This story originally appeared a couple of years ago in the adult fiction
area of CompuServe.  It appeared in four parts spread out over several
months.  Sorry to dissapoint you all, but part 5 never appeared.  Perhaps
a talented writer who reads this site will take up where the original
writer left off. 


==========================================================================


Janet's Milk - Part I


"Have a good day at work."

Janet smiled and waved as her husband walked towards the car.
She closed the front door quietly and turned back to face the
living room.  Most of the important things were done for the
moment; today would just be a lazy day of relaxation for Janet
and her new baby.

Janet strolled down the hallway, peeking into the baby's room
as she passed.  Her two-month-old daughter was still fast
asleep.  Janet continued on to the bathroom; she paused on the
threshold, then stepped inside, and locked the door behind her.

Having a baby had changed Janet in many ways, both physically
and psychologically.  The physical changes were obvious and-as
far as Janet was concerned-they were for the better.  She stood
in front of the large mirror over the sink and looked at
herself.  She was just over twenty-six years old, a moderately
curvy and slightly petite woman with pleasant features,
straight, shoulder-length hair that was almost black, and dark
brown eyes.  Although her entire body could be considered
unusually attractive, Janet's most striking feature was her
very large, firm bust.

Janet had always been busty.  She had spent much of her early
adolescence hunching her shoulders in an attempt to hide her
bust.  Few thirteen-year-olds could fill a 38D cup to
overflowing, but she could at that age, and her endowments were
a favorite subject of conversation-and sexual fantasies-for the
boys in her junior high.  As she became older, though, she
gradually learned to appreciate the size of her breasts and the
advantages that it gave her, and she eventually overcame the
complex that her bust had given her in her teens.

Pregnancy had dramatically increased the dimensions of her
chest, just at a time when she had grown comfortable with a
38D.  Her breasts began to expand almost immediately after she
became pregnant, and their swelling was unsettling in its
rapidity and magnitude.  Her chest measurement increased by
nearly an inch per month, overall, reaching 46 inches by the
time she delivered Erica, her new daughter.

Janet still had her old bras.  The D cups that had been
adequate before her pregnancy now seemed ridiculously small
compared to her immense breasts.  She filled an E cup to
overflowing, and often resorted to an F cup; her friends
usually thought she was joking when she mentioned her cup size,
since many of them didn't even believe that such sizes existed.
Shopping for a bra was an expensive and time-consuming
nightmare.  Few stores carried her size, and she often had to
special-order her bras.  And they were expensive.  She had
decided to forego maternity bras, since they had proven to be
of little help in her case, and since she preferred to save
money by adapting normal bras herself.  And whatever the brand
or size of the bra, it usually had the same defects:  straps
that cut into her shoulders, inadequate support for the weight
of her breasts, a tendency to ride up in back, etc.  And yet
she could not afford to go braless with breasts as large as
hers; her breasts did not sag, but feeling their unsupported
weight hanging from her chest fatigued her.

And then there was her lactation.  Janet had begun to lactate
even before she had the baby, and her lactation became copious
within hours after delivery.  Today, eight weeks after having
Erica, she was nursing her every two or three hours, around the
clock, but Erica never drank more than a fraction of the milk
that Janet produced, and Janet was usually forced to pump her
breasts mechanically.  Three shelves of the refrigerator were
filled with bottles of her milk at the moment-less than a
single day's lactation, not including what Erica drank and the
significant amount of milk that Janet simply threw out.  There
were 21 half-pint bottles in the refrigerator; since Janet
could fill them all very easily in one day, she knew that she
was producing well over a gallon of milk inside her breasts on
a daily basis.

  All of these thoughts went through Janet's mind as she gazed
wistfully at herself in the bathroom mirror.  As usual, the
volume of her chest was obvious from the way her pink terry
bathrobe was pulled taut on top.  She reached down and untied
the belt of the robe, and pulled the sides apart, revealing her
huge bust.  She smiled; the size of her breasts never failed to
impress her, no matter how many times she saw them.  They
seemed as large as basketballs, and nearly as round.  Her
breasts strained against her bra, bulging over the top of each
cup, the very faint bluish network of veins barely visible
beneath their perfectly smooth, pale white skin.  She inhaled,
slowly and deeply, and watched her breasts swell, stretching
the fabric of her bra, pulling so hard on the clasp that she
often wondered how it held under the strain.  Her breasts were
huge by any standard one might care to apply-and Janet found
the sight of her own, immense breasts more than a little
erotic.

Janet's breasts were engorged.  She had fed Erica only an hour
ago, but her breasts had already filled.  She saw the shadow of
her large, dark nipples beneath the cups of her bra, put forth
a slight effort of will, and watched as they became erect.  So
prominent were her nipples when erect that they were obvious
even under the fluffiest of sweaters.  The more she thought
about it, the harder her nipples became.  Here, alone in the
bathroom, she let her nipples harden without restraint.  Janet
turned slowly in front of the mirror, admiring her breasts from
all angles.  They seemed almost surrealistically huge in
profile, standing straight out from her body, almost perfectly
round, their considerable weight pulling the shoulder straps
cleanly away from her chest.  Her swollen nipples were
especially obvious.

Janet felt warm and aroused.  Her breasts were swelling; she
could feel the increasing tightness of her bra.  She pulled her
robe off completely and let it drop to the floor, leaving her
dressed only in panties and bra.  Now Janet felt ready, laden
with milk.  She let her mind drift briefly to thoughts of
nursing.  Instantly, her breasts tingled, and a brief and
characteristic sensation of extreme fullness swept through
them, localizing beneath her nipples; then, after a few
seconds, an intense feeling of warmth bathed her rigid nipples.
She looked with satisfaction in the mirror, watching dark
stains spread in her bra around the nipples and expand very
rapidly downwards and outwards.  Her nipples were now clearly
visible through the soaked, sheer fabric of her pale-gray bra,
and translucent drops of milk began to coalesce on its surface,
first beneath her nipples, then at their tips.  The drops
combined, and twin rivulets of warm, fresh milk began to
dribble down the front of her bra.  Some of the milk dripped
directly into the sink from the underside of her cups; the rest
continued down onto her chest, running down across her stomach,
only to be absorbed by the upper edge of her panties.

