LACTOGENESIS XXII: 

THE HALLOWEEN PARTY, PART ONE 
 
 "Hello?" 
 "Hi, Sherri. Chris. How's the costume coming?" 
 "All done. Will you be ready to leave in, say, fifteen minutes?" 
 "I need a little help getting the last bit of makeup on. Can you give 
me a hand?" 
 "No prob. Be there in two shakes of a cow's tail." 
 Chris hung up the phone and returned to the task of getting into 
costume for Sherri's friend Jeremy's Halloween party-slash-orgy which 
was scheduled to begin within the hour. She had racked her brain all the 
previous week, trying to decide on a costume which would fit Jeremy's 
requirement that it reflect some unique aspect of her sexuality. In both 
Chris's and Sherri's cases lactation was the obvious choice, but 
choosing an appropriate costume had been less obvious. Sherri had chosen 
to go with self-effacing humor and dress as a dairy cow, but Chris 
wanted something more subtle. Her inspiration had come just a couple of 
nights before, as she was viewing a late-night showing of the film "A 
Clockwork Orange" on cable -- specifically, a scene in which Alex and 
his droogs are relaxing in a futuristic bar, drinking glasses of milk 
laced with hallucinogenic drugs. They refilled their glasses from the 
spouting breasts of white plastic sculptures of nude women with 
exaggerated figures and wild hair. Perfect, Chris had thought. The 
reference is a little obscure, but that will make for a good 
conversation-starter. The man at the costume shop was a little puzzled 
when Chris bought practically his entire supply of Clown White stage 
makeup and an outrageously voluminous white wig, but he knew better than 
to ask questions, especially at Halloween. The only other thing she'd 
needed to complete the costume was a white bikini bottom -- Chris wasn't 
about to go to the party *completely* nude, just mostly so. The act of 
smearing her body, and particularly her breasts, with the thick white 
makeup cream had given her a slight sexual buzz, just enough to increase 
her level of anticipation for the coming events of the evening and 
dissipate what was left of her fear of the unknown. She covered herself 
in white makeup from head to foot, which gave her the illusion that she 
was actually wearing something when in fact her only clothing was the 
bikini bottom. She had finished adjusting the huge white wig and was 
putting on some overexaggerated false eyelashes when Sherri arrived. 
 "Jesus, you look like the ghost of Dolly Parton," she quipped. 
 "And you look like Elsie herself," Chris retorted, laughing. Sherri's 
costume was of black and white cloth, in the pattern of a prime 
Guernsey, complete with tail, ears, and six breasts which served as an 
udder. The top pair were Sherri's own, protruding from holes in the 
fabric and painted to match the two fake pairs immediately below. Sherri 
was chewing a large wad of gum, obviously intended to simulate cud. 
 Once the two finished complimenting each other on their choices of 
costumes, Sherri helped Chris put makeup on the part of her back she 
hadn't been able to reach. She finished by dusting Chris with powder 
that set the makeup so it wouldn't readily rub off. Chris then donned an 
old long coat and white sandals that she didn't mind getting messy; and 
they were off, driving carefully so as not to get pulled over. Chris 
didn't want to have to explain her costume, or lack thereof, to a cop. 
Sherri didn't bother to cover herself; she got a kick out of flashing 
her "udders" at passing motorists all the way out to Jeremy's place. 
 "Some pad, isn't it?" Sherri asked as they pulled up to the house. 
 "Estate would be more like it," Chris commented. Indeed, Jeremy's digs 
were absolutely palatial compared to Chris's humble abode. The house was 
of white stone, a contemporary design, 5000 square feet easy. It sat in 
the middle of a plot of land so large that the next door neighbors could 
not be seen. Manicured hedges and a small reflecting pool with a 
fountain (a Venus figure with water flowing from her breasts, Chris 
noted) complimented the cobblestone paths leading to a huge double door, 
which was illuminated with a blacklight. A suit of armor with glowing 
red eyes in the visor stood guard. 
 Sherri rang the doorbell, then giggled when a recording of a 
bloodcurdling scream replaced the expected "ding-dong". Suddenly the two 
were bathed in blood-red light from overhead floods, and the doors 
opened inward on very squeaky hinges, in classic haunted-house style. 
There was no one in the doorway. Instead, a recording of a fairly good 
Bela Lugosi imitation bade them enter. The entrance foyer and the 
hallway leading away from it were darkened, illuminated only with a few 
meager candles. Fake cobwebs brushed at them as they moved slowly down 
the hall. At the far end, a robotic skeleton was beckoning to them, 
pointing at another door. Chris could hear music and the hum of voices 
in conversation behind it. 
