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He’d refuse. He’d just lay there and drink, sulking and pining over Mom. Many nights I’d hear him crying, but usually, that was after he was nine beers in and drunk. I often just stayed in my room. I’d learned my lesson. One night, he was making funny noises, and I thought he might’ve been choking.He was choking, alright. He was choking the chicken. He had a pair of Mom’s panties that I guess she had left in the laundry basket, wrapped around his dick as was pumping it up and down with his fist. He didn’t see me, and before I could register what he was doing, I saw a thick white fluid shoot out of the top of his dick and land all over the panties and his fist. There was a lot of it.I ran back to my room feeling shocked and a little disgusted. I was shocked that Dad would lay there in the living room and masturbate, knowing I was home. I was disgusted that somehow a part of me liked seeing it. I was turned on by it and lay on my bed and masturbated until I too came. It reminded me of. Could she actually come like this?“You better hurry, you only have four or five stops until ours.”With that, they did hit the next stop. It pulled his thigh away from her, then pressed it harder into her. She ground again.He said, “If not tonight, maybe in another ten days? That won’t be too hard, will it? To wait that long?”It was suddenly a mad war within her. The thought of waiting—why did that turn her on so much, to be owned so completely in that way? And to be teased so wickedly? That thought warred with her fear of someone seeing, someone watching. But God, she really needed to come, and to please him. “Please…”“Please what? Make you wait ten more days? Edge you twenty times tomorrow? Take your ass when we get back to the room?”She couldn’t speak, she just buried her head against his chest and ground against his very strong thigh. The train car banged forward, pushing her into him, which felt so good. The little bumps, the clacks as the train moved around, they all.
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