Clearly on view was the lovely deep welt of Jeans stocking top, and the white suspender strap and chrome metal clip attached to the wrinkled nylon. Every week after this, I was there sat waiting for Aunty Jean to provide me with 2 hours of nylon leg show, for me to masturbate to for the following week. I often dreamed of getting access to her worn underwear ( I was already addicted to my Mothers ) my dream came true when our central heating boiler broke down. Aunty Jean kindly offered us the use of her bathroom (she lived very close by) for the 10 days or so the boiler and heating system was repaired. At 13 I had a bath once a week, however I managed about 6 visits to Aunty Jeans house, and her washy basket was in her bathroom. I used to take my transistor radio with me, and a towel and spend an hour soaking in her bath, or at least she thought I did. I would spend 20 minutes chatting to her while she ran the bath for me, and then head off upstairs to soak. Her washy basket was much. "Not yet." He ordered "Oh yes please." I begged. "No not yet." He said as he pulled my hair. It didn't matter what he said my body was not going to wait much longer. I could feel it growing in me the pressure was building like a dam about to break. My chest was warm and flush as my breathing became deep and erratic. The velvety walls of my vagina began to clamp down on my Masters pulsing tool. Just when I thought I was going to explode he pulled out of me. "Nooooo." I sobbed wanting to feel the release that has eluded me for a month. I felt the bonds around my hand being untied still blind folded he flipped me over as he hovered over me. His hand grabbed my wrists and held them tightly above my head. His lips met mine our mouths parted as our tongues battled one another. His mouth began to close as his teeth gently bit down on my lower lip and began pulling it until it broke free from his grasp. At some point during all that his masterful cock found its way back inside my hungry.
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