When I was a little girl, Dad had to attend a conference in Washington, D.C., and he took me with him, even spent most of his time there with me. He k...ew I liked art - I wanted to be an artist even back then - and we spent a few days in art galleries and museums. Rothko had his own room in the Phillips Gallery. I sat on a bench and gazed at one of his paintings. My dad sat next to me and asked, 'Waddaya think, cupcake?' 'What is it?' I answered with a question of my own. 'It's sensation,. He looks down at me, cum dripping down my chin. “You're a bad lesbian,” he says, his sweaty chest heaving.“Yes, Matt.” I arch my toes against the rug and suck his cock again, swallowing a few stray drops of cum.“Tell me.”I remove his cock from my mouth. “I'm a bad lesbian.”“Tell me you live to serve my cock.”I look at his huge cock in front of my face, slick with my ass juices and saliva. I'm on my knees, bare toes sinking into his carpet, my butt stretched.But I can't say it. I don't know what. More

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