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Lynn sat up straighter as she looked down her stomach. Subtle differences in how she saw her bodytold her that her breasts were different. At 28 years old, she knew what she should see when she looked at herself. Her mind picked out subtle differences in the shape and size of her body without relaying the specifics to her. The effect was almost maddening. Was she entirely certain they weren’t as full before? Or whether they hung a little lower or bulged off the side of her body rather than sitting comfortably on her chest? No, not entirely. But her brain told her something was very different. And were her hips wider? Her stomach, however, held her attention. A rectangular patch of skin, roughly four inches long, above her mound but below her belly button was slightly swollen. Lynn touched the skin carefully, and, like her breasts, she felt heat radiating from the area. It was about as wide as half of her small hand and very nearly perfectly rectangular. That’s… is it an allergic reaction to something? God… dangit… oh crap, what if that’s not milk? Oh god. What if… what if its puss and I have some infection? Does that happen with an allergic reaction? What did I eat last night? The steak was fresh and I got the salad a couple days ago. Same as the dressing. The wine is fine. The… milk… Lynn stood and, as her foot struck the floor, a small droplet of milk formed on the end of her right nipple. It was smaller than the drop she noticed after removing her top but still a milky white color. She ignored it as it fell to the floor. The young woman woke her laptop on the small desk in the second bedroom. She unconsciously played with the tender patch of skin on her stomach as she clicked through files. The gentle caress of her fingers felt soothing to her and, soon, she was pressing harder against the thicker skin. “Aha!” Lynn exclaimed. Keying in a number on her nearby cellphone, she held the device to her ear as it rang. After four rings, a male voice answered. “Shady Oaks, Chris speaking.” “Christopher?” Lynn asked. “Mr. escort avcılar Chapman?” “Yes. Who is this, please?” Lynn’s hand massaged her stomach, grabbing the skin in a small fist to squeeze and pull gently before releasing it. The pinching, pulling, squeezing motion settled her nerves and she didn’t even realize she was doing it. “It’s, hi, it’s Lynn Hathaway? From Spiel & Fillhart-” “Yes, Ms. Hathaway, I remember. My answer is still no. And you’ve picked a bad time. I’m elbow-deep in oil trying to fix this old tractor.” “No, that’s not why I’m calling. I,” Lynn paused. An image came to mind as she spoke. Christopher out on his farm. Blue skies above with a few clouds slowly passing under the sun. Cats play fighting with a wary eye for passing hawks and owls. Chickens pecking and scratching at what they thought was food. Wind rustling the oak trees lining the property. And the man sitting by himself, cursing and grunting as he pulled at the tractor’s engine. Dirt and sweat lining his brow, just above those green eyes of his. Lynn felt something almost physically tug at her heart as she pictured the scene. “Ms. Hathaway?” Chris prompted. “You still there?” “I-” Lynn blinked at the start of tears at the corner of her eyes. What in the world? She wondered. “No, I mean yes, I’m still here.” “Ms. Hathaway-” “Please call me Lynn.” “Ms. Hathaway, are you doing okay? I don’t know you much but this is not who I remember two days ago. Is something wrong?” “No,” she answered. “I mean, maybe. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel a little scatterbrained for some reason. Do you do anything to your milk? This will probably sound really inune…inoon?” What the hell is that word? It was… dangit! “Silly, this will probably sound really silly but is your milk made different than what I’d buy in the store?” “Aww no, please don’t tell me you have food poisoning.” Chris said. Lynn could feel the man’s concern over the phone. “No. At least I don’t think so. But maybe an allergy? Food allergy or something?” “That’s probably escort bahcesehir worse. Are you throwing up? Going to the bathroom a lot? You know, and I’m sorry to say it but, diarrhea? Stomach pain? Swelling? Any trouble breathing?” Lynn sighed in relief. “No to most of that. Just some swelling is all.” “Oh,” Chris said. “Well, I’m not exactly a doctor or anything but if that’s it, I don’t think it’s food poisoning or food allergy. Does it hurt bad?” Lynn looked down. Upon realizing that she was stroking the rough skin of her stomach, she blushed and stopped. “No. It doesn’t hurt. It aches a little and feels a warm but that’s it. Wait. Actually it’s not aching at all anymore. Still kind of warm but that’s it.” “Okay. So not so bad then? Maybe it’s just a, I dunno, heat rash or something? If it doesn’t hurt and nothing else feels bad then it’ll probably pass.” Lynn leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed. The fabric of the chair felt rough against her naked back but when she moved, it scratched an itch she hadn’t realized she had. The young woman moved her upper body back and forth against the mesh-backed chair, luxuriating in the sensation. She could see Christopher in her mind’s eye, talking to her and that image plus the sound of his voice was oddly comforting to her. “I’ve actually had some of the milk every night since I got it,” Lynn told him. She could feel her breasts press against each other as she moved against the chair. “I warmed it up like when I was a kid and, seriously, I had the best sleep I’ve ever had. Both nights.” Chris grunted as a metallic sound clanked over the phone. “Yeah? I thought that was an old wives tale. The whole warm milk thing.” “Maybe? Maybe it’s psycho… psychosome? I mean, maybe it’s just because I think it’ll help?” Lynn flushed. Why in the world can’t I remember that word? I swear to god, my brain is going to mush. “All I know is that I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep. It was amazing.” “Well,” Chris said. “You can try it using store bought milk. beylikdüzü escort Maybe it doesn’t matter. Otherwise, it’s a long drive but you’re welcome to come out for more from time to time. Stupid, sonava- Sorry, not you. This damn nut is stuck on ridiculously tight.” “I’d like that. I mean, if store milk doesn’t work. You wouldn’t believe how much I spend on sleeping pills and those make me feel terrible. So, yeah, maybe if that doesn’t work I could come out and pick up a bottle. It’s a drive but I don’t mind it. I mean, well, it’d save a lot on pills.” Lynn reached down to scratch at a spot on her silk pants. As she did, she moaned quietly. With long strokes, she scratched from her knee to her thigh, squirming in her chair. Scratching against her inner thighs brought another moan to her lips. “Well, sure, yeah. I usually always keep a few jars for myself and a few friends. Sorry to hear about your sleeping problem, though. I actually had better luck with marijuana than with the anti-depressants the doctors gave me to help with sleep. I mean, when I still, ugh, dammit, when I still worked in the city.” Lynn bit her lip. Christopher’s deep, easy voice rumbled around her as she rubbed her back and scratched her thighs. She felt herself grow wet from the combination of sensations. It’d been a long time since she’d made time for a lover but the image of Chris working on his tractor transitioned into him undressing. In her fantasy, they stood together in the open air, her naked while Chris smiled, hunger in his eyes. The young woman pressed her hand beneath the waistband of her silk pants. She felt short, wiry hairs before her fingers slipped between her wetness. She gasped, amazed at how slick she was. “-although at one of the farmer’s markets, Jo-ann Hilbert said she had some homemade pills that worked. St. John’s Wort and other things mixed together. Probably weed in there, too, though. Hah!” “Uhh… mmhmmm…” Lynn moaned. Christopher’s sentences became words and then simple sounds as her index finger rubbed between her wet lips. She pressed the heel of her hand against her clit as the Christopher in her imagination held her against a tree with his hand around her front. The man in her dreams smelled of hay and sweat and dirt and she found herself growing wetter at the thought.

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