How could I worry about something that I didn’t believe in? I tried to consider what she meant, what everything she’d told me meant, but I was too...far removed by skepticism. I looked down at her hand, covered by my own. The sensitivity in my chest was one thing I simply could not deny. Maybe a change in subject would help. “Why is my chest so sensitive?”She focused on me again and smiled. “We’re bound for your initiation,” she said. “I’m very sensitive in the chest and you’ve gained that. "I think that's a lovely name, and it has so many options.Lizzy, Liz, Beth, Bessie, Liza, Eliza. Do you like it?" I don't understand."There's a fine gold chain about my left ankle, I've just noticed it. Ihave very slim ankles. I stroke my hand along my thigh, feeling, throughthe dress, a fine, lace band that suggests I'm wearing hold upstockings. I try to concentrate on what she's saying."Do you want to be my daughter?" she says again."It's a bit sudden. Am I dreaming this? How can you just.... In one very brief moment, Lisa was sitting on my back, her whole bodypinning me to the bed as she grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. Ishouted a protest but, seeing the red rubber gag flash in front of myeyes, I instantly clamped my mouth shut. Lisa held the gag to my mouth,pressing it firmly against my lips as she used my chin to hold my headup. She let go of my hair but only so she could use that hand to pinchmy nose closed.I couldn't breathe. I struggled, tried desperately to turn my. I toyed with the labia before progressing, not only to make sure she was aroused, but now that the stage was set for the act, I pushed two fingers inside her vagina. She moaned and clamped down. This wouldn't do at all. I reached up and grabbed her sensitive right nipple and pinched as hard as I could. She thrust upwards, but did relax her sphincter that was clamping on my fingers. I decided that the time had come. I withdrew my fingers and formed a pyramid with four fingers and the thumb.
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I take a sniff, smelling the sweet aroma of my bourbon. I tip the glass back, letting the liquid slide to the back of my throat; the burning sensation
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