She let the fabric slide down her back the way she’d practised in the mirror, displaying one firm, pink nipple and tempting him to lean forwards and...bite.Each time she does this, over and over and over, she feels the same sensation: lust. Not regret: desire. Need. A powerful, pleasurable kick in the pit of her stomach. A touch of vanity. Greed. She’s driven not by a need to be loved but a need to be fucked.Every repetition is identical: she squirms with the same urgent desire, each recurrence. " Hmph!" came the reply. "I am not talking to you, you brute!" Oh, gee. That's too bad. I don't suppose you would tell me what I did to deserve such treatment? So I can be sure to do it again every chance I get." As I was speaking I had walked behind her chair. I bent down quickly and blew a sloppy wet raspberry on her neck just below her right ear, then pulled out the chair next to her and sat down."Oooh yuck! Mom! Jimmy's giving me cooties!" Mom just rolled her eyes and did a masterful job of. More

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