" But Dad, that’s not right, you’re my Dad!", I said sitting up.SLAP. Another blow, and again I fell back on the bed."You challenge me again, and ...’ll hit you again. You’re a fag. And you’re MY fag. I brought you into this world, and you are here to serve my needs. Now get on your belly."Realizing that it was pointless to disobey, I complied. I felt Dad’s fingers dig into the sides of my jockey shorts, and then he yanked them down and off over my legs."Now that’s a pretty ass," Dad purred. "Well her virtual dance card started to fill up and she was dating almost every Saturday night. Most of the guys she dated seemed to be ok nice guys. They even came close to almost being good enough for my little angel. This went along just fine until one Saturday night she came home early from her date at nine when her curfew was eleven. Normally we would sit on the couch after her dates and she would tell me how it went. That night though she just came in and went straight to her room and. I remember how she'd whimper before each climax and I really liked how I could feel her opening tighten around my penis each time she came. It worked for me. I guess it would have been worse if I had lost my load within those first few minutes. Here, my story takes a strange and unexpected twist. It is a moment that I have mentally revisited a little more often than I'd like to admit.After some time of our really hot sex, she picked up the vibrator again on the bed and turned it on. She rested. "Leave the icing until tomorrow. Later on today though you need to paint it all with white of egg." Why?" It stops the almond oil in the marzipan leeching through the icing and staining it." Golly," she said, "your mother taught you well. There's none of that in the cookery book."On Sunday morning she added the icing without any trouble. She left that to set.After lunch she said to Steven, "I've got to try and write on it and I've got to make one of these." She pointed to a drawing of a forcing.