"I'll be back, slut," he warns through the wall, and he isn't lying. He comes back two more times that night, and both times I suck all the jizz right out of his massive balls. His prick has me humping my cunt against the floor, desperate to be filled. But I'm scared to masturbate. Daddy didn't tell me I could do that.*****The party's over. Daddy appears behind the wall and hauls me to my feet, smiling. I'm covered in cum; it's all over my chin, neck, and chest. "Good girl," he murmurs. "Now come on out here and get a drink. Just about everyone's gone. Only three guys left. I want them to meet you." He grabs the camera off the tripod.We walk into the living room, my big, cum-glazed titties bouncing and wobbling, my pussy and ass completely exposed through the hole in my pantyhose. My jaw drops when I see the three men Daddy's talking about. It is Mr. Sorenson, my uncle Johnny, and a big mountain of a black man whose face I don't recognize. I have a feeling I'd recognize his prick,. Aunt Sarah was less understanding. She had lived with us since I was ten, since uncle Jonas had died sticky and black, waving his dead hand and trying to figure out how you spelled leukemia. She was tall like daddy, and they had the same eyes, but what looked kind on him looked sneaky on her. We’d existed peacefully enough for five years. Aside from her begging me to grow my white hair long, which my mother also greatly desired, Sarah and I had very little to do with each other. She understood the fundamental truth that some people are hopeless, and that I was one of those people. I was a girl with a gun. She gave up on changing that. But suddenly, at fifteen, I’d become a stink, a dead creature, spilled deer guts, baby arms, that possum we’d claimed from the depths of my home years before. ‘You’re nothing but a whore,’ when my family would leave the room. ‘You’re a filthy little whore and it’ll serve you right when your daddy dies of shame.’ It wasn’t why she killed him, but I.
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