Dollar Milk Maid

Prologue

 

“I love you. You don’t know how much I love you.” Adam was on his knees in front of Karli, begging. She hated it. She hated to see people beg. She hated to see men beg in front of her. She knew that some women loved this type of man’s protestations of love, but she despised it. She wasn’t in love with him in any way.

Her look should have told Adam everything, but he was too far gone with lust and love to comprehend. “No, you don’t,” she told him.

“But I do,” he insisted.

“You don’t,” she contradicted him and picked up her shirt from the bed floor. Karli looked around for a moment for her bra, didn’t see it, and put on the shirt to cover her naked breasts as she prepared to leave Adam’s apartment. It wasn’t the first time she’d be walking around in public braless.

“I love your breasts,” he countered.

That gave her half a moment’s pause. His expression of love for a certain part of her body was probably true enough from his point of view. Of course, he most like believed he was truly in love with her and she loved him as well. “I’m not going to stay with a man who thinks loving my breasts is an appropriate emotional response.” As she walked by the couch she found her bra tucked against one cushion. Picking it up she tucked it into her purse.

“But I’ve paid you,” he said almost whining.

“True. But that transaction is done. You got what you paid for. Don’t bother calling me again.”

Suddenly his mood shifted from one of despair to anger. Karli had never been happy with Adam as a client. He was a little off but she had been eager enough for the money so she had pushed aside her concerns until tonight when he started declaring his love. “Whore!” he all but screamed at her. “You’re a fucking whore.”

Karli paused and looked at him. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. It was doubtful he knew what reaction he was expecting other than for her to throw herself at him and accept his twisted love. Calmly, too calmly, she walked across the living room and calmly slapped him across the face. “I’m not a fucking whore.”

A pink bloom formed on his cheek. “You took money from me.”

Her calmness filtered through her body. “I took money from you because you wanted my breast milk. I would never have sex with you.” She walked away just as calmly, opened the door, and started to walk out.

“I’m going to call the cops on you and report you for being a fucking whore,” he threatened.

She paused. “Do it. Do it and discover that they’re more interested in arresting you.” With that Karli left his apartment.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Karli had always been blessed—or cursed, depending on who was asking and what Karli’s mood was at the time of the question—with large breasts. They started growing in early middle school and didn’t stop all the way through high school. Her opinion on them varied depending on the day, her mood, the time of day, the day of the week, whether the compliments she had received lately had been honest or sarcastic. Some women said they had a relationship with their boobs. Karli didn’t consider herself that type of woman; she didn’t have a relationship with any part of her body: hair, tits, legs, fingernails, appendix, elbow, pussy, knees, or toes. They were merely part of her. She accepted them and dealt with it.

But they were difficult to deal with when the D cups suddenly began to feel too small. Being a senior in high school she had a hundred other things to worry about in addition to her huge tits.

And then they started leaking milk. Karli freaked out and told her mother. After a rushed emergency trip to the doctor she was diagnosed with galactorrhea, spontaneous lactation.

“Do your breasts get a lot of stimulation?” the doctor had asked.

“Can you see these things?” Karli snapped. She held them up for the slim, underweight middle-aged woman to see. “Just walking stimulates them!”

“There’s a chance that a non-cancerous pituitary tumor could be causing it,” friendly Dr. Anne Greenberg said.

After an MRI confirmed nothing was amiss, she was advised to wear softer, more supportive bras and was given a prescription for a medication that should make the condition go away after a few months.

Karli actually enjoyed her professional bra fitting and convinced her mother to spend a ridiculous amount of money on supportive lingerie. Buying pad used by breastfeeding mothers was weird, but slipping them inside her bras during the day soaked up the little bit of milk that leaked out her nipples. Though her mother had the prescription filled, Karli never took the pills. She didn’t like the idea of taking any drug that wasn’t life-saving. There were too many stoners and pill-poppers in her high school.

It was easy to lie to her mother and claim the condition had gone away.

The truth was Karli liked to lay in her bed at night and hand express her excess milk. It was relaxing and good foreplay when she wanted to masturbate.

 

Going away to college Karli hadn’t given her condition a second thought. She was just another big breasted freshman in a sea of other pretty girls. After dating a few boys and only getting semi-serious about one—she focused on her studies—her milk flow became just a background part of her life, even if she hid the pads used to soak up her excess milk from her roommate.

Sophomore year was a little more difficult. Her financial aid was cut. There were the continual cuts to education in general. There seemed to be very little money coming from home and Karli felt terrible asking for money. She already had a part-time job on campus working for the minimum pay offered to work study programs. The need for more money pushed to find something that was easy and made good money for minimal time and effort.

Nude modeling for the art classes—mostly figure drawing—paid almost twice the rate of everything else on campus but at best she would have two hours per week. She signed up anyway with the encouragement of her new roommate who was a party girl and always looking for trouble. Megan didn’t mind taking off her clothes at the drop of a hat. More than once she had been seen running topless through the door to the showers. Karli wasn’t a prude but was a bit more modest. Once the art professor saw her body, he was thrilled to have her pose for the classes.

