When we came out of the woods, she let go of my steering rod and suggested I hide that somehow while we passed by the houses in our neighborhood. My only option was to put one hand in my pocket to press my cock against my leg. It worked to hide the erection, but it certainly didn’t diminish it. We got to my place in a few minutes, walking so quickly that we were winded when we got there. Breathlessly I pulled off her shirt to reveal breasts much larger than I thought and nipples that were leaking ever so slightly. I’ve never had a lactater so I was anxious to lap it up. As I teased her nipple with my lips and tongue, I could barely taste the faint traces that had seeped from her swollen motherhood. But when I closed my lips and nibbled with my teeth, I was greeted with the warm flow of watery milk. It wasn’t the taste of it, but the psychology of it that I found ultimately erotic. The only thing was that I had to avoid overthinking the issue because skirting the oedipal ice was for. At five she went for a long bath, at six he helped her dry herself, dusted her with talc, and holding her hand they looked through her clothing for a suitable poncho, a nice knitted one fitted the bill, it reached her knees and at least covered the four places that were to be pegged! They sat on the sofa Dave kissing her and generally showing her affection till a car was heard approaching, rattling over the distant cattle grid quickly he had her lay back legs akimbo and on went the lower pegs, then one quickly applied to on either nipple he rapidly attached these while she, wincing threw the poncho over her head and with a face set with discomfort, kissed him goodbye as the knocker rattled. He watched her go, barefoot and naked, bar the poncho and the pegs, moving with some discomfort and getting into his sports car. A wistful look at his drawn face and with a cloud of dust she was gone. Fitfully he watched the television, but couldn’t settle, he tried painting, but that too was.
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