Your voice. Can you call me so I can hear your voice while I touch myself? Please, Daddy?" He stops replying. Pouting, she chastises herself for being...needy and asking him to do something she knows would be difficult. She starts to settle into bed, thinking aloud, "He's never gone this long between visits before. Maybe he just doesn't want to-" She stops mid-thought as her phone vibrates. She looks to see who's calling. It's him. She smiles, her heart begins to pound. They've never even talked. Running to the parlor, they found pieces of a shattered vase on the floor. Looking at each other in confusion, Mrs. Smither shrugged and was about to get a broom and dustpan when they heard a door slam on the second floor. Mr. Smither retrieved his shotgun, cracked it open and inserted two new shells, then snapped it shut. Stuffing extra cartridges into his pocket, the two hobbled up the stairs. Mr. Smither kept a finger on the trigger as the muzzle of his shotgun led the way, cautiously. More

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