"How's that?" he asked innocently and flicked a puff of suds at her that quickly evaporated, leaving a large dark circle of cloth clinging wetly to the tip of her full left titty. His long flaccid cock quickly engorged with blood and stiffened in his pants. Ouch! Obviously, the bitch wasn't wearing much of a brassiere, he thought, noting how the damply clinging cloth displayed the round little outline of her left nipple.

"I said," she prepared to repeat with a smile that seemed suggestive to him, "the dishes need a bath after being wrapped in all this dirty newspaper."

"Oh, I was hoping you had asked me to give you a bath." Suddenly he moved threateningly as though to pull her up and dump her into the pan of water.

"No! No!" she cried, laughing. She pulled away and turned back to emptying the crate. Now he watched her bend over. In the process, he could see her shorts slip teasingly into the crevice of her ass, revealing the warmly tempting shapes of her firm, moon-like asscheeks.

Tom Rouelle felt his already lust-stiffened cock harden even more and throb against the warm pressure of the sink where he pressed himself so she wouldn't see. He had to decide rationally what he was going to do. This was his son's wife. His son probably wouldn't give a damn what he did, considering young attitudes today, but still, he was reluctant. She was approaching with another few dishes, an evil gleam in her eye that seemed to penetrate right through his body to the hotly aching protuberance of his now fully squashed and erect-aspossible cock.

"I hope my new father-in-law," she said boldly when she reached him, "is not the dirty old man type."