Not like an image. No, not like that at all. Too clear. Too poignant.It was as if I was living them again briefly. I could feel my lips move, my body ...eact. I could smell smells. Feel feelings. They went by.I was ten. We were in our apartment in the Bronx. My dad was drinking. Drinking hard, like he always did. He was screaming at my mother. She was screaming at him. I was cowering in the closet. I was terrified. I could feel the door vibrate as he yelled and yelled.Then I heard a crash, I felt. Mr Blake shifted a little, his hand brushed past his crotch and he moved behind his desk a little to hide his obviously growing hard-on. As he watched, I pushed a finger slowly into my cunt, pulling it out again slightly to show it was now covered in thick white juice. I pushed another finger in, biting my lip so as to stop myself from moaning; after all I wanted this to be a secret between Mr Blake and I. One of his hands moved beneath the desk and although I couldn’t see, I knew he was. More

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