Janet opened the cupboard beneath the sink.  She removed the
milk pump that she had bought shortly after returning from the
hospital.  It was the most expensive model made:  an electric
pump capable of pumping both breasts simultaneously at
adjustable speeds.  Twin clear-plastic suction cups fit over
the nipples, and a bra-like harness held the cups against the
breasts as the pump operated.  Janet's nipples didn't quite fit
completely into the suction cups, and the harness was
uncomfortably tight around her chest even though she had
adjusted it to the largest possible size (44 inches, according
to the manual, but it felt much tighter), but it did the job
for which she had purchased it.

Janet placed a towel beneath her chest to absorb the dripping
milk, and sat down on the small folding chair next to the
bathtub.  She carefully placed the watertight pump on the edge
of the bathtub, and plugged it in.  She attached the clear
tubes leading from the suction cups to the pump, and unclasped
her bra.  Her bra was soaked, and she tossed it into the tub.
Milk dripped freely from both nipples onto the towel in her
lap.  She applied a small amount of skin lotion to each suction
cup, and placed the cups over her swollen nipples; she noticed
that the tips of her nipples reached and nearly filled the
tubes leading away from the suction cups.  Drops of milk oozed
into the tubes and dribbled slowly down towards the machine.
Janet laboriously attached the too-tight harness behind her
back (why was the fastening at the back of the harness, she
wondered), and turned the machine on.

As the machine whirred to life, she felt suction develop inside
the cups.  Immediately, milk gushed violently from her nipples,
completely filled the tubes with opaque white milk.  The sound
of the machine changed as the pump primed with milk.  The
output tube was directed into the bathtub, and the drain in the
tub was closed so that Janet could estimate the volume of milk
that she was producing.  A steady stream of milk coursed into
the tub.

Janet's breasts hurt with the pressure of her milk, and she
quickly turned the speed dial on the pump to its maximum
setting, as she invariably did during her milkings.  The
suction around her nipples increased dramatically, but the flow
of her milk immediately increased to fill the vacuum.  She
watched with satisfaction as a thick, steady stream of milk
raced out of the output tube and into the bathtub.  Her
capacity had gradually but steadily increased since the birth
of Erica, and the sight of her own breast milk gradually
covering the bottom of the bathtub aroused her significantly.
She wondered how many women could keep such an electric pump
full even at its maximum speed setting (the manual had warned
against using the maximum setting under normal conditions,
because the suction created by the machine could become painful
if no milk was forthcoming).

Janet lifted the output tube slightly with her right hand; the
tube was hot to the touch.  She directed the output onto her
left hand, and felt hot milk splashing over her fingers and
palm.  She held the tube obliquely and let part of the flow
fill her cupped hand.  When it was full, she raised her hand to
her mouth and slowly drank her milk.  It was delicious:
slightly sweet, very rich, and extremely warm, with the fresh
taste that betrayed its creation only minutes before within her
own, engorged breast.  Janet emptied her hand and then took a
small plastic cup from the sink, and she held the cup beneath
the output, letting it fill; then she drank the contents.  She
felt her own arousal increase as she savored the taste of her
breast milk.

Janet sat quietly for fifteen minutes, watching the milk
flowing into her bathtub, and drinking small cups of her milk
now and again.  Finally, the pressure in her breasts had
largely subsided, and although her breasts were not empty, she
slowed the pump, then stopped it.  By then, milk covered the
bottom of the bathtub to a depth of a half-inch or so.  By her
own calculations, that would be about two quarts of milk in a
single milking.  Janet realized that she was probably producing
milk almost as fast as the pump removed it.

Janet had once tried to avoid pumping for an entire day, until
the pressure of milk in her breasts became too painful to
endure.  After only a few hours, she lactated so profusely
while nursing her daughter that milk would stream from the
unsuckled nipple, and her daughter almost choked on the volume
of milk that gushed into her mouth faster than she could drink
it.  Finally, around dinnertime, Janet had pumped herself, and
had watched for almost ninety minutes as six quarts of milk
drained into the bathtub-and she had stopped before her breasts
were empty.  An hour later, she pumped another two quarts.  It
took a full day to recover her natural lactation rhythm.  She
had not repeated the experiment.

Janet removed the harness and suction cups, rinsed them, and
put the pump away in the cupboard.  She looked at the creamy
white sea that covered the bottom of the bathtub, and a sudden
tingle of arousal coursed through her body.  She stood up and
stripped off her panties, and stepped into the tub.  The milk
was still slightly warm.  She reclined slowly in the tub,
letting the milk wet her back and buttocks and legs and arms.
She had produced a lot of milk.  She held her thighs slightly
apart, dipped her hands into the milk on either side of her,
and poured it slowly over her mound, soaking her already-damp
pubic hair.  Then she placed the fingers of her right hand
lightly against her vulva, and began massaging herself slowly
and gently.  Her body responded very rapidly, and milk trickled
from her breasts.  She expressed milk from her breast with her
free hand, and poured the hot milk onto her vulva.  She
massaged herself more vigorously, bit her lip, and felt her
back arching slightly away from the pool of milk beneath it.
She could feel small streams of milk squirt abruptly from her
nipples.  Then, as she heard herself moan involuntarily, she
came.

Janet relaxed as her orgasm waned, and continued to caress
herself absent-mindedly.  She resisted the temptation to begin
again, leaned forward, and opened the drain.  After sitting
quietly until her arousal had cooled, she turned on the shower
and rinsed off her body thoroughly, then grabbed a towel and
stepped out of the tub, drying herself as she did so.  Her
nipples were still swollen, but they had stopped leaking.  She
had been in the bathroom for almost two hours.

Erica began to cry in her room.

JANET'S MILK 

Part II

Erica was hungry again.  So much the better; Janet produced
such large amounts of milk that she looked forward to nursing
her baby daughter every few hours.  Erica couldn't drink all
that Janet produced, but her nursing helped to relieve the
pressure of milk that often made Janet's breasts feel
uncomfortable.

Janet fastened the belt of her robe around her waist and left
the bathroom.  She could feel the terry cloth of her robe drawn
almost uncomfortably tight against her chest; the fabric
abraded her very sensitive nipples painfully as they strained
against it.  She walked down the hallway and quietly entered
Erica's room.  Erica was crying in her crib as Janet
approached, but she fell silent as she saw Janet appear above
her.  Then, after looking intently at Janet for a few seconds,
she begin to cry again.

