Mary Selino – The Last Drops
Title: The Last Drops: A Milking Good Time
In the lush, private confines of her boudoir, the voluptuous Mary Selino reclines upon a plush chaise lounge, her bountiful breasts straining against the delicate fabric of her silken nightgown. The moonlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, ethereal glow upon her creamy skin. With a coy smile playing upon her full, pouty lips, Mary begins her sensual tease, tantalizing her unseen audience with the promise of an evening to remember.
Mary’s hands trail slowly up her thighs, causing the hem of her nightgown to rise progressively higher, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her lacy garments beneath. She leans back, arching her spine to accentuate the generous curves of her breasts and hips, as if offering herself up as a divine sacrifice to the empty room.
With deliberate slowness, Mary reaches up and unfastens the top buttons of her nightgown, allowing the cool evening air to caress her heaving bosom. The creamy mounds of her breasts spill forth, each one crowning with a stiff, rosy nipple, ready to burst forth with their sweet nectar at a moment’s notice.
Mary lets out a soft, throaty moan as she grasps her breasts, kneading the pliant flesh and sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her voluptuous body. Her fingers dance across the sensitive peaks of her nipples, eliciting a shudder of delight from her lips. The very idea of Corporal进入suckling upon the sweet, milky rewards of her tender bosom fills Mary’s mind with wanton, lustful thoughts.
As Mary’s fingers continue their tantric massage, she lets out a gasp of surprise as she notices a tiny drop of warm, milky essence escape from the crest of her left nipple. Driven by a hunger she can’t quite explain, she dips her head, extending her tongue to lap up the creamy bead. The taste of her essence ignites a fire within Mary’s loins, her loin cloth growing damp with her arousal.
Emboldened by the exquisite taste of her own lactation, Mary dives forward, burying her face within the plush valley of her breasts. She swirls her tongue around the stiff peaks, reveling in the sweet, creamy flavor that coats her taste buds. Her tongue flicks rapidly, coaxing forth a steady stream of milk from each nipple.
As Mary drinks her fill, she begins to grind her hips against the cool, plush surface of the chaise lounge. Her pussy throbs with need, aching to be filled and stretched by a hard, throbbing shaft. She slips one hand beneath her nightgown, pushing aside her scant undergarments to expose her dripping slit to the cool air. Mary parts her lips to reveal the glistening pinkness of her womanhood, swollen with desire.
With a sultry moan, Mary begins to stroke her clit, rubbing slow, sensual circles around the sensitive bud. Her other hand never ceases its assault upon her breasts, continuing to knead and milk each mound with fervor. As her arousal builds, Mary begins to pump her hips in time with her stroking fingers, gyrating against the furniture in a wanton display of carnal need.
Soon, the flower of Mary’s blossoming sex begins to weep with the sweet juices of her lust. The pungent aroma of her arousal fills the air, mingling with the salty musk of her lactating breasts. Mary brings her sopping fingers to her lips, licking them clean of her essence with a lewd, sensual moan.
Spent and sated, Mary reclines upon the chaise lounge, her chest heaving with the effort of her pleasurable exertions. A contented smile crosses her lips as she savors the lingering taste of her own creamy fluids upon her tongue. The last drops of her essence drip languidly from her heaving breasts, staining the silken fabric of her nightgown with the proof of her tantric ritual.
As the final vestiges of her arousal fade, Mary drifts off into a peaceful slumber, her dream filled with the delightful sensations of milk and desire. She dreams of a time when her bosom will once again overflow with the dairy of life, and a child will suckle upon the sweet rewards of her body. But for now, Mary rests, content in the knowledge that she has given her all in the performance of her art.
In the morning light, Mary rouses from her slumber, stretching like the languid cat that she is. She looks down at her creamy breasts, now fully drained of their morning milk, and feels a sense of satisfaction with the knowledge that she has fully satisfied her audience. With a coquettish smile, Mary rises from the chaise lounge, ready to face another day in her sensual, pampered world.
