Her father reached down and pulled the covers off her. The only thing she had on was a t-shirt and panties.“No! Dad, I’m your daughter!” the tee... cried, as she tried to roll away from him.“No you don’t. Your mother never learned her place. I’m not going to let that happen to you,” her father slurred, as he grabbed the teen’s long blonde hair and dragged her back.Andrea’s mother, Nancy, had been brought up by very strict and controlling parents. Every boy that she ever dated was scared off by. Psychlone was one of the top hundred or so dance producers in the world. His music was rocking the decks from Lhasa to Reykjavik, from Pyongyang to Sao Paolo, and from Exeter where it was produced to Beijing where his revenue stream was calculated, subdivided and redistributed. It might be pitifully small but at least Psychlone was able to make a living from his art. It was all conceived and generated on his laptop where only thirty years before the sounds he created would have taken the. I instinctively pushed my head back against her hand and stared at her, eyes pleading. "What the fuck, Sonia?" she snarled. "But..." "No objections, remember? No complaints!" "But..." "You said you wanted me to show you, remember? So what the fuck is the problem?" I felt tears fill my eyes and my lower lip quivered. I jerked a breath, body tight and shaking. "I'm not a lesbian!" I blurted loudly. And with the shout, my energy drained from me. "Like that fucking matters," she chortled, and. And she had red hair, too. It seemed we were all Irish in this family. But while she was keeping her legs crossed I could see her blushing while she listened to the part about the frat party. And her still perky tits were heaving up as she breathed heavily in and out. I knew that behavior. She was getting off on the story.Finally, Mom told me to get my ass to bed. And she walked up the stairs with Wynter still hugging her and putting her to bed. She had completed the job of reaming my behavior.