#231978 - She was mortified, but thinking about it was doing something to her, the more she thought of that man drinking her juice, the milk of her tender breasts, the more she replayed the image of him gulping her down gazing straight at her, the wetter she was getting. Astounded by his impertinence, she turned in horror and rushed into the house not to emerge the rest of the morning. How could she have let him take it last night? What had come over her that she gave in to such an intrusion of her feminine dignity? She kept thinking about the milker drinking that sip of tea, playing it over and over in her mind, watching it in disgust and then thinking about him going on to finish his cup of tea.
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