The grin on her face bothered me for some reason. I mean, she had a right to be proud of herself; she was one hell of a cocksucker. She certainly knew...that I loved it.Then it hit me. I had seen that look many times before as a k** growing up. It was me that she was proud of, her son. She may as well have said to me, 'My sweet little Timmy did good, that's a good boy', as though I was her little Timmy, or maybe the family dog. I was pissed, but I held my anger to give me time to think. This was. Here was apastel coloured room, with ornate, rococo curtains, a delicate Frenchchest of drawers, deep carpet, deliciously flouncy, satin and lacebedspread and what appeared to be a walk-in wardrobe. This was the sortof thing I had read of in some of my favourite stories on the web buthere it was now, bigger and more amazing in real life!Opening the door to the wardrobe, I entered into a room almost as largeas the bedroom. Surrounding me were rails of frocks, ranging frompretty summer dresses to. More

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