“Put your hand here!” she pointed to her upper thigh after I mentioned I had tasted my own cum.I put my hand where she had specified. She was warm...and wet. I started to go up higher. I reached her lips and started to rub my finger over them just as we stopped at a traffic light.A truck pulled up next to us and two guys inside the truck looked down at us with interest.“Stick your finger in now!” she instructed.I gladly did as I did as told.“Let me help” and she used a finger from her left hand. They all offered the most delicate carress against his skin. And just a step away was the laundry basket, a treasure chest. In there were his mother's soiled finery. Her bras and stockings, and the panties that would carry the blessing of Morning Lust only enhancing the rich scents emitted by Barb's large but beautiful body. Some nights the variety of delights in the laundry was all he hungered for. He would wear the sculpted full coverage bras and find panties that best matched the bra. He'd. He never took one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut, he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his destination at the exact moment. He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation, and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody. As for Passepartout, he was a. After all, you can never get enough practice!" She said as she pulled her bikini back on, as I climbed back into my swimming trunks.**************************************************The journey to the airport and the flight home were both uneventful. Everyone was staying in mine & my wife's house that night, Mary and her husband in the spare room, Kate and my wife's brother in the lounge.The next morning I was woken up by a knock on the bedroom door, Mary opened it and said "Do you mind if I.