

I first met Emma at the vets office. We were both bringing our cats in
for a routine checkup. I arrived shortly after her and ended up in
line behind her at the sign in counter. Even from behind I was struck
immediately by her figure. She possessed flaring hips with a bubble
butt and a mass of thick red hair with voluminous curls.

She finished signing up and submitting her cat
for processing. I did the same with Captain and when
I turned around I was even more struck by the sight of her. She had
creamy skin and large hazel eyes which look out through green rimmed
glasses. Luscious lips, a well formed nose and high cheekbones fought
for my attention. All of them lost out to the huge swells of her breasts.
Later I would learn that they were G-cups, but at the time all I knew was
that they were huge, even for a woman who had reached maturity after the
change. Her flannel button down was open, exposing just the tiniest
hint of cleavage and there was a golden glint at her throat.

I realized that I had been staring at her too long, drifting closer as
I did so. I had to take the seat next to her if I did not want
to reverse course. I sat down in a bit of a rush. She bent down and
picked up a pen, "I think you dropped this."

As she had reached for it her bosom smoshed against her knees
and she had pointed the neck of her shirt in my direction, affording me
a flash of cleavage (and also revealing the small golden cross which had
been the source of the earlier glint). The sight had left me a little
flustered so it took me a little longer than it should have to smile
and say, "Thanks."

She smiled back, revealing perfect white teeth, "No problem. So, you here
for a cat?"

Relieved that she did not seem to have noticed my opportunistic ogling I
replied, "Yeah, just a routine checkup. Same deal?"

"Yeah. It's so nice to have this clinic in Hamsted now. I used to have
to go into the city to get Harper his checkups."

I nodded, "It was always pretty easy for me because I work in the city and
there is a place about three blocks away that will hold your pet for you.
I would just drop Captain in the morning and pick him up after work."
Mentioning your cat by name almost as soon as you meet someone is a great
way to be filed in the *crazy cat person* box, something which I studiously
try to avoid. Considering the location, and the fact that she had done
so first, I was not too worried.

"Oh that's super nice. I wish I had know that. I work in the city as well.
Did they charge anything for it?"

"Surprisingly no. I think it gives them more schedule flexibility. Either that
or the owners don't have a head for business."

We chatted pleasantly until a nurse came out and said, "Who belongs to Harper?"
Emma stood up (bending down to collect her bags and giving me an eyeful as she
did so). "Well, it was nice meeting you...?" she said realizing that we
had not exchanged names.

"Jack." I said with a smile.

"Hi Jack, I'm Emma." She said holding out her hand.

I took it and realized that I had to do something if I wanted this conversation
to be a repeat experience. "It was great talking to you." I paused looking for
a way to be smooth before deciding that eloquence was not my thing, "Can I have
your number?"

She looked a little surprised, but after a moment she said, "uuuuhh, yeah!
Sorry. Yeah that would be great." She fumbled for her purse, while I took out
my phone. I had gotten to the new contact page when she said, "I swear I have
some paper in here."

"Or you could just tell it to me." I said gesturing to my phone. She flushed
before reciting it. "Great! I'll text you my first and last." I said.

"Great." She said standing there for a moment before going to collect her
furry friend.

After the left I realized that I had not gotten her last name, which always
irritates me. It can be difficult to differentiate the 4 Johns in your phone.
To make up for it I added an annotation to her name in my contact list. It now
read: Emma -- smoking hot vet woman.



I called her up a few days later. It was a Thursday.

"Hello."

"Hey, it's Jack."

"Oh hi. What's up?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to do drinks or something tomorrow night."

"Uuumm." She made a *hold on while I check something* noise, then a moment
later, "Yeah. That sounds great. Do you have any place in mind?"

"How about The Broken Bucket?"

"Where is that?"

I smiled. Introducing people to The Broken Bucket is a hobby of mine. "It's on
Route 29, right before it turns into Old Town Avenue. You can get there
pretty easily from the Old Town metro stop. You'll love it." Everyone loves
The Broken Bucket.

There was a pause. "That works great. I'll see you then."



The Broken Bucket is a little hard to find, so I agreed to meet her right
outside the Old Town stop. I arrived a few minutes early, but she soon showed
up, walking up the stairs from the station and stepping out into the crisp
September air. She wore a fitted purple button down shirt, with the top three
buttons undone, and a couple inches of cleavage peaking out. Her gray slacks
hugged her ass and legs, though not as tightly as the jeans she had been
wearing when we met. The small golden cross dangled from a chain around her
neck and drew the eye to her already impressive bust. 

