Bec3 It Ain t Over Til It s OverChapter 24 Later Sunday Morning
- 4 years ago
- 16
- 0
Bec3: It Ain't Over Til It's OverChapter 23 : Sunday Morning free porn video
I woke feeling warm and comfortable and cozy. I was also feeling as if I’d just been poked in the shoulder. The poke didn’t go with the other feelings. I blinked my eyes open and looked out into my room. Daylight filtered through the curtains and lit up the unhappy face of Angie. She was watching me with an uncertain look on her face. I think she was wondering if I was awake.
Once she noticed that my eyes were open her face cleared into a smile.
“Good morning, Angie,” I whispered, my voice still hoarse with sleep. “What is it?”
“The TV broke,” she whispered. “It won’t turn on.”
“Oh!”
I felt movement behind me as Sam stirred and lifted himself onto an elbow. I twisted my head to look up at him, which left me looking through a curtain of hair. Sam’s hair was all tousled and I thought he looked kind of cute like that.
Then I realized my hair was all tousled too. What a pair we made. Fortunately, Angie couldn’t care less.
“It’s probably still set up for the video we watched last night,” muttered Sam. “They must have forgotten to switch it back when they finished up.”
I groaned quietly. I was so warm and cozy. And I was tired. I guess I didn’t want to get up and fix the TV for Angie.
“Hey, Ange,” I whispered. “Do you want to crawl in here with us and have a snuggle?”
She pouted.
I held the blankets up for her. “Come on, Ange, Come and have a nice cuddle.”
She started to get into the bed.
I felt Sam shift back slightly behind me and I shifted back until I was pressed right against him. That made enough room for Angie to crawl in under the blankets. I wrapped my arms around her and made a happy “mmmm” sound. Sam laid an arm over both of us and rubbed Angie’s shoulder under the blankets.
I closed my eyes and tried to reclaim my lost sleep.
Unfortunately, Angie only lasted about thirty seconds before she started twitching and wriggling.
Being cuddled up to a twitching and wriggling three-year-old is not restful – not even a little bit.
I groaned and kissed her head. “Lie still, Angie. I’m trying to sleep.”
I may as well have asked a flower not to bloom. I may as well have asked a cat not to purr.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love my sister. And the fact that she’s such a bundle of energy is a part of who she is and what I love about her. But I was thinking some very unsisterly thoughts about her as she dug her elbow into my stomach for the third time and then whacked my wrist with the cast on her arm. I think my chin is going to develop a nice bruise from being knocked with her head.
I groaned again and tried to stifle a sob of despair.
Sam, my knight in flannel armor, came to my rescue. He clambered over the top of both me and Angie and then slid out of bed.
He held out his hand for Angie.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and figure out how to make the TV work.”
Angie “yayed” happily and bounced out of bed – using a foot against my groin to launch herself out from under the blankets. I gasped for breath as I watched Sam lead Angie out of my bedroom. I was wondering if I could promise to be a life-long slave to him and his children and his children’s children. I would cook their supper and wash their clothes and do whatever else slaves do to keep their masters happy until my very last breath. I was so grateful to Sam at that instant, I would have promised anything he asked of me – as long as it didn’t involve getting out of bed.
I rolled over and tried to get back to sleep.
Unfortunately, my brain had other ideas. It started buzzing away remembering everything that had happened last night and over the last few days. There was an awful lot of stuff for it to go through and it seemed determined to go through every single part of it. Now my brain is normally a lot smarter than I am but right then it was being plain stupid because I clearly needed to sleep and it was busy keeping me awake.
Then my bladder decided to join the conspiracy – first Angie, then my brain and now my body – they were all plotting against me. Sometimes life is so unfair. I tried to ignore my bladder but it wasn’t having any of that nonsense. Eventually I gave up and rolled out of bed.
I padded past the living room door while still tying my robe. Sam had the volume a little lower than Angie would normally have it – I’m not complaining about that. The two of them were nestled together into a pile of pillows on the floor in front of the couch, both of them intently watching the cartoons. I smiled quietly to myself and kept making my bleary way towards the bathroom.
I grabbed the handle of the bathroom door and walked forward, but the door didn’t open so I walked straight into it and banged my nose. The door to the bathroom was locked. I wasn’t expecting that. Given the time and how quiet the house was, I figured Sam and Angie and I were the only mouses that were stirring – sorry, that should be the only mice that were stirring. The bathroom should’ve been empty.
