I laughed again and patted him on the back as I led him to the door.“No, thank you,” I said to him, playfully.When I opened the door of my basemen... apartment, I was face-to-angry face with Mary Ellen Bradley, his seventy-year-old wife, in an apron and gardening gloves, hands on her hips, hat casting a shadow over her eyes.“Mrs. Bradley,” I said in a chipper voice that did nothing to appease her.“Where the fuck is that little shit-for-brains, huh? Is he here? Like usual? Don’t you hide him. "That's too nice!" My words echoed strangely in the bathroom and snapped me out of the reverie. My free hand reached down further and began to squeeze the douche bag. Now a shower of warm water broke loose inside my cunt and a dozen thin streams titillated my oversensitive cunt like so many tiny tongues. I pushed my hips up so high that my head slipped under the water. Coughing and spluttering I came back up and completed the douche. But even when the last drop had been jetted against my. More

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