"If you want to fuck me, then fuck me, you home-wrecking bastard." Yes, wench," he added, grabbing them and tugging them down too. "Oh, a pink thong, ...elinda? Do I have your permission to feel you now?" Yes, fucker."Then he brought his palms to my thighs and surely made them tremble a bit more. I still hated him, but of course, he knew that hate could be translated into sex. He massaged my legs and didn't pull down my thong just yet."Are you fucking kidding me? Now you just want to feel my. I watched with guarded fascination as she began to shed her clothes, stepping out of her baggy blue jeans and slowly unbuttoning her shirt. By all rights, my mother never spent too much time or energy attempting to accentuate her femininity, choosing comfort and functionality over style and fashion. Perhaps, because of that, it seemed in most peoples eyes that she was a rather plain looking sort of woman. It was a rare occasion to find her wearing makeup and even rarer to find her wearing a. More

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