As much as she wanted to suppress the image from her imagination, her father started to ravish her - his fingertips brushed across her nipples and pin...hed them, they trailed to the waistline of her gown and tugged them down, and his lips found hers..."Bridgette, my darling, where are you?" It was Lord Burnstein who had come to wish goodnight to his only daughter. Unlike the teens of today, Bridgette loved her parents' company - more so that of her father. On weekdays, this was probably the only. They rose and, in unison, seized his cock, their lips both sucking on the crown and brushing together as they worshiped him.He savored the moment and then his cell phone rang.The loud, electronic, blaring ring ruined the sanctity of the ritual. He set the cup reverently on the altar. It still contained his seed mixed with virgin blood. There was enough for one more whore to drink and be bound to him.Then he marched to his discarded cassock and fumbled around in his pockets for the phone. He. More

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