vega thompson

“Die under your own terms, maybe, but I will not let you slip into oblivion easily. There are so many wonderful, horrible things I can do to make you spill those secrets, to make you bargain for a quick death. You’ll try to maintain your dignity as long as you can. I have no doubt that you’ll put up a valiant effort; you are quite strong, after all. However, you will inevitably break and curse your own stubbornness for not talking sooner.”

Fireworks were shooting off in her head now and her womanly instincts were in auto pilot now, and it didn’t seem to matter that her father was the target. Her right hand came up to his cock and pulled it towards her, making it easier on her neck to reach. Her left hand came up from the bed and rested on his waist, a much firmer purchase to steady herself. She spread her legs wider on the bed, her panties dripping with her own secretions smeared on her father’s knee.

Still, she made me nuts. When the class would be working on an in-class assignment, she would float around the room, answering questions and offering advice. She always paused at my desk, squeezed my shoulder or rubbing it a little and ask if I needed help. I thought she kept touching me longer than she did with the other kids, massaging my shoulder or sliding her hand down to the middle of my hunched over back. I would break out in a sweat whenever she touched me, and my cock, which was in the teenage stage of always being semi hard, would become rigid and strain against the fabric of my underwear and pants.