The department store sales woman who was approaching to help, gauged the animosity between us, and stepped away quietly."I needed you to help me out b...fore he left town again. I ended up doing it ... sleeping with him ... myself." She seemed faintly proud. I looked at my mother with sharp concern. The more I understood about what my father had done to "fix" her from having sex with men again, the more I understood just how dangerous that was. "I didn't know," I said apologetically, feeling bad,. Throbbing clitoris. Labia spread and inviting. The ridiculous, bubbling mass of wetness squelching beneath each touch of my wooden tormentor. Smashing hard again and again and again, hips thrusting up to meet each blow, knees twitching closed before dragging themselves wide once more, arse cheeks dragging themselves raw on willow spikes. Yet still, I want more. Need more. Demand more. Still, the hurt, the pain, the suffering, the red welts and brilliant bruises are not enough. Never enough.. More

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