M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

"Um-hm. Well, don't you stay up too late with those books. You have to be fresh and alert for your tests tomorrow."

"Don't worry. Have a good time, Mom."

"Thanks, Charly."

Yes, indeed, her mother was going to get her share that night. But not Charly.

Damn!

She opened her math book and set to studying, assuring herself that she'd make up for the lost time and fun after exams.

"Time to get up, Charly!"

As always, her mother's voice was brisk and happy. Charlene opened her eyes and stretched her arms high over her head, savoring the feel of her bare breasts moving with her action.

"Are you awake, Charly?"

"Sure, Mom." She glanced over at the clock, feeling well rested and lazy.

It was nearly eight.

"Holy – hey, Mom -"

"I let you sleep. You don't have any exams till noon today. I'm going, now. Have a good day and don't worry – you know your stuff."

"Bye."

She got up and washed her face, then pulled on a light dressing gown. It was long and loose and feathery.

Charlene went down the stairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then sat down and stared out the window. There was the familiar older couple, taking breakfast on the terrace of their apartment and reading their newspapers.

And then she heard a sound.

Derek!

The sound was unmistakable: someone tossing on a bed.

So he's finally sleeping over. Wondered how much longer it would be.

The kettle boiled and she made herself a cup of coffee. She thought about her exam and how well prepared she knew she was for it. She thought about swimming at the health club after school. She thought about the visit to her father's that would come in a few weeks.

But no matter what she thought about, her thoughts always seemed to return to the same thing:

Derek.

And whenever her thoughts returned to him, she found herself with two vivid mental images. One was of Derek hovering above her mother as Charlene had seen them in the bedroom that night, with his hard, thick cock glistening with the secretions of her mother's pussy, plunging and diving, pumping up and down, in and out, stretching the wall's of her mother's cunt and – Stop it! she ordered herself.

But mixed in with that was another mental image, this one of Derek's lean, taut body naked in her mother's bedroom, gently undulating on the waterbed… naked, with his prick long and limber and lying limply along his strongly muscled thigh.

She tried to force that thought from her mind as well.

Exams today, she told herself with noble resolve. Exams – I wonder if he's got a hard-on?

She felt the familiar ache in her nipples, glanced down and confirmed with her eyes what her senses had already told her: they were stiff, swollen with blood. They stood out, clearly limned against the fabric of the dressing gown. And between her legs, her pussy was starting to throb with warmth. The tight little tunnel of her cunt was rapidly soaking with aroused juices.

Without consciously thinking about it, she raised one hand to her breasts and rubbed her palm across her nipples. She pressed hard, trying to massage the ache from them. She succeeded only in heightening the urge growing between her nubile hips.

I wonder if he does have a hard-on? It couldn't hurt to peek in and look – just look, could it? Of course not. No one would have to know.

She pushed back the chair and stood, the dressing gown moving with quiet sibilance against her smooth flesh.

She strode gracefully down the hall, leas lone and smooth beneath the dressing gown. She could feel the silky fabric moving across her buttocks with each step, moving like a feathery caress over her soft skin, arousing her still more.

It can't hurt just to look and see, she told herself.

She paused outside the door to her mother's bedroom. Her breasts heaved, drawing the material tighter about the luscious swellings of creamy tit-flesh, pulling the fabric back and forth over her stiffened nipples and causing the ache in them to grow almost unbearable in its intensity.

It can't hurt just to look.

She gripped the doorknob tightly, turned it carefully. The door swung ever so slowly inward, opening wider. She peeked through, found she could see his reflection in the mirror on the dresser, just as she had seen…

… Derek and her mother, locked together, joined by the fleshy pole of his hard cock, pumping up and down and in and out, faster and faster, her mother's labia drawn tight about his shaft and his prick itself gleaming in the dim light flooding through the window behind the bed, her mother's legs jerking and kicking high about him as she reached for yet another…

But that wasn't good enough. She wanted to look directly on it. That was important. That made a difference.

It can't hurt just to look.

She pushed the door open still wider and stepped into the bedroom.

He was naked on the bed – but his back was to her.

No – no – that's enough. It isn't meant to be.

But it can't hurt just to look.

She moved quietly, silently, across the plush white carpeting to the side of the waterbed. She was standing over him, daring to breath but little more. She looked down at his nakedness.

And saw it.

So that's what it looks like.

To Charlene, it was as though she were looking at a disembodied penis. Her eyes saw nothing else except his genitals. She stared at it, focused on it, examined it, took it in. His cock was long and limber and lean, just as she'd imagined. She'd half-hoped that he'd have a piss hard-on or an erection from a hot dream, but, she figured, her mother had probably drained him dry.

I would have.

She scrutinized his prick. It was almost as long, limp, as Sal's was hard. It wasn't particularly thick. There was a single large vein twisting slowly about the side to the underpart of the shaft, wending its way from just behind the smooth, meaty glans to disappear into his hirsute pubic rug.

She finally took her eyes from his penis, then – only to gaze at his balls. They were partially hidden by his position, but what she could see gave her plenty to look at.

His balls were a little bigger than Sal's, too – but there was something about them, something about the way the flesh of his scrotum wrinkled, something about the long, twisting hairs growing out of it, that literally screamed virility at her. She imagined those big balls producing semen, lots of it, gobs of it – and she imagined his balls jerking and jumping inside the tightened flesh of his scrotum as he came, sending hot spurts of creamy jism burning home inside a cunt.

She imagined it firing into her cunt.

And as she imagined it, her arousal increased.

Charlene felt the throbbing in her nipples as clearly as if it were for the first time, the yearning in her cunt returning with a vengeance to remind her of how unsatisfied she was. She rubbed the lips of her lightly haired slit through the dressing gown. She felt the fabric dampen, then become sodden beneath her fingers, then raised her hand to her nose and sniffed it. The odor of her own aroused sex turned her on even more and she returned the hand to its task. Again and again, the lips of her pussy were drawn tight against her protruding clitoris, sending thrills of excitement through her.

She suddenly realized that she was going to come if she continued.

She stared hard at his prick, imagining it pumping in and out of her own pussy, reaming out her own cunt – but such fantasizing was partially defeated by the fact that his cock was soft. It was difficult for her to imagine enjoying getting fucked with a limp cock.

What if I – touched it?

She knew, in the back of her mind, that touching his prick would be dangerous. For all she knew, he'd awaken – and how would she explain that to her mother?