It was followed by an angry face emoji, well several actually. I had to put my phone away before Shandi could become suspicious of what I was doing. T...tally helpless, my family, my life, unravelling at the pretty feet of this filthy stripper and a cruel schoolgirl bully. Every single sense I had wanted me to just melt down to my knees and cry and cry and cry until everything was better. But rarely did that ever make anything better, I steeled myself, I had to be responsible for my own actions,. Either alternative could get me hot, because they both included getting fucked, my favorite pastime. For years it was only a fantasy. I didn’t think it would happen. Then I went to a wild New Year’s party at a swing club. At the end of December 2010, about four months after my ex-girlfriend and I called it quits, I was dreading sitting home alone on New Year’s Eve, the biggest party nights of the year. I began thinking about a swingers’ club I had been to seven or eight years ago with a woman. I was shocked to find I was about thirty minutes from the Beverly. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and it was pure luck that I was anywhere close to them.As I entered the bridge, I asked Mother to display the Beverly’s specifications”While in FTL transit, I checked the Beverly’s specifications, which were on record in my ship’s computer, like most ships. The Beverly was fifteen-hundred-person transport, with six thousand tons of cargo space. Zeus dwarfed the Beverly. Zeus had engine power. “I need to be pampered.”“Of course, Daughter,” Mrs. Armstrong said, spreading the massage oil.“Okay,” I said, moving around the other side of the bed, my large breasts swaying. “I want you to really work those fingers into her muscles. Don’t be timid. You’re not going to hurt her. And pay attention to what you’re touching. You can feel where there are knots in the muscles.”Mrs. Armstrong nodded. The married sex slave pressed her hands into her daughter’s back. She massaged the flesh, working.