A huge cross of a dying Jesus was in every room of our house or apartment. I would look at the dying Jesus and wonder what kind of sick, sadistic cult...re would worship a man in unending torture? I once placed a cloth over it just to give Christ some privacy in his endless suffering. Mom beat my ass of course, saying I was disrespecting Jesus by covering him up. I thought I was giving him some amount of dignity since I was always fully clothed while he was half naked and bleeding. But yes we. Some of the things that Masters or Mistresses used to please themselves and their subs were not to be found in our home. I would make do. I had belts, of course. And candles. I would find other things to make the experience new and exciting. I went in to shower as I was feeling sweaty from the heat of a California summer. I heard the bathroom door opening as I was washing my hair. I had shampoo on my head and I didn't want to open my eyes. The shower door opened. I felt hands on my chest, and. “Don't be coy young Ricky, you can not hide the infatuation in your face when ever you talk about him, from these old eyes!” The old wolf turned back to the door, opened it and stepped through. Closing it behind him with a quiet chuckle. Ricky looked down from the door, the white fur under his eyes turning pink from the blushing of his skin. Taking a few deep breaths, he turned toward Lobo, and started to get to work. Lighting a few candles to brighten the room against the growing dark. We drove like that for forever. You at the wheel, stroking me slowly; and me … just nuzzling, breathing, and sometimes humming along to a song. You weren’t inside my mouth, so the humming didn’t have a big effect on you other than the reminders of what could be, what would eventually be. Your cock had been steadily growing and was fully aroused. I watched in fascination as, hard and deeply scented, it twitched at me from time to time, responding to my cues. There was even a nice little damp.
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