St. Stephen the Martyr: in the swaddling garb of what I later came to know as the clothing worn by Roman peasants, lashed at his wrists and ankles to ... wooden post, posed with his eyes lifted to heaven, all done with exacting, lurid anatomical detail.My gaze never failed to linger on the carved image of St. Joseph, whose name matched my middle name and who had been chosen as the patron saint of my Confirmation. Not as herculean as St. Christopher, he was a long legged figure with a long beard,. Thank god she held off on the stroking. I guess she could feel all of the involuntary jerking my cock was doing in her hand and knew I was on the edge. She said, "Are you going to need to take care of that? Why don't we take you up to my bathroom and let you get some release." With that she gave me a couple of strokes."Oh my god, s*s, I'll...I'll never make it upstairs. We need to go to mom and dad's bath right now!" I moaned to her. I was almost in pain and was starting to push her toward mom. More

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