The wrist thing, though, wasn't a total success. I'd noticed before that she had a tendency to talk with her hands; apparently during her years in (mo...tly) Italian opera some of their national reliance on heavy gesticulation had rubbed off. Most Italians I'd met were congenitally incapable of speaking only from the neck up, the hands and arms always seemed to get involved. Finally his tail settled across her lap, and they went on that way.I was pleased to see that they seemed to be getting on. .Suddenly my bedroom door opened, and my mother stepped in, carrying a pile of freshly ironed clothes. She froze in the doorway when she saw what I was doing, and just stood there, staring at my cock. I should have been embarrassed, but somehow it added to my excitement seeing her watching me, and I continued to rub my cock, looking at her.She leaned back against the doorjamb, still holding the ironing, her eyes fixed on my throbbing cock. It was large, with a bulbous red head, and a very white. More

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