“Ow!” I said to the door.
My head had bounced off the door. Now I leaned my forehead against the door and held my nose.
“Ow!” I said to the door. It ignored me.
“Open Sesame!” I said. It still ignored me.
I tried the door handle again, just in case it had magically unlocked itself but no – apparently my vast magical powers don’t extend to opening doors.
“Alohomora!” I said – in case Harry Potter knew something about opening doors that I didn’t.
My bladder complained at the delay. I groaned.
“Is there somebody in there?” I called through the door – but not too loudly because it was still early and people were mostly still asleep.
Probably!!
People were probably mostly still asleep.
I heard the toilet flush and the faucet run.
Apparently somebody was awake enough to get to the bathroom before me. The mystery was – who?
A moment later the door rattled and opened. I was still leaning against it so I nearly fell into the room. Maybe that hadn’t been too clever but I was still half asleep.
Tara looked crossly at me. “Stop banging on the door.”
I peered at Tara. “You’re awake?”
She was wearing her nightie and robe but her hair was brushed and she looked alarmingly awake.
She snorted. “Go figure! Normally I’m still dozy while you’re being all perky and annoying. Maybe, for once, I get a turn.”
I groaned. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” I muttered. “And I REALLY need to pee. If you want to be annoying, can it wait until I’ve done that?”
Tara stepped out of the way and I tottered into the bathroom. I turned and tried to close the door but Tara was standing in the way.
“Why didn’t you get enough sleep? Did you and Sam party half the night?”
I groaned. “No parties. Give me a few minutes and I’ll tell you.”
Then I pushed the door closed in her face – not hard, but firmly enough to push her out of the way. I pressed the lock on the door and immediately went to the toilet. It was a relief just to sit down, not to mention the relief from letting my bladder go.
That was more than relief. That was a moment of sheer bliss.
By the time I’d finished there, washed my hands and splashed water on my face, I was feeling a little more awake – not much, but a little.
I half expected Tara to still be loitering outside the door – waiting for the chance to annoy me with her perkiness – but she was gone.
I came across Tara in the kitchen. She was setting out bowls and flour and so forth.
“I figured I would make pancakes,” she said with an unnaturally happy smile.
I sighed and ran my hands vaguely through my tousled hair.
“Okay!” I muttered.
“Could you go and see who’s awake and tell them I’m making pancakes?” she said – her eyes glowing with an evil quantity of cheerfulness.
“Sure!” I muttered and slowly backed out of the kitchen.
Tara cruelly cracked an egg and separated it into a bowl so I turned and fled before her evilness overwhelmed me.
Neither of The Parents were in their bed – the bed was made and looked suspiciously unslept in. It took me a moment to remember that Dad had slept over with Aunty Penny and Aunty Ally. That’s why Sam was here – we had traded one for the other.
That didn’t explain the absence of a mother. Then I remembered that she’d been painting down in her studio last night. Apparently she hadn’t made it back to bed. She was probably curled up on the mattress in the corner of the studio. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I backtracked and wandered through the kitchen and on to Dan’s room. Dan’s door was closed so I tapped lightly on the outside and listened for a response. Hearing nothing, I eased the door open and peered inside. Under the blankets, I could see that Dan was face down on the bed, his arms and legs spread so that he occupied the entire space.
His head was turned to the left, so I went to the left side of the bed where I could see his face. His face was relaxed, his eyes were closed and he was breathing in that loud not-quite-snoring way of his. The blankets had slid down to expose one broad and muscled shoulder.
I stood for a moment and watched Dan sleep. It made me feel safe inside. Dan was here and sleeping so all was right with the world. Somehow I resisted the almost overwhelming urge to crawl in next to him and cuddle up for an extra snooze.
I leaned down and planted a feather-soft kiss on the muscle of his exposed shoulder. Then I gently tugged the blanket up and tucked it down around his neck.
“Good morning, Dan,” I whispered so softly that it was more breath than whisper.
I turned and left him to sleep.
In the kitchen, Tara was stirring the pancake mixture in a bowl. I half expected her to cackle evilly while she did it.
I muttered something about looking for Mum and took the studio key down off its hook. I stopped in the laundry long enough to slip a pair of Wellies onto my feet (those would be rubber boots to you, Dr K).
