No, this was for the working class Joe, the one that drove the trucks and put out the fires as the song goes. Or in George’s case, a FBI man on the ...ook for his lady love. He chuckled at that thought. Who would have thought he would be in another low-down, cheap place like this on his night off. He couldn’t seem to stop though. He had to find her, she haunted him every second. Her hair, the way it smelt and moved as she walked. Her eyes, the way they light up when he suddenly came home from. I was not my mom. I wasn’t going to tolerate sharing his cock. I spent the following days in the second act of our little game of crime and punishment, where I rebuked his head of the household role every chance I got. Nothing he ever did or said was right anymore, I was even objecting to meal choices, all for the sake of being a contrary little shit. I particularly delighted myself by throwing innuendos about workplace cheating and about how men were naturally-programmed to fuck as many. More

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