You fucked me with a psycho?..”
I thought my dad must have handcuffed him to the kitchen table before he came back to me. “Who was he?” I asked with a wheezing moan. I could sing sweet lullabies to him in my soft voice, or dirty words, if that’s what he wanted. I opened my lips for him to kiss me, but he left a long spit into my mouth. He dove into my hot donuts, which looked like the lips of someone who had turned into a freak after a faulty silicone filling operation, with great glee. Or I could stop him, take his battering ram from his hand and lead him through the open door already dedicated to him. I itched to see myself through his eyes as he gazed at my small, perky tits, my hard nipples, my soft shoulders, my slender arms, my flat stomach, my femininity completely shaved and cleaned except for the width of a thumb, my nicely curved thighs and calves. I approved of his method with a quiet sigh, but not with a cheeky giggle. The sounds of his flesh to hit my flesh was like who suddenly stood up and began to applaud to a desperate talker.
