Finally we yielded up our knives and forks, took that last sip of coffee, wiped our mouths with the linen napkins that Mom had always used instead of ...aper ones. Without a word, we rose to tidy up, clearing away the remains of our breakfast. Mom gently placed the last plate in the sink, then turned to me. I could read the desire she felt, written in her warm brown eyes. Without breaking her gaze, I reached out to grasp the tasseled cord that wound about my mother's kimono, tugging it gently to. Banga shifted around on top of her and dropped off the bed to face the other direction. Isabella glanced down at her once clean body that was now sweaty and covered in dog hair.“You were right about what you said earlier.” Isabella said. “Fucking a dog in missionary checks off some weird boxes in my head and it feels much more intimate that other positions.”Felicity nodded and reclined beside her. “I think it’s because we’re built to have sex in missionary. It feels right to fuck in that. More

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