Unbeknownst to the sleeping residents, the milkman's rounds are a journey of self-indulgence. In the privacy of each kitchen, he unzips, his thick, veiny cock springing free. He takes his time, his rough hands caressing every inch, his eyes closed as he pictures the women in their beds, their bodies writhing under his touch. His strokes become more urgent, his breath ragged, until he finds his release, his cum spilling over his hand and onto the cool, hard floor. He cleans up, his secret safe, and continues his deliveries, his body sated, his mind already drifting to the next kitchen.