Licking her swollen flower, relieving her soreness, I taste him inside. I clean him from her, taking in his familiar seed, her intoxicating essence. H...r breasts are full, her dew is sweet. She is fed the finest yeilds from trellised gardens. Her growing fruit nourished by lapis-lined channels from sacred springs. Her nectar, better than the sun-fattened figs, only comparing to her breastmilk. No one is as fond of her as I. My love for her is untamed, like wild flower-ladened river banks. If I. But I also knew that I could not count on my will power, or Gary’s restraint to avoid a repeat.I do not know about other women, but I seem to be unable to resist any man who has made me cum. I seem to become instantly obsessed with that man; almost as though he has a strange power over me, a power I am unable to resist. In a sense, I become his.In this case, that man was my son. And that came with emotional baggage that seemed to make me even more susceptible to being obsessed and vulnerable.In. More

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