My first memories are of of being in the kitchen, helping her make the evening meal so she could have more time to get some sewing in. When ... well, ...hen we lost her, I was able to step in everywhere except Dad's bed, and he had no problem finding others for that job."There was a bit of hurt in her voice. That girlish fantasy, of becoming her mother in all ways, was still there. She wasn't proud of it, nor the hurt every time her father was with another woman. After all, the very idea of. Your breath was coming harder and harder. You leaned back against me and squirmed and I bent my head down and nibbled on your neck. My teeth seemed sharp and I bit you. You squealed and came, watching your pussy flood – but I kept on stroking you – teasing you – lifting you to another – and another. You shamelessly moved against my hands. You used your own fingers to heighten your pleasure. It was so novel to watch. It was so naughty. And you could see me bent over your neck, biting you,. More

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