My hands flat on the table breathing heavily I make little whimpering sounds. He tells me to turn around. Pushing up off the table I turn and stand on...weak legs in front of him. My face on fire I try to meet his gaze, but he places his hand on my shoulder and presses me down until I am kneeling in front of his still hard cock, wet with my juices. A hand on the back of my head urges me forward he tells me to finish him. Haltingly I take him in my mouth all the way down to the base. This is not. Stop it ... stop..." When he said that I knew I had won. I knew my own father, my own flesh and blood was going to fuck me. I was so excited. I he came over and sat next to me. He stared at my pussy. I pulled my spankie to the side and revealed my wet pussy. "Touch it." I prompted him. He looked at me, a little nervous, but he wanted to, bad. "Go ahead." I tentatively reached out his hand, and touched my clit. I shivered in pleasure, and closed my eyes. "Touch it more." I said. He did. He. The french quarter is like a carnival without k**s. We would sip drinks all day long, eat, get cleaned up and then back to the quarter. My wife doesn't drink much during the year however, down there she drank every day. She got drunk a few times to say the least. She's a good Baptist girl that isn't much for the wild side.One night, we were just walking around having fun and drinking. The hurricans were having an effect on her. We were passing a strip club and she stopped and told me she wanted. She spoke of the ?maternal instinct forcorrection? and ?authoritarian emotions,? and how I was not to feel guilty orashamed of experiencing them. In her book, they were natural symptoms of?aroused feminine passion,? and she said she shared them with me during thesessions.I also struck up an acquaintanceship with Susan, the maid. She hadworked there for five years. She confessed to me that when Mrs. Farley hadfirst engaged me, she had been a little put out. She had known, she said, ofMrs..