A Quart of Milk
 by Rick Michaels

It all started 3 years ago-one of those ugly, gray leaden days with the rain drizzling and just light enough for the wind to make it pierce your too thin Burberry. I was sitting in a bar that I wouldn't have stopped in to ask directions, nursing a beer and trying to look more affluent than I was, hoping to stay warm for a little while. I suppose an introduction is in order, I am Charlie McElroy, former high priest and maven of the dot.com world. I took every dime I could beg or borrow (no stealing), rented an office space, bought a T1 and commenced to make lots of money-for a while. You probably already know the rest, so let's just say that after bankruptcy, narrowly dodging jail time, for some of my employees were not near as scrupulous about no stealing as I was, I finally ended up in this funky bar at 11:45 in the morning, nursing my beer, trying to figure out how long I can wait before I spend my last 3 dollars, and have to shuffle off into the cold. I got up and went to the bathroom, figuring that would waste a little time. I remember specifically looking in the mirror and seeing a youthful 30-ish face with old eyes. I went out to the bar, and notice a lady is sitting right next to my beer.

She is on the plus side of 40, with the sort of beauty that until recently in this sick society was admired. I could see under her 2000-dollar female business suit the outline of some very interesting hips and breasts, all softly swelling, and her calves were absolutely delightful. Regretfully. I start to grab my beer and move down, when she touches my arm, and in the gentlest voice I have heard in a long time asks me to please stay. I gulped nervously, for the whole effect was completed when I looked into her wise, compassionate eyes and her touch went straight to my spinal cord, and activated every monkey impulse in my body.

I sat and swallowed, swallowed again and finally blurted, "I'm Charlie", and She smiled gently, and said her name was Daphne. She turned to the bartender and circled for another round, including me in the gesture. I waited until the beer was brought, and looked at this amazing woman, and decided I may as well play it straight.

"Ma'am, thank you for the beer but I should tell you, well, I'm sorry but I can't return the favor" I said as my voice trailed away.

"Charlie", she said and I could not help but look in those beautiful brown eyes, "do I look as if I need you to buy me a beer? And please, call me Daphne."

As she leaned closer to me, I became aware of an amazing smell emanating from her, she smelled like-I stopped and I guess my eyes glazed over, for Daphne noticed, and gave a little grin. "You seem distracted Charlie", she said.

"I guess I am - and I must say this before I lose my nerve, you are the kindest most beautiful woman I have ever met, and if you want me to leave, I will, but do I smell milk?" I blurted out the last, and immediately began looking for a hole to crawl into. She gave a delighted giggle, left a tip and took my hand.

"Yes, I think you should leave" she said as she slipped her arm in mine and I escorted her to her car, a brand new Mercedes 700 class. Remembering that she was a lady I stepped around and opened her door, earning a gracious thank you and another of those Madonna smiles, stepped around and climbed in my side. She drove to a gracious older home, one of the ones that Yuppies can't wait to buy and destroy, but not this one. It looked to be brand new old: all the bric a brac around the porch was clean and bright, not missing any pieces. I breathed once and told Daphne it was beautiful, just as she was, a graceful lady reminding me of a gentler time. She nodded once, touched my hand, and we pulled in the garage.

We walked into her house, and it was just like the outside original wood, lovingly maintained, but all rewired for modern appliances. She told me to hang up my coat, and I saw her take in the frayed cuffs of my Burberry, my only possession of any value. I took her coat and hung it as well, and we proceeded to the den.

She began to speak "Charlie, if you don't wish to tell, I understand, but I am assuming that you were quite successful at one time, judging by your clothes and your exquisite manners, as well as your obvious ability with the English language." She handed me a glass dark with what the bottle said was 24 year old Single Malt Scotch, and continued, "I have need of some help around here, and no, it is not what you think, not to be my pool boy and toy. You will have a room, may eat and drink, and hopefully re-establish yourself. Are you interested?"

Her question hung in the air as a new drink materialized in my hand-'damn where did that go?' I thought. "OK Daphne you have a deal" I said. We sat there, and conversed about what I have no idea, and I kept drinking her scotch-and not to put too fine a point on it, I got shit faced. She led me gently to my room, furnished with a full size bed, which I fell into gratefully, as I peeled off my trousers- or tried to. She chuckled and leaned down to untie my shoes, took them off and then quickly removed my pants and shirt. Daphne then quietly said "Yes Charlie, you did smell milk, and I could smell you respond as well. You see, I have a stomach problem, nothing serious, but the prescription medicine I take causes lactation."

I merely nodded and looked in her eyes, trying not to pay attention to the erection rising unbidden in my shorts.

