We lay there breathless and spent a few minutes before heading back to the Ranch, forgetting completely about our lunch in the sacks on the horse. The...se little lunch excursions happened about every-other day for a week or two. I discovered Mr. Miller loved to talk dirty and treat girls like sluts while he was fucking them. He was nice enough to tell me that it's not how he really feels but just what makes him cum. He taught me many things about my body and how to please a man. By the end of the. I find myself doing oddball searches for porn sites on my little netbook. The latest “stretched panties” seems to have pulled up the desired results. I have always had a panty fetish, as long as I can remember. And I don’t mean wearing them; I’m talking about seeing women in them, which is a huge turn on for me. Witness that by the lump steadily beginning to grow in my pajama pants. Again, I’m not blessed with a huge cock, it measures out at a mere five and three-quarter inches long by. What an age, he thought to himself as he sat in his favorite rocking chair, when did I get so damn old? Fred remembered when he was nineteen with thick black hair that was constantly gelled back, tight jeans, and his most prided possession; a studded leather jacket. He still had the black hair, even though he had tell-tale grey spots, and the jeans and jacket were probably in the attic surrounded by dust bunnies which didn't matter really as they wouldn't fit him now.All the girls that knew him. I felt my behind getting warmer as he showed no sign of slowing down or stopping. I started to kick my legs, but that only made my situation worse. “Hey! Stop it or you’ll get the belt!” he warned. I didn’t want the belt, I wanted his cock. “Now tell me, what your name is?” he asked again. “Tranquility,” I replied in a shaky voice. “No it’s not,” he said as he continued to spank me again. “Your behind is a nice crimson color. Are you trying for dark red?” he asked mockingly. “No, sir,” I.