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I putthe silver cover over the entire lot and wheeled the cart back to thebedroom.Marie had already emerged from the shower and was wearing a blacknegligee and apparently nothing else. She had climbed back into bed andpulled the covers up to her waist, while she sat leaning back againstfreshly fluffed pillows. By this time, prancing about in the apron, Ihad gotten a raging hard-on from the satin lining teasing me. The buttplug didn't help either. Every time I moved, it moved in me, almostfucking me as I walked. When she saw my condition she smiled and said,"I guess we'll have to do something about that after breakfast!" Irolled the cart up next to the bed and served her, then knelt and hadmy own breakfast. It was delicious if I say so myself. Just then Inoticed she had a tape playing in the VCR without the sound on. It wasa series of vignettes of women fucking men with a strap-on. I gazedenraptured as a succession of beautiful women fucked their men in avariety of positions. "You. As I was relieving myself, I looked up to see my daughter looking at me. Surprised, I yelled, “Hey, what are you doing!” I guess my reaction was a bit harsh, because she ran off and started crying. I felt so bad that I had hurt my baby girl’s feeling, so I went to console her. She was sitting down with her head between her knees. I told her that I was sorry for yelling at her, but was surprised to see her standing there.She apologized and told me that when she was at her sleep-over with the girls from her volleyball team, they were talking about boys, sex, and blow jobs. (Now, if we didn’t have such a close relationship, I don’t think I would have ever had this conversation with her.) She said that she was asked if she had seen a real dick before. She told them she hadn’t and they started teasing her about how late she was and so forth. Then they started talking about oral sex and blow jobs came up. My baby girl confided to me that she was really curious to see a real.
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I stood there for a few moments, my heart pounding, myears listening painfully for any sound that might indicate movement; the wayyou behave when you wake up late at night convinced that you've heard a noisedownstairs, and that a burglar might be in the house. I peered into the room cautiously, half-expecting the nigger to grab me andfor us to wrestle. But his body was still there on the bed, as lifeless asI'd left it. The back of his head glistened darkly with blood, and our whitesheets were pretty much ruined. I'm no expert, but I figured Persil's new andimproved formula wasn't going to cut it. Those sheets were going to have tobe burned. But first things first. I dragged the nigger out of the house and disposed of him in the best wayI saw fit. I'm not going to write it down here, because it'll only exacerbatethings if I'm caught. Besides, he doesn't deserve to be found. And I intendto desecrate his make-shift grave every time nature calls. I went back to visit Katchen. She'd.

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