Janet reached down into the crib and took Erica into her arms.
Her daughter was just two months old.  Janet was still amazed
and moved by the tiny helplessness of her baby.  She enjoyed
caring for her daughter and looking after her every need.  At
this particular moment, Erica needed a diaper change, so Janet
carried her over to a table in the room set aside for this
purpose and carefully changed her.  Erica was silent as Janet
attended to her diaper change.  When she had finished, Erica
begin to cry again, softly.

Now came the part of caring for Erica that Janet enjoyed the
most:  breastfeeding her.  Janet was very good at it; she
produced fresh, warm, rich milk in such quantities that Erica
could enjoy as much as she wished at any time of the day or
night.  Janet could begin nursing without any special
preparation; it was sufficient that she merely think of
nursing, and her breasts would swell with milk.

Indeed, extensive practice had given Janet uncanny control over
her own lactation.  She could start, stop, and adjust her flow
of milk at will.  At any time, without any advance notice, she
could initiate the flow of milk from her breasts with a trivial
effort of will; in the same way, she could halt the flow
abruptly if she so desired.  She could adjust the flow from
mere dampness and occasional drops to a continuous stream.
When she was fully engorged (a fairly frequent condition for
Janet), she could cause milk to squirt in tiny streams
intermittently from her nipples.  If she did this while fully
dressed, the entire top half of whatever she was wearing would
be soaked through in barely over a minute, exactly as if she
had poured a carton of milk onto herself.  Fortunately, such
impressive lactation did not occur unless she explicitly wished
it to occur.

Although Janet had just finished milking herself in the
bathroom, she was already engorged, simply because she wished
to become so, so as to have more milk for Erica.  The thought
of her breasts becoming engorged caused them to fill with
extraordinary speed, and now, after only a minute or two, they
were again laden with fresh milk.  It took a great deal of
self-control to prevent milk from leaving her breasts
immediately, but Janet was able to exert such control
flawlessly and effortlessly.  It had not always been so:  when
she first began lactating, her lactation was so profuse and
uncontrollable that she hated to leave the house.  Only after a
great deal of practice had she succeeded in gaining perfect
control over her breasts and the milk they produced.

Janet picked Erica up again and went over to a large,
comfortable chair.  She sat down, with Erica cradled in front
of her.  She untied her robe, and gently pulled apart the top
to reveal her huge breasts.  Erica's proximity only served to
emphasize the size of Janet's 46-inch chest; her daughter's
small head was dwarfed by the massive sphere of Janet's breast.
Janet speculated that her breasts probably weighed more than
Erica; in fact, she suspected that the weight of milk she
carried in her breasts was probably nearly equal to the weight
of her baby's body.  She wondered how such large breasts must
appear to a tiny baby--like mountains, probably.

Janet lifted Erica and placed her between her breasts, facing
forward.  Her breasts cradled Erica on either side; the warmth
of the baby's tiny body and her constant squirming pleased
Janet.  It was equally obvious that the warmth and bulk of
Janet's breasts pleased Erica, since she was no longer crying,
and her squirming diminished as she felt Janet's warm breasts
envelopping her on both sides.

After a moment, Erica seemed ready to cry again, and Janet
decided that it was time for her to enjoy her meal.  She turned
her daughter around, cradled her in one arm, and held her small
face next to Janet's nipple.  Janet's chocolate-brown areola
was as large as Erica's face, and her erect nipple was nearly
the size of Erica's plastic pacifier.  She let Erica's face
nuzzle her nipple, and felt the latter grow and stiffen against
her baby's soft cheeks.  Janet gently brushed her nipple
against her daughter's mouth, and Erica began to follow,
mesmerized, it in an attempt to seize it between her lips.
Janet allowed a few drops of milk to ooze from her nipple and
onto Erica, and the taste of milk intensified her daughter's
attempts to connect with her nipple.  Janet knew that she
needed to prepare Erica in this way in order to avoid any
inconvenience, because she could produce milk more quickly than
Erica could drink it, and if her baby did not suckle strongly
and immediately, milk would spill everywhere, or worse yet,
Erica would choke on mouthfuls of milk that she was unprepared
to swallow.

Finally, just as Erica seemed ready to cry, Janet held her
nipple immobile, and Erica caught it between her lips.  She
locked her mouth around her mother's nipple (a significant
accomplishment, since Janet's nipple filled her baby's mouth
quite completely), and immediately begin to suckle with
extraordinary vigor.  Janet could feel the baby's tongue and
gums massaging her nipple.  Janet allowed her lactation to
begin, and milk gushed suddenly and violently from her nipple
into Erica's waiting mouth.  As usual, her baby was unprepared
for the volume of milk that was forthcoming, and milk spilled
from her mouth onto Janet's breast and stomach.  Despite this,
Janet's flow increased dramatically.  She had to pay careful
attention so as not to gag Erica with the milk, and in fact
much of the milk ended up on the towel beneath her breast,
rather than in Erica's stomach, simply because Erica could not
drink it quickly enough.

Janet carefully adjusted her flow through conscious effort
until it was only slightly superior to the rate of Erica's
suckling.  This represented only a fraction of Janet's
capacity; she knew that she could have her baby swimming in a
sea of milk in seconds if she allowed her flow to increase to
its incredible maximum.  Milk dripped from her other breast,
but she held the flow to a minimum so as not to make a mess in
the nursery.  After a moment, she quickly shifted Erica to the
other breast, and Erica resumed suckling without missing a
beat.  Janet then expressed excess milk with her fingers into a
bowl held beneath her breast.  Every few minutes, she would
alternate in this way.  By the time that Erica showed signs of
satiation, Janet had filled two and a half bowls (she kept five
available in the nursery, just in case).

As Erica's suckling decreased in intensity, Janet reduced the
flow of her milk in consequence.  She was just as full as she
had been before Erica began suckling, since she had created
more milk as quickly as Erica drank it, but Erica was falling
asleep, and would soon be unwilling to suckle at all.

Janet gazed silently down at her breasts.  She knew that her
breasts were beautiful, and she tingled with pride each time
she admired their size and form.  They were nearly the size of
basketballs, and yet they were extremely high and firm, almost
spherical, with very large, dark nipples that stood out
slightly from the smooth, pale skin of each breast.  Her
nipples could become erect in a few seconds, and they were in
such a state now; the tip of each nipple was larger than the
tip of Janet's finger.

