We made a good team; we'd had enough years of practice.I whispered to her that the taste combination of Mum's chocolate cake on top of her fresh juices was even better than the Ambrosia so beloved of the Greek Gods; she smacked me lightly on the shoulder, but did have the grace to blush a little bit. I think she took it as a compliment, but was also still a little embarrassed about having got herself so excited that I had to finish her off.The crockery safely put away, I scraped the new potatoes and peeled the carrots, while Jen set the table for dinner. We did exchange a couple of kisses while our parents were watching their programme, but more for the fun of it than trying to build up our levels of passion.Mum came back in to make the batter for the Yorkshire Pudding, and the onion sauce, while Dad went into the garden in search of some mint.Dad always made the mint sauce himself; he found the bought version far too sweet, and he enjoyed mashing up fresh mint from the garden with a. She was soaking wet by now and her panties were practically dripping with her juices.“Oh God!” she gasped as she pulled her hand away. “I can’ believe I was—! Oh my God! You must think I’m such a tramp!”She tucked her skirt between her quivering thighs and made a small whimpering sound.Brad bit his lip in embarrassment and sighed.“You’re not a tramp,” he said, “Neither is Zoe. It’s my fault. I’m the one who caused this.”“No, you’re not!” Maria said.She crawled from the couch to kneel between his thighs. She placed her hands on his knees and looked up at him with pleading eyes.“It’s that stupid oil! That’s what’s doing this!” she said miserably.She took his hands in hers and held them tenderly. Then her gaze dropped to his midsection.She’d always thought of him as Uncle Brad, the older man who was more like a father figure to her than her own father was. Now she found herself staring at the bulge in his pants and wishing fervently that she could see it. She bit her lip and felt her.
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