She scooted down to stare at his prick, which was slick with streaks of milky white. She thought about how that milky white stuff was inside her right...now. That had happened many times, but it seemed different, somehow. She had never had the urge to put her mouth on Mark’s penis. That was one thing he had ordered her to do that she had refused. He’d gotten angry time and again, sometimes getting up and leaving her, only to come back later and rut in her savagely. She looked at the thing she’d. This all came to a head shortly after my sixteenth birthday. Mom was called away on business. By this time I had figured out the purpose of Mom’s cache of toys and had begun to accumulate toys of my own and to experiment with them. I masturbated regularly. That is to say when I woke up in the morning, in the afternoon after school, and in the evening when I retired. Perhaps, somehow, Dad had become aware of this propensity. One evening while Mom was gone, Dad fixed a particularly nice dinner. More

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