"Wow, you look great." I said as she came up to me.

"Aww, thanks!" She said reaching out to hug me. She had been a couple of
inches shorter than me the day before, but the heels she had on now made her
nearly as tall.  I wrapped my arms around her and felt her large breasts
flatten against my chest. Her embrace was firm and warm and over all too soon.

I lead the way to The Broken Bucket explaining the little bar to her as
we went. It had a lot of history, that little bar, and I was in the middle
of explaining how the secret room (now the wine cellar) in the basement
had been used for the underground rail road, when we arrived. To get to
The Broken Bottle you have to enter what looks like a large town house
(and is actually an insurance office) and then go down a steep flight
of stairs. It feels like entering a speak easy, and during probation
thats exactly what we would have been doing. 

"Hey Mary!" I called when we opened the door.

"Good to see you Jack!" called the bartender.

The pub was about half full, and I turned to Emma. "You hungry? The food here
is pretty good." She looked confused for a second. "I'm told." I added with a
smile.

"I am actually a little hungry." she said.

"Great!" I said, before walking over to the bar and fishing a menu out
from where they were kept next to the scotch-milk. The trick to the
maneuver was making sure that Mary was far enough away that she could
not swat me.

"You really seem to know this place." Said Emma when we sat down.

"Yeah, I guess I do. I really like the atmosphere, and I try to get out
here as much as possible."

We talked about The Broken Bucket some more until it was time to take our
orders. I ordered a glass of mint flavored milk and a glass of scotch-milk,
while she ordered a pulled pork sandwich and a micro brew beer. I noticed
that Emma looked a little uncomfortable as I placed my order, but soon
shrugged it off. We continued chatting until the food arrived.

"... so anyway the storm kicks up and everyone in the bar gets trapped by
all the snow. Its three days until the southern slave catchers head out,
and that whole time Harriot Tubman has to keep a family with three kids
under the age of eight quite as church mice."

Emma opened her mouth, "No way!"

"Is he telling the Harriot Tubman story again?" called Mary.

"You stay out of this! You've read the journal!" I called back.

Mary just shook her head. Emma narrowed her eyes at me. "Are you
having me on?" she asked.

I took a drink from my mint milk. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
As I pulled on my straw Emma's eyes lost some of their sparkle, and
I wondered what I had said.

There was a missed beat in the conversation before she said, "Cross
your heart, huh?" Arching her eyebrow.

"Absolutely. But enough about this old girl." I said patting the table
between us, "What do you do for work?"

She told me she was a financial lawyer (which was a little intimidating for
an IT grunt like me), and that she had been living in the area for the last
four years. Before that she had lived in Minnesota, though she went to
school in New York, for undergrad, and Boston, for law school. Throughout
the conversation I noticed that she grew uncomfortable whenever I took a
drink from my milk. Soon I started drinking only when she was looking away
from me, focused on her own food or gesturing somewhere. My efforts seemed
to grease the wheels of conversation.

Despite the constraints placed on me I managed to finish my mint milk at the
same time that she finished her food. She had completely cleaned the plate,
something which seldom happened when I took people to The Broken Bucket.
We were both leaning back nursing our drinks, and I must not have been being
as subtle as usual, because she caught me talking a gulp of my scotch-milk
and I saw her shudder a little bit.

"Hey Emma, can I ask you something?" I asked licking the milk from my lips.

She seemed fascinated by my mouth in a revolted sort of way and it took her
a moment to say, "uuuhh, yeah. Shoot."

"I've noticed that you get really uncomfortable any time I take a drink of
milk."

Color touched her cheeks and she said, "Yeah, sorry. It's, uuuhhh." She
seemed at a loss for words. "Let's see." She chewed her lip, "Have you
heard of The South Minnesota Baptist Council?"

I shook my head, "Can't say I have."

"Well, it's a church, my church. Or was my church. I don't really know
anymore." She spoke in garbled phrases.

I looked at her, "Okay."

She took a drink of beer. "Anyway, the SMBC believes that the change was
God's will, and that it is an abomination to defy it." She said it all in
a rush, and her creamy skin turned ruddy. After a moment she continued,
"So when I see you drinking, aahm, artificial milk, it bothers me. I
know that you don't believe in the teachings of the SMBC. I'm not even
sure I do anymore, and I have no right to judge, but I just can't help
how I react. It was how I was raised."

