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This is the threshold: will she trust us enough to go through with this?"You ready?" you ask her, and she nods. Per your instruction she has gone over four hours without being milked, and her tits are eager to be drained. You reach up and gently pinch both nipples to start the milk flow, then squeeze a few drops from each into your mouth. You and I love all breastmilk, of course, but Sam's is especially rich. It trickles out in a thick stream of bright white cream, almost like buttermilk. And it is delicious.You give short, quick sucks to each of her tits, alternating back and forth and squeezing the nipples. After a few seconds, the right tit begins to stream consistently into your mouth, so you commit to it and latch on firmly. Soon you catch the scent of her milk in your nose, and you stop for a moment to savor her taste, like a fine wine. Out of the corner of your eye you catch her left nipple beginning to stream as you pull the milk from her right tit. That's my cue. I've. Lowering myself into the chair to his left, I allowed my housedress to ride up my thighs until it was only inches from exposing my crotch. As I reached across the table for the sugar, I spotted him sneaking glances down at my legs but I made sure it didn't seem like I noticed. As much as I tried to think of something, anything else, I was so turned on I couldn't. Every time my mind flashed back to the image of his hard cock shooting a stream of thick cum, it sent a buzz from my clit all the way up into my cunt. I hadn't felt this excited in a long time. Turning more toward him, I reached for a section of the paper and as I opened it up in front of me, I spread my legs just a little further giving him the slightest peak of my wet slit. Holding the paper up in front of my face, it allowed him to feel like if I couldn't see him and he could look. I could tell it was working because as I looked past the bottom of the paper at the front of his lounge pants, I could see the outline.
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He closed his eyes briefly and leaned ever so slightly forward to breathe in the scent of her hair, her body. She smelled like honey. And he was quite sure she would taste like honey as well. Hannah had been introduced to him at an end of summer gala put on by the Fauntroys of Wilshire. When she learned he was the Michael Westford, Duke of Lancashire, owner of the New World shipping line she batted her long black lashes at him, her green eyes doelike with curiosity. She explained how she needed passage back to the states, but her funds had run low. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’ He had narrowed his eyes and studied her knowingly, at which time she struggled to maintain eye contact, losing the battle nearly immediately. ‘I would do anything to get home,’ she said breathlessly, studying the knot of a tie at his neck. ‘Anything?’ He had lifted her face to him with a finger placed gently under her chin. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her cheeks glowed cranberry with her.

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