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I want to scream at the slightest brush of my clothes against it. For three days. For forever it seems. He has done nothing but humiliatingly stick his cock up my ass. He has reduced me to a piece of meat. And I can’t stop thinking about him, about his fat cock, about sex. it is like some grotesque variant of Beauty and the Beast. I find myself actually feeling sympathy for him. I find myself needing him. If I am honest with myself I will admit I find myself wanting him. And what he does to me. What he makes me do. He exudes power. Mastery. Images of that clinical torture chamber inside the vault keep appearing on the fringes of my mind and fleeting questions about what he would do to me there. No. It isn’t ‘would.’ It is ‘will.’ If I am honest with myself I will admit that something inside me reacts to the certainly of that ‘will.’ Is that what I want? What has he revealed in me that I never knew was there? I must regain control of myself. Or do I really what to? Winston It is too. ..i can see that she was not wearing a bra..her nipples were hard..and was clearly seen through the fabric… and was pretty sure she wasn't wearing any panties either.She looks at me with curious eyes…”daddy how come you never dated after mom passed away?”.. I took a moment to think while sipping my tea, “well at first i didn't really get into it cause you were small and i wanted to focus all my attention on you, then i focused on earning as much money as i can to save up for university…..and when i retired ..i was already 50...with very slim chances of looking for love again….so i decided to give you that love till the day i die…” I smile and boop her nose with my finger. She smiles and she says “close your eyes daddy”..i smile placing my cup on the table and lean back on the chair and close my eyes.I feel her get off me and after a few moments sits back down on my lap and leans in whispering in my ear…”open your eyes daddy….”I slowly open my eyes and right in front of me is my.
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I could tell she was standing behind me now, since she no longer had to call out. I slowly turned around to face her. “I told her that it would not be a problem.” She said, standing at the entrance to the kitchen. She was posed with her hands on her hips, wearing a frilly white apron, black high heel shoes, and nothing else. Nancy was a much smaller woman than Ruth. She was also about five feet tall, but she was only about a hundred pounds. Nancy also had snow white hair, but it was in a tight perm. At a youthful 68 years old, Nancy had flawless skin, and surprisingly perky B cup breasts. The ruby red lipstick she was wearing shined as brightly as the small gold hoop earrings, catching light off of a nearby lamp. My pants immediately started to bulge, and Nancy got a huge smile when she laid eyes on the tent I was pitching. She confidently strode up to me unbuckling my belt and whipping it off of my pants. I unbuttoned my pants and let them fall to the floor. Nancy threw her arms.

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