LACTOGENESIS XXX: THE UPDATE <<>> 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 Lactation 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 Lactation 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 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 Lactation 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 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 Lactation Station showed no signs of becoming one of the vast majority of small businesses which fail within months after establishing themselves.