J Bradley - Mom going down

Bruce cared. Even Gil would care…

Monica reached down between her legs and scratched again. She felt as if she were scratching her cunt raw. It itched terribly now. Just the way it had shortly after Bruce had been born, when the hair started growing back again.

She lifted the minidress she was wearing and pushed down the front of her yellow bikini panties and looked at her cunt. The mound was red and splotchy.

She ran her hand under her crotch, moving the fingertips gently over her sore cuntlips and could feel the cactus-like prickle of stubble there.

Hell! Only four days, and she needed to shave again! She must have been out of her mind to let Vicky talk her into shaving off her pretty teak-gold pussy patch!

One thing was sure. Nobody was going to want to put his tender tongue and lips up against that prickly pair of cunt flaps. Gil wouldn't even want to run his big dick through that bramble patch.

She didn't know what to do. Walking around the house, even, was a form of mild torture. She didn't want to go through the bother of keeping herself shaved. Yet, Vicky would be displeased if she let it grow back again.

She let her panties gingerly back into place and glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed. Maybe after Gil got back and Vicky left, then God, it was just like old times. Vicky was running her again. Vicky had shaved her. This wasn't even her own mini she was wearing, but Vicky's.

Vicky had wanted to switch clothes with her Monica didn't know who they were going to fool today with the old game of look-alike, so it had seemed a harmless thing to agree to.

Except that giving in to Vicky was never really harmless.

Monica heard the kitchen doorbell ring. She looked up and listened again, thinking she was imagining it. She hadn't heard it ring in ages. Not even Bruce's friends came to the kitchen door any more.

She made a move to answer it, remembered that Vicky had gone out and probably wasn't back yet.

She went through the house. It didn't ring again, arid that made her curious. She looked at the old swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room and saw that it was closed, and she became even more curious.

The old door never came to rest in a closed position. It angled into the kitchen an inch or two and got in the way. It had a catching point that made it an annoyance to use, and Monica had left it cocked open and out of the way for years.

But now somebody had swung it shut. And if Vicky wasn't home yet, then – who?

Her pulse quickened suddenly, and she stopped and stared at the mysteriously closed door. She could see through the crack into the kitchen. A shadowy movement crossed the crack and frightened her even more. With Gil gone… anybody could watch the house and know that Gil was gone and that Bruce was still in school.

She turned her head and looked at the telephone, and thoughts of calling the police jumped through her mind. And then she heard a laugh.

A tinkling sound, oddly sensuous at the same time. Vicky's laugh. She was home!

Monica started toward the door again and stopped once more when she heard a male voice, husky and urgent.

More puzzled than ever, she went silently to the crack and peered through it. She gasped with shock and lust at the same time.

Vicky was in the kitchen, all right. And so was a delivery boy from the grocery store. There was a box of groceries on the counter. They were right next to the delivery boy, who was sitting on the counter with his legs apart and Vicky between them and his stiff, throbbing prick jutting up into her sliding hand.

Monica gasped again and felt her cunt squirm and twitch. She watched Vicky masturbate the boy, who was about nineteen. He licked his lips and leaned his head back against the cupboard door and stared with eyes that were wide and full of wonder at this stroke of luck.

"God, Mrs. Evans," he breathed huskily, letting out a moan.

"What, Jim? Do you want me to stop playing with your prick? Are you going to tell me that you've got to hurry along and make other deliveries?"

"God, no!" he gasped, staring at her braless tits. "It's just that – well, it was a surprise and all to get your new account at the store and then… and now…"

"And now to find me being much more friendly than you thought I would be?"

"Yes!" he gasped.

"This isn't all just for your pleasure, you know, Jim."

He grinned crookedly. "What do you mean, Mrs. Evans?"

"Please, Jim – I think you can call me Monica, don't you? Considering all the deliveries you're going to be bringing me while my husband's gone."

"He's gone?" he gasped, lifting his hips, sliding his prick up into her hand again. He made a tentative reach for her tit and cupped it when she didn't seem to object.

"Gone," Vicky whispered. "For a whole month at a time. I'm a young woman, Jim. I need to be fucked. I can't go a month at a time without being fucked. You do know how to fuck a woman's cunt with this big strong youthful prick of yours, don't you?"

"You'd better believe it, Mrs. – Monica," he gasped.

"What else can you do with it?"

"You just name it, baby."

Vicky gave him a dark, quick look. She reached into his pants and cupped his balls and squeezed until he started gasping – not with pleasure this time.

"Hey! Hey!" he squeaked softly, trying to back away. There wasn't anywhere for him to go.

"Don't call me baby," Vicky said. "Don't call me anything but what I tell you to. And don't try doing anything to me but what I tell you to, either, or we aren't going to get along together very well at all, Jim."

"Sure-sure, Monica," he gasped tightly.

She released the pressure on his balls. His face was sweaty. He shook his head and let out a puff of breath and sagged back into a normal position again.

Vicky smiled sweetly at him and began stroking his cock to its former hardness. "That's much better, Jim," she said. She licked her soft lips and bent slowly over his lap, flicking her tongue from her mouth toward his prick.

Monica watched it all and listened to it all. Her ears burned. Her heart pounded. She couldn't believe it. Vicky was passing herself off as Monica Evans to him! And she'd even – God, now it was clear where she'd gone today!

For a haircut!

Monica stared at her sister. The mirror image was complete now. Anybody looking into the kitchen right now would believe fully that the woman opened her mouth for the delivery boy's prick was Monica. It looked like her. She was wearing her dress. She was using her name.

Emotions tumbled through Monica. Damn Vicky and her games! Now, every time the delivery boy came, he would try to fuck her!

Monica had the urge to burst into the kitchen and put it all right and stop Vicky at once. But then she thought of what a frustrated delivery boy might say to anyone who would listen, as opposed to a satisfied one who would keep silent and not mess up a good thing.

She heard him gasp again. His fingers curled around the edge of the counter, and his head tipped back with passion.

Monica watched her sister's full, red lips slide down over his thrusting prick and suck back up again, and her cunt throbbed with lust, despite the itching of her stubble of pussy hairs.

When Vicky's fingers reached into the gap of his pants and cupped his balls and drew them out and toyed with them, gently this time, Monica reached under the short hem of the mini and cupped her squirming cunt.

She glued her eye to the cracked-open door and watched breathlessly, because it was like watching herself do it – like watching a movie of herself sucking on that big, stiff, throbbing prick.

Vicky moaned with pleasure and sucked her mouth down over the hard shaft again. She twisted her head around the cock, made wet sounds, then screwed her compressed lips back up it.