I think she was expecting me to get up and leave right there. I could imagine
other guys doing just that, but I tried to be pretty open minded, and to
be completely honest the implications of her statement were turning me on.
I had heard about some of these religious groups that believed that the change
was God's will, and I was pretty sure that they felt that fresh milk was
the only acceptable thing for a man to consume. With her huge breasts only
feet away my pants started to get tight. "I see. That certainly puts some
stuff into context," I said.

She let out a quite breath of relief and said, "Yeah, I bet it does. I'm sorry
for ruining this date with my shit. You take me to this lovely pub, which
obviously means a lot to you, and I just judge you for doing what every
modern man has to."

"Emma, it's okay. Really. You are super cool, and I've had a really good time.
It seems like your reaction is more of a knee jerk thing than any actual
condemnation. It's fine." I looked her in the eyes, "Really."

She nodded. "I try to take a live and let live attitude, you know don't stick
your nose where it doesn't belong, but I want to be honest with you.
It still really bothers me when I see men drinking processed milk, and women
selling their milk. Intellectually I've really let a lot of the teachings
of the SMBC go. I even tried selling my milk a year or so ago, civic duty
and all that, but when I showed up to the depot I just could not do it.
I promise I won't make a big deal about it, but I want to be honest about
myself, even if it does ruin my chances with a cute guy."

Of course my main take away from that was that she thought I was cute,
"Alright. I'll try to be discrete then. Do you mind my asking why you
moved away from Minnesota?"

"I had a pretty rough breakup. I was engaged to the pastor in my town, he turned
out to be a real asshole. I went to Harvard Law for Christ sake. I 
moved back to Minnesota to be with him, hurting my career, and he was always
belittling me. Calling me toots, implying that I should stop working and let
him be the man. I probably would have been fine with that shit before I went to
college, but I guess I'm a different woman now. Anyway, the end result is that
nobody from the church will speak with me, and that means everyone from my old
life is just cut off."

The flush that had started off from embarrassment was compounded by Emma's
anger. The story put a lot of things together for me. I had wondered why
a woman like Emma: smart, successful, and almost unreasonably attractive
would act so unsure of herself. Total social displacement could make anyone
awkward, and it seemed like she had not had anyone close to her for the last
couple of years. It was obvious she was not over what had happened to her.

I reached out and took her hand. "I'm really sorry. Thank you for trusting me
enough to open up."

She squeezed my hand and smiled weakly at me. "Jesus Jack. I'm sorry. This is
not the sort of light bullshit you are supposed to trade on a first date."

In reply I just squeezed back. We looked each other in the eyes for a moment,
and then Emma took her hand back and gathered up her purse. "Thanks for showing
me this place, and thanks for listening." Then after a moment, "Do we settle
the bill at the bar?"

I stood up, "Yeah. I know it's soon, but do you want to do something this
Saturday?"

She gave a kilowatt smile then, and said "Yeah. There is this apple orchard I
know that has really good cider donuts, and they let you pick your own apples."

I told her that sounded lovely.

We settled our business with Mary and headed out of the pub. On the stairs
leading up, Emma turned to me and pressed my body against the wall. She
leaned in and pressed her pillowy lips against mine. Her lips were soft
and tasted the slightest bit salty, and her tongue, when it found
mine, was hot. Our mouths moved against each other's slowly. She pressed
her body against mine, the swell of her breasts pushing firmly against my
chest. When she pulled back I could feel my dick pressing against my pant leg.
Dimples were showing faintly on her cheeks, and her lips were pulled taught
as if she were considering beaming at me. Then she turned and flounced
up the stairs with a little wriggle in her butt. We rode the
metro to the edge of the city together (our cars, it turned out were at the
same lot-at-the-end-of-the-tracks). In the parking lot I kissed her again,
with her back pressed against the door of her car and a chilly breeze 
blowing her red hair around us in a cloud.



I showed up at the orchard at 10:30 am the following morning. Before I left I
had drunk a huge breakfast, not knowing exactly how long I would be spending
with Emma, and not wanting to eat in front of her. She was already there when
I arrived, leaning against the hood of her car in tight blue jeans, aviator
sunglasses and a flannel shirt. It was a cold day, so I wondered how she
would handle the cold with so little on. I guess it was nothing compared
with a Minnesota winter. Her long hair was tied up in a tight braid and the
whole effect was to make her look a bit like the sexy, tough cop on a crime
serial. She did not seem to have made much of an effort to fasten her buttons
too high and I could see the tops of her breasts peaking out.
Gooseflesh showed on her pale skin where it was exposed to the autumn air.

