They were black lace and heavily soiled with her juices…freshly soiled. I couldn’t believe it and held them to my nose before starting to lick an... suck the wetness from the gusset. If I wanted an answer to my silly letter I had one. Then I sensed I wasn’t alone. I turned and mom was standing at the door of my room. She was wearing a short brown dress with black stockings and heels. In her hands were a small cat-o-nine tails and a wooden ruler.‘I always knew you were a sissyboy pussy loving. “Are you Dag Hamar?” she snapped, turning toward me.“Yes ma’am,” I responded, standing. There were still tears in my eyes. Floral scents really kill me.“I liked you better with long hair and a beard.” I wiped my eyes and looked at her—above the spike heels, tight skirt and ample bosom. The bubble burst. What she meant was she liked me better 30 years ago.“You found your way in, I assume you can find your way out,” I growled as I sat back down.“I want to hire you,” she said. “I need a private. More

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