I walked into the TV room andstood in the doorway. I was wearing my jodhpurs and a t-shirt and my blackriding boots and we weren't supposed to walk on the carpet in outdoor shoes. Uncle Tom was sprawled on the couch in his bathrobe, his legs lying acrossthe coffee table and his robe falling open at the crutch so I could justmake out the base of his balls, tumbling out of the towelling. He looked upfrom the TV as I stood there. Grinning like an idiot I pulled the carrotout from behind my back. "Phallic enough for you?" "Not bad!" he smiled. "What's your own equipment like?" My heart was beating like a drum. "Not as impressive, I'm afraid. Whatabout yours?" "You've seen mine." He drawled. "Not in battle mode, I haven't." Fuck, I couldn't believe I had said that. Uncle Tom raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps we should have a competition?" he suggested. "What did you have in mind?" "Get a kitchen knife and the olive oil from the kitchen and I'll show you." I stumbled into the kitchen. She stripped off her uncomfortable wool suit jacket and laid it on their bed. Her silk under blouse was much more comfortable, but just to fit the mood of the evening, she slipped her bra off and left it with the jacket. Her nipples beaded under her shirt, rejoicing in the cool and the comfort and the freedom from usual restraining clothing. She decided to leave on her hosiery since she’d gone with her expensive thigh highs and garter belt today. She padded quietly back into the dining room and leaned against the large open archway. He was setting dishes on the table, a glint in his eye. ‘Hello, handsome. Waiting for me?’ He looked up with that slow grin that shot heat straight through her. ‘Definitely.’ He grinned even wider as he straightened up, a linen napkin in his hand. He twisted it like a typical locker room boy… ‘No, you’d better not.’ She squealed, backing away with her hands in front of her. He laughed, following teasingly. He playfully whipped at her thighs with the.
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