In all of the years she had known him, he had never talked to her like that. Maybe it wasn't the best casserole she had ever made, but to tell her to ...tuff it up her ass? She had cried after he left. After collecting her thoughts, she waited for him to return and apologize to her.When eleven o'clock had come around, she thought that maybe he had gone to a bar to have a drink, and calm down. She had tried calling him to tell him to take a cab home. He had ignored her calls. By midnight, she was. My world changed when my grandfather died in a bad accident – my father’s father. My dad took it really hard and started to drink. My mother really came down on him for that and kept screaming at him to stop, to see someone, etc.I guess she was scared for him, but more scared for herself, as any objective person would say she was coming across like a raving loon. After only a few weeks of arguing, my mother left. I’ve always been more close with my father than my mother, so it was easy to side. We wanted no rejects or defects, and each slut came with a punch list. When I stamped a girl's pudenda just above the clitoral hood "approved" it meant she was perfect, exactly as ordered and ready for use. There was only one way to tell. So I kissed them, licked them, kneaded their boobs and fucked their holes. It was a job, and I took it seriously and by the end of most days was cock sore.I had been enjoying my father's Bimbabes since I was thirteen, and he started bringing home early models. As the Tigress had said, "No one says 'no' to the leggings"."Of course you can buy some!"Amy put her economics degree to work, charging her former friends $200 for the leggings that had only cost her $15 each to stock. Once a woman had touched them, the leggings became a need, not a want, and, just like the US healthcare system, this inelasticity of demand meant that Amy was free to make as much money off them as she wanted to.By the end of the day she had made almost $3,000, which would more.
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