After a very uneventful dinner, the girl heads upstairs to shower. Life on a farm is not all it’s cracked up to be. Or at least it hasn’t been for...Emily Elizabeth. Her parents do not hold conversations at the dinner table. The rule is that it is time for eating not talking. The only solace from her thoughts is the repetitious bite, chew, swallow that comes with eating. It’s not much of a distraction, but it’s a distraction. The shower isn’t much different, that is until she cuts off the water. As she drew closer, the feeling of dread grew. Why was she so immaculate? Why was she so clean? There was not a spot on her, not a single fleck of semen, not a hair out of place -- at least, as far as I could tell, since her head was hidden under a shroud. A fucking shroud?? What was this, the sixteenth century? Who wears a shroud to a wedding? And why was no-one getting up to use her? Why was she allowed to walk towards the altar completely unspoiled? It wasn't respect for the sanctity of. ‘Ohhhhh Jeffrey, yesssss,’ she cried, pushing her hips frantically back at me. I couldn’t help myself. ‘I want to watch him fuck you,' I panted. ‘I know he would fuck you so good my darling.’ ‘Yes I want him,’ she gasped. ‘I want to see his hard white cock in this tight little hole,’ I gasped, letting it all come out. ‘Ohhh Jeffrey, harder, please.’ ‘That’s what you want isn’t it? You want to be a little Asian slut for white cocks. You look like a slut in this skirt.’ I grunted. Oh, how I would. She felt the increasing heat of the flame as it closed in on her flesh. She parted her lips and blew. The flame flickered and vanished, and smoke twisted up into a small, winding pillar into the darkness. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sulfur, smoky smell. She turned her head toward the bed as she let out her breath with a moan. This was the beginning… She knew I liked to watch. This was her gift to me: Her show, her stage, her epic-erotica. She walked across the room toward the bed..
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