I breathed in her musk as her hole spasmed about my fingers. More and more juices poured out into my hungry mouth. My wife panted in my ear as I drank...our daughter’s passion.“Did she squirt? I bet she did. I bet the little slut flooded your mouth. Ooh, tell me, Phil. Tell me, please!”“She flooded my mouth.” I licked my lips as my daughter’s trembles lessened, stopped. “She came hard.”“And now her pussy’s begging for Daddy’s big, thick dick to ream her. What are you waiting on? I know you want. Dog. So simple! Which part of that tri-syllabic phrase don’t you understand? It’s not even a complete sentence, but more of what my Second Grade teacher, Madam Follick would’ve called a crippled phrase. But then again, everything was crippled to her. Nice was a crippled adjective, a good day would’ve been termed crippled, too. She wanted fantastic inter-stellar earth-shaking days. Nice just didn’t cut it. Not at all. Madam Follick had two kids. One became a fashion jernalist in Europe and. More

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