I parked, then walked over to her "Hey! Don't you look like a badass."

She glanced over at me and flipped her sunglasses up onto her forehead.
"Are you Mr. Fellington? Do you mind if I ask what you were doing
last night?" She asked in a serious voice.

"I was on a date with this beautiful woman I met at the vet's
office! She can tell you where I was."

She cocked an eyebrow at me, "Ok, your alibi checks out." Then she laughed.
"c'mon let's buy our bag for apples." Her stomach growled.

"Hungry?" I asked.

She nodded. "I never show up to these places with a full stomach. I love
apples."

We bought one pint bag, and one quart bag before wandering off into the
orchard. As we walked we plucked apples from the trees, working at roughly
comparable rates. Emma obviously had more experience than me, and the fruit
would just pop off in her hand, but she gave me an edge by constantly
munching on an apple. Although now that I think about it munching is probably
the wrong word for it. Munching implies a sort of sedate, unhurried consumption
of food, but Emma would destroy an apple with a series of rapid bites. She did
not rip off huge chunks, but she would get a mouthful on each bite, chew it
about three times, and swallow the result with a gulp. It took her about 45
seconds to go from holding a freshly polished apple to tossing away the core.

The bags of apples also got some love, and we steadily filled them, though
after I had filled the pint bag I just wandered along, preferring to watch
Emma enjoying herself. "Is that uncomfortable?" I asked as she threw away
a core.

"What?" she asked, lazily reaching out and plucking another apple free.

"Swallowing such big chunks of apple? Aren't they hard on your throat?" I
remembered enough from my days of solid food before puberty that I felt I
was on a reasonable footing.

She did not seem embarrassed by the question. To the contrary, she seemed
glad that I had asked. "I have a powerful throat." She rubbed the apple on
her shirt to get rid of the outer layer of pesticides. "Watch." She took
a huge bite out of the apple, so large that I don't know how she fit it
entirely in her mouth. Then, without chewing, she swallowed. I watched
the chunk of hard fruit travel as a lump down her throat. As it did so
I could hear the noise of it getting crushed. By the time the lump of food
moved out of sight beneath her chest it had been forced much thiner and
longer.

"Damn. You're like a snake." I said.

Emma grinned, "Yeah. Wanna see it again?"

I nodded and she took another huge bite. I watched this chunk of apple get
mercilessly crushed like the last one. It was fascinating, and a little
unsettling.

After she finished she licked the juice from her lip and said, "Apples are
easy. When I was 16, at thanksgiving, I swallowed a turkey bone.
It wasn't one of those little ones you can hardly see either. It was almost
as big as my pinkie." She held it up for emphasis. "I must have been trying
to impress someone, taking big bites, but I can't remember who. Anyway It
gets stuck in my throat and I sort of squeak out that I have a bone in
my throat. My uncle dove for a glove from under the kitchen sink and was
all ready to reach all the way down there. Before he could get to me I clenched
my throat and the bone snapped. At first I was worried that I had cut myself
with the shards, but I ended up being fine. I just felt itchy for a few days
afterward."

"No way. I don't believe you." I said suspiciously.

"I swear its true. I do it all the time now. Every thanksgiving. I'm the bone
girl." She was quite for a moment, "or was."

There was a pause, "I'm sorry." I said.

She shook her head, "Not your fault. Shouldn't have brought it up." I watched
myself in the reflection of her sunglasses for a moment before she said, "You
still don't believe me do you?"

Glad for the change of subject I said, "Apples are one thing, but grinding a
bone to dust with just your throat is a whole other thing. It would be like..."
I looked around before coming up with a stick as thick as my thumb and as long
as my ring finger, "It would be like eating this."

She looked at it for a second before grabbing it from me and popping it into
her mouth sideways. The stick made dents in both her cheeks and I had now
idea how she planned on fitting it down her throat. I got my answer when she
gulped and a few seconds later I saw twin bulges on either side of her throat.
If she was uncomfortable, she gave no sign of it.

She pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead, looking me in the eyes, "You
notice how it went in sideways?"

"You can talk with that in?" I said incredulously.

"Oh yeah. I figured out how when I was 18. Did a whole bit with it in high
school."

"This is so surreal."

