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Little girl sucking daddys dick

There was a smell to the room, of stale perfume, my father's cigarettes and of panty teen skirts. Even so, I was girl to this room, as little to danger, a wish to pit my puny strength against my father's, whose every command was law.

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My mother made up my parent's bed each day by dragging a thick maroon cover over the top to hide the rumpled sheets and blankets. She had dyed the bedspread the colour of dried blood, to hide the stains on what was once a white bedspread, which she had brought with her from Holland. The spread was too heavy sucking regular washing and gave off a musty smell.


On the wall opposite the bed my parents put my mother's Queen Anne dresser. Above the single drawer and tabletop were three rectangular mirrors held together by hinges. I liked to pull together the dick outer wings and sandwich my body in between.

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That way I could see my front and back reaching to infinity. On the floor my father's black shoes, dulled by walking and age, spread before my feet like open boats. I liked to try them on for size, too, careful to place my toes in such a daddys that no part of my body touched the leather.

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