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Lactogenesis 13
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.
A thin film of sweat covered Christine's face. Her hair, where it
brushed against her neck, was also wet with sweat. Her breathing was
heavy, bordering on panting. Her breasts heaved and shook with the
effort. Her hips surged in a rhythm that was steadily increasing.
Faster, faster... Chris tossed her head back, grunting in synchrony with
the movements of her lower body. She was quickly building toward her
peak...
A tone sounded. The Stairmaster stopped speeding up and went into
the cool-down phase of the workout program. Chris groaned in relief as
she felt the burning in her legs gradually subside. She used the towel
draped around her neck to wipe away the sweat that threatened to drip into
her eyes. Not bad, she thought. I'll be maxxing this thing out before
long.
She heard the warbling of the telephone, but decided to let the
answering machine pick it up. She wasn't cooled down enough and feared
cramping if she suddenly stopped now. A different kind of tone sounded as
her recorded greeting ended and the machine awaited a response. It was a
couple of seconds in coming. The voice issuing from the speaker was
halting, almost tentative.
"Chris? Uh, hi, it's Carl. I'm, uh, I'm really sorry I haven't
called you before now. I heard about your accident and have been meaning
to get in touch, but business is really booming these days, and uh, well,
you know how it is. Anyway, I'm in town for a couple of days meeting with
some people about a new product line, and, uh, well, I'd really like to
see you while I'm here. Would you mind? I know it's been a long time,
but I'm not sure when I'll be in the area again. Boy, you'd think a
salesman would be used to answering machines, but I still hate these
things. Uh, I'm at the Sheraton until Tuesday afternoon. I'd sure like
to have dinner, talk, uh, whatever. Give me a call, OK? Hope we can get
together. Bye."
Chris hopped off the Stairmaster, crossed to the answering machine,
and replayed the message to make sure the voice was who she thought it
was. My God. Carl Banks, she thought. Back from the dead. Tail between
his legs, too, by the sound of him. Quite unbidden, Chris's memory called
up the file, up to now thought closed, on Carl Banks. He and Chris had
met at a health club, back when that was *the* place to meet "swinging
singles". Could it be almost three years? He was working as a
semiconductor salesman at the time; she was still at the paper editing
copy. Their relationship had been tempestuous, exhilarating, spontaneous,
and almost entirely physical. It had lasted five months before he got an
opportunity to move up the corporate ladder and took it. He'd left for
the other side of the country almost without a word, and hadn't been in
touch since. She smiled sourly when she replayed him saying he was still
a salesman. So much for upward mobility, she thought. She remembered the
pain -- she had been something of an old-fashioned girl then, a one-man
woman, and even though there wasn't much more than sex to their
relationship, she had enjoyed it, and had not appreciated the abrupt way
it had ended.
Her finger hovered over the "erase" button as she considered what to
do about Carl. She noted with some satisfaction that there was no trace
whatsoever of any feelings for him; there would be no regrets if she
didn't return his call. Still, her curiosity was piqued. Whatever else
Carl had been, he had been pretty good in the sack, and it had been, after
all, a long time since Chris had gotten her ashes properly hauled. The
incident at the Decade Eight Club three weeks before had shaken her up
more than she'd thought. The attack by the crazed seltzer guy had been
too close to rape for comfort, enough so that she'd not been out with a
man since. Carl was a pretty safe bet. Chris hit the "save" button
instead and started getting ready to shower.
As the water cascaded over her and she ran the bar of soap over her
body, Chris suddenly realized that Carl would have no idea about what she
looked like now, or better still, what she could do. As far as he knew,
Chris was still a woman with a rather ordinary body and rather ordinary
sexual habits. Wait'll he gets a load of these, she thought slyly. She
squeezed her boobs playfully, causing a dribble of milk to wash the soap
suds from her nipples. She passed a hand over her baby-smooth mons,
remembering how Carl used to complain about getting her pubic hair caught
in his throat. Oh, now I've done it, Chris said to herself, as her random
hand motions and memories of how good it had felt to bury Carl's cock in
her pussy began to catch up to her. Might as well finish the job...
Chris's shower was a hand-held water massage. She took it down from
its mounting bracket, dialed for a hard pulsing spray, and began playing
the shower head over her body. The jets of high-pressure water kneaded
her breasts like thousands of tiny fingers, tingling the skin from without
and starting the familiar tingling from within. The drops falling from
the dark red tips of her bosom turned gradually from the colorless clarity
of water to the opaque whiteness of mother's milk as she willed the
letdown to proceed. Chris leaned back against the shower wall, causing
her breasts to point slightly upward and sending a spray most of the way
up the far wall as she masterfully milked herself with her free hand. She
planted her feet at the corners of the small stall, bent her knees
slightly, and slowly guided the pulsating shower toward her naked pussy,
whose lips were now slightly puffy and whose clit now peeked out from
their uppermost junction. As the blasting water struck it, Chris gasped
from the force and redirected the spray for less direct contact. In only
a second or two she had found the right combination of pressure and flow,
and was well on her way to yet another satisfying orgasm. As she neared
the magic moment, she bent her head and brought one breast up to her mouth
(they were almost too firm to allow that). She encircled the nipple with
her lips and drank of herself, marveling at the warmth and sweetness of
her milk as she had on several previous occasions. As it had in the past,
this was enough to complete her journey to orgasm. Her cunt poured forth
its bounty, rivaling the shower in the intensity of the flow. Chris's
legs, weakened from her workout, could barely support her as she shook
with the force of the orgasm. She felt the flood of juices running down
them, to be immediately washed away by the shower. As the peak passed,
Chris released her nipple, which continued to drip. She spent the next
few minutes emptying both breasts -- the shower was a good place to do
that, even when she wasn't masturbating. She did a good portion of this
by suckling herself, as the workout had made her thirsty. The last few
ounces she expressed by hand. She allowed herself another, less intense
orgasm while doing this, then snapped out of it when she realized she'd
been in the shower for over half an hour. My water bill's going to be
unreal this month, she said to herself as she turned off the water and
reached for a towel.
She was still drying off as she walked through her apartment,
heedless of the open windows, to her telephone. She dropped the towel as
she picked up the phone book and looked up the number for the Sheraton.
She dialed it and asked for Carl's room, but he was not there. Probably
down in the bar trying to score, she thought scornfully. She left a short
message: "Carl. Chris. Welcome back. Yes, I'd love to see you. How
about tomorrow night for dinner? I'll come by your hotel at 7:30. See
you then." As she hung up, she caught a glimpse of her nude body in the
hall mirror, droplets of water still gleaming here and there on her skin.
Carl, lover, she thought, you are in for one hell of a surprise. Her
nipples began hardening again as she considered her plan of attack. She
looked down at them and noticed tiny white droplets appearing. She shook
her head and wiped them away with the towel. "This is ridiculous," she
said out loud.
As she dressed, she realized that even though she felt nothing for
Carl, she knew that the anticipation of getting him into bed was going to
make it a long day at work tomorrow. I can't believe how worked up I'm
getting over the prospect of shocking the crap out of this jerk, she told
herself. I have *got* to start meeting new people. Immediately a part of
her mind began working on how that would happen. She wasn't even aware of
it, but her subconscious had just started her down a path which would take
her places the old Chris would never have considered.
<<to be continued>>
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