In the past, Liira had merely concealed the stains where our juices had flowed, marring the bed-sheets, along with the sticky, crusted mess that oozed...from my mother's slit and coated her creamy thighs. "I need a shower." She regarded me for a moment; I resisted the urge to shrink under her intense gaze. "Well, no. We need a shower." She flounced to her en suite, hips swaying, breasts bobbing in the counterpoint to her movements. Having reached the door, she turned back to face me, put her back. “Bloody hell!” Morag exclaimed as Jock sat on the bog seat and raised the hem of his skirt. He was wearing tartan socks and boots open crotch fishnet pantihose and split crotch panties. His cock was taped back around under his ass or it was until Morag touched it. There was a tearing sound and quite suddenly it tore itself free from the tapes and stood up a full 10” (250 mm).“Ah what ye doin?” Jock gasped, “Ets no done that afore.”“Oh fuck, you wazzock, what a fucking waste,” Morag. More

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