mosquito season vanripper

“Hi, Mom,” I giggled, stepping inside and collecting a brief kiss from Daddy's lips and a tight squeeze of my pert little ass as I passed by. “Daddy and I really struggled about how we were going to tell you this...” I said, flouncing eagerly up onto the bed with her, crawling up until my knees could just barely fit, squeezed close together between her spread thighs. I leaned down, giving her a firm kiss on the lips that she was far too stunned to return. “In the end, we decided it would be best to just rip the band-aid off quick. You and I are going to be sharing Daddy, from here on out!”

“I heard through the grapevine that you were pole vaulting. I guess I missed that.”“Shit yeah. That was a broken arm waiting to happen. I think my chest is too small and my ass is too big for that.”

Something was wrong. I struggled to open my eyes, blearily forcing myself to focus. I was in a red-panelled room, dimly lit, one I'd never been in before, with... things, on the walls. Whips, floggers, toys of all descr*ptions, most of which I couldn't even name. It was only then that I realized I was naked, bound on my back to a table with my legs spread into a slight V in the air, wrists above my head, a belt around my waist holding me down. I lifted my head, and saw that my six-inch dick was hard and straining, twitching without my command. Why the fuck was I hard? Arousal was the last thing I was feeling! Confusion, fear, panic, yes. But not arousal.