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It was then - in my brother's bed - that I had my first orgasm as the result of someone else.As time went on, I became more bold. We had grown accustomed to sleeping with me on my side with my back to him, and him spooning me with his hands around my tits. Sometimes I would just grab his hands when I felt them by my sides and place them on me.Sometimes I would whisper to him to play with my nipples. It was so erotic to me. Then my brother started taking it further. I woke up early to find my brother sucking on my bare tit. My tits aren't huge but it's a nice handful I guess.He was making me crazy so I ended up taking my top off. He played with my tits and ended up sucking for what seemed like hours. I was in ecstasy. I wasn't sure if I was going to let him suck my tits the next night or even how to act.That lasted a few seconds as he told me before going to bed to take my top off. I did and tried to lie down with my back to him. It was the first open admission before we 'went to bed'. His finger still rubbing circles near my wet little fuckhole, slipped into me without resistance. "Oh ...my... god...Daddy!" I whined."Do you like that princess? Do you like Daddy fucking your tiny little cunt with his fingers?" Yes Daddy!" I managed to splutter out. My pussy was on fire and God help me I wanted Daddy to put the fire out. He pushed another finger into me and my pussy clenched around his fingers now pushing and pulling out of my little pink fuckhole. “Oh god Daddy!”I was still leaning over the counter but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t turn around to see my Daddy. Couldn’t move to see what Daddy’s body looked like under that black business suit that looked so snug and tailored to his skin. Couldn’t move to see what his cock looked like, what Daddies cock looked like; hard, solid and thick at the sight of my little pink bare pussy all soaking wet on his fingers and creamy from his fingers fucking me delirious. "Oh what a greedy little pussy you have." he said as he used his.
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‘No?’ Brian repeated, hearing a coldness harden his voice, an echoing rage that had been waiting for this moment for nearly fifteen years. ‘How many times did I say that? How many times did Kevin say that?’ The gun felt weightless in his hand, another ghostly apparition, like the ten year old boy who stood beside his bed each night when he woke up sweating and choking on bitter tears. The recoil barely shook a tremble through his arm as a second hole appeared in the man’s chest. The cry echoed in the room but still he remained seated in the chair. The bottle toppled from its table and tumbled onto the worn carpet, spilling whiskey into the pool of blood. ‘Please,’ the man whispered, his voice scraping against the insides of his throat. ‘Please, Brian.’ Brian stood close enough to smell the man’s sour odor. The staleness of wasted years. His eyes had lost any indignation they had held and now Brian only saw a pathetic old man staring up at him. An old man ready to pay for his sins. He.

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