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Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?

Charlie stands in front of the toilet bowl and scowls at his member as he takes aim for the centre.

A minute later, he shuffles over to the sink and turns the cold tap to produce a rapid gush of water. Charlie resumes the position.

A minute later, flustered and feeling his legs starting to tire, Charlie thinks of waterfalls and fountains and rivers and water cannons.

Success.

Charlie feels a growing sense of relief as the concentrated yellow stream falls, then dribbles into the porcelain mouth.

Charlie attempts to flex the deep muscles in his pelvic floor; a fraction of pressure squeezes an extra three drops. He relaxes the mysterious muscle group which releases a hidden finger of piss straight onto his dressing gown and pyjamas.

"Mmbugger" Charlie mutters to himself.

Charlie shuffles back to the sink and wets his fingertips in the rushing cold water, closes the tap down halfway and fills a glass. He takes his pillbox from his dressing gown pocket and carefully takes a blue tablet from the case. Charlie swallows the tablet with a gulp of water and closes the tap fully. He feels the stirring and the renewed energy levels.

Charlie makes his way to the cellar through the hidden maze of corridors. He opens the last door and sees her inside, asleep on the floor, chained to wall by her foot, pretty much where he left her. Her unkempt hair hides her face.

"Daddy’s home, Sweetheart" Charlie says.

Story by:

Pintoo

submitted at 1:41pm

12 May 2009

Pintoo's web:

http://jackanoryjr.blogspot.com/