I didn’t find out the real truth until I was a week away from turning f******n. My mother told me later, that she was ashamed to tell me and wanted ...e not to have to wonder ‘why’ growing up. I understand her reasoning though. I really do.The day that she told me the truth about my father was certainly a day that was, well weird. Everything that day just seemed to go somewhat differently than usual in most aspects. It all started when I woke up around two in the morning and I needed to have a. She just told him that theywere now going to go out in public. He demurred but she insisted, andreassured him that it would not be in the local village, where he might berecognised.She dressed him carefully. Silk undies, bright blue with cream lace trim.A dark blue skaters skirt, short enough and light enough to show flashesof that bright blue if he turned quickly or sat down hurriedly. He hadstockings too. Shiny nylons. He obviously found them sexy as she could seehim enjoying the feel of. Once he was within reach, Doug leaned to one side, grabbed the mans arm, and pulled him across Doug's outstretched ankle for a simple trip and fall. This was enough to satisfy the man's dignity, and he admitted defeat in a remarkably graceful manner, considering how much beer he had already drunk.There was much talk about whether or not this was a fair exchange as wagers were settled, and a few arguments arose in the crowd. Finally, it was agreed that this was a contest of non-traditional. Her lips were moist and shimmered so invitingly while she pouted. I madly wanted to kiss her. “O… okay,” I gasped, wanting to slap myself, but it was already too late. “Oh fuck!” I cried out when another click drove stabs of pain through my poor nipple, then whimpered again when I felt the metal touch the other one. Mrs. Somerset pushed it closed with determined patience, eagerly watching my trembling lips. She was a sadist, and she reveled in the pain I let her inflict on me. “Owwww!” I.
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