“You wanted to squeeze them.”“Fuck, yes.” His voice became so hoarse as he fisted his dick. “I've always wanted to touch them.”“Ooh, wha... a pervy, little brother,” whimpered Janice, riding me so hard and fast, her breasts jiggling in my grasp. “Oh, fuck, yes!”Janice exploded on my girl-dick. She whimpered and moaned, her pussy massaging my futa-cock. I whimpered as she slammed down my girth. She took me to the hilt, her back arching. Her moans echoed through my bedroom while her flesh rippled. And "it" wasn't getting"into" me either. I would do some "things" with men ifI wanted to (once I was 18 and legal), but nothingthat "penetrating." And I wasn't marrying a maneither. I had my male pride. Some of it, anyway.My immediate problems when I broke off telling youthis story were two -- 1) how would I deal withdressing as a girl and dating boys during thehours when I wasn't in school as a boy and 2) howwould I stop the humiliating act of submitting to myfather's milkings when I woke up. She was still sitting on my face and had my cock in her mouth by this time she had started to kind of hump my face, my nose was splitting her good sized pussy lips and my tongue was exploring her tunnel I could feel her start to cum she started to spasm and stopped sucking my cock she had her hands on my stomach pushing down with quite a force actually. She was moaning so loud then she slowed down and let out a slight grunt. Her juices were everywhere she stood up and I still layed there I got. There is no excuse, no rational explanation for her behavior. It wasn't just that she raped me, it was how she did it, the utterly despicable way she went about it. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself a little. To understand you have to go back a year to the events just before Christmas 1998.Let me start at the beginning. My dad died when I was 14. My mom and I struggled to put ourselves back together. For 2 years we leaned on each other for support, because we had nobody else. My mom is really.