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Lactogenesis LX

LACTOGENESIS LX:  THE LAST STRAW

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

<<to be continued>>




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