LACTOGENESIS XI: 

THE CONTEST, PART ONE 
 
 After signing up at the registration table, Chris and Sherri were 
hustled backstage to a overly small dressing room where about ten other 
women of varying ages, degrees of sobriety, and bust size were milling 
about, waiting for the wet T-shirt contest to start. During this time 
the alcohol they had consumed had fully taken hold, and Chris in 
particular was feeling the effects to the full. Absently she wondered 
whether her altered biochemical balance had affected her tolerance 
level. She didn't remember getting this tipsy the last time she'd had 
four drinks. She looked at the T-shirt the man at the registration table 
had thrust at her. 
 At least a size too small, of course, thin material, of course, and 
white, of course, so that it would become transparent and attach itself 
to her skin when it got wet. It was a tank top, like a man's undershirt. 
Chris giggled when she remembered how the registration guy had stared at 
Sherri's ample cleavage but hadn't even given Chris a second look. He'll 
notice me in *this*, she thought. 
 Sherri was already beginning to pull off her top. "Hurry up and change. 
They're getting ready to start." In a flash Sherri was naked from the 
waist up. Even though she and Chris had been sexually intimate only a 
few hours before, this was the first time Chris had seen Sherri 
undressed. Her breasts were nowhere near as firm as Chris's, but they 
were at least fifteen years older, and they weren't lactating (yet, but 
that would change if Sherri had anything to do with it). Her nipples, 
however, were still years away from pointing to the floor. A line 
connecting them would have been almost exactly halfway between her 
shoulders and her bush. The left breast was slightly larger than the 
right. A faint sprinkling of freckles spread downward across her chest 
and between her breasts. An even fainter line of downy hair, the same 
color as that on her head, traced its way south from her navel to 
disappear into the waistband of her slacks. Her armpits were unshaven. 
Chris suppressed a naughty urge to reach out and tweak Sherri's nipples, 
and instead began unbuttoning her outfit. It was then that she realized 
that her clothing was in one piece. Removing it would leave her 
pantsless! That thought concerned her for only a moment, however, as she 
stepped out of it. She giggled again when she remembered the age-old 
parental admonition regarding wearing clean underwear. She had on a pair 
of red satin tap pants which showed off her toned thighs to great 
advantage. Maybe this little edge will help me win, she thought. As 
Chris removed her bra, she noticed that her breasts didn't move at all 
under the force of gravity. She stole a quick touch to one and felt the 
heat, the stretched skin, and a swelling that even pressed back into her 
armpits slightly. Man, I'm really full, she thought. The alcohol must be 
affecting my control a little. She felt Sherri's eyes on her and looked 
up. 
 "Damn, hon, you look even bigger now than you did this afternoon," 
Sherri said. There was a slight slur to her speech. "You're going to 
knock that crowd on its collective ass." 
 Chris wriggled into the T-shirt. The front of it stretched taut, 
pressing tightly against her bosom. Chris had to use a mental exercise 
to keep from leaking as a result. The armholes of the shirt were too 
large, so that fully half of her breasts were visible from the sides. 
The snug fit felt good, and her nipples responded appropriately, forming 
well-defined 3/4" peaks through the thin fabric. Sherri was shaking her 
head and muttering something about not having a chance against a rack 
like that. Suddenly the music out front stopped, and was replaced by 
feedback by an ill-placed microphone. 
 A balding, bearded, overweight man in a too-small T-shirt emblazoned 
with the words "LET'S GET WET" had taken the stage. He motioned offstage 
for someone to turn down the gain on the mike, then shouted 
(unnecessarily), "All right, people, it's time! Are you ready to get 
wet?!" Chris was surprised at the volume of the yell that followed. The 
club must be packed. The man continued, "Outstanding! OK, will those 
lucky gentlemen who won the drawing earlier tonight please come up 
onstage!" As four men practically fell over one another to climb the 
short stairway, the announcer yelled, "These guys have won the coveted 
honor of getting to wet down our contestants!" He gestured to one side, 
where a small table held four seltzer bottles. "Don't worry, ladies, 
these are at room temperature!" As the contest winners each took a 
bottle and assumed positions equally spaced along the width of the 
stage, the M.C. reminded the crowd of the prize money and made a few 
announcements about upcoming events. He started getting booed, so he 
wisely stopped, turned to where the women would enter the stage, and 
shouted, "Let the games begin! Our first contestant..." 
 Chris was seventh in line, Sherri sixth. Most of the contestants turned 
out to be rather poor dancers, or almost too drunk to even stand up, but 
the crowd didn't care. As soon as the seltzer hit the shirts, causing 
them to effectively disappear, the din became a continuous roar whose 
decibel level rivaled that of a jet engine. The heat of the lights, the 
deafening sound, and the alcohol were combining to strengthen Chris's 
resolve with each candidate who left the stage. I'm going to win this 
thing, she said to herself. I'm going to blow these amateurs away. Never 
mind that Chris was an amateur herself... 
 It was Sherri's turn. She turned and winked at Chris, then practically 
slithered onto the stage. Within seconds it became obvious that she had 
done this before. Sherri launched into a gyrating, cock-stiffening 
dance, sometimes skillfully dodging the blasts of water, sometimes 
seeming to drape herself on them. She regarded the crowd with a scalding 
"fuck me" look as she paraded up and down, her breasts bouncing freely 
to the beat of the music. The noise level increased even more as she 
moved to the edge of the stage. She bent down low so her boobs swung to 
within millimeters of the faces of the men in front. They screamed their 
approval. Just as her music was ending, Sherri grabbed the T-shirt at 
the neck and ripped it down the middle. Her breasts sprang free as the 
crowd bellowed. She cupped them, pointed them at the audience, blew them 
a kiss, and skipped off stage. The room went up for grabs. No question 
who was in first place now!