He turns me around so my back is towards him and presses me into the filing cabinet. "Very nice," he murmurs, stroking my thighs, pausing at my garte...s, before grabbing my ass, squeezing and kneading my cheeks, pulling them apart. "You have a fucking gorgeous ass. Has anyone fucked you in the ass Miss Steel?" he asks, fingering my puckered hole. I shake my head, both scared and turned on by the thought of taking him in the ass. ”Hmm, another time then, when we have time to prepare you,” he. Through that towel, I was holding the dirty clothes so hiding it was difficult. She kept staring at it. This happened for a week.Then after that, she put the towel for washing before I went for a bath. Every towel was in the wash. She did not react before when she saw my penis. But then I went for the bath. I asked for a towel and she handed me a small napkin.She told that all towels are in washing and there was only this napkin. I was nervous how could I come out because all of my clothes were. I just like to remind myself one slip and I'm the one bleeding out of my ass, eyes and ears. The word is 'sobering'.Close calls are part of the business, we deal in death and it is a constant companion in everything we do. I pride myself on never once having created one of those close calls and by staying calm in the eye of the storm I've managed to defuse a few of those situations myself. Again this wasn't heroic stuff. My motivation was much simpler, solve it or die. Focus comes easy in that. Even at the time of his puberty he never made remarks about me not being his "real" father. I think in his mind I was always as real as a father can get.Since his mother was often busy, I was the one who took him to the guitar classes or other hobbies in my car. We often talked quite a lot in the car. Unlike his mother, I was very aware of his interests, as well as some minor problems he might have in the school, or his thoughts in general.He was not the dream son of every baseball dad. Or.