She looked at me, winked, and a ripple of muscular action traveled down
her throat. When it got to the stick I heard a snap. Her throat undulated
for a few more moments and then she grinned. "I need to wash that down."
She forced the rest of the apple into her mouth and swallowed it in one
gulp.

I goggled, "That was... That was... Holy shit!"
It was unexpected to watch a woman crush things with her
throat on a second date. The whole display had been unexpected.
Unexpectedly interesting, unexpectedly disquieting, and unexpectedly
arousing. 

She dropped her sun glasses back into place, "Satisfied?" she said.

"Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised to see you do a bone, or steel."

She laughed, "Even I have a little trouble with steel. Only a little
mind you."

We spent a long time in the orchard, talking and picking apples (though
after a while the only apples we picked were the ones that Emma was eating).
We started thinking about heading out at about 1:30. Emma had probably eaten a
quart of apples (and one stick). As we walked she tried to get one last apple
to fit in her bag. It was overflowing with fruit and the apple kept tumbling 
out after she placed it, precariously, in one position or another.

"You'll never get that to work." I said.

She glanced at me. "I bet you $20 that I can get it out with us."

I chuckled, not paying too much attention to her wording, "Ok. Deal."

She balanced the apple carefully on top of her bag. In order to prevent
it from falling she had to stop walking first. Then she reached up and
popped open another two buttons at the top of her shirt. She was now
exposing about six inches of firm, creamy cleavage. I realized what
she was about to do, but I could only stare. Slowly, she reached down
and picked up the precariously balanced apple, raising it to her
breast. In one efficient, even practiced, motion she pushed the fruit
between her mammaryies. 

"That's cheating!" I said.

"I think you will find that the bet concerned getting the apple out of
the orchard, no how I do so." She said. I noticed that she made no
move to button herself back up and her expanded neckline was distracting.

"That's not. That's not within the spirit of the bet!" I protested.

"Tough. I use all my assets." She said cupping her large right breast when
she said the word 'assets'. The apple had displaced some of the volume normally
occupied with breast flesh, so I could she the outlines of her bra as the flesh
spilled over its lip. After a moment she said, "I see you are disarmed by my
argument." I suspect she knew it was more than her argument that had me on
the back foot.

I kept darting glances at her bosom as we walked out of the orchard, thinking
about how big breasts had to be in order to completely conceal an apple from
the outside world. It had not been a particularly small apple either. When
we got to the parking lot I handed her a 20. She thanked my, grinning wickedly,
and slid it between her bra and her left breast.

"Is there anything else to do here?" I asked.

"We could go through the shop, or the pumpkin patch," She gnawed her lip,
"or we could take this back to my place. I can officially introduce you to
Harper."

I was starting to get a little hungry, and getting milk was a concern. I
knew that Emma would not have a supply just lying around in her fridge, so
I did not want to stay too long. Still, Emma was worth going a little hungry
for. I could always binge once I got home, "That sound great."

Emma told me her address in case I lost her, and then headed out so that I
could follow her. We arrived at her condo twenty minutes later and she told
me to put the apples on the kitchen counter. "So this is it. It's small, but
it works well for me." She said.

I looked around. It was a cozy little house, modest for what she must be making
as a corporate lawyer, but with evidence of an intermittent expensive taste.
I guessed that she was the kind of person who would spend money only if
something interested her. Most of the decor looked like it had been picked
out of a catalog. She was not passionate about interior design. The kitchen
was a different story. It did not look like it had been imagined as one
room, but rather that she had started off with a functional room, and slowly
added improvements. She liked cooking, or at least food.

She saw me looking around, "C'mon I'll give you a tour." She showed me around
the small house, pointing out the door to the basement, the bathroom, and
two upstairs rooms, one of which she had turned into a yoga studio, the other
a home office.

Finally we ended up in the bedroom, "And this is the bedroom." I said.

"mmmm. It is." There was something almost predatory in her voice, and I turned
to look at her.

"I haven't even met Harper yet." I said.

She tilted her head back and tugged at her braid. Pouting she continued to walk
towards me, "Do you care?" She asked fluffing out the hair she had just
released.