Janet pressed her hand gently against her breast.  Fresh milk
spurted from her nipple in a thin stream that arched down onto
Erica's chest.  Erica was asleep and indifferent.  Janet's
daughter saw her breasts only as huge, warm, comforting
repositories of an endless supply of milk; but Janet knew that
older human beings of the opposite sex viewed her immense
breasts in an entirely different way.  Janet smiled to herself
as she reflected upon what some grown men might give in
exchange for the opportunity to spend even a brief period in
Erica's place, inches away from her enormous, bare breasts.

Janet had first become aware of the way men appreciated breasts
when she was very young.  Boys stared at her chest in fifth
grade, embarrassing her terribly.  Her chest expanded very
rapidly, and by her thirteenth birthday, she had a larger bust
than any of her teachers, larger even than that of her mother.
She soon learned *why* boys stared so much, and she realized
that large breasts gave her sexual power--power was not shared
by girls with tiny, flat chests.  By the time she entered
college, she knew exactly what she could do with her breasts,
and it comforted her to know that she possessed such power,
ready to exert at her whim.  She felt sorry for small-breasted
women; they could never know the intoxicating pleasure of
having complete control over a man.

Erica made gurgling sounds and awakened.  Janet held Erica
against her bare breast and patted her small body gently;
presently, a tiny burp signalled that Erica was prepared to
return to sleep.  Janet rose and returned Erica to her crib.
Her breasts pressed against Erica as she kissed her daughter on
the forehead, and tiny stains of fresh milk marked the sheets
in the crib on either side of the baby, where Janet's nipples
had ejected milk as she leaned over her daughter.

Janet stood and straightened.  Her chest was so large that it
blocked her view of Erica; she saw only the rounded volumes of
each breast looming in front of her.  The sight of this pleased
her; she enjoyed being reminded of the size of her breasts.
All of Janet's sexual fantasies, in fact, involved her breasts
in one way or another.  Most of them, lately, also involved her
lactation.  Some of the fantasies had been acted out in real
life.  Janet felt herself growing more aroused as she thought
briefly of some of her favorite fantasies.  Her breasts tingled
and swelled in response.

It took a few seconds for Janet to realize that the doorbell
was ringing.


JANET'S MILK - Part III

The doorbell was definitely ringing.

Janet rose and closed her robe again, carefully tying the belt
around her waist.  She closed the door to Erica's room and
walked down the hallway to the living room, then entered the
living room and looked through the peephole in the front door.
She recognized the two young men standing outside:  Ron and
Carl, brothers who lived with their family two houses down.
She opened the door.

"Hi, Janet," greeted Ron, the older brother, as the door
opened.  His brother Carl smiled, but said nothing.  Both boys
were younger than Janet, although she wasn't sure by how much.
They both had part-time jobs, but they both attended school,
also; in any case, they still lived at home.  Carl looked
perhaps a year or two younger than his brother, and he seemed
much more shy.  Both were smiling now.

"Hi, Ron," answered Janet pleasantly.  Both boys had noticed
that she was dressed in a bathrobe; Ron glanced more-or-less
discreetly at the obvious bulge of her chest every few seconds,
whereas Carl was staring directly at her chest, apparently
slightly hypnotized by its size, and by the fact that she wore
only a robe, with no bra (as the outline of her nipples through
the fabric of the robe made clear).  "Hi, Carl," Janet said
loudly, interrupting Carl's reverie.  Carl looked at her and
smiled shyly without speaking, and a hint of a blush crossed
his face.  "Come on in," proposed Janet, gesturing towards the
living room.  The boys entered the room.  Janet closed the door
and waved them towards the sofa, then sat down herself across
from them in a small chair.  Ron and Carl seated themselves at
opposite ends of the sofa.

"We aren't interrupting anything, I hope," asked Ron, obviously
wondering about her attire.  Carl was again gazing at her
chest.  "We just brought you these two letters; um, the postman
left them in our mailbox by mistake."  Ron rose quickly and
handed her two envelopes:  an electric bill and some sort of
junk-mail offer.  He backed away and sat back down as soon as
the envelopes has slipped from his fingers.

"I took a bath a while ago, and I just fed Erica, so I haven't
had time to change, but don't worry about it."  Janet noticed
that the eyes of both boys had widened upon hearing the words
"bath" and "fed," especially those of Carl, who shifted
slightly on the sofa as he heard the latter word.  Both of them
realized that Janet breast-fed her daughter, and Janet
speculated on the many thoughts that were probably racing
through the boys' minds as they imagined her feeding Erica.
Neither boy spoke.  Janet looked down at the envelopes and
broke the silence with a comment to the effect that all she
ever seemed to receive was junk mail and bills.  Both boys
laughed a little more loudly than the comment probably
justified.  They were obviously nervous.

The boys themselves were dressed in an ordinary way, both of
them wearing jeans and loose pull-over shirts with bold
horizontal stripes, and nearly-new sneakers.  While neither boy
was enormously handsome, both Ron and Carl were cute and nicely
built, and Janet found Carl's shyness especially endearing.
Both boys sat straight up on the sofa with their hands folded
in their laps, but Carl's feet were turned slightly inward--
probably a sign of introversion, Janet thought to herself.

"I guess your baby must eat a lot, huh?" Ron ventured suddenly.
Carl glanced at Ron and then stared at the floor.  Janet looked
at Ron and smiled.

"That's for sure; she's hungry every few hours, I'm afraid."

"I guess it must be tiring," observed Ron uselessly.

"It is, but it's a relief, too," explained Janet.  Ron looked
quizzically at her.  Carl looked even more confused.

"How come?" asked Ron.

"It hurts if you don't feed the baby regularly.  The milk, I
mean."

"It, uh, gets stopped up?" conjectured Carl, speaking for the
first time.  He seemed very nervous, but there was a hint of
almost scientific curiosity in his voice.  Janet was convinced
that Carl was actually the smarter of the two brothers.

"Kind of," continued Janet, "When you're really full, it hurts,
and feeding the baby is a relief."  Ron was clearly working out
all the implications of what Janet was saying, but Carl still
looked bewildered.

"Full?" he asked, apparently not making the connection.  Janet
felt herself smiling again at the boy's naivete.

"Well, if I don't empty my breasts, they're going to get pretty
full, aren't they?" she asked, in a tone similar to that of a
teacher drilling a student.  Carl swallowed almost audibly and
nodded agreement.  Ron smiled, and leaned back slightly against
the sofa.  She could almost hear these boys thinking.  She knew
that their minds were racing ahead of the conversation,
imagining what her breast-feeding must be like.  She enjoyed
this exchange.

