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Lactogenesis 01
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.
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>>
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