At Chris's words, the client emerged from her mannequin- like state and made a
few more gestures to Jeremy. Chris wondered if she were speaking in sign
language. "She wants you to touch her as you saw her touch the others," Jeremy
said. "Use a gentle touch, and don't get too carried away." The former request
would be no problem, but the latter might prove to be one. Now that the client
stood only inches away from her, Chris could detect a higher level of the
aphrodisiac scent, as if she were using it as a perfume. Chris's breasts began to
ache as her glands fought to produce even more milk against the pressure that was
already inside them. She wasn't used to that sensation, since she had always been
able to keep her production level under tight mental control prior to this. She
winced as her nipples, already at maximum erection, tried to become even harder.
She could feel her cunt juice flowing freely down the insides of her thighs as
she hovered on the edge of orgasm without even having been touched. Chris began
tracing the curves and lines of the client's body as she had seen her do with the
others, using a touch just barely perceptible. The client remained as motionless
as she could, but Chris could detect a faint trembling under her goose- pimply
skin. As she used her fingers to trace circles around the margin of the client's
artificially enhanced bosom, she was amazed to actually feel it swell beneath her
touch. Fascinated, Chris continued to caress the client's breasts, watching them
slightly inflate and become flushed until they were roughly a cup size larger
than they had been when she started. The nipples were also amazing; under Chris's
touch they had grown to an incredible size- - almost the length of her pinky from
second knuckle to tip, and about as big around. They pointed not straight outward
from the surrounding breast, but downward, as if they had been trained to do so
by having weights hang from them. Chris wondered absently if that were indeed the
case; she wouldn't put anything past this veiled mystery woman. At one point, as
Chris lightly traced the client's collarbone and progressed upward along her
throat, the woman must have thought Chris would try to unveil her, for as Chris's
hands fluttered upward along her neck, the client's own hands flashed out and
took Chris's forearms in an iron grip, jerking them away from her. Chris was
shocked by the strength in the woman's hands and the pain of her grip, which felt
as if it would crack the bones in her arm. She heard a soft whimper escape her
own lips and felt her knees buckle slightly. Chris's level of arousal remained
high despite the pain, making her wonder through the haze that washed over her
brain whether that was due to a heretofore unrealized streak of masochism within
her or just the aphrodisiac continuing to wield its chemical influence over her
glands. "Hey!" Chris yelped. "I wasn't trying to see who you were! Honest to
God!" The client's grip did not lessen. "You're hurting me! Jeremy!" "That's
enough!" she heard Jeremy shout. "She was only carrying out your instructions!"
The pain in Chris's arms lessened only slightly. Chris heard Jeremy rise from his
cushion and begin moving toward them, with the intent to physically remove the
client if need be. He was heedless of the fact that such an action would probably
end the evening's events then and there with no money changing hands. Chris
looked up at the client's covered face, read her body language, and realized that
the woman was in the throes of an intense, silent orgasm! As it began to fade, so
did her grasp. "Jeremy, stop! It's all right," said Chris as the client released
her wrists, allowing her to stand up straight. Another two seconds and it would
have been too late. Chris rubbed her arms, where white streaks that marked where
the client's fingers had been were already turning red. The client turned to
Jeremy, who now stood directly behind her, and made a complex gesture. Again
Jeremy translated. "She's just indicated that she is now sufficiently turned on
for us to continue. Ladies, take your positions, please." The client moved back
into the center of the circle and stood with legs spread and her arms extended
above her head. The woman was so aroused that it was actually possible to see her
accelerated pulse in the vibrations of the ring that pierced her clit. The five
women surrounding her moved closer, to within two feet or so, and cupped their
breasts, pointing ten swollen milk spigots at the client. After what seemed like
forever, the client nodded once, quickly. Jeremy also did so. Sherri immediately
planted her index and middle finger of each hand on either side of her areolae
and squashed her overloaded breasts into her chest, releasing a high-velocity
spray against the client's body. She flinched as the milk splashed across her
torso. Chris followed, squirting with abandon with jet after jet of white
ambrosia arcing across the two feet separating her from the client, to join
Sherri's milk in growing droplets forming paths down her belly. The other women
joined in, completely enveloping the client in a shower of milk, spouting from
ten different directions, five different shades of white mixing in rivers flowing
down the client's body. As they continued to loose their bounty upon the woman's
trembling figure, moans of varying pitch and intensity began to fill the room.