"As it is, I hardly know what to do with all the milk.  I feel
like a dairy sometimes."  Janet smiled broadly and laughed a
little to put the boys at ease; she knew quite well that the
conversation was not without effect for either of them.  Carl
sat up very straight and leaned forward slightly, and Ron
resumed his former upright posture.

Carl looked at Janet in the eyes, for the first time since his
arrival.  "You mean for real, I mean, you really have too much
milk?" he asked, seemingly half out of innocent curiosity and
half out of prurient interest.

Janet felt a sudden urge to brag a little.  "Well, they told me
at the hospital that I was producing more milk than all the
other women there combined, and there were twenty of us all
together!"  The boys' eyes widened in amazement.  Janet was
telling the truth; she had set all-time records in the
maternity ward for milk production.  At one point during her
her brief stay, she was nursing ten different babies each day,
including her own, and she still had milk left over.  She had
been very proud of her own capacity, and more than a little
surprised by it.

Ron spoke up suddenly, "Well, I guess you have enough, uh,
equipment for it!"  He grinned in a friendly but slightly
naughty way, glancing briefly at her chest.

"Ron's a pervert," advised Carl, irritated.  "He's always
thinking about stuff like that."  He glared at his brother
reproachfully.

"What's wrong with that, Carl?" asked Janet.  "That's what
every guy thinks about--don't you?"

"Not like that," answered Carl hotly.  "He's obsessed with
that."  Despite his energetic tone, Janet did not find Carl at
all convincing.  She decided to pursue the line of questioning.

"Believe me, Carl, all guys think about it.  Right now I have a
46-inch bustline--how many guys do you think can ignore that?"
Janet let the raw figures soak in.  Ron and Carl now had
precise data concerning the size of Janet's chest, and they
appeared to be calculating furiously.  She watched their
expressions change as they realized just how large 46 inches
really was.  Both of them shifted slightly in their seats.

"Wow!  You *are* big!" interjected Ron, after a pause.  "I
didn't even think a girl could be that big!"  For an instant,
Ron looked as though he felt he had said too much, but Janet's
continuing smile told him that she was not shocked.

"Well, it *is* possible," continued Janet, "and just try to
find a bra when you have a chest that's six inches larger than
the largest size they carry!"  Janet enjoyed citing these
statistics; she was sure that they were having a powerful
effect on the boys.  She looked at Carl, who was staring at her
chest again.  "Don't you think it's pretty big, Carl?" she
asked.

"Huh?" stammered Carl, looking quickly up at her.  "I guess
so," he said, obviously unsure of the answer that she expected.

"You look at it so much, you should have figured out my size a
long time ago!" teased Janet, and she laughed.  Carl looked at
her with intense embarrassment, and his face became very red.
Ron mimed violent laughter and pointed at his brother.  "You do
look at it, don't you?" she asked, pressing for a response.

"Maybe," responded Carl slowly.  He seemed very nervous, more
so than his brother.

"If you look at it so much, you must like it, right?" pursued
Janet mercilessly, "You must like my chest because it's big--
*real* big--right?"

Carl hunched forward on the sofa; he looked as though he would
have preferred to crawl beneath it.  "Sure, I guess so," he
finally answered.

"Are you embarrassed by what it does?" interrogated Janet.

"What do you mean?" asked Carl, puzzled.

"Are you embarrassed by what happens to you when you look at my
chest?" asked Janet.

"I don't know," answered Carl uncooperatively, as he realized
what she meant.  "I don't know," he repeated, after a pause.

"Why don't you look at it now?  I'm not going to get mad at
you."  Janet straightened in her chair, and her breasts
strained powerfully against the cloth of her robe.  Ron stared
at her bust with an open mouth.  Carl looked up, and his eyes
locked on to her chest.  He stared.

"Have you ever known any other girls as big as me, Carl?" asked
Janet.

"No way," answered Carl, "They're all, um, flat as boards
compared to you, really, Janet."  His eyes were still riveted
to her chest.

"That's what I thought," said Janet confidently.  "I bet even
the biggest girl you know is eight or ten inches smaller than I
am."

"P-probably," stuttered Carl.  He seemed to be reviewing a
mental inventory of the girls he knew as he spoke, confirming
her hypothesis.

Janet noticed that Ron's legs were crossed.  She sensed the
tension in the air.  Her breasts were engorged beneath her
robe.  She was acutely aware of their bulk and weight, and she
individually felt every square millimeter of fabric sliding
against her breasts.

Janet rose and crossed over to the sofa.  She sat between Ron
and Carl, and faced Carl.  "Are you embarrassed because you
have an erection, Carl?" she asked nonchalantly.  Carl looked
at her in amazement, and bit his lip, but he did not answer.
Janet continued reassuringly.  "Don't be shy, Carl; it's normal
to be hard like that, it's just your body reacting to my
chest."

"I guess so," said Carl, apparently at a loss for anything else
to say.  He was looking at her chest again, drinking in the
sight of her bulging chest from up close.  Through the
partially open neck of the robe, he could see her deep
cleavage, and he could see the top of her breasts bulging
against the terry cloth sides of the robe.

"Sometimes it gets worse, I know," acknolwedged Janet,
"sometimes much worse, even."  She straightened her back and
inhaled slowly, her chest expanding very visibly within her
robe, her nipples protruding in an obvious way through the
fabric.  Carl squirmed slightly on the sofa.  "It's natural,"
she continued, "you don't have much control over it."  Although
Carl did not respond, Janet knew that he realized that she was
right.

"It isn't really you that causes it, Carl--it's me, actually,"
said Janet, "and I can even make it worse."  Janet reached down
and began untying the belt to her robe.  Carl made a slight
gasping noise, but said nothing; he was still looking at her
chest.  Janet saw Ron out of the corner of her eye; he had
moved to the seat she had been occupying, and he was watching
them both, with legs crossed.

"I can make you ache, Carl, if I want to," said Janet, and she
reached up and started to pull apart the sides of her robe.
Carl stared; his mouth was open, he was very silent, and Janet
could see that he was trembling.  His eyes were very wide.
Janet slipped the sides of her robe away from her chest,
exposing her huge, engorged breasts.  Her nipples were rock-
hard.  "Do you feel how hard you are getting?" she asked,
rhetorically.  Carl made no response.

