He would slam his palm onto the counter top, making everyone jump. ‘Are ony o’ ye wasters gonnae buy somethin’ or ir ye just happy pickin’ eac... ither’s poackets?’ Every night he would return home to his Irene, secure in the knowledge that she would be waiting for him with a dish of something tasty, filling and suited to his palate. She had only ever made one mistake in that respect, she made him a creamed rice pudding for dessert the night he returned from the Far East. Unbeknown to her, he. With a whoop she pulled out pink cotton panties and hopped across the room to me. “These are quite messy,” she declared, a blush spreading over her face, “I - I diddled myself in them before you arrived.” “Brilliant,” Jen sounded pleased, “give them here, I can freshen them up a bit.” I couldn’t see what they were doing, but I could feel it immediately when Jen drew the crumpled up panties up and down through my wet slit. She wouldn’t? She would. “Open wide,” she commanded, those two words. More

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