Paru gasped. She caught his hand. Her eyes were on the staircase, paradoxically looking at the same top stair where Baba had come down the other day and spotted her with his son. Eyes on the stairs, she merely held on to his hand as he squeezed and massaged her breast. At least once she guided him closer to her nipple and then she gripped him hard stopping him when she thought someone was coming.

And then let go when it turned out to be false alarm. She sighed contentedly. A man was not just his cock; he was also about how he wielded his sexuality and Baba was proving to be an expert. The father should have taught his son, she found herself musing. But the genes had not passed on the bludgeoning dimensions of his cock.