contestant behind her
gave her a gentle push.  She was on!  She cursed the alcohol for slowing
her thinking as she used a little go-go step to move out to center stage. 
What to do, what to do??  Through the alcoholic haze and the wind-tunnel
sound blasting at her ears, Sherri's voice suddenly sounded in her head: 
"You need to start feeling better about this gift of yours.  If you've got
it, flaunt it, kid..."  A sudden rush of adrenaline filled Chris as she
knew what she would do.
     She glanced about her, gauging the positions of each of the men with
the seltzer bottles.  They raised them almost simultaneously and took aim.
 At that moment Chris stopped dancing, thrust her palm outward, and
screamed loud enough to be heard over the din, "NO!! STOP!!"
     The men held their fire and glanced uncomprehendingly at one another.
 The gleeful shouting of the audience turned to yells of displeasure.  The
music stopped.  Finally the M.C. took the mike and said, "Little lady,
this is a wet T-shirt contest.  You got ta get wet!"  The crowd thundered
agreement.  Chris just smiled knowingly.
     "Just keep watching!" she yelled back.  She signaled to the D.J. to
start the music again.  It was a slow, seductive number, perfect for
Chris's plan.  She clasped her hands behind her head, thrust her elbows
out, and began to slowly move her hips in a circular pattern.  The angry
shouts slowly began to transform back into wolf whistles as she continued.
 Chris leaned her head back against her hands, interlocked behind her
neck.  She began going through the now-familiar series of mental steps
that would unleash her own private biochemical miracle.  It was more
difficult than usual due to the level of distractions around her, but
somehow she was able to put the crowd out of her mind.  She concentrated
on the rhythm of the music, the oscillations of her body as she danced,
and of course, the increasing tingling in her teeming breasts.  She
thought of a mountain stream, the trickle of rain down a gutter, water
pouring from a tap.  Deep inside her head, brain structures responded. 
Hormones flowed.  Glands secreted.  Milk ducts expanded.  Mammary sinuses
filled.  Tiny muscle cells contracted.  "Let it come," she whispered to
herself.  "Let it come..."
     Some of the audience members started yelling at the seltzer
bottleguys.  "Go on, let her have it!" one shouted.  The man closest to
Chris raised his bottle again, took aim, and...stopped cold.  "What the
hell?" was all he could manage to say.
     For Chris's shirt front was beginning to get wet, seemingly of its
own accord.  Round blotches of moisture appeared at her nipples, which
instantly became visible as the thin white fabric covering them became
soaked.  The blotches expanded at amazing speed, spreading outward to
cover her entire chest.  Within seconds the entire front of the shirt was
sopping wet and glued to Chris's torso.  She continued to gyrate
belly-dancer style, her head thrown back, deaf to the drop in volume from
the audience as they gradually stopped their shouting to stare in
disbelief.  Her fantastic breasts moved from side to side as she danced,
gushing away inside the T-shirt until the saturated fabric could hold no
more.  As she flicked her upper body back and forth to the music, white
droplets began to fly free of the sodden cloth.  As she always was during
a particularly powerful letdown, Chris was riding the crest of the
wonderful feeling of release, of almost orgasmic pleasure, that squirting
her milk provided.  She was totally oblivious to her surroundings, taken
up completely in her own little pleasure dome.
     "My God, that's milk!" someone near the front of the stage shouted. 
A wild cacophony of exclamations, some rapturous, some disgusted, filled
the club.  "I don't believe it!"  "Have you ever seen anything like that
in your life?"  "Oh, God, that's disgusting!"  "Oh, man, I'm in love!" 
You name it, someone was shouting it.  From the crowd's reaction one would
have thought that an extraterrestrial stripper with three tits had just
come onstage.
     The weird standoff between Chris and the stunned crowd lasted only a
few seconds more.  Chris, in her reverie, felt the wetness covering her
upper body, smelled the musty sweet odor of her milk as the hot lights
tried to evaporate it.  My clothing is wet, she thought instinctively.  I
should take it off.  She unconsciously grabbed the T-shirt at the waist
and in a swift motion pulled it over her head.  With nothing to hold back
the flow, her bouncing boobs spouted forth, sending a white fountain well
into the first few rows of seats.  People leaped up from their chairs as
if scalded.
     At that moment, there was a wet crash as a seltzer bottle hit the 
floor.  Chris's eyes were closed, so she didn't see the man who dropped it
as he pounced upon her, his trembling hands grabbing for her bosom.  She
suddenly felt a powerful arm around her waist, bending her backwards
painfully as it drew her forward.  A probing, panting mouth sought out one
spraying nipple, while a hand like a steel trap closed on the other.  For
a split second, Chris couldn't decide whether to scream or to give herself
over to the intensity of these additional stimuli.  Her alcohol-induced
stupor cleared instantly, and she opted for the former.  She brought her
knee up hard, but the man was bent over frantically trying to suckle her
and so it missed its mark.  Her fingernails raked across the sides of the
man's face, but he was so far gone with lust that they had no effect. 
