“I need you to think of me.” I slide his unresisting hand down his cock as my finger travels slowly over my clitoral nub.“I want you to think o... me.” I’m masturbating both of us; slowly, gently, sedately, eager to feel every shudder of his cock beneath our entwined hands and every pulse of my throbbing clitoris beneath my fingers.“Dream of me.” I’m picking up the tempo; his foreskin sliding up to kiss the base of his cockhead, his tip nodding and dancing with every movement, his tight little. I'd sit cross-legged, facing him, my panties always just a bit askew, showing him my hairless pussy. He'd stare and, sometimes, I'd see him rub his cock. When he went into the kitchen for a beer, I'd pop up and stand between him and the refrigerator and, being sure to keep my voice casual (in case my mother could hear), I'd ask, "What do you want daddy? Can I get it for you?" I'm sure you think I'm evil. And, maybe I am. But, I saw the way he looked at me and, in that moment, I was just a woman. More

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