Such an evocative sight, it was, that she felt an ephemeral twinge of autoerotic excitement."Girl... you look good..." she muttered. It was enough to ...et the ball rolling, so out came the small egg-shaped vibrator from a drawer in her desk and another Firefox tab where Google was used to quickly navigate to her pet favorite- an ENF story wherein she might safely and vicariously lose herself in the depths of cheek-burning, wildly arousing shame and humiliation.Just then, her phone vibrated. It. My mother, Angela Speer von Manstein, had died of tuberculosis when I'd been twelve years old. Her funeral provided the last occasion in which we were all together, my parents and I, my grandfather and his wife. My father had not returned since, but he'd suffered this before when his first wife, Margarete, had died giving birth to their first child. My half-brother, Charles, hadn't survived her by more than twenty minutes and I often thought of him, as I'm sure my father did as well.Such. More

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