The soft web of skin between her thumb and firstfinger slid insistently over the throbbing knob of thehead. Her splayed fingers rubbed it insistently,...troking back and forth warm and teasing and rough. Theskin throbbed under her fingers, seemed to pulse in timeto her stroking. A continuous drizzle of his juices seeped from the head,spit-thick. Her mouth open on his back, she imagined thefeel of his cock in her mouth, her lips stretched wideto suckle him. Insistently she stroked him, hot in. Instead, it was the pain of watching someone she loved being torn to shreds in front of her eyes, with little that could be done but watch the entire awful process in slow motion.It had begun the Wednesday after Thanksgiving. Heather was right; her mother was deteriorating rapidly. She died Wednesday night, with Heather and her father at the hospital. Jim MacKenzie was already half in the bag, sipping bourbon from an ill-concealed hip flask, but he was sober enough to hold his crying daughter. More

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