Daphne removed her jacket, and I could see the wetness that had leaked through her bra and blouse. As she leaned closer her musk was overpowering. She asked me gently "would you like some milk, Charlie?

I could only nod again, and she removed her top, and sat at the head of the bed. She laid my head across her chest, cradling me in her arms, and slowly moved my head to her nipple. I began to nurse, and as she cradled my head and gently stroked my neck, I reached up and laid one hand tenderly on her breast right by my mouth, and was transported in time. The whole world went away as I savored her sweet hot milk coursing down my throat, and that was the last I knew.

I woke up, alone in bed, the taste of milk on my teeth, and a pounding headache. Had that all really happened, or was it a psychotic episode? Feeling guilty, I showered, shaved using the razor by the sink and brushed my teeth. I went downstairs, rummaged in the kitchen and found it well equipped. Reaching way back in my memory, I chopped some onions and peppers and a slice of ham, sautéed it well and made some home fries and an omelets. I put it all on a tray with a flower I cut from the glorious gardens, and took the whole presentation up to Daphne- I started to knock on her door but it was ajar, and swung open. She looked up at me, smiled and said "Thank you Charlie", and I gave her her tray.

I started to leave, but she said, "Please stay".

How could I refuse? I sat as she ate, and smelled the wonderful aromas of her body. She finished and put the tray aside and removed her gown. All I could do was gaze in adoration at her beautiful lush body-her full-engorged breasts, her wonderful hips and naturally short pubic hair. She patted the bed and asked me to remove my clothes. I did and sat by her. She had me lay my head across her lap, so I was looking up over her breasts at her face. As she gently stroked my cheek, I could smell milk and her vagina starting to lube up, along with the musk of her sweat from the previous day. My penis sprang to life, and following some impulse I couldn't begin to explain, I drew my legs up and she delicately began to run her fingers over my erection.

Thus situated, Daphne began to speak. "Charlie, as you may have guessed I need someone to drink my milk, and as you have also noticed, this creates a very strong bond between us. When is the last time you made anyone a meal?"

"I don't know- way too long." I am nearly overcome with tenderness and ardor for her right now, but realize this is a tremendously important conversation, that I will not for the life of me screw up- for once.

"You did not dream any of it- you did drink my milk, and fell asleep. Yesterday, I could smell you from all the way across the room- I sat and watched you and could feel the anger and bitterness. That is why I sat by you, my sweet one. Here is what I propose: You will get a quart of my milk, a pint of my pussy juice, and 2 beers a day. And yes, we will make love as well, but I think you will find that while you do not desire as much sex as you think you might, it will be vastly more powerful. You will live here, love and look for work, and I will help where I can, but Charlie, you must do the work. Now that I have said that" she switched to formal tones, "today, would you like some more?" I slowly nod, and she smiles. "Good, remember, while you live here, you will not be my slave, I want you to be a man, and act as such."

I sat silently waiting for her to continue, not believing what I am hearing. Daphne went on: "You will look for work, and I know some people. What are your available skills?" Slowly, haltingly at first, I pour out the whole tale of my failed entrepreneurial attempt. Daphne gently stroked my hair as I finished while a tear escaped from me. She gently raised my head and said "Drink, love, let my milk wash away your pain and emptiness." Now sober, I tenderly placed my mouth around and behind her aureole, keeping my tongue underneath and felt her nipple expand as it warmed. I barely moved my tongue and sucked, in response to an age-old instinct and milk started to pour down my throat. It was an electric shock to my body- instantly inflaming my cock, which throbbed in time to my sharing her liquid love. I closed my eyes, and continued to drink, my cock pulsing harder and harder, until I came. I hadn't come without being touched since I was 13, and I was mortified, but continued to drain her purest expression as she crooned in my ear.

"It's OK Charlie, that is just the pain leaving you as you find your heart again. As you allow yourself to feel, your body will respond", she said. I was willing to take her word for it, but still lay there in my come, and finished her milk. Looking up at her with expectant eyes, she reached down and wiped up some of my jism, and wiped it on her lips and tongue. Daphne then kissed me and I could not believe the effect as my cock spread phoenix-like from the ashes of my spent passion. "You see-the milk is healing you dearest one," she murmured.

She then laid back and opened wide her beautiful pussy and the smell made my cock even harder. "We are attuned to one another, and our smells make us have to respond- I could smell you across the room yesterday, that is why I sat down there next to you", Daphne guided my head to her beautiful pussy and told me how and where to lick it, a master class in muff diving. The taste and viscosity of her juice changed, from a sweet heavy cream to a woody thinner fluid as she came. As she crested the woody fluid poured out, mingling with the taste of my come and her milk, and I didn't care if I ever breathed again. Daphne grabbed my ears and pushed, and I sucked her clit just like a breast, taking care to run my soft tongue all over the top and sides as I did so. She poured out her fluids, and screamed with her orgasm, not words, but a primal scream, the scream of the basic urge of woman and man.

