Neither of us could speak. Phyllis pushed closer and made little fucking movements with her hips. She smiled at me. My eyes were wide open with emotio... and the strange new feelings."Can you think of anything we can say if one of the men comes out here?" We began giggling to the point that it was hard to stop. Our pussies giggled together. I felt the firm bone of her mound bump my erect clitoris and I slipped my hand under my robe to soothe my jutting nipples.We lay together like that. Our. Swollen with hours of teasing milk from a bloated teat just as it is now milking your own tumescent member. Nature has nurtured this pistoning fist, trained it to stroke and squeeze and manipulate your heated flesh." No, Mary, surely that can't be. How could you the High Priestess of Victorian Realism have been a lowly, slatternly, country harlot? A teat milker. A cock milker. A wanton, bucolic slapper ready to lay with any John Thomas that would avail himself of your bushy haystack. Tell me. More

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