Outside, there was a chill in the air so I pulled the robe tight around me. Maybe I should have gotten dressed before I did this, but that would have taken planning – something I hadn’t managed so far this morning.
The studio was locked and quiet but the light still burned inside. I unlocked the door and slipped inside. Sure enough, there was Mum – curled up on the mattress in the corner of the studio. She had her messy painting clothes on and she’d simply collapsed on the mattress and pulled the old blanket over the top of her.
Three easels stood lined up – each with a canvas sitting on them. I walked over to look at what she’d done and snorted. All three had clearly been painted on but then coated over with a layer of whitewash. All that work and she’d ended up with precisely nothing.
“Wow! Mum!” I said softly to my sleeping mother. “Picasso must be shaking in his boots. He had his blue period, but your white period will take the art world by storm.”
I shook my head. Mum was always going on about how even bad art should be preserved. Clearly she’d ignored her own rules last night.
I walked over to check on Mum and was startled by the sound of a small sob. I looked closer and saw that she wasn’t actually sleeping. She was curled up in a ball and crying.
I sat down next to her on the mattress and stroked her hair. Mum let out a small unhappy moan. Her eyes were closed and her face was wet with tears.
“Hey!” I said softly – almost crooning. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Mummy?” whimpered Mum. “Oh! Mummy!”
With that she lurched forward, wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her face into my stomach. She let out another groan – only this time it went right into my middle.
I blinked in confusion. She thought I was Nana? What should I do? Should I set her straight immediately, or should I play along?
“Mummy, I’m horrible. I did a bad, bad thing!” Mum whimpered into me.
Apparently the pause while I tried to decide what to do made the decision for me.
I curled my upper half down over her and stroked her gently. “It’s okay, honey,” I crooned. “I’m here now. Tell me what happened.”
Mum broke out into sobs and tried to bury herself further inside my stomach.
I shushed and started a little rocking movement.
“I hurt my baby! I hurt my baby,” she wailed – squeezing her arms to the point where breathing was starting to be a problem for me.
Huh? “Angie? What did you do to Angie?”
Mum sniffled into me – I could feel my pyjamas rapidly getting wet.
One of her arms moved – easing her vise-like grip on me – and she waved a fist around in the air. For the first time, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper held tightly in her fist. I reached for it and captured Mum’s fist in my hands but she wouldn’t relax her grip.
“Hush!” I crooned. “Show me, honey! Let it go.” Slowly, with gentle words and gentle hands, I eased the crumpled page out of her fist. Once Mum had released it, she wrapped that arm back around my waist and resumed her inconsolable sobbing.
I returned one hand to stroking her head and back while using the other hand to open out the paper and smooth it against my leg.
At some stage, Mum had clearly abandoned the paints and resorted to colored pencils. The drawing was stark and bold and I recognized the subject matter – sort of. Tara!
The drawing showed Tara from yesterday afternoon – naked and tied spreadeagled in the corner of the studio. She looked over her shoulder with her face drawn out with pain – her face looking younger and more innocent than I would have drawn it. That wasn’t the only way the picture differed from the reality that I remembered. In the picture, her back and bottom were criss-crossed with jagged, harsh cuts from a cane. Large welts stood out from her skin – many of them open and bleeding. Blood trailed redly down her back and legs before dripping to the floor. A woman with her back to me, clearly Mum, stood behind Tara with a cane dangling from one hand – the cane also smeared and dripping redly with blood.
“I hurt my baby!” murmured Mum into my stomach. “I’m sorry, Mummy!”
I wrestled Mum out of my stomach – not an easy thing to do because she’s quite a bit stronger than I am.
“Mum! Mum! Look at me! It’s Bec! Snap out of it, Mum! Look at me!”
After a lot of repetition and a fair amount of wrestling, I had Mum looking me in the eyes.
“Mum! Listen to me! It isn’t real! Your mind is playing tricks. This never happened – not like this.”
Mum’s eyes crinkled with confusion. I knew I was starting to get through to her.
“Mum! Listen to me! Tara played a game yesterday – a tying up game. And she dragged you into it. But she isn’t hurt at all.”
I was going to kill Tara next time I got my hands on her. This was her fault. It was her stupid game that had sent Mum spinning off like this.
I looked at the picture again.
