clownification

“Hold this,” she said. “I’ll hold your dick.” I have since seen many naked women in person, but Mrs. B. was one of the most memorable. Pure white, lightly freckled skin, perky B-cup tits, trimmed, fiery red pussy hair matching her long, red tresses. “Take a drink,” she invited, smiling warmly at me as she stroked my soapy shaft and played with my balls. The drink was vodka and OJ, strong but not incapacitating. I chugged about half and offered it to Mrs. B. She chugged the rest, set down the cup and returned to playing with my cock and balls.“God, you look beautiful, Mrs. B. So hot.”

Sarah leaned down, her face right above the base of his cock and smelled it. It was like heaven. She pushed her nose down onto his cock inhaling as she rubbed it up along the underside, relishing the slow burn. Finally reaching the head of his dick her nose pressed up against something wet and she pulled away. A long string of precum stretched up from his dick to the end of her nose. Breaking it midway with her fingers she gathered the strand around her hand and brought it to her nose and smelled. This was the purest the smell had been. Though every part of father’s body smelled unique, it had a general musk to it, and this little smear of precum on her knuckles was nothing but that musk.

I left her there, naked and bleeding, and the next time I saw her, she was at the base of the west tower, having jumped to her death. Galvin told me not to concern myself with her, that she was simply a broken toy, and that I would find another. But I knew different. She wasn’t a broken toy, and though she made her choice, it wasn’t suicide; it was murder. I killed her. I hurt her, I violated her, and made her life so painful that I might as well have pushed her off that tower myself. I knew it, but I didn’t want to accept it.