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Lactogenesis XXX: The Update
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
LACTOGENESIS XXX: THE UPDATE
<<<Some months later...>>>
Christine pulled her new dark green coupe into the parking lot of
her local video outlet, turned off the engine, set the parking brake, and
climbed out. She spent a couple of seconds admiring the sheen of the new
car's finish and lightly caressing one fender. She hadn't figured on
being able to afford a new car for several months more at least -- but
that was before she and Jeremy had started their lactation services
business, The Lac-Station. Jeremy's business savvy had rapidly built
their client base to the point where Chris was now making far more money
from her breast milk (and activities related thereto) than she was with
her job as a journalist with the local paper. She was continually amazed
at these people's willingness to spend Jeremy's deliberately exorbitant
prices just to get a taste of mother's milk -- for reasons ranging from
the noble (feeding adopted infants) to the perverse (ah, but those are the
subjects of other stories). She wasn't about to argue with him about
those prices, however; the law of supply and demand was clearly in control
here, and as long as she was enjoying herself (and boy was she ever) and
her pocketbook was benefitting, why rock the boat?
She smiled, revelling once again in her new-found prosperity. The
novelty of her newly improved income had not yet worn off, and she was
delighting in the kind of satisfaction lottery winners must feel. The
weather was helping her good mood as well. Winter was on the wane. This
day's temperatures were well above normal and bright sunshine was in
abundance. Chris was celebrating by wearing a thin pair of slacks, a
T-shirt cropped just a few inches below her magnificent bustline,
open-toed shoes, the lightest of jackets, and no underwear. A light,
slightly chill breeze wafted up the large opening at the bottom of her
shirt created by her gravity-defying bosom, caressing her milk-filled
breasts and maintaining her nipples in a state of perpetual erection. The
nip in the air felt soothing on the skin of her breasts, which as the
result of the extensive lactiferous vascularization within was always
warmer to the touch than the rest of her body. It also heightened her
awareness of her breasts, which never required much, owing to the rampant
hormone levels in her bloodstream, still elevated although the head injury
responsible for Chris's extraordinary lactation and ejaculatory skills had
occurred almost exactly a year ago now. The temporary freedom from the
confining, concealing garments of winter was like heaven to the sensual
being which Chris's miraculous biochemical transformation had allowed her
to become, and Chris had every intention of taking full advantage of it.
Now, however, she had a rather mundane task before her. She was
visiting the video store to rent a couple of movies to help keep her
occupied while she was hooked up to her breast pump. Jeremy had presented
her with a TV/VCR combination that went nicely in the spare bedroom of her
apartment that had become essentially the Lac-Station's corporate
headquarters. She and Jeremy had converted the room into a mini-milk bank
via the addition of a top-of-the-line dual-action pump that replaced the
one Chris had been renting; a small refrigerator set to the optimum
temperature for the storage of breast milk; a second, smaller one stocked
with fortified beverages to keep Chris's fluid and nutrient levels up
(making as much milk as she did had an enormous metabolic cost); a cabinet
containing sterile bottles; a sterilizer; and a sealing apparatus. In one
corner was a file cabinet and a small desk upon which sat the answering
machine, telephone, and fax machine that had originally resided in Chris's
kitchen, and a powerful PC containing the Lactation Station's records. A
stereo system sat in another corner. Classical artwork depicting nursing
mothers (and the occasional nursing adult) adorned the neutrally-colored
walls. Central to the room was a large, very comfortable recliner with
built-in heat and massage. A second cabinet nearby contained cleaning
supplies, clean towels, and sheets of a disposable absorbent material
laboratories often use on their benchtops to contain spills.
Chris used these to keep herself dry during her milking sessions.
These days such a session was done in the nude, since Chris was always
sure to have at least one and often several orgasms in the course of
emptying her breasts. The copious ejaculations she always experienced
when she came made the wearing of clothes foolish and the use of the
sheets, which she placed under herself on the chair, a necessity. Because
her proficient milk glands were quite good at keeping up with the action
of the pump, she could often draw off as much as a quart of milk at a
sitting, which could easily take 40 minutes or more to accomplish. The
addition of the TV/VCR was a welcome one, and Chris was spending her
"afterglow" time getting caught up on all the movies she had been missing
as the result of her very busy schedule.
