Maybe it came from the flowers downstairs, but it smelled like her hair. The entryway led to the kitchen. There was an old, white enamel sink — wor... and chipped down to the cast iron. Not a dish in sight. The dishtowel lay neatly folded on the drain board. Everything in its place. The tiny living room had a sheet covered couch and a threadbare overstuffed chair next to a floor lamp. Again, there was little evidence anyone actually lived there. He went inside the orderly bathroom and peed,. The video started again, Billy moaning as he shot his load all over my face. My mind raced. Was there a way that I could claim that it wasn't me, or that I was being forced? Nope. The video, though grainy and dark and clearly homemade, showed my face perfectly. And the way that I smiled when the hot sperm hit my lips pretty much belied any coercion. I was screwed.Uncle Mitch let go of my head with a little shove downward, so that I wouldn't forget his presence or the order he'd. More

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