Story III

“I… already have a boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, I’m the designated driver.”

“I don’t swing that way, but my friend does! Ah… you already talked to her…”

“Look, I have to keep an eye on my friend. If it weren’t today that you hit on me, I’d be-- Kara, stop!”

Lysandra felt her grip on her glass tighten. She was not one to be turned down, especially by so many people in such a short time span. God, what was with this club tonight? Usually, all she needed to do was turn up, and she could basically always walk away with someone wrapped around her finger. She had gone all-out tonight, wearing her midnight dress that accented every one of her curves, those nice glass earrings that accented her eyes, and she even visited her favorite hairdresser to get her platinum blonde hair just right! And if that wasn’t enough, she held back on her daily milking, only taking out the lighter milk to ensuring that her sizable breasts stayed perky, properly filled out the dress, and even bulged out just enough for the eye to pick out.

So why was she still not getting anyone?

She grumbled as she made her way back towards the bar. She shouldn’t have to be putting all this work in just to find someone for the night. Normally, it would have just been a quick “yours or mine” call to Cassandra, and she could have all the fun she wanted for the evening, but then this week had to happen.

Cassandra was her girlfriend. “Had been,” if you asked Cassandra directly. She was a delightful little thing that owned a bookstore somewhere on Fourteenth Avenue. Sure, she was a little short, but she had a rack and sex drive that paired *excellently* together. And when you started pushing her buttons, there was no way you could keep her off of you until there were two tired, panting bodies tangled in the sheets.

But there was an issue. Always was with other people, wasn’t there? Lysandra had kept an eye on the secretary she promoted a while back. Didn’t look half bad and had a delicious little stutter if you pushed him the right way. Whatever his name was, she had taken him as a milkman for when she wasn’t interested in her afternoon pumping. She could just tell him to follow her, take him to an out-of-the-way supply closet, push him up against the wall and tell him to drink away. Or just tell him she wanted to see him in her office, then start peeling her shirt off after the door was closed and locked. After the first few times, she noticed he stopped bringing his lunch to work. It was always satisfying knowing that someone didn’t need more than you.

It had gone on that way for about a month, but the good times never last. Cassandra had found out, and instead of joining in on the fun, she called Lysandra a cheater and left. Imagine that. Her, a cheater! All she was doing was having fun and giving some poor boy a pleasant time, was that so objectionable?

Apparently, it was. Cassandra stopped responding to her calls and texts, and when Lysandra had enough and went down to that bookstore to ask what was going on, she got kicked out. Even that wouldn’t have been an issue; she had jealous lovers before, she knew their type. But her milkman secretary had bounced the day after, leaving her high and dry. Well, not “dry”, her milk was still coming in, boytoy or no. And she was only at this uptown bar to find someone to help her deal with the milk and warm her bed for the night. She new Cassandra would come around.

Except that wasn’t the truth, and deep down Lysandra knew it. Her earlier lovers never yelled at her with that much anger in their eyes. They never cried on their way out. The shut-out was never so complete that all methods of communication were blocked out, and even the most stubborn of her other lovers still left one method for her to make things up with. Cassandra didn’t. And in all her post-rejection days, when her bed felt cold and her breasts unloved, these last few nights seemed unusually longer than the others.

When today rolled around, Lysandra had a plan in her mind to get out of this funk and move on, and near as she could tell, she had played her part flawlessly. But no one was biting.

She downed the rest of her drink and slammed it on the bar. Apparently, in her smoldering anger, she had fallen back to her comfort zone and picked one of her comfort drinks. Virgin, if the lack of burn going down was any indicator. Probably for the best, she had her charms, but she needed some coherency to snag someone.

“I saw your streak out there,” she realized some guy was talking to her, “you were pretty close a few times. Pretty good for a beginner.” Beginner? Probably not talking to her, then, but still. Lysandra spared a glance at the man who talked to her.

He was a tall, skinny man with short, scraggly hair. In the dim light of the bar, she could tell that his clothes weren’t tailored to his almost lanky frame and tended to bunch up around his joints. He looked like he was trying to seem professional to the casual eye, something that didn’t slip by her for a second. He was standing behind the counter, making a deal of cleaning up a mess that wasn’t there, being more occupied in looking busy than being so.

“Still doing better than the schmucks behind the bar,” she responded with a smirk, “how many slobs weep their hearts out to you while you get underpaid to be a therapist?”

“Ah, only happened twice so far this night. But hey, they were down a few hands here and were too desperate to hire me to check my history.” He briefly checked over his shoulder before returning to her. “Believe me,” he motioned to her drink, “you can throw anything together and the chumps here will still drink it all up.”

“Huh,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “no wonder I felt like I was about to throw up.” She paused and judged his reaction. “Still, I can see why they decided to pick you. A little bit of eye candy to distract from your more unsightly peers.”

“I can see you being my mistake tonight. Name’s Jake.”

“Lysandra.”

“Sounds foreign.”

“Greek, or something. Mom once said it was related to her divorce. Seems unfair to dump that on your kid.”

“What, you want me to be your therapist, too?”

“You’re the one who asked.” Lysandra smiled. She liked this one. Just enough kick to make things interesting. She was taking a gamble since he was behind the bar, so there could be anything south of the belt.

Jesus, was this really her who was making these decisions? Stooping so low as to hit up some temp barkeep as the night’s company? Well, she could stand to tolerate him since the night’s pickings were slim. Men weren’t her favorite meal, but she could get by. Least she could be sure she wouldn’t hear complaining when it came time to empty her milk.

She turned back to strike up another round of conversation with the bartender.

