J Bradley: Mom going down

He took the pants. He held them in front of him and seemed relieved that he wasn't on such display. His eyes kept flicking to the hem of her housecoat.

"Do you need a shirt too, Bruce?" she asked, wondering what he was looking at now. Was her cunt showing? God, she should just throw the damn housecoat away!

He pointed hesitantly and then decided not to. "You've got something…"

She glanced down and nearly fainted with embarrassment. A glistening trail of cum and pussy juice was running down the inside of her thigh.

"You all right, Mom?"

"Go eat your breakfast, Bruce!" she half yelled at him.

"I already ate, Mom," he said, cowering back from her sudden outburst. "While you and Dad were…" He swallowed down a big lump and couldn't keep looking at her.

"Then go get dressed, damn it!"

He swallowed again, looked terribly sheepish and injured, then turned and hurried back into the other part of the house.

Monica stood there and watched him, seeing the big lumps his balls made in the shorts, even when he was headed the other direction. She moaned heatedly and felt tingly all over.

She couldn't believe the way her heart was pounding. She couldn't stand the way her cuntlips swelled and shifted and opened and closed over the draining mouth of her cunt hole.

She pressed her pussy against the smooth, hard corner of the washing machine and fucked up against it hard, letting out another moan.

She was terrible! Her own son! Her cunt was slobbering down her thighs at the sight of her own son!

She pressed her hand against her watering twat. Even that wasn't enough. She turned her back to the doorway and bent over as if taking more clothes from the dryer and thrust her head into the gaping front of her robe.

She squeezed her whole crotch tightly, shaking it, feeling the fur and the wetness. She fucked her finger into her cunt and didn't mind the soreness. Her thumb rolled over her shamelessly straining clit, and electric jolts shot through her body and made her gasp with terrible heat.

She stood up. She looked back at the doorway. She licked her lips. She moved quickly and shut the door. She leaned against the corner and braced her fret on the floor and tipped her pelvis up.

She closed her eyes and shoved her hips forward and fucked her finger all the way up her sodden cunt. She jiggled her clit with her other hand.

Her robe gaped all the way open. Her arms squeezed in against the sides of her tits and made them thrust in firm, tight cones. Her nipples swelled with passion and jutted from the ends of her tits.

Her asscheeks bumped softly against the wall as she pumped her hips against her hands and masturbated with savage intensity.

She tried to make her shame stop her from doing this, but her body was aflame. Still, or again, she wasn't sure. Suddenly, it didn't matter which. There was only her heat, her lust, her incredible need to come.

It didn't matter whether she was still hot from Gil's fucking big prick or the sight of her son's surely virginal one. She had to come again, and she was going to.

It came fast. Her hips canted outward, thrusting her naked, flaming pussy through the halves of the robe. Her tits jiggled wantonly on her chest. Her knees flexed, and her thighs quivered. Juice squished out around her cunt-embedded finger, and her clit felt as if it would explode and burst into flame.

"Ahhhhh, God!" she screamed tightly, doing it as quietly as she could.

Dizzying waves of orgasm rushed through her body and made her shiver all over. It was lucky she was propped by the two walls making the corner of the room, or she would have fallen over. Her knees gave way, and her legs wouldn't hold her any more.

She slid down the wall, gasping and shivering, her finger twirling and fucking in her spasming cunt, her other hand rolling and pinching at her clit and all over her mound.

Her knees came up and spread to the sides as she slid to the floor on her ass. Her cunt mouth gaped wide. The tissues were flaming pink and glistened with dripping cunt juice. Her fingers made shameful sounds of wetness at her pussy mouth.

She gasped and mewed until it was all over, and then she let out a deep sigh.

She huddled there on the floor in the corner and looked at the cold white porcelain machines and felt utterly depraved.

"Monica?" Gil called, the sound faint through the closed door. "Hey, baby – where the hell'd you go?"

She sat there. Her cunt squeezed around the knuckle of her finger, as if trying to push the finger out and make her stand and pull the robe around her body and look busy and innocent.

She didn't give a damn. Let him find her like this. What would he do? Get hot and fuck her again? Raise hell?

She didn't budge until the last moment, and then some shred of decency still left inside her made her scramble to her feet and toss the clothes from the dryer into the plastic basket just when he opened the door and saw her.

"Ya deaf?" he groused. "Come on, do that crap when I'm gone. Fix me some more breakfast. That damn pansy ate half of it."

She turned and looked at him. He was fully dressed and ready to leave now. The kindness of a few moments before had been replaced by the crudeness she couldn't stand again.

She straightened up and looked at him squarely. "Bruce is not a pansy," she said firmly, challengingly.

She was ready to tell him how she knew. She knew it by the way his huge cock had begun to swell at the sight of his mother's naked tit. She knew it by the throb of his virginal cock brushing against the side of her hip.

Gil looked belligerent for a moment and then backed off from the brewing fight. "All right, he's not a pansy," he said with a wave of his arm. "Fix the breakfast anyway, huh?"

They went into the kitchen. He sat at the table and waited for her to finish cooking more breakfast. Bruce came through, dressed in the checked jeans. He avoided Monica's eyes. He started to give her the little kiss he always did before leaving for school and then didn't.

"Go on," Gil taunted. "Don't mind me, honey. Kiss Mom bye-bye." He shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth and grinned.

"Gil!"

"Listen, kid, lemme tell you something. You oughta be kissin' that cute little twat – that Nancy, instead of your mother. You're gonna give somebody the wrong ideas, see?"

He laughed and stuffed his mouth again, holding his fork like a stabbing instrument. Bruce made a sound of agony and turned aside, ready to run from the house.

"Gil, that's enough!" Monica cried. "Bruce, you come back here!"

He stopped, but he didn't come back. Monica went after him, into the other room, where Gil couldn't see or hear them.

"Damn it, I wish he'd lay off me, Mom!" Bruce whispered with a strangled sound, close to tears.

Monica put her arms around her son and hugged him tightly, smoothing her hand over his forehead as if he were still a small boy.

"Oh, honey, I wish he would too. But he won't. It's his crude way, sweetie. You'll just have to be a big boy and learn to take it, that's all."

Her tits were pressed tightly against him. It was natural and good at first, and then they both became aware of the heat passing between them, of the remembered sights of each other's bodies just a few moments before, and the warm, soft contact took on a new and scary meaning.

"Mom…" he whispered, licking suddenly dry lips.

Monica backed away from him quickly. She didn't know if that were better or not. Now he was starring at the ends of her tits, and he could see that the nipples were spiked and rubbery and stiff.

"Mom…" he said again.

"Bruce, stop looking at my tits that way. You have no right to, Bruce. I'm your mother, Bruce." Her words were quick and breathy, and she tingled all over.

"Maybe your father's right for once, Bruce. Maybe you shouldn't be kissing me any more. Maybe you should pay more attention to Nancy than you do. You do like her, don't you, Bruce?"