‘Daddy?’ I want to talk, to understand why I feel like this, why I need this. The words don’t come. Instead my breath comes quick and light, you... hands are on my breasts and I can’t help but react – still — here? Now? ‘Not here, someone will see!’ There’s no one around, but any minute there could be. You ignore me, pinching my nipples. I am angry. Bastard. Anytime, anywhere, it doesn’t matter, does it? What the hell am I, a blowup doll, for chrissakes? A toy — a plaything. I know what I’m good. His moaning face writhesinto my pussy. The willow is seconds away from soft. Time to target whereit matters I decide. I give the willow a hard slap. It swings three or fourcircles and settles down a little higher from the floor. Another slap, morecircles and the willow is a little bit higher again. Worrying about the time,lunch hour had begun; I slap his branch with alternating hands ten times.The willow is now a fern. Encouraged, I clap my hands much harder than Iever did for Shakespeare.. More

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