Schooling is a different matter, of course." I know that, Mom. All the so-called erotic stories that I write and read, I do on my own—separate from ...any schoolwork. You know I'm a good student." You're an A student, honey, I'm not concerned at all about that." Let me ask you a question, Mom. Is this story the first erotic story you've read?" No. I've read other erotic works. Mainly novels, but what would be called erotic literature, I guess you could say. Mainstream erotic literature. But I. Your grunt assuages my tiny grudge. I enjoy the fulfilling feeling of you sliding home. Our eyes don't meet. You're tongue is on my neck, in my ear. You're lost in softness, thrusting. It's hard to manage like this, despite the anger. The pleasure is too great and your knees might buckle. You move us. Clamoring down the hallway with your impaled load. Next, we're fucking in the kitchen. I'm splayed on the dining table and you take me. I can't quite reach your chest although I stretch my fingers. That's one problem with L-V. If you're told you love someone, after that you really do. And I know Harold's much happier having me when he wants me, instead of all the time. For that matter, I'm happier at Phantace, where I get fucked about ten to twenty times as much as poor Harold could ever manage. Yet it's still not as much as I'd like. Harold was my third client, and I, his second girl at Phantace. I guess he was shown the usual mug shots of the whores, including the new ones like me.. Was it wrong? I did not think so. I was eighteen and very sexual. If daddy had not caught me on the couch that day with my legs spread, my cunt splayed and wet, we never would have found each other. I would have gone on just feeling myself, and he would have gone on fucking mom. Now he was fucking both of us. One would think I would be jealous of that. I was not. He had mom first before me. He loved her though, with both his heart and his cock. Me, on the other hand, he loved me with his cock.