My daughter with Professor Rider was a serious-faced futanari, her strawberry-blonde hair spilling about her shoulders. She had round ears like me.“...ho is my distraction while I give the speech?” I asked.“Well, we’re fresh out of virgins...” She trailed off. “Oh, I see, Mom. That’s kinky.”“Yes, it is,” I said, my futa-dick throbbing. “This is going to be a rally to remember.”“Do you need me to adjust your speech, Mom?” Rebecca asked. She was my speech writer. She had inherited her mother’s. She also paid groceries a few times and for Christmas oncewith money from her part time job.My younger brother and I scrounged up a bit of money by recycling cans andbottles. Most of that money went for comic books and snack food.I'm not sure who, it was who paid for it, but I also got to go on my 8thgrade class trip to DC. I picked up a cheep pair of handcuffs as asouvenir.While we did not have much to eat, the one thing we did have wasingredients like flour. My younger sister and I became. More

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