It was the Devil itching my vagina and urging me to masturbate. It was the Devil making my former-boyfriend’s cock hard and forcing him to beg me fo... relief.And then I saw the pleasure on Donna Paxtor’s face as my father reamed her. The exaltation in my father’s eyes as he flooded her cheating cunt. If the Right Honorable Reverend Gary Powell enjoyed sinning, why shouldn’t his sixteen-year-old daughter? Why should the lying adults in my life keep me from this joy? So I embraced it. I sucked. I think Mike was my favorite. He always produced a lot of come when he popped, and when he did between my boobs, his jet was strong enough to spatter my face. I had his stuff dripping off my chin and boobs. His wife, Suzie, decided to lick it all up, and she really knew how to play with a girl's breasts.This was something I'd learned when I was still in high school. Guys don't really know how to do it with a girl's boobs. They like to squeeze, but they haven't mastered the feather-soft touch.. " Why?" Ellie asked, her brow furrowed."Well, as you might expect," he said, "Carolyn has some body-image issues. And her parents, her mother specifically, taught her that oral sex was nasty. Too bad for your Uncle Don!"She giggled."It's not... nasty?" she asked tentatively."Not if both partners are conscientious about hygiene," Cain said.Ellie looked away."I don't have much hair down there to trim," she said and blushed furiously."That's okay," he said and leaned down to kiss the corner of her. "Oh, come now, Mr. Randahl, your kind always consider themselves artists."My kind? What kind was that? "Excuse me, sir, but I've never considered myself an artist. I'm just ... I don't know ... I guess if I thought about it at all I'd call myself a craftsman, not an artist." Do not be disingenuous, Mr. Randahl, you are a photographer, are you not? And it is well known that all photographers consider themselves artists. Arrogating to themselves a position to which they are not entitled. Why.