Janet raised her left hand and slipped it gently behind Carl's
head, sliding her fingers into his thick brown hair.  "Don't
fight it, Carl, just let it happen," she said, "You can't stop
it from happening--it's instinct, you know."  Carl leaned
slightly towards her.  Janet pulled his head gently forwards
and downwards.  He was still resisting.  Janet inhaled more
deeply, and at the sight of her swelling breasts, his
resistance diminished.

Janet glanced briefly at Ron out of the corner of her eye.  She
suppressed a smile as she looked at him.  He was reclining in
the chair.  His jeans were open, and he had pulled them down to
the top of his thighs, along with a skimpy pair of navy-blue
briefs.  His hands were wrapped around his erect penis, and he
was stroking himself gently as he watched her and Carl.  Carl
hadn't even noticed him.

Carl was still maintaining a slight resistance.  Janet put
forth her will, and large drops of milk appeared at the tips of
her nipples.  Carl's resistance melted instantly, and his face
fell forward against her left breast.  Janet pressed the
fingers of her right hand around her nipple.  She felt Carl's
mouth find her nipple and lock on to it in exactly the same way
that Erica had.  But Carl was no baby; Janet ran her hand along
Carl's shoulders and back, and she felt masses of muscle, tense
and hard beneath her fingers, hard and strong as only a man's
body can be.  She realized that she had become very wet, and
her body tingled with excitement.

Once Carl found her nipple and took it into his mouth, he began
immediately to suckle.  Unlike her daughter, Carl suckled with
almost painful intensity.  Milk spurted violently from her
breast into his mouth, and he swallowed it, gulping it down
like a starving child, hungrily suckling all the milk she would
give him.  She let her milk flow at full speed, and felt him
alternately filling his mouth and swallowing.  She felt his
warm breath caressing her breast, and heard him making small
sighing sounds and squeaky sucking noises as he pumped milk
from her breast in an instinctive, uncontrollable, unstoppable
way.  Janet sensed that Carl was hers now; all men became toys
when they suckled.  Carl's large body was massive next to hers,
and she sensed the extraordinary strength it surely
represented; but while he suckled, he was her toy, her
plaything, entirely dependent on her whim, willing to do
anything in exchange for the warmth of her milk.  She was
intensely, irresistibly aroused.

Suddenly, Carl's body lurched beneath her hand, and his
suckling became erratic.  He moaned against her breast, and his
body heaved.  Janet looked at Carl's clothing:  Sure enough, a
stain was spreading near the base of his shirt, where it met
the beltline of his jeans.  Carl had ejaculated.

Janet gently separated herself from Carl, gently pushing his
face away from her breast.  Milk splashed from his mouth onto
her stomach, and a steady stream of milk dribbled from both of
her nipples.  At first, Carl resisted, and his strength was
such that she felt as though she were pushing against a
locomotive; but presently he relented, and fell back against
the sofa, his face and part of his shirt soaked with Janet's
milk, and his shirt stained with his own semen.

Janet stood and turned to face Ron.  Her bare breasts dripped
milk onto the carpet.  She let her robe drop to the floor,
exposing her nude body.  As she approached Ron, who was still
masturbating on the chair, he closed his eyes suddenly, and he
began to ejaculate in violent spurts onto his own shirt and
face.

Janet reached down and picked up her robe.  She carefully
dressed, covering her body, including her breasts, and tying
the belt.  Carl and Ron were still both fully erect, despite
their orgasms.  She smiled at them both, stood very straight,
and opened her robe again, exposing her breasts.  Both boys
began masturbating.  She cupped her breasts in her hands, and
squeezed them as best she could--given the fact that they were
far too large to fit in her hands.  Milk squirted in twin
streams from her breasts, landing on the carpet.  Carl
ejaculated first, followed ten or fifteen seconds later by Ron.

This time, both young men seemed quite satiated, at least for
the time being, and Janet dressed again.  She went quickly into
the kitchen and returned with a roll of paper towels, and she
handed a wad of towels to each of the two brothers.  They
cleaned themselves and dressed.

After several minutes of silence, Janet looked alternately at
both boys.  "If you like," she said softly, "we can do this
again sometime."  The eyes of the two boys brightened.  "For
now, though," she continued, "I think we'd better get cleaned
up and say goodbye."  The boys nodded assent.

"I have to, uh, I work this afternoon anyway," Carl
volunteered.  He rose unsteadily from the sofa, and then Ron
did the same.  They looked at her soaked robe, at the wet spots
on the floor and sofa, and at her, and then they smiled.  And
Janet smiled back.

Janet led them to the front door, and opened it.  "Come back
whenever you want--mail or not," she said soothingly, "I always
enjoy visiting."  Ron and Carl glowed with happiness, and said
goodbye.  Janet closed the door and flopped down onto the sofa.

It was almost five o'clock.  Janet's husband would be home
soon.


JANET'S MILK - Part IV

Janet's husband usually arrived home around six o'clock, so she
still had an hour to herself.  Normally, she would have started
on dinner at four o'clock, but the unexpected visit from Ron
and Carl had delayed her.  Tonight would be TV dinners, she
decided to herself.

Janet walked to the hallway closet and found a can of rug
cleaner and a rag.  Reentering the living room, she sprayed a
layer of white foam onto the floor over the spots left by her
milk, then rubbed the spots vigorously for a few moments with
the rag.  Leaving the foam to dry, she returned the can and rag
to the closet and went into the bathroom.

Janet turned on the water in the bathtub and adjusted the
temperature until it was very warm, but not hot.  She closed
the drain and verified that the water was rising in the tub.  A
warm bath would help her to relax, she thought to herself, as
wisps of steam began rising from the bathwater.

While she waited for the tub to fill, Janet checked in on
Erica.  She was still fast asleep in her crib.  Good, Janet
thought.  Janet carefully closed Erica's door and returned to
the kitchen.

There were plenty of TV dinners in the freezer; Janet didn't
always have time to prepare dinner, and Rick, her husband,
wasn't particular about meals.  She pulled four dinners from
the freezer, opened them, and set them carefully at different
levels in the microwave.  After setting the controls on the
oven, she pressed the START button, and a digital clock began
counting down to the time the dinners would start to cook.
They would be ready just as Rick got home.  Finally, Janet
opened the refrigerator and pulled out a small bottle of her
milk.  She took one of the calcium-and-mineral supplements her
doctor had prescribed from the bottle in the cupboard over the
sink, and placed it in her mouth.  Opening the bottle of milk,
she drank the half pint inside, swallowing the pill along with
the milk.  The milk was cold and very sweet, with a very thin
layer of cream.  It was quite delicious; no wonder Erica likes
it so much, Janet thought.  Janet rinsed out the empty bottle
and placed it into the dishwasher, then she returned to the
bathroom.

