Patrick smiled as the two girls crouched like two kittens and licked his fuck-cream off the bare wood floor.
From the office adjacent to the studio, from behind the two-way mirror, Greta watched the two naked girls lap up her son's cum from the dance floor. Their bare asses were up in the air and their ass puckers quivered between their buns, moist with Patrick's saliva.
Greta didn't know what shocked her most about all this: Morgan's secret window? The two girls? Patrick? Or herself?
Morgan had a lot of explaining to do – if she ever dared confront him. And she could never again look at those two girls, or Patrick, as if they were innocent, perfect young saints. Now she knew otherwise. As for herself – she could no longer deny her true feelings toward her son, her secret wicked feelings, feelings she'd kept buried for so many years.
CHAPTER TWO
Morgan Smith drove blindly through the snowstorm, amazed that he hadn't already slid off the road or plowed into another car. The night looked blinding white through the windshield, with the snow coming down so heavy that the wipers could hardly keep the windshield clear. If he ever got these last two girls, and he and his daughter, delivered home safely, it would be a miracle. A voice on the hissing, buzzing car radio repeatedly warned people to stay home and off the roads.
The girls he hadn't yet delivered home – one left in the back seat, and his daughter and the other one in the front – were tensely quiet. They no longer squealed and shrieked and gigged as they'd done when they'd first climbed into the car. Now they stared ahead into the snowy darkness, holding their breaths as the car weaved down the road. Seated in the middle of the front seat next to Morgan, Candace Wilson pressed up close to him as if for comfort. And Morgan, despite his nervousness, was just about shooting off in his pants.