<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Cakemix on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/cakemix/</link><description>Recent content in Cakemix on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Sat, 05 Jul 2014 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/cakemix/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Riding Lessons 4</title><link>/stories/2014/07/05/riding-lessons-4/</link><pubDate>Sat, 05 Jul 2014 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2014/07/05/riding-lessons-4/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;story continues from &lt;a href="ridinglessons3.html"&gt;part three&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 4&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;My mind was reeling after I left the grooms flat the next day. We had cum so many times together, now I drove myself home, cleaner but with a slight tang of horse manure hanging in my nostrils, I was sure, as I visited the local supermarket that people noticed that I still smelled but I lived in a rural location and the scent of muck was familiar and just marked you as a local rather than a holidaying townie so I wore my mixed scent, the hint of female musk tangled with the remains of the muck heap as a badge of honour.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>