The tub was about half full, which was good enough.  She closed
the bathroom door behind her.  The bathroom was warm with steam
from the tub.  Janet untied and opened her robe, and let it
slide to the ground.  She looked at her naked body in the
mirror, and admired her enormous, firm breasts.  She opened the
medicine cabinet next to the mirror and removed a small, cloth
tape measure.  After checking to make sure that a fresh towel
was on the rack, she stepped over to the waiting bathtub and
stuck her toe into the water.  The temperature was perfect.

Janet looked again in the mirror.  Her breasts were so large
and upright that they looked artificial, as if they had been
inflated with silicone; but there was no silicone in Janet's
breasts--they were 100% real.  Despite their impressive size,
they did not sag.  Beneath the near-perfect roundness of each
breast, extremely large milk glands enabled Janet to produce
milk in such quantities that she nearly qualified as a freak of
nature.  Her doctor had told her that she had never before seen
milk glands as large and as well-developed as Janet's.  She had
also been astonished by the capacity of Janet's breasts to
produce milk; the simple tests her doctor had attempted were
completely overwhelmed by Janet phenomenal capabilities.  As a
result, Janet had no real idea of her true capacity to lactate,
but she felt sure that it would break any record in existence,
and she was proud of her ability.

Janet unrolled the tape measure and began measuring herself.
She started by measuring her chest beneath her breasts:  26?
inches.  Then she measured her bust at its fullest point:  48?
inches.  Each breast was thirteen inches in diameter, and
nearly spherical in shape, and extended roughly ten inches in
front of her chest.  Her nipples alone were four inches across.
Janet gently weighed her breast in one hand; it was
surprisingly heavy, mainly because of the immense milk gland
inside, which was almost always laden with milk.

Janet looked down and saw only her breasts.  Normally, she
couldn't see the rest of her body while standing straight,
because her very large breasts got in the way.  She turned
sideways and looked at herself in the mirror.  Her body looked
like something one might see in a girlie magazine; slender,
smooth, and gently curved everywhere, with gigantic breasts
standing straight out from a small chest.  But this body is
real, not retouched, thought Janet to herself as she admired
her bust.  She turned around, with her back to the mirror, and
looked over her shoulder.  Her breasts extended outwards from
either side of her ribcage, and were visible even from the
back.

Janet turned and walked over to the tub.  She stepped into the
tub, then knelt down, and eased her body beneath the water's
surface.  She extended her slender, smooth legs, gradually
immersing her naked body completely in the water.  She pulled
her hair from behind her and leaned her head slowly against the
back of the tub; then she looked at herself.  The tub was
filled to the brim, and almost all of her body was submerged in
clear, warm water, except for her head and arms.  Her bust was
too large to submerge completely, though, and the upper
portions of her bare breasts stood above the water like twin,
cream-colored mountains, with dusky-brown summits, surrounded
by a transparent sea.

Janet began examining her breasts closely--an enjoyable pastime
that allowed her to more fully appreciate the beauty of her
bust.  Each breast was a nearly ideal sphere of extraordinary
size, extending far beyond the width of the chest underneath.
The skin of each breast was taut, translucent, lily-white in
color, and smooth; and sharp contrast was provided by the huge,
dark-brown nipples that stood away from her breasts like
flattened cones.  The very edge of each areola was slightly
diffuse, becoming uniformly dark only as it began to slope up
and away from the larger bulk of each breast; and each nipple
terminated in a teat that was larger than the tip of Janet's
index finger.  Tiny bumps ran in profusion along the outer
perimeter of each nipple--sebaceous glands that provided the
nipple with lubrication, keeping it supple and smooth.

Janet felt her breasts expanding as she admired them.  Her
breasts became visibly larger when they were engorged, often to
such an extent that she could no longer fit into a bra; but
here in the tub, fitting into a bra was not a concern, and so
she let them expand, watching them very gradually increase in
size.  By comparing their height to the edge of the tub, she
could see that they were definitely swelling.  Janet enjoyed
admiring the hugeness of her breasts.  To her, they were proof
of her womanhood, and proof of her sexual potency; and despite
the practical inconveniences that they represented, Janet was
immensely proud of them.  She smiled at the thought of the
millions of flat and small-busted women who dreamed of having
breasts even half the size of Janet's.

Janet thought back to that afternoon, and to Ron and Carl.  She
had teased them on impulse.  She knew that they were
preoccupied by her bust; they spent at least 70% of their time
staring at it, no matter how she was dressed.  She figured she
would give them a thrill.  She wondered how often the two boys
fantasized about her--daily, perhaps?  And how many times did
they masturbate alone, arousing themselves with thoughts of her
bare breasts?  One thing was for sure:  this afternoon's
adventure would leave them hard for months.  In fact, Janet
suspected that they would probably spend the next few days
masturbating and dreaming of her milk.  The thought of those
two young men--naked in their beds, fully erect, playing with
themselves and fantasizing about Janet's swollen breasts until
they ejaculated in their excitement--aroused Janet, and she
felt her body tensing in response to the thought of the two
brothers.  She wondered how long they could fantasize about her
breasts in their private masturbation sessions before
excitement overcame them and they reached orgasm.  And she
wondered how many consecutive orgasms they could reach before
exhausting the erotic potential that thoughts of her breasts
and milk provided.

Not that Ron and Carl were exceptions to the rule, of course.
The opposite sex had been aroused by Janet's breasts since she
was a teenager.  Janet had not understood the erotic potential
of her breasts at first, but she soon learned of the power they
gave her.

----

It all began when she was nine.  Her nipples began abruptly to
darken and swell that year, and the breasts beneath began to
grow shortly thereafter.  No other girl in her class had
anything at the time, and she was mercilessly teased by all the
boys; they claimed she was stuffing her clothes with tissue
paper or "dirt clods."  She felt humiliated by her expanding
bust, and she tried her best to hide it.  Even so, by the age
of ten, she had to wear a bra.

