Almost silently she whispered, "Dad."Holding my little girl tightly, I started moving, hunching against her, sliding my erection up and down and press...ng it to her soft stomach. I caressed her cleft, teased the almost undetectable bump of her clit, and inhaled her amazing scent deep into my lungs, pears and lemons and sweet innocence. I whispered to her, "Sasha, baby."Sasha moaned and humped me, her hips tilting, her pussy moving back and forth insistently, my fingertips rubbing her, caressing. The light clicking of her heels did not go unnoticed by her husband, who was in his study, "Ah, she finally returns." he called out and approached her. In the context of art, if Rhea were Botticelli's wet dream then her husband would qualify as a certifiable nightmare. The contrast did not end at their physical appearance alone, for as wealthy as her husband was, he was also a classless brute, for whom 'beauty' was just the amount of zeros in front of his net worth. He also for some reason. More

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