They had changed all my bandages, and cleaned and drained all my wounds, performing all these tortures with the cavalier indifference to my pain and discomfort that probably caused them to go into medicine in the first place.It was just before lunchtime when Mom and I finally were on our way home."Would you like to stop at McDonald's or someplace for lunch?" my mother asked with artificial good cheer. She was in the room with me while they poked and prodded my lip and arm, after all."No," I snapped. "I just want to go home." All right, dear," she replied sympathetically.Two hours later, I was feeling almost human again. I had wolfed down two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on spongy white bread, comfort food for the young, along with nearly a quart of milk, and I was cocooned on the couch in the family room, a thick quilt wrapped around me. The pain in my arm and my ribs was down to a dull throb, thanks in part to the painkillers I had taken with lunch, and I drowsily acknowledged. Every time she was close to cumming, she would back off and then speed up again after she relaxed. She loved edging herself closer to orgasm over and over again, before finally exploding. She knew her father’s staying power, and he would have no problem satisfying her need to delay pleasure. Britney could feel her father’s cock inside of her. It was…pleasurably invasive. She could feel that there was something in her, not just the sensation of having a cock in her, but the sensation of having a ‘thing’ in her. It was like fucking a rail road spike. It was like fucking a bed post. It was like fucking a drive shaft. It was like fucking a hammer. She had to cum. She buried her face in her father’s neck and started grinding harder and faster. Brad knew she was close. He just kept his hands on the wheel. The truck continued straight on down the road. He took one hand off and put it on her back. He could feel a light layer of sweat on her back. The windows were fogging up their warm.
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