"Not really." I said, putting my hands on either side of her head, and pulling
her in for a kiss. She kissed me back just as hard, wrapping her arms
around the trunk of my body, and pushed me back onto the bed. After kissing me
thoroughly for a couple of minutes she sat back and began to unbutton her
shirt. I watched her large breasts encased in a dark green industrial looking
bra come into view. Her belly and ribs had only a thin layer of fat, much less
than I had been expecting to see on a woman with such a prodigious bust. She
seemed to know the interest her breasts held for me and she did a little
shimmy as she shrugged off her shirt, throwing her bust into
a little quake. She reached behind herself and unhooked the bra. As she shrugged
out of the straps something tumbled out from between her breasts and Emma
reached forward to snatch the apple out of the air. She tossed it up in the
air, then tilted her head back and caught it with her teeth. There was a
crunching noise and the apple disappeared, only to reappear as a lump
traveling down her throat. It seemed a strange thing for her to include in
her seduction, but for whatever reason it seemed to work. Watching the apple
go down her throat made the blood rush to my engorged penis. Tilting her
head back down she licked the juice from her big red lips and looked me
strait in the eyes. I almost gulped, but then she grinned and the spell
was broken.

We stayed in bed for a long time. At first we were aggressive, all tongue and
teeth and popping buttons (with a brief pause for the donning of a condom). She
pressed her hands into my chest as she moved atop me, rolling her hips and
savagely rubbing her clit against my pubic bone. Her arms forced her huge
breasts together, but the pressure was not enough to prevent them from
bouncing up and down.

Emma is pretty sensitive, and she soon started moaning and shuddering.
She took her hands off my chest so that she could play with her nipples
and her hips bucked spasmodically against mine. After a while she seemed
to come back to herself a bit and she grabbed my hands with hers in order
to get better leverage for her thrusting hips. The cycle of shuddering
orgasm and savage thrusting continued for I don't know how long.
She was doing most of the work, but I was starting to feel the strain of
thrusting up at her from below when I finally came inside her.

"Oh god. Wow." I said after my hips were finished twitching. We were both
covered in a sheen of sweat, and I watched her huge bosom heave with
every breath.

She smiled down at me through a veil of thick red hair. "Yeah. That's
what I was thinking." she panted. She collapsed down on top of me
and I felt the heat and weight of her. My dick was still inside her
and it slowly softened as we lay there. Birth control was less of an
issue after the change, but I still wanted to use the condom right,
so I pulled out and disposed of it. Emma made a small dissatisfied
noise, and began a line of kisses that started on my shoulder and ended
with her nibbling my ear.  I gave a startled little yelp when she
nibbled my ear and flipped her over easily. I was glad of the extra
muscle and increased strength that the change had brought for men. Emma is
a lot of things, but she is not light.

I kissed and fondled for a few minutes, and then I started playing with
her nipples with my tongue. I was surprised by the way she reacted to my
stimulations. In my experience the larger the breast, the less sensitive,
but that rule seemed to have been broken by Emma, because she was soon
squirming and making little noises of pleasure. After a while I started
to feel like it would be unfair to get her all worked up without finishing
her off, so I kissed my way down to her snatch and began to attack her
sizable clit with my tongue. After a few minutes of fevered licking she
shuddered and bucked underneath me. I sat back on my haunches.

After a moment or two she sat up, "That was," a pant. "That was, wow."
Then she leaned forward and kissed me, "Thank you."

All in a burst she grabbed my thighs, pulled my hips towards hers, and
shoved her breasts into me, forcing me onto my back. Then she slowly
kissed down my chest until she reached my cock. Soon I felt wet lips
and a hot tongue on my second head, and I lay back in the blankets with
a sigh. Her ministrations were excellent and I soon felt myself stiffen.
Soon her head was bobbing up and down as she took in my erect pole. I
was surprised when she moved forward in one big gulp and took in my
dick all the way. The change had given all men a boost in the dick
department, and I had benefited more than most with a 9" length and
an 8" girth. Emma took it easily though. She stopped bobbing or moving
at all, and I wondered why until I felt something rippling around
the top two thirds of my dick. I wondered what it was, and then I
remembered the apples. I felt a jolt of fear go through me as I
imagined her powerful throat muscles contracting with the force
that I knew they possessed. Soon my concerns seemed trivial as the
rippling stimulations had an impact. She held me at the edge of
orgasm for ten minutes or so before the muscular action around my dick
sped up.

"I'm about to blow." I said, trying to be a polite lover.

Instead of backing off my member she pressed herself in tighter and
the rippling sped up. I burst deep in her throat and my spunk was
almost immediately whisked away from the tip of my dick. After
a few seconds of milking my softening penis for any more spunk she
sat back.

"That was incredible." I said. "You're incredible."

