Bobby Redding - Mommy_s sick friends

Without effort she felt her face cover his. She pushed forward into his mouth and wrapped her larger tongue around his.

His tongue slid against the roof of her mouth, and she delighted in the raw pressure of his teeth biting into her lips, wet with his saliva.

His hand was impatient. It opened around her breast, and the center of the palm pressed in against the bra cup. Her tit grew harder at the friction of the white lace against the aureole and she thrust her chest out, wanting him to stroke her. His finger pushed against the breast's tip, and she turned her head away from him, then brought herself back. She pushed at the tousled hair that half covered his ear. Her tongue circled in on the organ, moving inside the spiral and then out again. She covered her front teeth with her lips as she sucked on his ear lobe. She tongued the back of his ear, and he breathed with seeming difficulty, excited by her, forced two steps beyond detachment. She stroked the side of his neck with her fingertips. She was conscious that she was older and more experienced – more conscious than she had expected she would be. The impulse to prove her supremacy motivated her now. Her restraint emphasized her age; dimly, she was aware that she wanted to assert the fact that the seduction was her idea, the lovemaking her gift to him.

She reached for his groin and rubbed her palm against the swell. She could feel the heat through the denim pants. She would not undo the fly until his body told her that he was aching for her to stroke him naked. She jammed the knuckles of her fingers up against the underside of the prick, forcing the curved tube against his stomach. Her thumb pushed gently at the scrotum, and she smiled when he groaned. His fingers clutched more tightly at her breast when her hand moved up his stomach, as if to keep her from withdrawing. She scratched at the material that covered his flat stomach.

Ella stood and looted down at him. Her hands moved to her back, under her jersey top. Claude's ears almost burst at the three low clicks the brassiere clasp made as she pulled it apart. Her breasts relaxed inside their cups, and she pushed her hands under the front. She pushed the undergarment down past her midriff and it fell to the floor. Claude's eyes widened as he stared at her nipples, suddenly alive under the jersey. The aureoles were taut with her excitement; he noticed the texture through, the cloth. The fabric hugged the undersides, which were softly rounded.

"Do you like me, Claude?"

"You're very beautiful, Mrs. Randall."

For a moment Ella debated as to whether to correct him, to ask him to call her Ella. It seemed silly, and she was afraid of breaking the momentum. She wanted him badly, perhaps more badly than she had ever wanted any grown man.

He did not follow her hands as they moved behind her hips to unzip the skirt. He heard the sizzle of the zipper down the metallic tract, and the sound excited him. He was staring at her large, full breasts. Her skirt slid down her unstockinged thighs, and the exposure of more of her flesh surprised him. He riveted his eyes to her crotch. Beneath pink lace panties that came halfway from the vee to her waist, he saw the tuft of thick pubic hair. His lips were dry, and he ran his tongue across them. He breathed in, and they were dry again; this time he didn't bother to moisten them. The skin of her thighs was perfectly smooth.

Ella's hands were open, the fingers stretching. The palms touched the swell of her hips, and she pushed the panties down, rolling the waistband under the soft material.

Inside the thick hair he could see the slivers of flesh hanging from the sides of her cunt. She leaned to one side, and her breasts rustled against her top. Claude's eyes did not move away from her cunt. She moved one leg a couple of inches further away from the other. He did not catch the satisfied smile, so wide it pulled on the flesh of her cheeks. Her arms moved awkwardly under the jersey. Like a stripper, she brought it up over her naked breasts slowly, teasingly. Her nipples were huge circles at the tips of the bosoms; the surfaces of the aureoles had gone flaccid. The sides of the boobs seemed to curve up at the nipples.

"Come into the bedroom, Claude. I'll undress you." Her bare feet made no sound upon the carpet as she turned on her heels and walked toward the adjoining room. Claude was paralyzed, his buttocks pressed to the seat cushions as he watched her ass sway. The round globes wiggled, emphasizing dimples as they welded into her thighs.

She hesitated at the open door, then turned to face him. A grin covered her face. "Aren't you coming, Claude?"

Gathering his breath, the boy rose. His cock jammed against his briefs, and his scrotum felt as heavy as if it were filled with two incredibly dense rocks instead of a pair of testicles.

He walked so deliberately that by the time he had entered the bedroom, Ella Randall lay calmly back on the bed. The pillow received a tangle of silky brown hair. Her arm, palm down on the bed at her side, bent back at the elbow, and her forefinger flexed to indicate he advance. Her breasts wiggled as she slid her naked skin against the linen sheet and sat up, her back touching the wooden headboard. "Take off your shoes and socks," she ordered, and he obeyed quickly, nervously.

She leaned forward. Her fingers hooked inside the waist of the levis, their tips pressed against the fabric. He sensed only the pressure of the knuckles as they pushed back on his stomach, convulsed with his excited and erratic breathing.

Ella unloosened his belt, then yanked at the trousers' front. His penis had already smuggled itself out of the cotton folds. There was a moist blotch on the flaps, and the head was oiled with pre-cum. She touched the slit with her fingertip, and a single drop spurted out. She scratched the foreskin gently, and Claude sighed deeply. She pushed the denims down his thin legs, then drew the underpants down. Her hand moved around to his ass. It was smooth, round, and hairless. He shivered as she stroked the buttock, her fingertips diving into the small of his back.

She unbuttoned his shirt slowly, relishing each bit of exposure. He wore no undershirt. She ran her fingers against the bare skin, hesitating with her fingertips over the nipples. She made them stiff with the sides of her thumbs.

Her hands moved down the sides of his body, stroking the outline until she was at his thighs. Her palms moved back to the buttocks, and the fingers curled back toward her between his legs. She pulled at the scrotum with her index, and Claude's fingers turned white as they pressed against the headboard. The air had gone out of his lungs; he was afraid he would lose his balance.

"Come to bed." The words were spoken as three even syllables, whispered expectantly. She pulled the sheet over her and then lifted it over his small body when he slid onto the mattress. His prick brushed against the outside of her thigh.

His hands paused inches over her body, but her squirming encouraged Claude. She twisted her torso and her breast moved against his palm. Before leaving his hand, the tit had become hard and sharp. Her hands moved over his back, and she shifted under him until he was directly above her. He could press against her, and yet she hardly felt his weight. The prick was stapled back to his stomach as he rolled his crotch against her. She pushed his stomach up with her palm and aimed the erection at her clitoris. Claude's body jerked forward, excited by the friction of her pubic hair.

She pressed her thumbs into the sides of his chest. He followed the signal to move back. He sat up, and she moved back, leaning against the headboard for a moment before pushing toward him on her buttocks, legs spread wide apart so that the cleft appeared half open already.

He watched fascinated, while her index finger dipped inside her cunt. She smiled. Her finger was glossy with lubricant when she brought it out.