Her chute was extra tight and she knew how to milk me right. It didn't take me long to shoot a load up into her small intestine. At least, that's what it felt like as my balls slapped her butt. And, just as quick as I popped my first nut of the day, she got up, grabbed her clothes and went to the john. A minute later, she came out dressed. "Thanks, Ray. Gotta go!" And just like that she was gone. Twenty-five minutes for nut-popping pepper-upper. Nice.I had some chores around town and it was a good thing because I bumped into Zara, a flamboyant woman who owned an art gallery. She was a tall, dark-skinned sabra with a peculiarly affected way about her. She was a lesbian queen famous for her parties, which often got out of hand with the police being called and all that. Her gallery was famous for its collection, exhibitions and showings. I thought her taste was mostly commercial aka drek. What do I know, her gallery made tons of hedge-fund cash."Ray, how fabulous. How are you, dahling.". The men, one after the other, got up. All had slept in their clothes. They put on their shoes and went off to the toilet outside and a superficial wash in the water trough. Ben got dressed, but Christine stayed in her tracksuit and went to make breakfast.The men were all hardened drinkers. Besides a somewhat morose silence and bloodshot eyes around the breakfast table, nothing pointed to the litres of Schnapps the four had consumed the day and evening before.The morning visit by the group to the hut’s pit-toilet had alerted Gerd and the builder to a task undone yesterday. The refurbished hut/café required an adjoining washroom/toilet. With it, of course, a larger sewerage-pit and reliable water connection from the spring, now only feeding the trough outside. The men, agreeing on what had to be checked and measured. It was, most importantly, the soil depth for the pit and the spring’s flow. They went outside to complete the task.As soon as they were out the door, Christine stepped.
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