The first few years of Erica's adolescence were an
embarrassment.  Her bust continued to grow, filling and
overfilling bra after bra.  By the age of twelve, she was
better endowed than any of her female teachers.  By the age of
thirteen, her bust had reached its full size, filling a 38DD
cup to bursting.  But just as the humiliation of her huge chest
seemed to be more than she could bear, the boys in Janet's
classes began to reach puberty.  Then the situation changed.

In seventh grade, boys stopped teasing Janet.  At the same
time, they spent more and more time staring at her--especially
at her chest.  At first, she was supremely embarrassed by this
attention; but then she noticed that the attention was
different from what it had once been.  Boys weren't looking at
her with disdain--they were looking at her with interest.  They
still made occasional jokes about her bust, but they seemed
much more shy around her than they had previously been, and the
jokes seemed more like an attempt by the boys to reassure
themselves than an attempt to ridicule Janet.  She noticed that
boys went out of their way to talk to her and sit near her.
And they stared at her chest constantly.

In eighth grade, Janet was invited to a pool party.  She showed
up in a two-piece bathing suit that she had bought for the
occasion.  It had taken a long time to find, since the top had
to be much larger than the bottom, and she had been forced to
settle for a top that was still a bit tight.  She steeled
herself for embarrassment and went to the party, covering
herself in a terry-cloth shirt.

Janet wore the shirt during most of the party, but after most
of the other kids had gone inside to eat, she decided to step
into the pool.  She pulled off her shirt and waded into the
pool alone, in her bikini.  A few minutes later, she stepped
back out of the pool, only to notice several boys sitting and
talking by the poolside.  They turned to look at Janet, and
their eyes nearly popped out of their heads.  Several of them
whistled, and Janet felt herself blush.  She could feel the
movement of her breasts in her swimsuit, and she was all too
aware of the tightness of her top, which made her breasts
bubble sloppily over the edge of the top.  Her breasts felt
like overinflated basketballs that threatened to tear through
her bikini at any moment.  Then she looked back at the boys.
They were staring silently at her chest, as if in awe.  Then
she glanced down at their swimsuits, and she felt a tingle run
down her spine.  Their suits looked like pup tents--without
exception, every one of them was as hard as a baseball bat.
For the first time, Janet had direct evidence of what the sight
of her breasts did to boys.  She had made a dozen boys hard
just with the sight of her breasts in a bikini.  And she
*liked* that.  She smiled slightly to herself as she put her
shirt back on and walked into the house.  Later that evening,
in bed, she thought about the events of the day again, running
through them over and over in her mind, thinking about all
those boys hard--just for her.

With the new confidence that this discovery had given Janet,
she was more willing to spend time with boys.  She found that
boys were more than willing to associate with her.  In ninth
grade, she finally accepted a request for a date, with a very
cute boy, Jerry, from her algebra class.  They went to a movie,
then back to her house.  They spent a while in the backyard,
sitting next to each other on a bench next to the gas grill.
She had been wearing a sexy white bodysuit and jeans.  Jerry
had kissed her, making her tingle all over.  They kissed for a
long moment, and then Jerry asked if he could touch her chest,
and she said yes.  The warmth of his hand on her bust sent
shivers through her body, and better still, she could see that
he liked it.  Her nipples were erect beneath her bodysuit, and
she knew that Jerry saw and felt their hardness through the
fabric.  His jeans bulged; she was making him harder and harder
just by letting him touch her chest.  She became nervous and
finally told him to stop, and a short time later, Jerry went
home.  But Janet thought about him all night.

The next experience came six months later, with another boy,
Curt, who was a friend of Janet's older brother.  Curt was
about two years older than Janet, and he was already a junior.
While they were alone together at Janet's house, waiting for
her brother to get home, Janet teased him, puffing out her
chest, letting it strain against the square neckline of her
peasant blouse.  Sure enough, she made Curt hard.  In a sudden
impulsive move, Janet had unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it
open, letting Curt see her in her bra.  She had watched in
total amazement as this older boy ejaculated in his trousers.
She hadn't even touched him; she wasn't even undressed!  Curt
had to go home without waiting for Janet's brother.  Janet was
astonished by what she had been able to do to Curt, and
aroused.  Her power over boys was greater than she had dreamed,
and every time she thought about it, the thought excited her.

Other experiences followed.  Janet was quite a tease when she
wanted to be.  Boys got hard when she wanted them to, and she
could make them as hard as she wished.  They made a mess in
their clothes, if she so desired.  She could do it to any boy,
any time.  She could even do it to boys who were already going
steady, or to senior boys older than her.  She liked to spend
time in bed late in the evening thinking about what she could
do to boys, imagining what she could do to one boy or another,
or reminiscing about what she *had* done to a boy.  She often
caressed herself as she thought about it.  It was very
pleasant.  It regularly made her come.

Boys especially liked to kiss and suck her breasts.  They would
always make a mess when they did that.  Janet used to imagine
what it would be like to *feed* boys with milk from her
breasts.  She imagined creating real milk inside her breasts,
then letting a boy drink it from her nipples.  She couldn't do
it, of course, but she liked to fantasize about doing it.  She
had never dreamed that she would one day be able to fulfill
that fantasy with grown men as an adult.  But now that day had
come.

----

A sudden noise awakened Janet from her reverie.  Her hands were
still resting on her breasts.  Her hands and arms were covered
with milk, and rivulets of milk streamed down from each of her
nipples into the now-translucent water of the bathtub.  She
pressed her fingers against her breasts, and milk spurted
upwards from her nipples.  She closed her hands around the tips
of her breasts, caressing and gather her nipples beneath her
fingers, then squeezed both breasts firmly.  A pair of thin
streams of white milk squirted directly up into the air from
each nipple; milk cascaded down onto her face and into the
water around her, and one stream of milk poured directly out
over the floor of the bathroom next to the tub.  "Shit," Janet
hissed aloud, and she quickly pointed the diminishing stream
back towards the tub.  The water was opaque with milk.  She had
been lactating profusely during her fantasies.

She heard the noise again.  A car.  Rick, probably.  She
quickly rose from the bathtub, expressed extra milk from her
breasts, then wiped herself off with a towel and opened the
bathtub drain.  At the same time, a distant beeping told Janet
that the TV dinners were done.  Right on time.  The front door
slammed as she slipped back into her robe.

"It's me, Janet," whispered a familiar voice through the door
of the bathroom.  Janet opened the door and smiled up at her
husband.

"So how was your day?" Rick asked.

END OF PART IV