“Look at your picture, Mum. Look at the pattern of cuts. That’s Dad’s back. That exact pattern. Those are Dad’s scars from when he was small. Tara isn’t hurt at all. You never hit her. You never cut her. Your mind is confusing the two things. You’ve drawn Dad’s cuts onto Tara’s back. This never happened.”
I kept repeating myself and watched as understanding slowly seeped through the confusion in Mum’s face.
“Bec?”
“Yes, Mum. It’s Bec. And this picture is all in your mind.”
“Bec? Are you sure?”
“I promise, Mum. I promise you Tara isn’t hurt.”
“But...” she trailed off into silence and looked at the crumped picture in my hand.
Then her arms wrapped around me again and she buried her face into my neck, sobbing again – but this time with relief.
We held each other for a short time – rocking slowly back and forth. Mum cried into my shoulder while I stared sightlessly over her head.
Eventually, I pulled back and pushed the hair out of Mum’s face so I could see her eyes.
“I think we should get you up to the house so you can have a shower,” I said. “A shower will help you feel better.”
I helped Mum to her feet and guided her out of the studio and up the path. Mum wasn’t completely steady on her feet – she was still bleary eyed and a little confused. I led her into the house and through into the kitchen. Tara, Sam and Angie were sitting at the table with half-eaten pancakes in front of them. A plate in the middle of the table was piled with more pancakes and there was still half a bowl’s worth of batter sitting on the counter near the stove.
Tara smiled at us and waved her hand at the table.
“Pancakes!” she said.
“Mum’s going to have a shower, first,” I replied.
Mum broke loose from me and walked over to Tara.
“Stand up!” said Mum in an odd sort of tone.
Tara looked doubtful but did what she was told.
Mum grasped Tara’s shoulders and turned her around until she was facing away from Mum. Then Mum gripped Tara’s robe and pulled it back and off her.
“Huh?” said both Tara and I – more or less at the same time.
I stepped up to stand beside Tara as Mum pulled on the robe to untangle it from Tara’s arms.
“What are you doing, Mum?” I asked.
She ignored me and dropped the robe onto the floor.
Tara didn’t say anything. She looked back over her shoulder – her eyes wide with surprise.
Mum grabbed a hold of each side of Tara’s nightie down at hip height.
“Arms up!” she commanded.
Tara obediently lifted her arms straight up.
“Mum! What are you doing?” I asked again – keeping my voice calm.
Mum continued to ignore me as she lifted the nightie straight up and off Tara in a single move. Tara was left standing in her panties and her socks.
Tara gasped and snapped her arms down, crossing them over so that she could cover each of her boobs with a hand.
Angie giggled and stared – a spoonful of pancake waving half way to her mouth.
Sam coughed. He stood up – looking a little red in the face.
“Should I go out into the living room?” he muttered.
Tara – suddenly remembering that Sam was in the room – whipped her head around to look at him and then whipped it back to look directly away from him. All of that movement dislodged one of her hands enough to reveal an areola crinkling around a nipple before she quickly covered it up again.
I looked at Tara’s face and saw that she was biting her lip. She was obviously a bit turned on by the sudden stripping – especially given that it was happening in front of her young, male cousin. She was embarrassed and humiliated and surprised and confused and maybe a little bit turned on.
I was tempted to tell Sam to stay and watch whatever was going to happen – to complete Tara’s humiliation. Tara would probably like him to stay even if she couldn’t put that into words. But then I glanced at Sam and saw that he was genuinely embarrassed.
I nodded at Sam and tipped my head towards Angie and then the door. He looked at me gratefully, picked up Angie and hurried out of the kitchen. Angie sat on his hip and complained all the way. She wanted to be with us. She wanted to know what was going on.
In the meantime, Mum was running her hands gently over Tara’s back, her face only a few inches from Tara’s skin as she examined it inch by inch. Now I understood what Mum was doing.
“What’s happening?” Tara whispered to me – finally finding her voice.
“This is your fault!” I whispered back, moving around to stand in front of Tara. “Remember your game in the studio? It messed with Mum’s head. She’s checking to make sure you aren’t injured.”
Tara frowned. “But that wasn’t my back. Sam was pretending to smack my – eek!”
The squeak was because Mum had apparently finished examining Tara’s back. Mum had then gripped Tara’s panties and dropped them to her ankles. Now Mum proceeded to examine the cheeks of Tara’s bum and the top of her thighs with the same close intensity.