Jeremy had agreed to handle scheduling, and he was a master at it.
Even though Chris was kept very busy, at no time did she feel rushed or
overwhelmed by the demands of her clients. She had leisure time whenever
she felt she needed it, and Jeremy's care with screening potential new
clients had been so perfect that she was still having great fun with all
of them. At no time had she ever felt like she was just a milk machine, a
dairy cow supplying the needs of a select few. She felt like what she
was, a wonderfully sensual, sexual, beautiful woman whose talents were
rare, special, and in great demand by people willing to change *their*
lives around to accommodate *her*. She was being treated almost like a
celebrity by these people. For the first time in her life Chris had an
inkling of what being a star must be like, without all the hassles that
often accompany immense popularity.
A large portion of The Lac-Station's services dealt with providing
breast milk to women who couldn't or wouldn't nurse their infants but
still wanted to provide their children with the best possible nutrition.
Over Jeremy's protests, Chris insisted on charging a price that undercut
the local milk banks, even though her clients had the value-added
advantage of knowing exactly what the source of their babies' milk was.
The sense of well-being this aspect of the business gave her lessened the
tedium that sometimes threatened her milking sessions, despite the intense
physical pleasure they always provided.
The main money-maker for the business was, as one might expect,
the kinkier side, the side to which Chris, to her surprise, found herself
more and more attracted. These clients were the men and women of the
upper crust who could afford the high price of indulging sexual fetishes
that one generally does not have the opportunity to experience at the
level of casual contact at which those less fortunate live out their
lives. These were the professional hedonists for whom money was no
object. Jeremy delighted in milking them financially while they milked
Christine literally. The client list in this category was longer than
that in the other and actually accounted for most of Chris's milk output.
The demand had become so great in this regard that Jeremy had had
to recruit other lactating women to join the staff of the Lac-Station.
Chris's neighbor Sherri was the first to sign up; she rapidly proceeded to
surpass even Chris's amazing output and devoted herself to the business to
such an extent that she quit her day job.
Another staffer, to Chris's initial astonishment, was Eleanor
Overstreet, The Station's first client. After Chris's first visit to her
house Eleanor had changed her mind about letting her own milk dry up and
had become such a prolific producer that she rapidly outstripped her
infant son's needs. She had considered donating the excess supply to the
local milk bank, but joined The Lac-Station instead when Jeremy informed
her of their unfair practices (which had convinced Chris to go in with him
on this project in the first place). Eleanor only supplied their private
milk bank, however, and wasn't involved in the seamier side of the
business.
Jeremy had only recently added two more women to the staff. One,
Janine, was a stripper Jeremy had met in a downtown bar some weeks
earlier. She had been giving him a table dance when Jeremy noticed a drop
of milk clinging to one of her nipples. He carefully questioned her and
found out that she was a single mother who was still nursing her
three-year-old daughter and who was dancing to supplement her meager
income. She mentioned that she had tried to wean her little girl a few
times but her breasts never got the hint and refused to dry up, causing
her enormous discomfort if she didn't nurse. When she heard that her
predicament could make her a lot of money, she jumped at the chance.
The other woman was someone Chris had not yet met. Jeremy seemed
very secretive about her, and didn't talk much about her other than to say
she was part of the staff. He was spending more and more time with her,
which was beginning to annoy Chris, but she was far beyond depending on
only Jeremy for her sexual gratification. As far as Chris was concerned,
if Jeremy was schtupping this mystery woman, she could care less, as long
as she was disease-free. She didn't want to let Jeremy know about that,
though, since she enjoyed watching him squirm guiltily when she'd make
pointed inquiries about this woman. Chris would find out who she was
eventually. There was no hurry.
So with a staff of five actively lactating women, The Lac-Station
showed no signs of becoming one of the vast majority of small businesses
which fail within months after establishing themselves.
<<to be continued>>
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