Me, My Daughter, and Her Shoes 1

Hello my dear friends once again I'm Paula Bruna, and I have a new story from a friend from the Northeast, I had the pleasure of visiting and meeting her and her father. Enjoy these nine real stories and revel in how I was delighted. I've always loved that candy-brown skin tone of my daughter Valesca. What a beautiful little black girl! This tiny, chubby, slender body of drawn curves, resembling the Greek female statue, attracted my gaze like a magnet to the point of driving me mad. So I ended up becoming a slave to this teenage girl, being consumed day after day by this crazy desire to eat her nibble, falling madly in love with her, with the smell of her sweat, with her little Barbie doll body, with her much-desired ass, and with her beautiful, virgin nibble that I so much dreamed about when I was awake. For a long time I kept all this platonic love and desire that I daily nurtured for her under control, keeping everything always in the realm of imagination and fantasy and never dared to touch it. My only encouragement was to delight in just a glimpse of her tiny <unk>pp<unk>-sized panties, strewn across the floor of her room. My little girl was so lazy that most of those panties she used to take off the easiest way, which was by sliding down the curves of her little body, rolling, rolling the fabric up to her heels and leaving it lying there, forming the number 8. When I took my little toe off the top, the bottom was upside down, so I could visualize the stain of the whitish cream that your childish little sketch spat on. I loved it and that's why I never reprimanded her for having this habit, I just pretended to be a fool, as if I didn't understand anything and I further fed that lazy way of being by not even allowing her to wash a spoon inside that house. Because I did everything for her and only for her, from picking up all those dirty panties, sweaters, sweatpants, one by one as many times as necessary and I washed them myself, put them to dry then folded them and put them in her drawer. The only things she did in the house were eat and drink and play on her cell phone and sleep and nothing else. The routine was repeated day after day with her getting up early in the morning, taking her shower, then going to her dresser and getting the first pair of panties out of the drawer, then putting that little piece of protective clothing on and hiding that little sketch and that little ass for almost an entire day until early in the evening, when she would abandon that piece by throwing it on the floor the way it was pulled out of that little body, until I rescued it from the floor. To me every panties was like a flower and her room a garden, which naturally breathed into the air a delightful good smell, a fragrance of young girl and virgin sketch that intoxicated me to the point that I almost went mad from so much desire for her sketch. In addition to the ones I rescued from her room, there were also those that were lying next to the laundry basket, which luckily for me she did not have the courage to take down, put together and put in. Meanwhile, once again there I was to collect and give the correct destination to each panty drops, but not without first looking at the bottom that was usually wet with droplets of urine or drip of bacon, or with that whitish secretion that your fertile period produced and ended there at the bottom of that little toe. It was at that moment that I would reach my limit and surrender to desire and smell, lick the bottom of the molasses, taste the deliciousness of each cream, the drops of urine and suck until I saw the fabric clean again. Every time I did that, my masturbation would push the boundary of pleasure further and further. The fucking jets were thrown with a violence that went far away, and also crashed into the wall dirtying and milking all the paint on the wall. I can't tell you how juicy it was to make fun of that panties on my nose, while I smelled all those mixed smells that your muzzle had spewed on that little piece of cloth so small it made me crazy. It was so extreme that it seemed like the milk run would never end. I tried not to moan so loud that she could listen in her room and suspect something. I didn't want to throw it all away. At the end I would reach the peak holding with one hand my stick that slowly withered until it was completely soft while the other hand held my little girl's panties.