Now Tara stood in our kitchen completely naked except for her socks and the pair of panties sitting around her ankles. She dropped one of her hands down to cover her groin and used the other hand and forearm to cover her boobs. The confusing mix of emotions running through her left her looking nothing but awkward.
I stood in front of her and glared at her – daring her to complain. “You really messed with Mum’s head, Tara. I found her crying her eyes out because she thought she’d hurt you.”
Tara nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anybody.”
I sighed and bent over to stick my head behind Tara.
“Do you see, Mum?” I poked one finger into the side of Tara’s bum. “Her skin is as flawless as ever. No scars! No cuts! No bruises! You never hurt Tara.”
Mum stood and pulled Tara into her, wrapping her arms around Tara from behind and cradling Tara’s head in her bosom.
At that moment, Angie came scampering into the kitchen – having escaped from Sam. She skittered to a halt when she saw Tara.
“Yay!” yelled Angie. “It’s nudie day!”
With that, Angie started stripping off her own clothes. Her socks went first. She was still wearing the pyjama pants and t-shirt that she had slept in. The pyjama pants went next. Then the pull-ups she still uses at night in case of accidents hit the floor. The t-shirt and vest went over her head in one go, but got stuck on both her head and her cast for a moment before she freed herself. She flung the t-shirt to the floor and scampered back out of the kitchen yelling “Nudie day! Nudie Day!”
I guess it was a good thing that Dad wasn’t at home. I would have been in a panic about getting her dressed again. Instead I shrugged and watched her go. I figured she wasn’t doing any harm.
Tara was looking at me from her place in Mum’s bosom.
“Mum’s wearing her painting clothes,” she whined. “They stink!”
I shrugged. “I was trying to get her to the shower. She got distracted by the beauty of your flawless skin.”
Tara rolled her eyes at me.
I sighed and nodded. “I guess I can help you with that.”
I pulled a chair over to behind Mum. I stepped up onto the chair and then leaned over to grab the bottom of her sweatshirt.
“Arms up, Mum!” I commanded in a stern voice.
I started pulling the sweatshirt up. It wasn’t easy because she was clinging to Tara and I had to repeat myself several times and tug at the sweatshirt several times before she released Tara enough to lift her arms. The sweatshirt came off then and I straightened up to my full height – standing on the chair – to get the inverted sweatshirt free of her hands.
Underneath the sweatshirt, Mum was wearing a t-shirt which was much cleaner.
Mum immediately reached back and pulled Tara back into her bosom.
I dropped the sweatshirt onto the growing pile of clothes scattered on the floor and stepped down off the chair.
I had to worm my hands in between Tara and Mum to undo the knot holding Mum’s sweatpants up. Then it took a bit of wriggling and dragging to get them down over her hips without taking her underwear down with them. Eventually I had Mum’s sweatpants pooled around her ankles. They weren’t going to come off over her shoes, but I had a plan for that.
I tucked the kitchen chair in behind Mum’s knees and grasped her shoulders.
“Sit, Mum!” I ordered. “Sit down now.”
With me tugging her down and some extra help from Tara, we soon had Mum sitting on the chair. Given that Mum never let go of her, Tara had little choice but to scramble herself sideways onto Mum’s lap. Now she could tuck her head over Mum’s shoulder instead of where it had been.
I knelt at Mum’s feet and slipped her shoes off, then removed the sweatpants and threw them behind me. While I was down there, I rescued Tara’s panties from where they were now dangling from one ankle.
“There!” I said, finally. “Everybody should be comfortable now! It’s a good thing we have central heating or there would be some people getting quite chilly by now.”
I chattered away to myself since nobody else was talking. While I chattered, I scooted around and picked up all the clothes that were lying scattered around.
Angie came bolting through the kitchen, her little pink legs going like crazy.
“Hey there little Angel! Are you having fun?”
“It’s nudie day! It’s nudie day!” she yelled and then bolted off down the hallway towards Dan’s room.
“Woops!” I said. “Dan’s about to get a surprise.”
Sam appeared at the entrance from the other hallway, his eyes firmly looking sideways.
“Should I try to get her dressed?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about her,” I replied. “Our Angie’s becoming quite the nudist.”
“You can look,” said Tara to Sam. “The way I’m sitting, you won’t see anything embarrassing.”
