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... hed. Useless. My gaze snapped to Aunt Irene, my throat burning with the words I wanted to snarl:

I don’t want fucking fruit. I want Aunt’s milk—thick, warm, dripping down my throat. I want her pussy juices coating my tongue, her legs shaking while I feast like a starving man.

Points? Fuck the points. I had 98 left—enough to keep me fed for days. But right now, all I could think about was burying myself inside her, hard, until neither of us remembered our own names.

Until ...

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