I stopped sucking and tenderly rose up my body and looked full in her glorious brown eyes, feeling my cock jump as I saw the milk that had leaked from her breasts. "Daphne" I began haltingly, "I would be honored to drink your milk and let you be the instrument of my healing." She laughed then, a glorious contra-alto laugh as her eyes danced.

"No my precious man, you will be the instrument of your own healing, and you will do it by learning to trust and love again, for there is one far more precious for you" she said as her smile turned radiant.

I was confused, but decided I had better get on with the day. I went and washed my clothes, and punched up the state work source on the computer. While busily filling out approximately 427 pages of information (are you a drug addict, a felon, a pervert? Would you like to be?) Daphne approached me holding a newspaper and said "Charlie, does this look interesting?" I looked at the ad and saw:

SELF STARTER NEEDED NO EXPERIENCE, 
ONE GOOD NON-FAMILY REFERENCE REQUIRED.

I had been reading want ads forever and had never seen one like that. 'What the hell" I thought, it can't hurt, even as the strong whiff of collusion entered my nose. I called the number, got the address, which was in walking distance, which I did not believe, was a coincidence. I filled out the mercifully brief application and when it came to the reference I took a chance and listed Daphne, no last name, and her address. I was immediately escorted in to see Ben, the owner. I still had no idea of what he did, if it was legal, or if not, did it pay enough to warrant the risk.

Ben was a well set up 50 year old in basic golf attire, but he made it look like a tuxedo. He greeted me and told me that he had an Internet business, and needed someone to collate the orders and make sure they got to the respective shippers. He asked if I had any computer experience, and while I thought 'can't you read?' I said of course.

Ben said "good- start now".

Gulp- put up or shut up time. I walked to my office (?) and dug into the computer. It turned on, and was password protected. Easy- browse, ini files, find the code, cut paste and Voila! I was in. I started on the orders, all stacked up since 3 months earlier, and found that the system, politely, sucked ass. I kept working and formulated how to make it work, knowing that it was near lunchtime.

I went back to Daphne's, had my lunch, very tasty of course, and the onions in her breakfast gave her milk a piquant flavor that was nicely offset by the cream. She asked me how the interview went and I said I had been hired, as if she didn't know. She merely gave me that innocent small smile and bade me a good day.

I returned to work, and decided to be hanged for a lion as a lamb. The system sucked, and what the hell, I found this job. I marched up to Ben's office and rapped on the door as I announced myself and walked in and sat down like I owned the place. Ben looked up at my effrontery, but asked politely if he could help me. I showed him how he could preset the item codes to automatically link to the suppliers, and not have to waste time inputting them manually, and thus free his business to just be a virtual warehouse, collect the mark up and mark up the postage, "all in one easy transaction for you Mr. Consumer" and move to Bermuda. He smiled, and said set it up.

I did, and after 6 months the business had gone up 490%, all due to simple ordering, a friendly web page without a bunch of blind links and outstanding follow up with source suppliers. In that same time, with my daily ration of a quart of milk, a pint of pussy juice and 2 beers combined with walking 5 miles a day I was looking younger, had lost inches and gained muscle, and was radiating a newfound confidence. I still was convinced that Daphne was fronting the whole thing, when Ben walked into my office one day and plopped down in the only other chair.

"Charlie, the first day I hired you, you said that you could simplify my business, up my profits and I could move to Bermuda". I nodded agreement. "It's time for that to happen, and I want you to take it over."

I cringed, feeling all the old fear of failure undermine my newly won confidence. "Well, do you think that Daphne would sell to me?"

Ben laughed, a hearty guffaw, and told me "no Charlie, I own this, and I have known Daphne for years. The only thing I ever got from her was when I was down and out: a quart of milk-"

I finished the line with him, "a pint of pussy juice and 2 beers a day". With that, I noticed that Ben put on his coat, a faded Burberry, and as he left, he told me "pay it forward".

PRESENT TIME, 3 YEARS LATER

Daphne was right about everything. I took over the business, paid it off in 2 years, met a beautiful woman, married her and we just had our first child. I still have that old Burberry, even though my wife thinks it is scandalous, and talk to Daphne every other day or so, phone only now. My wife is happy to provide my quart of milk, pint of pussy juice and 2 beers a day, and I would write more but I have an interview with someone in a faded Burberry listing Daphne (no last name) as a reference. Since that is my daughter's name; I think I will talk to him. I hear Tahiti is a nice place to raise a kid.

- Rick Michaels

 Reprinted with permission by the author.
Please do not duplicate without consent.