 "This must be the place," Sherri said. "Ready?" 
 Chris steeled herself. Another step on the journey, she told herself. 
How's this for self-discovery? I'm about to enter a room full of 
strangers, clad in nothing but white makeup, and most likely have sex 
with at least one of them. A year ago, who'da thunk it? Her id won the 
battle with her superego: she removed her coat and stood there in her 
brilliant white, almost-naked glory. Her nipples instantly responded to 
the slight autumn chill in the air. In the unsteady light of the 
hallway, she looked eerily magnificent. She draped the coat over the 
skeleton's outstretched hand and said, "Let's do it." 
 Sherri knocked on the door. After a few seconds it opened to reveal 
their host. Jeremy was as Sherri had described him: short but muscular, 
chiseled good looks, and quite hirsute. He had a Kirk Douglas-like 
dimple in his chin. It was hard to tell where his own body hair stopped 
and that of his costume started. He was dressed as a satyr. Thick brown 
"fur" ran in a stripe down his back and spread out to cover his lower 
torso and legs. He had painted his exposed skin brown. Prosthetic horns 
sprouted from his forehead, his ears were pointed Spock-style, and 
makeshift hooves were on his feet. He held a drink in one hand and a 
panpipe in the other. 
 Chris noticed none of this, however. Her eyes were riveted on his 
penis, which hung freely down a good length of his furry thighs. It 
began to stir as Jeremy beheld his two new guests. He had painted it 
brown as well. 
 He stepped back and scanned Sherri up and down. He grinned broadly as 
he said to her, "That's great. I love it. What a stitch." He leaned 
closer and added, "I hope you're prepared to show us why you're dressed 
like that." 
 Sherri smiled back. "Pervert," she said. She indicated Chris. "Jeremy, 
I'd like you to meet my friend Christine." 
 He took Chris's hand and kissed it. His eyes shone mischeviously as he 
looked up into her face. His erection was becoming more noticable. "Of 
course, the fair milkmaid," he said. "I have been waiting a long time to 
meet you. Sherri tells me you're one of a kind." Chris could think of no 
response. Jeremy gave her a much longer visual examination than he had 
Sherri. Chris felt her nipples stiffen even more under his penetrating 
gaze. Finally he said, "Let me guess. Clockwork Orange, right?" 
 Chris sent a surprised look at Sherri. "Told you he'd know it," Sherri 
said. 
 Jeremy stepped behind them and ushered them through the door. He 
touched a button on the wall which muted the music and caused the other 
guests to look in his direction. "Everyone," he announced, "this is 
Sherri and Christine. They're here to make sure that you all have your 
minimum daily requirement of dairy products." A few chuckles from those 
who had gotten a good look at Sherri's costume. Most didn't understand 
his reference, so Jeremy continued, "Never mind. I'm sure you'll find 
out for yourselves later. Everybody is here now, so let the games 
begin!" 
 Chris leaned close to Sherri and hissed into her ear, "Oh, great. Why 
not tell the world? I don't want these people grabbing my boobs and 
trying to milk them." 
 "Yes, you do, or you wouldn't have dressed like that," Sherri whispered 
back. Chris was shocked, not because of what Sherri'd said, but because 
she realized that she was right. When will I stop surprising myself? she 
thought. 
 Jeremy placed himself between Sherri and Chris, put each arm around a 
waist, and guided them toward the bar. Halfway there a woman in a black 
leather B&D outfit sauntered up to Jeremy and without warning pinched 
the head of his penis between black-nailed fingers. He didn't flinch. 
 "Well, Jeremy love, I guess we all know who *your* favorite is," she 
said, and walked on. Chris wasn't sure what she meant until she glanced 
downward. Jeremy was now sporting a tremendous erection that was 
brushing the hair on his belly. When she was finally able to look up 
again, she saw Jeremy wearing an ever-so-slight grin and arching one 
eyebrow as if to say, "What did you expect?" 
 She glanced over to Sherri, who was also wearing an enigmatic smile, 
only hers seemed to say, "He's all yours if you want him." She stole 
another look at Jeremy's impressive manhood, and suddenly found herself 
wondering if the body paint covering it would come off inside her. 
Another movie cliche flashed through her mind: Bette Davis on a stairway 
saying, "Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a bumpy ride."