The client's head was thrown back, one arm dropping down, fingers seeking her
pulsing clit. Rather than diving directly into her pussy, they sought the rings
hanging from her pubes. Deftly, the client threaded her thumb through all three
rings and began tugging on them, stretching her labia and clit in a way that had
to be quite painful. The four free fingers formed a cone which the client curved
around, into, and up inside her gaping vagina. She began pistoning her hand while
continuing to diddle the rings. It was a very unique masturbation technique.
Watching the client doing this caused renewed vigor in the other women, who were
now expressing milk as fast as their nipples could deliver it. Milk flowed,
poured, gushed, jetted, surged, streamed forth. The client's veil soon became
soaked and began to cling to her face. A rather prominent nose, large mouth, and
high cheekbones became discernible, but the veil itself remained opaque. She
gasped, screeched, yelled, and howled as orgasm after orgasm shook her. She began
to slowly turn about in place to make sure every exposed inch of her became wet
with mother's milk. Sherri now was using her upper arms to press her breasts
together; the pressure was sufficient to keep her nipples spurting. Her hands
went to her cunt where they fought themselves for entry into her dripping hole.
Monique continued to fire thick white ropes of creamy fluid at the client long
after her tiny breasts should have been empty. Janine was giggling continuously
as she expelled her milk, occasionally stopping to tug hard on her nipples to
keep her breasts stimulated. Eleanor's flow had slowed to a trickle, but she
seemed not to care as she continued to squeeze and knead her breasts so hard that
she had to be causing herself pain. Jeremy was leaning against the wall of the
jacuzzi, his eyes unblinking, his fist a blur as he pounded away on his cock, the
glans a deep, angry purplish red. Not content simply with his hand, he came up
behind Monique and began caressing her shoulders. She responded instantly,
pushing her ass back against his throbbing member. Jeremy reached around to cup
his hand in front of her breast, withdrawing it when it was full of milk. He used
this to grease his prick which he then unceremoniously plunged into Monique's
anus. She winced and grunted, but did not miss a squirt. Jeremy fucked Monique's
ass like an animal, uncaring that the others were staring at him or that he might
be causing Monique discomfort. He wasn't though; she was clearing near coming
from the onslaught. Jeremy made some noises that sounded like a gorilla in heat,
then went rigid as he dumped his load into Monique's rectum. He then staggered
backward, his pole glistening and still dripping semen, and sat heavily on the
lowest step of the jacuzzi. Monique was hardly affected at all. Chris's
admiration for this wee slip of a girl increased when she saw how deftly she had
handled Jeremy's attack with hardly an ill effect. Finally, after probably
fifteen minutes or so, the flow of milk decreased in intensity to a point where
it no longer drenched the client. The shin-deep water in the jacuzzi was now
indistinguishable from the fluid still spraying (though not very far) from
Chris's and Sherri's breasts. The others had long since slowed to drops and
dribbles. The client had been masturbating throughout this period, and had had
probably a dozen or more orgasms. Jeremy had been able to rally and take Sherri
from behind as well, causing her to hit what had to have been her sixth or
seventh. Finally the aphrodisiac could do no more; all the sensory nerves had
been completely desensitized; there was no more metabolic energy available for
either sex or milk production. Exhausted, the client fell to her knees with a
loud splash; the women collapsed on the stairs of the jacuzzi. When Jeremy could
finally catch his breath, he asked the client if she was all right. She could
only nod weakly, but she nodded yes. At that, Jeremy turned to the others,
thanked them, and requested that they all leave, clean up, and help themselves to
any bed in the house they wanted. Chris found herself unable to argue; every cell
in her body was screaming for sleep. The time had come to pay the piper. "What
about her?" Sherri managed to say, pointing weakly at the fallen client. "She
wants to take a milk bath now," Jeremy replied simply. Chris and the others
slowly climbed up and out of the jacuzzi; filed silently back into the main body
of the house (all too tired even to shower again -- the thought of
re-experiencing the aphrodisiac in the lotion soap actually made them a little
nauseous now); and collapsed on the nearest soft surface they could find. They
all slept for several hours, awakening only with a loud pounding on the front
door. It was the police, responding to a call made by Eleanor's husband after she
had failed to return home the previous evening. Jeremy, ever the smooth talker,
defused the situation without the officers having to actually observe five
bedraggled, robe-clad women whose faces and bodies were covered with a whitish
residue that looked like dried milk. As the officers departed and Eleanor rushed
for a telephone, Chris wondered how they would have phrased their reports had
Jeremy been any less of a bullshit artist.