Their firm little Asian butts were glistening with sweat, and the g-strings only partially covered their tiny dark shit holes. “Do you want to have ... smell, Daddy?” they both chirped in unison as they finished taking off their tights. Turning to face the wall, my daughters rested their hands on the top of the couch, spread their slim firm thighs, and arched their backs, sticking their asses out. Their thongs had been rubbing against their holes throughout their sweaty, intense workout, letting. They yieldedeach other nothing. This meant that many of their evenings werespent not in sex but in shouting, or in spiteful, simmering,resentful silences, in self-justifying recrimination punctuated byslammed doors. The issues were always trivial, nothing, mere pretexts for testingeach other's strength and triumphing over each other's. Who oughtto have cleared the table after dinner. Whether football wasstupid. Whether Nick should demand a higher salary (Kelly thoughtnot, he wasn't worth. More

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