She MUST have, because she stiffened and stopped drying the dish in her hands. I slowly stroked my cock, daring her to watch me. She stood there, sile...tly. I stroked slowly, enjoying the feeling of my hand, thinking about Martha’s full breasts in front of me: imagining Martha washing dishes in the nude. I felt the pre-cum on my tip and spread it with my thumb. I felt my balls with one hand and stroked my cock, feeling the veins bulge. Martha put the dish down. If we had talked loudly, we could. I had no napkin.I licked it off.It was not mustard.No man ever put a baby down faster.It was the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue protruding out.With a washcloth in each hand, I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do, only I did it on my tongue.Later, after she stopped crying from laughing so hard, my wife said, “Now you know why they call that fancy mustard Poupon”.When you stop laughing, pass it on.This one is from John A.No one believes seniors ... everyone thinks they. More

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