“Uh, Jillian...” he said, scratching his head, still clearly feeling the last lingering effects of the previous night’s drinks.“Oh, sorry,” ...he said with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d mind - when I got home, I just needed to get out of those pants!”That was a lie. First of all, Jillian hadn’t worn pants since the previous night - after her escapades at Starbucks, she’d gone on a shopping spree, looking specifically for clothes that emphasized her best feature. The (male) shop assistants had. The hacienda, though--that was victim to a broad interpretation. A huge black basalt and granite castle with six towers was carved out of the roots of the mountain. It sat high up at the other end of the valley, perhaps fifteen kilometers away. It was backed by a looming mountain. The mists and low clouds which obscured both the castle and the mountain made them seem ominous, a feeling which was not dispelled as we approached.We had taken a pair of iron-shod barrows from the rail depot to move. Anyway, seeing as I have a free house most of the time whilst my wife works, my son is at uni and my daughter at college. I have recently been doing a lot of the house work, which includes the clothes washing. One day whilst doing my household chores, I started doing the clothes washing. Putting the clothes into darks, whites and colours. As I was doing it I picked up a pair of what I thought were my wife?s panties. Picking them up, at first I thought I felt dampness, then I had the urge to. All lads togevver, kind of thing. Sure. I could deal with that. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t change anything. It was just … cock. I moved forward on the couch and leaned forward until my lips met the taught white fabric. He let out a moan. I kissed his swollen tip gently. Worked my way up and around, using my lips and my tongue to soak the fabric, moving down his shaft until there wasn’t an inch of the bulging pouch of his boxers that wasn’t almost transparent. I allowed my hands then to.
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