After what seemed like an eternity she felt two more powerful hands on her
as one of the club's bouncers tried to pull her away.  Another bouncer, a
huge beefy fellow, pried her attacker's hands away, picked him up like a
rag doll, and threw him off the stage.  He landed on top of a table and
sprawled unconscious on the floor.
     There were screams, people running, men shouting.  Chris was unable
to sort any of it out as she let herself be half-carried off the stage by
the bouncer.  She felt someone, Sherri maybe, throw a towel over her as
she was herded through the surging crowd toward the dressing room area. 
She heard a door close, and relative silence descended.  She felt her butt
being placed rather unceremoniously into a chair.  She blinked away the
last vestiges of her drunkenness and looked up to see Sherri and the
bouncer bending over her, concern on their faces.
     "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, in a voice pitched comically
high for a man that size.  Chris nodded slowly.  "If you don't mind, then,
I'd better get back out there."  The bouncer left, leaving Sherri behind. 
She slowly straightened up, hands on hips, and fixed Chris with a
withering stare.
     "Jesus Christ, lady, what the fuck do you do for an encore?" she
demanded, partly in jest and partly in anger mixed with relief.  Chris sat
mutely for a few seconds, then began laughing and crying simultaneously. 
Tears rolled freely down into her open mouth as she tried to guffaw and
sob at the same time.  Sherri held Chris's shoulders until she regained
control of herself.
     "I don't know what came over me out there," Chris said incredulously.
 "You had done such a great job that I had to think of some way to top
you, and letting go was the first thing I thought of.  I had no idea that
would happen!  I was so drunk..."  Her voice trailed off and she just sat
there, clutching the towel, shaking her head.
     "You were cutting loose for the first time in God knows how long,"
Sherri said.  "Who can blame you for getting a little carried away?  You
were almost killed a couple of months ago, for chrissake.  I think this
was just a subconscious attempt to yell 'fuck you' at the Grim Reaper."
     "You think so?  Maybe you're right.  That certainly wasn't the old me
out there tonight, that's for damn sure."  Chris sniffled and wiped her
eyes.  "I was out there spraying milk on people!  'A little carried away'?
 Jeez, I guess so!  I think I'd better watch my alcohol consumption more
closely from now on.  Gin and oxytocin don't appear to mix very well."
     Sherri located their clothes and handed Chris hers.  "I think we'd
just better get dressed and get out of here.  The sooner we're clear of
Decade Eight, the better off we'll be."
     A clean getaway was not to be, however.  The two had just buttoned
their last buttons when the door opened again.  This time the contest M.C.
came in, a jacket draped over his LET'S GET WET T-shirt.  "I'd like a
word, if I could," he said somberly.
     Oh, shit, here it comes, Chris thought.  I'll bet he's called the
police.  I wonder how this is going to get written up?  She imagined
herself spending the night in jail, and felt her limbs go cold.  She was
therefore very confused when the M.C. suddenly broke into a wide grin.
     "I gotta tell you, that was hands-down, absolutely, no-bullshit the
goddamndest thing I ever saw."  How many times have I heard that by now,
Chris thought.  The man was still talking.  "Most unique wet T-shirt
contest it's ever been my pleasure to have hosted.  You and your friend
here really turned this place on its ear.  First night open, too, wouldn't
you know."  He reached into his jacket pocket and took out two wads of
bills.  He handed the larger of them to Chris, the other to Sherri. 
"Here's your prize money.  Congratulations.  I also have to tell you,
though, that the management has asked me to ask you never to participate
in a similar activity here again.  You'd get us shut down for sure!  Just
take the money and go home, please."  He looked toward the door.  "It's
pretty well calmed down out there, but if I were you, I'd go out the back
way."  He started to leave, then turned at the door for a last long look
at Chris.  "Goddamndest thing I ever saw," he said again, and was gone.
     Chris and Sherri didn't say another word to each other until they got
back to their apartment building, and even then it was just a cursory good
night.  Chris was already beginning to feel the beginnings of a hangover
as she collapsed fully dressed into bed, one hand still clutching her $250
first prize.  She was going to have to think about what had happened at
Decade Eight this night, but later, later.  She was so tired.  Within
moments, she was snoring softly.

<<to be continued>>


-!- uugate 0.36 (OS/2 2.99)
 ! Origin: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364) (2:200/427.1)

