“I see beaten kids, and I see kids dying of cancer. The beaten kids are, in a sense, luckier. Still...”“Still, there is the matter of intent.”...��And the matter of what you do. If you cut out a malignancy, you can throw it away. You are lucky if you can separate a malignant parent from the child.”Diane ended the conversation happy about more than simply having an ear to whom she could vent her frustrations. Eric had been an overanxious parent, and those could be frustrating, too. On the other. She was fortunate I hadn't gotten out the horse whip or a cane. After twenty hard strokes with the crop, I stopped my little one. "Feel her old, sloppy cunt, Baby." She really didn't need to as Prissy was dripping down her spread thighs. Stephie shoved four slim fingers in to the last knuckle with no problem at all. "She's drippin' wet, Daddy, literally." "Give me the crop, Sweetie." She handed me the crop and I began to mercilessly strike her sloppy, wet pussy. She cried out after the first. More

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