The death voice showed up at times when it made no sense for me to be worried about dying. Mark Hancock was the epitome of white bread. He had no iden...ifiable enemies, worked in a nondescript job, making no important decisions, and his very existence screamed ‘ordinary.If death wanted me, it was for reasons that weren’t yet clear. There must be some important task I was here to accomplish, that death did not want disturbed, or the death voice wouldn’t be hanging around waking me up.My thoughts. “Nice Clyde. You is a nicedoggie,” I said, speaking a kind of baby talk to him.He wagged his tail in appreciation.After that he began following me everywhere in thehouse. It was as if he had transferred his affectionsfrom my sister to me.I kept expecting her to make some resentful commentabout it, but she seemed not to notice.Later, in the kitchen, she was telling me about someFrench ticklers Jack had brought home from Mexico. Itsounded like something Jack would do, trying his. The lady seemed to like that and the slave could feel the first taste of wetness from the lady hit its tongue. The slave started fucking the lady with its tongue and finger. Then it added another finger inside the pussy and could feel the lady getting wetter. It could feel the lady’s clit starting to harden and so it started to suck on it harder. The slave could feel the lady start to move against its mouth and could hear her start to moan even more. The slave continued to suck and while. Her beautiful, round tits were now on full display with her hard, pink nipples standing proud on top. Her toned and smooth belly curved down to her shaved pussy. The labia was moist and glistening and the little pink clit hood pushed out between the lips, inviting me for a taste. On autopilot, I felt myself drawn towards that luscious pussy. I breathed in the musky aroma of her sex and I was overcome with lust. I could not have stopped if she wanted me to. I gently kissed her pussy as moan.