” “A whore?” Tiffany almost shouted. “Why would you suggest that?” “It was a part of my plan,” Nancy announced proudly. “Can you imagi...e a man not being flattered by a woman that tells him she wants to be his personal whore? I told him to use me in any way he wanted. I would subject myself to his wishes and his needs. I also reminded him how important it was that we keep our activities a secret.” “And he agreed?” Tiffany asked, still rather shocked. “He called me in my office about thirty. We talked very suggestively, making comments that were somewhat subtle, but mostly overtly obvious. Sitting next to each other, we began to touch. She was VERY friendly!We'd had enough hot water and groping, so left the hot tub. God, she has great tits! My white t-shirts are relatively thin, so they leave nothing to the imagination when wet. I had to comment on what I saw, and she thanked me. When we walked toward the elevator, she slipped her arm around mine. Nice.On arrival in my room, I. Leelee was crying. Tears streamed down her face and her body shook with silent sobs.Oh my God, I’d made my baby cry.I whispered “Leelee, honey, sweetheart…”“What?!” she exclaimed, her voice raw. “What do you want from me? What did I do? What did I do wrong, Daddy?” Her next words tore a ragged, gaping hole in my very soul. “What did I do to make you hate me?” she cried.My heart crumbled to dust. I wanted to collapse.“W-what? Hate you? Never, honey, never!”I put my arms around her and pulled her. I noticed how they would gawk open mouthed at my sexy Mom but never said anything. I never gave it a second thought only noticed it. Unknown to me was that they both lusted after my Mom for she was like I said extremely beautiful and extraordinary hot looking and sexually desirable. They would u*********sly reach down to their crotch area and squeeze the large bulges that were so obvious in their thin gym shorts. I think that Mom saw them doing this a couple times and just kind of smiled.During.
Read MoreI’d been doing this most of my life, with a small easel next to Dad’s. He taught me all about color and medium, at least as much as a six-year-old
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