He squeezed my tits harder, grunting, groaning. His hips moved, thrusting his dick up into my snatch, bouncing me. I whimpered, our flesh slapping tog...ther. My pussy grew hotter and hotter, my orgasm hurtling closer and closer.“My sweetling,” he groaned, his voice so throaty.“Yes, yes, yes, Daddy!” I gasped, leaning over him, loving how he pinched my nipples. Such rapture shuddered through me. “Cum in me! Breed your little girl!”The words set me off. My pussy exploded around his dick. I gasped. Atweekends the sissies wear skirts all the time, whereas the real girls areusually in jeans. If we go out in the car, the sissies sit in the back. Ihave to confess that there is often some fondling of stocking-cladthighs. On long journeys, it is not unknown for one or both of us tocream our knickers.It seems to be more and more often that the girls share one bedroom,while the sissies share the other. Our dommes insist that our pubic areasare kept hairless, so we help each other by plucking. More

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