I slide my fingers inside, of her slowly at first, but picking up speed. Her moans getting louder as my fingers work in and out of her, she pushes bac... against my hand, urging me deeper. I stand, to move behind her, bumping my head on the ceiling. I look out the window to see the tire swing and I get an idea. “Come back down,” I order her, and smack her ass, before crawling out the door again. When she gets down the treehouse, I pull her over to me, pushing her through the tire swing. I. They treated me very well. Mrs. Foster was happy to cook and clean for the family every day while Mr. Foster, now retired, sat around reading his newspaper and smoking his pipe. I sat all day long on the sofa devouring novels I had brought over from Europe. We made quite the old-fashioned family in many ways, but I knew it couldn’t last forever. Today was Christmas day. Mrs. Foster had invited a couple to dinner that she and Mr. Foster had known for many years, and a friend that they called. More

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