His hand, between her breasts, felt like a soft tree trunk she could lean against while she gathered her strength.“Better?” he asked.“Oh Bob,”...she moaned. “I don’t think I can take this.”“Then get off, silly,” he said.“No! Never! I love it! I’m just afraid I may faint.”“You’re not going to faint,” he said, smiling. “Use your stomach and hip muscles. Wiggle forward and backward.”“Like this?” she asked, tensing her abs and trying to move the part of her that was joined with part of him.To her. Everyone has handles, like ‘Dreamreaper’ or ‘Sinistra’, or symbols like hawk’s talons or blue butterflies…but They keep clear of real names. I don’t know why. It’s not because they’re afraid of the law, or the press. I guess it’s just because they’re superstitious. Frank was an exception. I am too. ‘Frank grabbed me that day because he saw potential in me. He wanted to give me a job. Instead of snatching girls on a part-time basis, for temporary inductions, he was giving me the chance to get. And when he puts his hand in my hair and tugs its and holds me in place I turn into liquid sex. I wanted to touch him so badly and figured if he objected he'd tell me. So my hands roamed a bit over his arms back and chest.The pub was quite busy. The entrance behind us. People coming and going. A couple sat in front and above us. Another to our side but some distance away. The bar felt intimate . With painting of half clothed people on the ceiling. The way he looks at me makes me feel sexy. It's. .. WHAP!... Dad flayed Mum’s arse hard and with a steady rhythm, each one accompanied by a yell from her although considerably muffled by her face being pressed into the bedclothes. About halfway through, she began begging him to stop but he ignored her pleas and carried on as if she was a lifeless sack and not his wife of nearly twenty years. I cried as I watched her white flesh turn a lived red and prayed he wouldn’t hit us girls as hard. Bob though, enjoyed her writhing and before long,.