Sometimes he paused with his gigantic member pushed in up to his fist. He'd lean into her and pull his hand away and she’d squirm or squeal while he...held her down for a few seconds pushing himself a little deeper and tweaking at her nipple or squeezing her breast. Other times he'd pull right out and rub that huge tip up and down her slit, rubbing or banging it against her clitoris, poking at her anus or pushing the tip in and out of that gaping chasm that was her vagina. By seven times she was. He must have been close to my age, he was doe eyed and innocent, rather than looking at me, he stared at my father. I will admit Dad looked awful with his artificial breathing apparatus and all his wires and tubes. She spoke to me then, and I recognized the voice rather than the face. She had changed, looking less like a girl and very much a woman. But when she spoke, her words came to me as if on the strings of a harp, harmonious and vibrant, a French accent running away with her vowels. I. More

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