He was my man. My son may be my new master, but he would never own my heart the way Clinton had. For twenty years he loved and dominated my sister and...me. Twenty wonderful years.I took a deep breath, calming myself. My hand shook. I really wanted a drink. But Clint forbade me from buying any wine. There was none in the house. The shiver shook me more. I grit my teeth and went back to mixing the breading.Cooking was soothing. I used to do it almost every night for two decades. I would come home. I’d have a better chance at attaining arousal from a dry pocket-pussy—which I haven’t tried yet, but my friend McBride would highly recommend. I tried closing my eyes and using mental stimulation, but the peeing fat man kept entering my thoughts, which was unacceptable. I instinctively put my hand back on Sharane’s he—“I FUCKING TOLD YOU—DON’T TOUCH MY HEAD, YOU STUPID ASS!” She stopped sucking and began the peculiar act of jerking me off while turning her head sideways to look out the window.. My sister had attempted to flee, gambling she would be safe in a knot of fleeing revellers; she'd twisted her ankle badly, and escaped trampling only by being at the very back of the group. When she'd been bought in, the Police had run a broad-spectrum toxicology screen on her whilst the other injuries were assessed.The results had come back positive; I had been called in to bail her out after the initial arrest, but the drug testing forced them to add new charges to that, and I was presently. Everythinghere. When curfew sounds you have to be in your room, or someone else's,only when the door locks after curfew can you put your feet in thosespecial holes to unlock your shoes... I bet your calves are aching rightnow sweetie?" Well.. yes.. I mean I usually wear heels most of the time... but..." Now you can't take them off.. I know, isn't it delicious?" She gigglesagain, "But at least you're not in ballet boots.. now, there's a computeron the desk, it will only allow you onto the.
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