In the morning, I snuck out early and headed next door. I wandered past the window and saw Mrs Jones getting dressed. I was mesmerized as I watched he... adorn her brassiere. She turned, winked at me and pointed to the door. As I entered the house I noticed a collection of bags on the kitchen table. Mrs Jones had been shopping and told me to take the bags to her room and choose an outfit. My eyes lit up as I grabbed hold of the bags and skipped to her room. Upon opening the bags, I discovered a. ” He then sent his sperm down my throat. His sperm flew wildly into my mouth. I soon tasted him.Some leaked out. He moaned softly. I tasted his sperm. The taste of his nectar. Warm sour sweet {to me} cream. I moaned. “MMMM” I let him know how much I valued this. “MMM. ‘. I licked the underside of his cock. I made small purring sounds. His sperm felt warm in my tummy. I tasted more of his sperm.” Yummy man juice”, I thought to myself. I felt so natural. So safe with his . Not like he's given much reason to trust him so far."Anyway, you need to eat. That stuff takes way too much fuel." He wheeled a cart in, a tray on top. I couldn't have wanted it more, I was starving. There were two bowls of hot oatmeal, apple slices and cinnamon mixed in. Those I flat inhaled. Next several pieces of toast, various jellies. Gone almost as fast. I slowed down some for the oranges. Finally two glasses of milk, one of apple juice. And some pills."What are these?" Vitamins, minerals. It was also, judging by how the holes in some of the Victorian “cottages” had been worn smooth and by the ancient semen stains decorating them, a pleasure enjoyed by many previous generations.Sometimes, able to linger I too would make my mouth or anus available to the visitor and receive the seminal offerings of several ages, whose ages, class or other social variation was both unknown and irrelevant. Sometimes in cottages in quieter public parks or rural situations more overt gatherings.