“For a month. You can have me for a month if you keep your mouth shut for the rest of your life.”“Deal.”Let me tell you what happened last nig...t.It was around midnight. Approaching the front door, I heard indistinct voices. It was strange because my dad was on a business trip and my stepmom was the only person who should be at home.It was my stepmom’s idea that I spend the weekend with my uncle and aunt. I reluctantly agreed. But the problem was that I forgot my PlayStation at home, so I had to. I'mstill recklessly addicted to panties. I've got a 317 pairs even thoughthere's no shame in buying them anymore. They're hard to resist for thememory of them making humiliation the core of my naturally emasculatesexual development.I also wore them. I mean, Hello!! Ten bucks a day is a lot of money fora kid to spend on something that won't be used. I got more value out ofthem than a girl ever would. One great thing was running my fingersthrough them while whispering things like "*my*. She wouldn't want to, but she was going to tell them where to find it.She had not locked the kitchen door, and the three men entered the house by that means. All three had been to her house often enough that they knew where to find her bedroom. As expected, she was asleep. They had no idea of the level of sound proofing, so they punched her in the gut while she was still asleep. This woke her up, but it made it impossible for her to draw in enough air to scream. Cloth was stuffed into her mouth. I pulled on shorts and a tee shirt and some warm slippers. The floors in this old house could be cold. I walked back into the kitchen for more coffee. It was seven thirty.“Thanks for the coffee, Gail ... What has you up so early this morning?”“I had a good evening, slept well, and just woke early. I’m making pancakes and sausages for us to take into the radio room if that suits you.”I smiled. “Sounds good.” She was putting the finishing touches on the plates. I buttered and syruped [Ed. If.