She licked her lips and pushed her hair out of her face.
I noted that her nipples were rock hard. "Thanks." she said.
Then she stretched luxuriously and walked over to the adjourning
bathroom.

Half an hour later we were showered and dressed (me in the clothes
I had come in, her in a bathrobe). It was nearly 3:00, and seeing
the time made me aware of my hunger. My stomach growled.

"Oh, you must be so hungry. I feel bad I had all those apples in
front of you and you did not have anything." Emma said, looking at me
apologetically.

"It's fine" I said, "really, I'll just have something when I get home."

"It's kind of a drive, though. I shouldn't have kept you so long." She
said.

"Don't worry. I enjoyed myself. I think we both kind of lost track of
time."

She smiled at me. "Yeah. I guess so." After a moment she chewed her lip
and said, "You know, you could have something here."

"You have milk in the fridge?" I asked. It seemed odd given that she was
a single woman, and one with her particular hang ups to boot.

"Well," she said running her hands gently over her breasts, "not exactly."

I was hungry, and my mouth began to water as I looked at her standing
there with her bathrobe open to expose the tops of her breasts. Her
nipples dented the thick fabric. I did not see anything wrong with
the idea.

"Well, ok." I said.

I stood there, wondering what to do, but she took my hand and led me to
the couch in her living room. She gently pushed me in the center of it,
then straddled me. Her elegant fingers gently opened her bathrobe and exposed
her breasts. They did not stop there, but continued down her flanks until the
robe was flipped behind her. She guided my head to her nipple and I began to
suck. A moment later I was rewarded by the best milk I had ever tasted
It came in a trickle, and I was soon sucking harder than might have been polite
in an effort to get more. I was quite hungry.

Apparently Emma did not mind my tugging because she made soft cooing sounds
as I sucked away. She wrapped her arms around my head, then slowly slid them
down to my belt. She undid my buckle and zipper so smoothly that I only noticed
she had done so when I felt her hand tugging my cock through the opening
at the front of my underwear. In another state of mind I probably would have
thought better of unprotected sex (even if the change did allow women to decide
when to ovulate), but with Emma's nipple in my mouth and hand around my cock
I was to hungry and horny to protest. Ever so gently she eased my dick into
her snatch and settled her hips comfortably atop mine. To my surprise she did
no move her hips at all, instead she just sat there letting me suck the
milk from her big breasts. 

I thought she was just going to hold my dick inside her as I fed, but after
about a minute I felt her pussy moving around my dick. It moved softly at
first, but it was soon moving with the same power and skill that her
throat possessed. Her scent was all around me and her bosom pressed against
my face. I concentrated on baseball scores.

"Yeah, Jack. Drink me in." She purred atop me. I just continued to suck.
"Doesn't it feel nice to take your milk right from the breast of a real
woman. Taste my warm sweet milk." Her hips started moving in a slow
circle, though her rippling snatch did not let up for a bit. "I know you
want to, but try not to cum until you finish drinking." She said, though
she did not provide me any help in resisting orgasm.

After ten or so minutes her right breast dried up and she transfered me to
her left. The whole time she spoke to me softly, pointing out how delicious
and nourishing her milk. "Doesn't this feel natural?" she would ask me
tenderly. Then she would gasp for a couple of breaths and tell me not to cum
until I was done. Eventually, her left breast dried up as well and she said,
"Ok baby, cum for me. Squirt all up inside of me." As she spoke her pussy
redoubled its efforts and she leaned back, giving me a view of both her
breasts and her face. It was all to much for me, and I did exactly what she
asked me to. I twitched so hard that I lost track of things for a little bit.
When I became capable of processing things I saw Emma still sitting on top of
me. I could feel powerful contractions of her pussy moving from the base to the
tip of my cock, as if it was milking me for semen. She cupped a breast in each
hand. Even with her fingers spread, her hands looked small. "Sorry if that was
not enough for you. My volume is not what it used to be." She said.

"That's ok." In truth I was still a little hungry. I had skipped lunch after
all, and despite their size Emma's breasts did not seem to produce much milk.
Still trying to recover from the experience. Even without the sex it would
have been the best meal I had enjoyed for a long time based only on the quality
of milk.

"Are you sure that was enough for you?" She said. I noticed that she had
made no move to get off of me, and she was still using her nethers to massage
mine. "I may not produce much milk, but I recover pretty fast. If you stay
around for a little while longer I can give you some more." As she spoke
powerful muscles milked my cock. It seemed to be effortless for her, I hardly
noticed diaphragm moving, and there was no impact on her breathing or speech.

