They drank a lot of wine and seemed to enjoy the hors d'oeuvres, and I made sure that all their needs were taken care of. The conversation got louder...with each new bottle of wine I would open; however, I got nervous when all of sudden things got quiet except for a few giggles. I could feel that they were talking about me, and I was worried about what they had in store.The ladies summoned me to the dining room. Madame Charlotte had a broad smile on her face, but it was Goddess Bridget who. I am writing the story imagining myself as her son to make it more exiting. So into the story now..After that day I used to see my mom fuck her clients. As my mom was gorgeous and beautiful her clients increased day by day and my dad was having good business. sometimes she had to attend 4 to 5 clients a day but she never made any one disappointed. But Most of her hard earned money was spent on my dad drinking. A year passed by and I was enjoying all her episodes from the ventilator and was. He pulled away the curtain and opened the garden door. He was very satisfied with his room; it had the privacy he needed because his parents slept on the topfloor of the house and therefore he could hear it if somebody wanted to come downstairs to see him.Many times instead of going out, John would just sit in the garden watching the women walk by while fantasizing about their bodies. It wasn't hard to do because in summertime they would hardly wear anything. He had a special preference for. She remembered our sex scene. More important, she was as disappointed as I was in a reality that was less than the illusion. I hadn’t been the only one obsessed with this. And she, indeed, had used me up that night—milked me dry, even while I was bemoaning that it wasn’t all I had imagined it could be. Obviously she hadn’t either. She’d kicked me out and hadn’t made any effort to find me again. But she had remembered. A fan. Maybe my only fan. And not because of my dialogue, because of my cock..
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