----

Jason- the guy’s name, if her memory served her- had stayed agreeable enough through the evening. On an insinuation of ditching work and spending time with her, he seemingly gave it a few seconds of thought before giving his answer and slipping out through the back. Lysandra rose to leave, deciding not to finish the most recent batch of swill Jason had tried to give her.

She pulled out her phone and let her driver know she was done here, and that company was expected. As she stepped outside, she partially wished she brought a jacket with her. The cold sierra winds would have been welcome after a sweltering summer’s day, but so late in the night, they became annoying.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, followed by an arm wrap over her neck. “Glad to see you didn’t run away.”

Lysandra merely spared a glance at Jason. Obviously, he wasn’t getting how this is going to play out. She pulled his arm off her shoulder, then spun around to face him, drawing in just close enough to get him to back himself into the wall. She traced a delicate pattern over his shirt, then up to his chin. Just by seeing the look in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t as easy a target as her milkman. His general lack of reaction would make things less fun in the coming hours, but she figured the coming relief would make it worth her while.

As she saw her ride pulling in towards the bar out of the corner of her eye, she silently made the offer to Jason, motioning towards the vehicle.

He followed without making a sound.

----

On the trip back to her house, Lysandra discerned Josh’s earlier talk about being used to luxury was nothing but bluster. As soon as they got onto the interstate, she could tell he wasn’t used to the direction they were heading. Entering her neighborhood was the first time he took his eyes solidly off of her form (mostly her chest). There was a look of interest and desire that she never saw when his eyes were on her, something she had to keep herself from getting upset at.

As they pulled up to her house, she saw his interest affix itself to its silhouette against the night sky. After the car stopped, Lysandra opened the door and let the warmer air wash over. Out here, she could avoid that unwanted sierra cold. Reason enough for her to give up her old penthouse in the city.

Usually, she would have had her driver pull into her garage, but she wanted to wow and humble this one, and the towering entryway and modernist architecture proved once again that they were up to the task. She led him by the nose up the front path and in through her front door, into the spacious interior.

“Pick up your jaw, honey.” She turned to him. “Meet me at the pool in the back.”

“What, na--?”

“Guest bedroom. There’s a pair of trunks that should fit; they’re from an ex of mine.” She smiled as she turned away. “Don’t be afraid to pull on the strings if they’re too loose.”

----

In the privacy of her own room, Lysandra peeled off the few layers she had on. Oof, skipping the bra tonight was probably a good call. She had started off the night as “daring and risqué,” but right now, she was bordering on “fool who forgot to milk herself” if only from of the sheer amount that she was spilling out from the top of her dress. It wasn’t bad enough that she left any milk on her dress, but she wasn’t going to lie that she was breathing more easily now that it wasn’t pressing back on her. She was normally noticeably bigger than the average girl on the street, but no one would say she was in “hyper” territory.

Fully stripped, she donned her swimsuit- a gray two-piece that left little to the imagination. The ties in the back meant she could give herself as much breathing room as she needed, but she doubted that she would want much more than was necessary at the time. She spent a minute making sure she was only barely hiding the important parts, then turned and open the sliding glass door to the pool.

----

She didn’t need to wait long after turning on the lights and setting herself down in the pool, though she was thankful for the water to carry some of the burden on her chest. Joshua made his way towards the entry to the pool, and she took the chance to size him up.

First impressions weren’t promising. It wasn’t true that the swimsuit was from an old lover- she had bought that swimsuit with the sole purpose of knocking down a peg any proud guy she brought here- which she had to admit wasn’t as many as women she brought home that needed a similar lesson in humility. But even though this man was obviously excited about the prospects in his immediate future that being here meant for him, that made it all the more clear that he had issues measuring up to most of the prior men she’d seen.

Still, he swam forward undaunted, perhaps foolishly so, and she was ready to take on whatever challenges he thought he had.

--------

Lysandra groaned as she sat up. Last night was not an easy one on her, and her stronger-than-usual hangover was supposed to be a lesson in and of itself for her to not repeat the night. Whatever, she had faced this before, and much worse besides. As the throbbing subsided between her temples, she realized a second source of pain, one that wasn’t symmetrically distributed. She braced herself and opened her eyes, the screaming light digging further pain into her mind.

She didn’t need to look so far down to see her usual burgeoning morning chest… on her right side. It sat with her usual overnight bounty (maybe a little smaller than normal), ready to continue its buildup until the afternoon. But her left side looked relatively huge and was the clear source of the overwhelming discomfort. In a rare situation for her, she could see a few veins start to trace themselves underneath her skin alongside a tint of red that mirrored the displeasure that breast faced.

She scrunched her face up in frustration. She had been milked asymmetrically. It wasn’t an absolutely terrible thing to happen to her, but it was unpleasant in the best of cases, and this was far from one of those times. Ugh, and she had let herself build up milk from the day before, hadn’t she? How did that bastard of a man she brought with her the last night let this happen?

“Julian,” she barked in no direction in particular, “I want an explanation first, an apology next, and finally, you to remedy this situation.” The silence in her home was the only thing to answer her. “Julian!” That was his name, right? Why wasn’t he answering? “I swear to God, if you--” Lysandra stopped herself as she checked the empty bed to her right. The covers were only messed up enough to suggest a night of passion, not someone using them overnight.

Lysandra scowled. Was that all he had seen her as good for? A single night, then left behind without a second thought? She was Lysandra Alexgunaikos, dammit, and she was not one to be taken so lightly!

In a huff, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and quickly stood up. She found herself sitting back down on the bed, partially due to the lopsided load she was carrying on her chest, and partially because of the sudden vertigo that her hangover forced on her from the sudden movement. She took a second to let the vertigo pass and better brace herself, then more slowly stood, looking for her milker. She had a long day ahead of her, and her maid was going to hear her complain the whole time.