Opening my eyes, I looked at my father. He looked at me. We stood silent there for a moment more before my hands started once again to work my pussy. ...��I want you Daddy” I said. I watched the final battle take place on his face before his baser urges won out. He wanted me. Walking forward, he knelt down on his knees. Sliding my panties down to expose my shaven mound, he licked his lips. I felt his hands on my thighs, going ever higher until they reached my aching apex. “So fucking beautiful…” I. There was the picture of you – eleven – summertime – standing with your bicycle by a water fountain in the park – a statue of Bhudda behind you. And there was the picture of you at fourteen opening presents on Christmas morning in that little house in California. Mildenhall, Yokata, Wuerzburg, Vacaville – you sure moved around. But that was life. It was exciting. It was fun. It was lonely. You were the quiet one, the student, the good girl. You read, wrote poetry, painted watercolors, day. More

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