Marion's room was up near the front of the house, but down a corridor. Her door was ajar, he pushed it open. She was standing, singing to nothing in p...rticular but it was what she was wearing that immediately took his interest.When he came out for breakfast she wore a very worn dressing gown, he had never come across her just in a nightie, especially one that was of very light material and almost transparent. He gave a hiss of appreciation; her tits hung like large melons, even the nipples were. *** *** *** ‘Would you like a drink sir? Sir?’ ‘Huh, wha?’ ‘A drink sir? Would you care for a beverage?’ He is greatly tempted, the dread need surging up, but he knows she could never pour enough, that neither pints, nor quarts, nor gallons can hope to fill the dark black hole of his desire, his want of that never-ending thirst which is, perhaps, a gift from his dad’s genes. ‘Coffee, please,’ he replies, hoping beyond all hope to either wake or sleep. She passes on as if she herself were the. More

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