“Oh!” said Sam and looked over at Tara and Mum. “Is this kind of thing normal?”
“No, it isn’t!” replied Tara. “And I have to say that, if you ignore the scariness that is Mother and the nakedness that is me, this is the best hug I’ve had in ages.”
“Oh!” I said. “I didn’t realize you were feeling unhugged.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t really been deserving many hugs lately.”
“Ah!” I said and tactfully stopped there.
I ducked into the laundry and dropped my armful of abandoned clothes beside the washer. I was back in the kitchen within seconds.
“Sam, if you aren’t too shocked by all the female nudity, you may as well sit down and finish your pancake,” I said as I slid into my normal seat. “ Who knows how long Mum is going to want to sit there and hug Tara. If that one is cold, just toss it out and take a fresh one.”
Sam cleared his throat and sat down beside me. He looked down at his plate and prodded the half-eaten pancake with one finger.
“This one is okay,” he said in a quiet voice – meant for my ears only. “It’s not that I’m shocked or anything. I often see my moms naked. It’s just that they’re older. Tara is closer to my age. I thought she’d be more embarrassed so I thought it would be better if I left.”
I shrugged. “Tara has her own rules about what embarrasses her and what doesn’t. But you tried to do the right thing, so thank you for that.”
I reached over and snagged a pancake onto my plate. A quick sprinkle of maple syrup and I was good to go. It was delicious. Tara makes a good pancake.
Dan appeared in the doorway wearing only his boxers and with a naked Angie plastered onto one hip. His eyes took in the scene in the kitchen. Sam and me in our sleepwear eating pancakes, Mum half-dressed with a naked Tara wrapped in her arms, sitting on her lap. Mum still seemed fairly oblivious to what was going on around her. I think she was smelling Tara’s hair.
Dan raised an eyebrow at me.
“Is there a reason why I got dive-bombed by a naked little angel?”
“It’s nudie day!” answered Angie.
“I wanted to let you sleep,” I said. “But apparently Little Miss Bossy Boots had other ideas. Sit down and have some pancakes.”
“Little Miss No Boots might be a better title,” said Dan. “Or Little Miss No Pants even.”
“It’s nudie day!” said Angie.
“Like she said, it’s nudie day,” I said. “Speaking of which, either join in nudie day and strip or tuck yourself back in. The half-and-half look doesn’t work for you.” I pointed a fork loaded with pancake at Dan’s middle. He had been properly tucked away when he arrived in the kitchen but Angie’s wriggling about on his hip had dislodged matters and now he was seriously poking out into the room.
“Sorry!” said Dan and reached down to tuck himself back out of sight.
I shrugged – I was feeling remarkably blasé about the world this morning. I wondered if there was anything that would upset me. Then I realized that I was already upset about something and everything else seemed trivial by comparison. I wondered what I was upset about.
“Sit! Eat!” I said to Dan.
“I need to pee before I do anything else,” said Dan. He was having trouble tucking himself away given the, um, extended nature of his problem.
I shrugged. “So go pee. But give me Little Miss No Pants before you go. Angie doesn’t want to watch you pee.”
“Yes I do!” said Angie – trying to tip herself upside down so she could see the thing Dan was fiddling with. She giggled. “I saw your willy.”
“Strike that!” I said. “Angie might want to see you pee but she doesn’t need to see you pee.”
“How can you pee?” asked Angie. “Your willy is in the way of where the pee comes out.”
I heard Sam splutter beside me as he snorted a laugh through a mouthful of pancake. I elbowed him in the side – not too hard – to remind him not to laugh at Angie.
“My pee comes out of the end of my willy,” said Dan with a serious voice. “It’s what my willy is for.”
I flashed on a vision of Pearl sitting astride Dan the way I’d seen them last night. “Mostly,” I muttered to myself as a correction to Dan’s answer. “That’s mostly what Dan’s willy is for.” But I made sure I said it too quietly for Angie to hear.
Angie was looking puzzled. “Well, if a willy is for peeing, how come I don’t have one? I need to pee, too.”
Becky
- 13.12.2020
- 16
- 0
Bec3 It Ain t Over Til It s OverChapter 27 Sunday Evening
- 2 years ago
- 12
- 0
Bec3 It Ain t Over Til It s OverChapter 25 Sunday Afternoon
- 2 years ago
- 17
- 0
