She looked at it. She wanted to drink it. But she couldn't bring herself too. Objectively, she knew it wasn't poisoned. But she couldn't drink it.... She managed to lift the glass as far as her lips before her gag reflex took over and she found herself vomiting uncontrollably into the sink.Afterwards she cried. The conditioning had worked. She couldn't drink water. She tried food. She fixed herself a sandwich. But she couldn't eat it. It looked wrong, sitting on a plate. It was people. His son, called Aaron, said he'd carry on in the cellar. Another five minutes had gone by when he called me down, "Can you bring me a drink" he asked, and with that I took one down.Our cellar is well lit but it is cool and damp, as is all cellars. There is no natural light. I took his drink down and gave it to him, he took it off me and immediatly smiled. Obviously I smiled back. He put his drink down and walked towards me smiling, he put his hand on the front of my shorts. I pulled away saying. My lips enclosed it as she had enclosed my cock head with her lips moments before. Tongue to the fore, urgent and insistent in rapid motion, I could feel her responding, bucking her hips and moaning, rather delightfully I thought, with a fleeting momentary reflection on the immutability of the sounds of lust and arousal across cultures and languages. Safiya pressed my head into her groin, keeping my mouth and tongue right on point as her writhing and bucking movements grew in a crescendo. It reminded Rosalind of sister Reese’s young cunt, the first time she had ever touched it. She thought she could even smell it, and it smelled the same as her sister’s familiar blonde-fringed cooze. Hand inside her jeans, the overheated mother’s fingers worked in a quiet frenzy at her clit as she stood just outside the tent and peered through a narrow gap in the door at the show unfolding within.“Ummm, nasty! Sweet hairless pie!” exclaimed the golden-haired Daphne with a giggle.“Wow, eat me.