Though there were tags along the shelves indicating women's, men's, kids', and different sizes for each. The labels of the boxes didn't match the loca...ion. I found all of them mixed together."How is anyone supposed to find anything in here?" I asked no one in particular.A pleasant female voice answered behind me, "Ask for help."I turned to find Chloe looking up at me with a smile. She had her hands clasped behind her back which made her chest stand out that much more. Given my penchant for. Her tongue pushed on the tight ring, wiggling into my asshole.“Yes, eat my ass, bimbo-slut,” I panted. “Oh, you are such a filthy dyke. Mmm, yes, ram that tongue up my asshole. Oh, god, that feels so good. Oh, yes.”“Yay, I’m doing a good job!”Her girlish excitement sent a wild shudder through me. She was such a delectable thing. So naughty and delightful. I groaned as she licked harder at my asshole, my pussy growing juicier and hotter. Having a bimbo was intoxicating. I understood why Frank. I went to work every fucking day and supported my daughter and that cheating bitch of a wife of mine. I never asked for anything and always did what was expected of me even when that bitch was spreading her legs for some low life former coworker.Solid, dependable, it also meant unnoticed. I could sit here screaming and praying for her to stop forever and it would never matter because she didn't notice or care what she was doing to me or to us. Fuck us. There really wasn't an US, anymore. No. Each had settled into a role. Douglas was the self-appointed leader. He spoke a cultured English; he was 53 years old, with a ring of gray hair around a bald head and the gaunt, knotty body of a dedicated runner. He chaired occasional group meetings, standing while the others sat in the shade of coconut palms. He turned round and round to address each of them during those meetings and Sam had christened him the “swinging dick.” Douglas was the shelter boss, as he called himself. He built a.