Brief Interruption

As I continue, I can see them react to something away from me, but I don't stop. I continue moving my mouth on Timbre's shaft, I can see someone cross the street between her and Norbert. Misses Ramirez, perhaps, if I'm remembering correctly.

Whether Misses Ramirez or someone else, the woman crossed the street without comment or protest, as my mouth slides up and then back down. I remain focused on Timbre's pleasure, moaning gently on her, as I stroke Norbert and Tamara.

After about two minutes, I return to Norbert's cock, switching my hands back to stroking the woman who stands on either side of him. My eyes focus on his, but after a few more short minutes, I can easily see motion, between him and Tamara.

“Ahem,” a man clears his throat, but I don't look up, as my mouth continues to slide, “Excuse me.” I don't recognise him, leastwise not merely by voice, and I can't lift my head to see if he is speaking to me, though I suspect he wouldn't bother.

“Good afternoon, Mister Moussette,” Amy answers him, pronouncing his name with a little hint of flair in her voice that I recognise, “How are you?” Her hand on my head, she strokes my scalp gently, offering no instruction for interrupting me.

“Ah, I do love hearing my name pronounced correctly,” he says, “and I am quite well, Amy ... Miss Goodheart, I should say, now, I suppose. You're a woman grown, after all. Thank you. May I enquire of ... well ... ?” I can see the shadow of his hand.

“He is my cock slave, now. I've recently registered him and had him tattooed, as I have no intent to ever sell,” Amy replies, her fingers curling and scratching my scalp gently, “He's mine, and mine he'll remain. I'm very proud of my acquisition.”

“Ah, hmm. Yes, that would make sense, then,” Mister Moussette answers, “How is he doing? I suppose I should ask you the question, as he's evidently quite busy, at the moment.” Amy chuckles a little bit, as I move my mouth to Tamara's phallus.

“He's quite well,” Amy replies, and I can imagine she's nodding with the words, “our friend, Norbert, just wanted to enjoy his mouth and share it with his friends, so I told him to get down and take care of them properly. You seem unbothered.”

“Oh, of course, I'm not some provincial loser,” Mister Moussette replies, emphatically, “This is PDR, after all, I'd use him, myself, unabashedly, right here, in fact, were he available to me. No, he's a cock slave, now, I see no reason he shouldn't.”

The shadow of his hand moves again, motioning toward me, acknowledging I deserve to be exactly where I am. From my position, I can glance over at him, as he's on my left. I continue stroking Timbre and Norbert, as I bob my head smoothly.

Tilting my head a little, I can see the swell in his pants. It's turning him on, even though he's known the three of us all of our lives. Amy just chuckles a little in answer. “Yes. He's doing quite well. He's getting better nutrition, now, for starters.”

“Good, that is good to hear,” Mister Moussette answers, “How are you feeding him? Does he still eat standard fare, or ... ?”

“No, he is a strictly milk-fed faggot, now,” Amy replies, and Mister Moussette hums thoughtfully, “The milk provides him with far more nutrients, including some that he had been neglecting to consistently consume in the appropriate volume.”

Even as I soften my moans to not interfere with a conversation, I move my mouth back to Norbert's cock after a couple of added minutes, shifting my hands in the process. “Hmm. Yes, the articles I've read on the topic do seem to suggest that ...”

“He does seem quite efficient and well-focused, your boy,” Mister Moussette says, “You know, I do produce milk, myself. It isn't quite the volume the articles suggest I could reach, in terms of volume, but if you should require help feeding him ...”

“I would be willing to bottle my milk and deliver it to you, at no cost,” Mister Moussette offers, “I mean, I've always liked you, and your boy, Miss Goodheart. I'd hate to think he's receiving insufficient nutritional support, given his new status.”

“Thank you, Mister Moussette, that is very kind of you,” Amy replies, “If you're sure you wouldn't mind ...”

“No, no. It's no trouble at all, Miss Goodheart,” Mister Moussette assures her, his voice warm enough that I can envision a strong, affable smile on his face, “It's been going to waste, really. I asked my daughters if I should bottle it for them, but ...”

“The idea makes them feel a little awkward?” Amy asks, chuckling.

“Oh, to say the least, they thought I meant them to drink it from the hose, so to speak,” Mister Moussette replies, “Albeit they were relieved when I explained I meant refrigerated, and from a bottle, they're ... reluctant to try out phallic milk.”

“I suppose that's understandable. Well, their loss is my little slut's gain,” Amy chuckles, “I'm sure he'll appreciate having a little more variety in his meals. Isn't that right, faggot?” I moan loudly in answer without taking my mouth off of Norbert.

“Very well, then. I'll tell my daughters I'm going to start bottling it and not to touch it since it's now exclusively for him,” Mister Moussette replies, “You watch, now they'll want it, purely because it will no longer be available on offer for them.”

“Of course,” Amy snickers with amusement, “You just can't please some folks. Even your girls. I never hit it off with them, myself, but I've never thought ill of them, of course. They're cordial enough, we just were in very different social circles.”

“Good. I'm glad to hear they never gave you and your boy any trouble,” Mister Moussette answers, “Well, I need to head onward, but the sight of him serving so publicly was hard to overlook. Have a lovely afternoon, Miss Goodheart and slut.”

“Good day, young Mister Saunderssen,” he adds. It's rare I hear Norbert's last name, but not so rare that I don't recognise it. I moan in answer, loudly, anyway, when he addresses me as slut, murmuring a farewell as I move my mouth to Timbre.