. I was so mad at her and apparently choosing thepunishment version would make her angrier. It didn't leave me muchchoice. "I'm not drinking any more ...reast milk! Especially not from yourbreast!"She sighed and brought a bib over and tied it around my neck beforeputting the tray on and setting the bowl of mush and the bottle in frontof me. As she stirred the concoction my stomach did some flip-flops,'That looks awful...' I thought to myself."Open up for the choo-choo!" she told me a second later. No one ever knew what I said. That was between me, her, and God.I broke down a third time when I saw the tombstone the family had chosen. “Sandra R. Moore, Beloved Wife and Mother.”I don’t remember the graveside service or the wake that followed. One family member or another was at my side the whole time. When it was over I went home, only to be completely reminded of her presence. It took three months before I finally allowed her things to be packed up. I’d taken the pillowcase she’d slept on. Dara went to the bookmaker for her money. Everyone wondered how she hadmanaged to pull that off, but obviously there was no way she could haveknown in advance, or manipulated the situation. The organization had areputation to keep, and paid her in cash promptly, congratulating herfor her luck. Since her foster parents trusted her completely, and shehadn't actually done anything wrong, she placed the money in her savingsaccount, one which her family left alone and allowed her to control. With minds occupied only by sensation, both participants drove recklessly forward.In seconds, it began. A deep growl from his core turned gradually to a moan. When it happened, he seemed more surprised than she at his orgasm. His voiced was silenced as he swallowed a gasp, and the first hot jet of cum shot forcefully into her mouth. As he came, his hips shook more violently, and she almost lost him. Taking him firmly by the shaft with her right hand and playing with his balls in her left, she.