It Does a Body Good

Brenda sits nervously in the chair across from the man who will hopefully be her new boss, Mr. George. He hasn't said a word since the brief introductions they shared when she first came into his office, and Brenda's starting to get a little antsy. It doesn't help that Mr. George's eyes haven't left Brenda's breasts.

Brenda fidgets a bit in her seat and she resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest. It's ridiculous to be shy, after all isn't she here to sell part of herself? Isn't that why she wore her lowest cut top, the top that's so low it can only be worn with a demi bra?

Just thinking about her breasts on display has Brenda fidgeting a little more. Her nipples are getting hard, and Brenda knows that the shape of them can be clearly seen under the thin, tight material of her top.

Mr. George finally breaks his silence. "For full disclosure, let me just make sure you're aware that this is being recorded." He points to a security camera mounted on the far wall of his office.

Brenda nods.

"Good," Mr. George says. "Now, take off your shirt."

Brenda shudders a bit at the firm command, but she doesn't hesitate, even with the camera recording. She peels off her top and places it in her lap. Her nipples peak a little more at their exposure to the air-conditioned office.

"Lovely," Mr. George says. "Just lovely. Your bra too, if you don't mind?"

Brenda complies. When the lace falls away from her chest, her first instinct is to hunch over. She purposefully takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders back.

Mr. George sits back in his chair. "Yes, those are very, very nice. Very nice. It's almost a shame."

Brenda's nerves increase. Has she blown the interview? But how? Her breasts might not be up to Playboy's standards, but they're a good C cup, her skin is soft and creamy, and her nipples are a pretty rose color. "Um, what's a shame, sir?" she asks.

"Hmm? Oh, it's a shame they're going to be changed. You do know what the program's going to do, if you're successful?"

"Oh." Brenda thinks back over the literature she was given when she first responded to the discrete posting she saw on the message board.

"Inducing lactation without pregnancy is difficult," Mr. George says. "It takes dedication and patience, but it can be done. As long as you stick to a daily regimen that includes regular stimulation, some herbal supplements, and a bit of mental training, you should start producing milk in about a month."

"Right." Brenda tries to smile. She's still a bit iffy on taking any pills, regardless of now natural the company claims they are, and she's still not sure what the whole mental training thing is about.

Mr. George's eyes are back on her breasts again. "It'll start slow, of course. There will only be a few drops at first. But you can't get discouraged. You'll start to pump yourself, and the more milk you give, the more your body will make. Eventually your tits will become so full they'll swell up at least a cup size. Your nipples will change shape and color. They'll get dark and red, and grow fat and long." He licks his lips.

Brenda once again suppresses the urge to cover herself. If everything goes according to plan she's going to have to get used to having strange men do more than just stare at her breasts. But times are tough, and no matter how distasteful she might find her new line of work, selling milk will be far more profitable than selling plasma.

"You do know," Mr. George says, tearing his eyes away from Brenda's chest, "that once you start lactating, your tits never, ever goes back to the way they were. It's remarkable, really. Even after you eventually leave the club and stop getting milked every day, you'll be able to start up again at any time. Sometimes Marcy, my secretary just starts leaking spontaneously." He grins.

"Yes," Brenda says politely, "I think I read something about that." She really wishes Mr. George had just stuck with the whole staring silently thing.

"Just making sure you know what you're getting into," Mr. George says.

"I'm aware," Brenda says softly.

"Right then," Mr. George says. "I have papers for you to sign. A contract, confidentiality agreements, that sort of thing."

Brenda dutifully signs her name by the stickers Mr. George had so helpfully arranged around the papers.

"You'll start off as a waitress," Mr. George says. "Topless, of course. And when you start producing, your salary will triple, and you'll become one of our Milk Maids."

Brenda tries to hide a grimace. A Milk Maid. Jesus. So that's what a college degree will get you these days.

Mr. George looks over the papers Brenda just signed. "Wonderful." He pulls out a package from under his desk. "Here's everything you need to get started. There's your uniform, such as it is, your schedule, supplements, a hand pump to help production once the milk lets down, and a motivational CD."

"Motivational CD?"

"Have you ever been hypnotized, Miss Peck?"

"Once, at a party," Brenda says. "Why?"

"And did you go under easily?"

"Unfortunately. My best friend still has a video of my clucking like a chicken."

"Well, I can assure you that after listening to my CD there will be no clucking involved." Mr. George smiles. "In order to induce lactation there not only has to be physical stimulation, there has to be mental stimulation as well. The tracks I put together will help your mind prepare you for your duties here."

Brenda frowns. Something about that last sentence sounded off to her. "I don't think--"

"You don't have to think, Miss Peck, "Mr. George says. "You've already committed yourself to this endeavor. You're sitting in my office with your shirt off, and you just signed a contract pledging yourself to this establishment for at least a year. From now on, you do as you're told and leave any thinking to me, all right?"

Brenda bristles, but her indignation fizzles out. He's right; she signed the contract, and now she'll just have to deal with everything that comes next. "Yes, sir," she says.

"Good girl," Mr. George says. "Yes, you're going to be a very good girl."

***