"What about me?" I asked feeling a little worried.I was worried in case he felt the same about me as he did about my mother, I loved my father, I love... him a lot, so the idea that he might not love me really hurt."You?" he laughed, "Oh yes, I love you Martina, more than I probably should."Wondering what he meant by that I breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at him, my father smiled back then sat back in his seat with his hands behind his head. Something was nagging at me though, what had my. Joan had put on one of her new bras which she proudly showed off to me as well as a matching pair of knickers/thong that displayed the camel toe of her nicely shaved cunt. I knew I had to be calm – we’d have time later to fuck and relax (or was that relax and then fuck – who knew?). As Joan did the final preparations for dinner so Shelly and Brad came down from the bedrooms (not sure if separate or just the one – I’m sure I’d find out at some point). They were dressed to return with us to. What I really appreciated was that a male friend accompanied me on the ride home. He reminds me of myself as a young man. He’s cute, funny, and respectful. He’s also the kind of guy, as I was, who often gets tossed into the friend zone.As we rode the three miles to my place, we talked and joked a bit and talked about what had happened. He was furious. Jacob, the guy who assaulted me at the pool, is known for doing such things. He gets away with it because of who is father is. Or, rather, they. Elegant in her poise now, I remembered how I had violated her arse and how she made me yield into it. The crassness of my mind was a victim to the sexual frustration of my body. I yearned for more; it was devouring any sense of rationality. I was captive to her and felt the sweet defeat of accepting it. My frustration was nothing compared to what confronted me next. It was the unforgettable sound of brittle moans, different in tone and from their pitch – they were feminine. As we approached.
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