“You have all the classic curves the old masters spent their entire lives trying to capture,” he gushed at her.

Karli could only blush and shyly accept his compliment. There was something oddly freeing and sensual about being naked in a room with people drawing her body. But it was deadly boring and it still wasn’t enough money.

Megan had dragged her to an off-campus party where the company was dull and obnoxious. Taking her life into her hands Karli left early and alone and walked home in a semi-drunk stupor. She stupidly went on her computer searching for other nude modeling jobs. Somehow she wound up on Craigslist. A few typing mistakes brought her to the section where ridiculous amounts of money was being offered for breast milk. She couldn’t determine if the offers were jokes or from concerned mothers who couldn’t breast feed their newborns or were from perverts. She shook her head and stumbled to bed.

The next morning she check her browsing history and saw the same offers on Craigslist. The money was too tempting.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered to herself as she began a non-drunk search and examination of the listings. It was a long and laborious process. There were a lot of listings not in her area and Karli figured out they were from desperate men looking for some perverse thrill any way they could get it. She felt bad for the women who were desperate for anyone to supply breast milk for their babies, but Karli didn’t think she was the right person for that job.

One ad came up that intrigued her. It was direct and non-creepy but shaded with a slight tone of desperation. “I’m looking for fresh breast milk preferably from a young woman. I wish to do the extraction myself. Nothing illegal.” She knew exactly what I wish to do the extraction myself meant. That’s what intrigued her. It sounded almost illegal…but not quite. And the money that he offered was more than she could make in a week. How long would it take? An hour at most? Was it worth the risk?

 

It was easy to spot Tony the moment he walked into the coffee shop. The picture he had sent Karli was incredibly accurate, which surprised her, and since he was six and a half feet tall wearing a business suit he easily stood out in the crowd of mostly college students. Under his jacket she noted he hadn’t been exaggerating about his weight of two hundred fifty pounds—all of it muscle. For a moment she was frightened; he looked like he could snap her in half with his bare hands. Why did a man who claimed to work as an insurance salesman need such huge muscles?

Fighting off her flash of fear Karli was about to raise her hand and wave to him when he spied her and quickly made his way over. “Karli?” he asked politely, holding out his hand.

She stood up, bumping the table slightly, making her glad she hadn’t yet ordered, and shook his hand. “Yes. Hi. Tony, right?”

“Yes. Let’s sit.” Up close she could see that he was significantly older than her. He said he was forty in his emails and that appeared to be true. As he sat he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a pair of cards. Karli started to panic, thinking he was paying her in advance, making her think the other students in the shop would believe she was a prostitute, then realized he was just showing her his driver’s license and business card. “You can keep the card, but I’ll need the license back,” he said.

“Right,” she said blankly staring at the license and noting his full name was Antonio DeFalcone, which would explain the dark curly hair and complexion her father would describe as swarthy.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Tony asked.

“What? How did you know?”

“It’s my responsibility to give you my actual identity information and you’re supposed to write it down. Modern day paranoia.” He passed her a pen. “Put my license info on the back of the card. Keep the card. Keep it in a safe place where the police or a close friend can find it if you run into trouble. Me revealing myself gives you security.”

Karli nodded and did what he said. “I feel like a fucking amateur,” she told him.

His smile dismissed any reservations or nervousness she had. “Everyone has a first time.”

“What about you?” she asked, still writing. “What if I’m a psycho who is going to rob and kill you?”

Tony looked her up and down. She saw his gaze fell toward her breasts and she self-consciously tugged up the zipper to her sweatshirt. There was no need for her to glance down, she knew her cleavage had been on display and now that made her ashamed. “Don’t cover up like that,” he said softly. “You have lovely breasts.”

“You haven’t seen them yet.”

His smile was disarming. “I will soon.”

It was easy to make the decision. It was harder to actually go through with it, but two days later Karli forced herself to take the bus to the address Tony had given her. It was in a respectable neighborhood at the edge of the city, easy to get to but outside the student slums and more dangerous sections of town. It was a small co-op building, no doorman but a neat and tidy lobby. When she found her way to his door Tony was waiting for her, dressed more casually after work.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said setting down her bag and giving his place the once over. He wasn’t married and lived alone, but the place wasn’t a stinking bachelor’s pad. Tony put some pride in his residence. He had probably hired a professional decorator and had a maid come in once or twice a week, but the mere idea that those things occurred were enough to reassure Karli. “How do we do this?” she asked.

He chuckled. “You’ve never really done this before?” he asked, amused.

Karli stammered out an answer. “I mean, I’ve had my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend that is, play with my breasts and, you know, but I’ve never done it with a near-stranger.”

From his pants pocket he produced an unsealed envelope and handed it to her. Automatically Karli opened it and saw five crisp twenty dollar bills. Her heart thudded in her chest. She was more excited by the money than by what she was about to do.

“Always get pair first,” he instructed her. “That’s the first step. Second step is for you to take off your