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What's yours?" Well Dave, call me your slave for the evening..." I feel both shy andbrazen."Well, then slave, we must continue with your training." He...says thisvery slowly and I'm very aware of his hand on my thigh, slowly moving tothe growing bulge in my groin. Then he adds, "My slave. I like the soundof that."He stands, walks to the kitchen, which is partitioned off with a half-wall and small counter."So, to help you with your studies, would you like to try some poppers?If you do, I'll go get. Where I grew up was a small town in Western New York, and we had a giant melting pot of people living there. We had Swedish, Norwegian, Italian, Irish, English, and German descendants who had lived there for at least four or five generations. As a result, we had a good mix of people living there. Furthermore, our town was one of the stops on the underground railway for escaping and free slaves during and immediately after the Civil War. So like I said we were a pretty good melting pot of. I put my plan into motion that day. I began wearing dresses that were a bit shorter than I usually wore. I roamed around in flimsy negligees casually, when Rick was at home. Whenever, we were watching television, I would cross my legs and cause my little skirt to ride up a bit higher on my thighs, trying to entice my son to peep between my legs. Rick looked perplexed, but I could feel that he was carefully observing the changes.He tried to act indifferently, however, I am sure that he was. The top of his shaved head was sticking out of the end of the couch. With all the lights off and just the TV lighting the room, I couldn't tell of he was asleep or not. I made my way to the staircase behind the couch and tip-toed my way up the stairs, then I heard his voice, "Josh, what are you doing here, I thought you were going out?" Oh hi dad, I thought you were asleep and didn't want to wake you." I came back down the stairs and sat in a chair in the living room. "Tim's car isn't running,.
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