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Lactogenesis 14
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 glanced up from her plate of fettucini carbonara to again
find Carl Banks's eyes locked on her. Again she smiled in response, and
again he grinned awkwardly and glanced away. So far everything seemed to
be working according to plan. Chris had worked hard to choose just the
right combination of clothing and makeup to allow just the barest hints of
her heart-stopping physical transformation to show through. She wanted
Carl to see that some changes had occurred since they'd last seen each
other, but she also wanted him to be constantly wondering just what they
were. His poorly concealed stares were telling her she had achieved the
desired effect. Since arriving at the restaurant, Chris had steered the
conversation, keeping it trivial, and sprinkling it with enough veiled
sexual references to keep Carl on edge and wondering whether he was going
to actually score with the girl he'd left flat almost three years ago.
Chris wanted to tease him, just enough to give him a hard-on all through
dinner. She wasn't a cruel person, though. She would jump his bones
before the night was over, but she was going to make damn sure the sex was
on her turf, on her terms.
The conversation had hit a lull when the food arrived, and Chris
allowed the silence to stretch out. Finally she leaned forward slightly,
in a calculated fashion so that her blousy clothing might reveal just a
bit more of the amazing curves beneath.
"Penny," she said with a smile.
"Nothing," he said flatly.
Chris sipped at her wine. "Come on, Carl, you forget how well we
used to know each other. How do you think we could be so good together in
bed? I know something other than computer motherboard sales figures is
circulating in that handsome head of yours. Out with it."
Carl paused, then frankly stated, "Well, I just can't get over how
you look. To be honest, I was expecting to have to be polite and overlook
scars, disfigurements, whatever. I'd heard you really got messed up when
that car hit you. Instead you look just amazing -- better than ever, in
fact."
Chris kept a smile on her face, but was frowning internally. As
shallow as ever, she thought. Relieved about not having to spend an
evening with the Elephant Woman, is he? Nice. And what's this "better
than ever" crap? What was I before, chopped liver? She decided to shift
the evening up a gear, before she lost interest in this jerk altogether.
"That's sweet of you," she lied. "I had a feeling you were
undressing me with your eyes." She leaned forward even more, deliberately
allowing her breasts to press against the fabric of her top, finally
coming to rest upon the tabletop. She said in a low, husky voice, "Why
don't we get out of here so you can do it with your hands?"
Carl's eyebrows shot up, and he had to concentrate to keep from
choking on his food. Always the smooth operator, however, he didn't miss
a beat. He immediately signaled for the check, and within minutes the two
of them were back at Chris's apartment. Chris was a little perturbed at
how readily he'd wanted to leave. She'd hoped to string him along a while
longer. He obviously wasn't interested in catching up on the last three
years -- he just wanted to get laid. She decided that was okay; that's
all she wanted, too. Why screw things up with a lot of excess emotional
baggage?
Chris tossed her purse on a chair and headed straight for her
bedroom. "Have a seat," she called over her shoulder. "Bar's still where
it's always been. Fix yourself a drink. I'll be right back." She heard
the clink of ice cubes as she closed the door and went around the room
lighting candles. She shut off the light and quickly stepped out of her
outfit. No beating around the bush, she'd decided. I'm going for the
throat... She'd chosen a forest green satin matching bra and panties.
The bra was just sheer enough for her areolae to be visible; the panties
were cut high on the hip and were diaphanous enough for it to be obvious
that her snatch was completely hairless. Her cleavage was deep and
inviting, her stomach flat and hard. She slipped her heels back on and
walked into the hallway, where she struck a deliberately seductive pose.
She said nothing, just waited for the bomb she'd just dropped to hit its
target.
Bulls-eye. Carl's face was the picture of amazement. His eyes
flittered up and down her body, looking for a place to rest. His drink
tilted in his hand and sent an ice-cold dribble of scotch and soda into
his crotch. You could practically see a plume of steam arise as he jumped
up, wiping at himself with his free hand. Chris suppressed a giggle.
"Wow," he sputtered. "Chris, is that really you? I don't remember
this at all! What did you have done? I thought there was a moratorium on
implants..."
What an asshole, Chris thought. It's a good thing I'm horny or
I'd've flushed him before we even got out of the restaurant. "It's all
me," she said instead. "One hundred percent natural. Just a late
bloomer, I guess." She walked over to him and without warning kissed him
hard, simultaneously taking the drink from his hand. Time to get him
where he lives. "Enough talk," she whispered as she mashed her breasts
against Carl's chest. "Let's fuck."
She led the shell-shocked Carl into the bedroom. In their previous
relationship, Carl had always been the aggressor. Chris's blatant
seductiveness and the shock of revealing the new body had put her in
complete control. She turned and unbuttoned his shirt as he fumbled with
his belt. She yanked his pants and boxers down together, and his cock
swung free. It looked like it had been hard for a long time, and pre-come
had already wetted the glans. Just as I remembered it, Chris thought.
Not very long, even a bit below average perhaps, but nearly as big around
as her wrist. It had filled her quite satisfactorily three years ago.
How would it feel now?
She let her tongue trace a line along the lower surface of Carl's
cock, starting at the root. When she reached the arrowhead of the glans,
she slowly wrapped her lips around it. She swallowed him an agonizingly
slow half-inch at a time. Remembering some tips Sherri had taught her,
she relaxed her throat and allowed the shaft to skate along her palate.
All that practice with the bananas had paid off; she was able to
completely suppress the gag reflex. She took him right to the balls.
Carl sucked in breath through clenched teeth, and moaned loudly when Chris
opened her mouth even further and, with his cock firmly ensconced in her
throat, extended her tongue to lick his scrotum. "Where did you learn to
give head like that?" he murmured. Chris backed away at the same slow
pace, then began to move faster, sliding her mouth along Carl's shaft,
keeping pressure with her tongue. Her fist followed behind, squeezing and
milking away. She felt him getting even harder. Good, she thought. I
want to make you beg to come. I want to see the look on your face when I
cover you with my milk. She stole a glance upward and saw Carl's head
nodding back and forth. "Oh, man, oh, shit," he was babbling.
So far, so good...
<<to be continued>>
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