“Oh my, you can even wave it!” Emmy says giggling. “Have you brought the bag?” “Oh, yes. I almost forgot. Over by the tree,” I reply. Emmy...struts over towards the tree as if she is on stage. She is. We are. A stage created by Emmy in her friend's back garden and with a full house audience too. She struts back over toward me and leans forward to give me a kiss. She breaks off and manoeuvres me away from her so that she is directly behind me and I am facing the patio doors. I feel the strapon. Even better, she's a Catholic, so she was raised to submit to men. I can and do use her any way I want. She never complains and always obeys.Her daughter Lindsay is another story. Same hair color as her mama, small but nicely-developing breasts, eyes of a deeper blue, much thinner, with long, smooth legs, similar skin tone, and naturally-pouty lips that cause any man to have very inappropriate thoughts. Unlike her mom, she's an avowed atheist, although she's really not old or experienced enough. More

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