It stung and I cried out, muffled by the bedcovers. “You want to tongue me, Slut! Say it!” She smacked me again, harder. “Say it...to me!” The feelings in my bottom joined with the warmth in my tingling slit. “I…” She pulled back harder on my hair, bringing my head off the bedcovers, smacked me again. Tendrils of pleasure-pain felt around by body. “I want to tongue your cunt,” I whispered. And I did. I adored her strength, the way she. For years I deluded myself in to believing my children truly loved me. It broke my heart to find that they only loved the money I earned to keep them in lap of luxury to which they had become accustomed. As a father and husband, I ensured they would continue to live as they were accustomed until they turned eighteen. No more, no less. Part of my past holdings is the very storage facility where I live. It cannot be sold without my signature, or as the saying goes, over my dead body. My children. More

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