"Actually, that would be kind of nice." I said.

"Ok." She said. "I'll make the next batch apple flavored."

I was confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, I was just going to make my milk apple flavored. Do you not like apple?"

I was mystified. "Don't they have to add flavor in after?"

Now it was her turn to look confused. "You've never been with a woman who
can flavor her milk? It's a pretty basic skill."

"I did not even know that was possible."

She looked at me helplessly for a moment. "Do know about the feminine arts?"
She asked tentatively.

I thought I did. "Like baking and shit. Isn't that kind of sexist?"

She shook her head in exasperation. "They are called the feminine arts because
only women can learn them. Through meditation and concentration a woman can
take control of her body." The last line sounded like a recitation.

"I can't say I've ever heard of that."

Emma looked at me, "Well, I suppose you will soon find out about them."

I was growing hard again, and it was distracting me. "So you can flavor your
milk. What else can you do?"

"Well I can control my production rate. I can control my nozzles."

"You nozzles? You mean your nipples?"

"Yeah. I can also draw the alcohol from my blood stream into my milk.
I only get drunk if I want to, and I can sober up real quick."

"That's pretty impressive. You'll have to show me sometime."

She grinned at me, "Oh I intend to. One lesser known dimension of the
feminine arts is that a woman who masters them early enough, can
impact how her body develops."

I chewed over the statement for a second, thinking about her bodacious
body. "Did you master them early enough?"

She smiled a little, "I figured it out when I was 15. I still had a little
bit of growing time left to make use of. Not as much as I would have liked."

I imagined what she would look like if she had had more time. My dick felt
like it was about to burst. I gulped.

She rolled her hips a little. "I'm ready" she said, bringing my head down
to her nipple. Her milk did taste like apple, though better than any
apple flavored milk I had ever bought from a store.

The second feeding proceeded much like the first. I sucked contentedly
while she murmured about how natural this was, and extolled me not
to cum yet. Halfway through draining her second breast I became too
stuffed to continue. Emma cut off the flow of milk and increased the
rhythm of her vaginal palpitations. A few moments later I was
filling her with my seed, and she transitioned back to long, milking
tugs on my member.

"Wow. That was really good." I said. "I'm stuffed."

"Sorry about that. I got a little carried away." Again she made
no move to get off of me. I had recovered very quickly last time,
and I doubted I would be able to do the same.

"Emma?"

"Yeah."

"You said that your volume is not what it used to be. What did you
mean by that?"

She seemed to consider my question, "Well, if a woman goes from
secreting large quantities of milk to none or very little in a short
period of time, some or all of her milk glands can atrophy."

"I take it that's what happened to you."

"Yeah. It is pretty uncommon, because that sort of transition can
hurt. Most women who fall victim to the phenomenon are undergoing
a period of extreme emotional distress."

I was quite for a moment. "So when you got excommunicated..."

She nodded, "Exactly. I was in a dark place for a while. I'm
better now though."

"That's good."

"Yeah, I can have all sorts of fuuunnn now." At the word fun she
pressed her fingertips into my shoulders.  We stopped talking then,
and she rocked and wriggled atop me, until for the third time that
day, I came inside her.

After she had finished milking the last of my cum from my balls she
finally got off of me and wrapped up her robe. I looked at the clock.
It was 5:51. "Oh wow. It's late."

Emma glanced over her shoulder. "Whoops." She did not look very
apologetic.

"I'd better get back. We should do this again. Soon."

She nodded. "You could head back... or you could stay the night."

It took me all of half a second to come up with my answer. "That
sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

"Great! It's my turn to be hungry, so lets take care of that, and
we can curl up in bed? Watch something?"

"That sounds nice." I said.

"Do you want to help me cook?" She asked. I agreed readily, and
settled into the role of sou chef. There was not as much food
as the last couple times I had seen her eat, but it was still
a lot. After we finished we sat at the dining room table, and
I watched her elegantly fork potatoes, asparagus, and lamb
into her mouth. She cleaned the plate, and then led me back
into the bedroom.  We settled on watching some action flick, but
we only ever got 25 minutes into the bad dialog, overdone explosions,
and awesome choreography.

We spent Sunday in much the same way as Saturday, only we never set foot out
of her house. We could not keep our hands off each other, and we spent
the whole time eating, drinking, and fucking. Despite what she told me
had been a multi-year dry spell Emma was the most skilled lover I had
ever had. 
