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Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, Cassie undid her dressing gown allowing it to fall open; she gazed at her pert breasts, her nipples still hard. Her wet pussy lips open slightly. As she admired her form in the mirror, her hands started to massage her still sensitive breasts, one hand then snaked its way over her flat stomach to her waiting pussy. She watched her reflection as her hand slipped between her thighs, her fingers running along her still wet gash. As she gazed at her reflection, imagining it was someone else, her fingers became more urgent playing with herself. She could feel her orgasm approach, holding onto the wash basin for support with one hand she watched intently as her other rubbed between her thighs, spreading her wetness over her mound. Her fingers started to rub furiously on her clit. As her orgasm flooded over her, she could feel her juice flood out of her, soaking her fingers.Exhausted, she sat leant on the basin watching her reflection, her body. She could give me a kidney, drag me out of a burning building, shove me out of the way of a moving bus, or take a bullet for me and none of them would keep me from hating her. I could never tell her that I hate her though. She wouldn’t understand my reason for hating her. I hate her because she stole my dad from me. I still live with them and everything so it’s not like she got him to move away from me. No, she stole my dad from me in a much different way. To understand the situation you need to know that I was born on my dad’s 15th birthday. My birth mother wanted to put me up for adoption, but my dad convinced my grandparents to take me into their home and help my dad raise me until he could do it on his own. From the very first moments of my life my dad and I had a very special relationship. He refused to let me be put up for adoption even though taking care of me frequently made things very difficult for him. My dad filled every role that he had to in order to make my life.
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