I pulled her in tight and reached for the upper tie of her bikini bra. I pulled the knot out, and gently removed the small piece of cloth from her che...t. She reacted by pulling my t-shirt up and over my head.Once free of my shirt, I took a moment to take in the sight of this beautiful, black-haired, fourteen-year-old girl. She was standing half naked in front of me with a look of abandon, along with a touch of trepidation, in her eyes. Her tits were marvels! They were, of course, small, about a. "Who are you?" asked the mother. I smiled, thinking that I'm just me,glad to be out of the rain."Mommy wants to know your name," said Alice.I focused back to them. "Barbie." No," sighed Mommy. "What was your name before? Who were you thismorning? Oh, damn. Alice, ask who she was this morning." Who were you?" Alice repeated."George Trimble," I said with a smile."Where do you live?" wondered the mother."Where do you live?" repeated Alice.I shrugged. "Here?" No, where does George live?" wondered. So in his own words now.After the two incidents, one thing was clear now. Either ammi wasn’t getting enough sex or had a higher drive for trying new partners. After the second incident, I started for the first time to imagine ammi sexually. I used to observe her body movements, cleavage, clothes, and behavior. I would imagine various people close to her fucking her one by one in my masturbation sessions and sometimes myself in that place. Anyway, I didn’t have so much courage to approach ammi. “Well, what do you think Manish?” said mom, looking over at dad. “Shall we do it in the living room tonight? It might add to our enjoyment.”“Good idea, Sheeza” replied dad, smiling back at mom. “We’ll put some sheets and cushions down.”“You’ve both showered” responded mom, “But I still need to, and then change into something more appropriate,” she said, grinning cheekily at us both. “Give me a while to get ready,” and with that, she disappeared into the hallway.“Rasheed,” said dad to me after.
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My heart caught in my throat when I saw scratched in the cement, “Dag ‘03”. No. It wasn’t my Dag. But some little boy had scratched his name i
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