” Then he looked at Faith who was blushing furiously. “I hear that you had an interesting summer. Do tell me all about it.”Faith’s blush deepe...ed as she heard the words. Apparently he knew all about how she had been enslaved and used. “Yes, Dad. It was interesting; different.”“I can’t wait to hear all about it. Come sit with me and tell.” He sat down in an upholstered chair and patted his lap. Faith groaned. She had not sat in his lap for years and certainly never while she was naked. In fact,. I sit in the shower without forgiven and need and lust and longing. The scars will never vanish. Never fade completely. But remind me of the torture of trust, the fool who gives over. The emptiness that follows desire. All of it written in stitches across the scars and curves of fingerprints from homemade thread and sewn with the needles that were thrown at me. I say you must move on because the only way to live is for yourself. But the mirror doesn’t believe me. It remembers how he said he’d. With the most comfortable underwear in the civilized world in his bag, Hunter went home.Just after midnight, Paris time, Hunter sat in his brother's family room. He had shown up with two bottles of good French brandy. Usually Hunter would have spent the money on an exclusive call service or a courtesan. His life had changed and so had his tastes.The kids were asleep. Penny and Burt were halfway through the first bottle while Hunter was only two of three fingers down."I think I liked it better. ”“I can’t squirt Caleb,”“Can’t, or haven’t?” he murmured as he stroked me slow and deftly, nibbling lightly on my clit.“Can’t,” I groaned.“Well let’s just see about that,”He stroked faster in what felt like a come here motion and I felt my snatch clench tight.“That’s it Mrs. Martin,” he murmured softly continuing to stroke faster, “let yourself go baby girl.”“Caleb, I have to,” was all I got out before I gushed all over his hand, and face and onto the bedspread. “Good girl,” he purred as he.
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