I was afraid to look at my prick, because it felt like it might need stitches. You can't just go to the emergency room and say "I need a couple of sti...tches in my cock, okay?" That's the kind of thing that ends up on the eleven o'clock news where they smile and laugh and talk all about it, while never actually saying where Bob Randall actually got the stitches, except that everybody in the world can read between the lines. They never forget that kind of thing either. Not for decades."Not dead,". The single finger entered and exited in a slow, rhythmic tempo that matched her breathing. She unfolded a second finger and it accompanied the other in its travels into her depths that were hidden from me in shadow.The pace increased and her back arched as her pleasure mounted. Her fingers fucked her hairless sex in a relentless and increasingly bruising drive towards an orgasm. Her chest rose in staccato as her breathing became ragged. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her parted lips. Her. Don't stop." Douglas couldn't stop. He no longer wanted to. He massaged both her tits, his prick straining in his pants to be free. "Sweet Missy," he moaned huskily. "Ummmm, Daddy." Her cunt was on fire. She rocked her hips gently, wallowing in the pleasure of her father's massaging hands. "You're making me so hot." She brought her hands to his and made him squeeze her tits with more urgency. "Are you hot, too, Daddy?" she purred."Yes, Missy." He kneaded her small tits, his eyes devouring her. .. for good or for bad, it just does. But here's one way my imagination sees things one year in the future:"I can't believe you've made it this long, Meg," I said."I know, Mom! I can't either! But the timing was just never right." I understand." And what about you?" she said. "You haven't been with him in a year either. How did you last this whole summer?" I don't know. Just like you, Honey. It was a timing thing. The other factor is that he's really serious about Zoe. I so don't want to ruin.