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His daughter was one of his top earners, and still in her first year of service. She would not go cheap. Appius shook his hand, and stared at Callia as he left. She smiled at him, blissfully unaware that that soon she would leave her fathers home and be at the mercy of a man shed met only once. Lykos refused to feel guilty. It was for her own good. Better Appius than Cassius. He snapped his fingers. Come here, my child. She took in front of him, wide eyed, a hint of a smile still on her face. Her little tits were round on her tiny frame. Are you hurt badly, Callia? She frowned, and the purple bruise on her lip stretched. She looked puzzled. Im not hurt at all, Father. He sighed as he slid his hand between her thighs and worked a finger between the soft lips of her little cunt. Her head tilted back, just slightly and her little mouth opened in a sweet little moan. She was wet as soon as his finger hit her clit and worked its way back down to her tight little hole. She was the perfect. I wept as I threw a solitary rose on his coffin, watching the gentle winds of May scatter the petals into the void. As is often true in these cases, the first few weeks after my father’s death were bearable, since I was in a complete state of shock. Then, when reality set in, I found that I would spontaneously cry while driving or when a flower bloomed in my garden I knew he loved. Particularly irksome was the fact I couldn’t share with him some exciting things happening in my life. I had been nominated for Who’s Who in Education and had received a substantial raise at work. There were a couple of strange things to report. The day my father died, a large plaster angel statue in my garden fell over into the mud. I haven’t touched it since, feeling it might be bad luck. Even weirder was a patch of Portulaca which previously had reseeded every time for 10 years never came up…not a one. Did they miss my father? As the holidays approached, I dreaded even thinking about them. All that.
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