M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

Slowly, she drifted into the satisfied sleep of the sated.

But even when she woke nearly an hour later to find Derek gone, even as she douched the tremendous deposit made in her own little semen bank, she knew she wasn't.

Wasn't sated, that is.

"Hiya, Charly."

"Oh, hi, Mom."

"What's wrong, babes – you sound down."

"Really?" She wished the shrug could show on the phone.

"Really," her mother answered. "I was getting a little worried about you last week. You seemed awfully down and pretty tensed up."

"Just exams, Mom." Exams and a good dose of Derek-dick. But that was a whole damned week ago.

"That's what I was hoping. But there aren't any exams coming up now. What's getting to you?"

"Nothing, really, Mom." And that was the problem: nothing was getting to her – especially in the line of good hard cock. And that had been on her mind a great deal in the week since Derek had shown her what fucking could really be like, how good it could really be.

"Well, you just stay loose, Charly. You'll be going to see your father next week. You always enjoy that. And then, when you get back, we'll plan out a vacation for ourselves. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fine Mom. I'll be okay, really. Don't worry."

"If you say so, Charly. You're big girl, now."

Charlene almost giggled at that. Yes, she certainly was – big enough to get to her mother's lover, in fact.

"Okay, Mom."

"Listen, I'm going to be late tonight – about a half-hour or so. If Derek comes by early -"

"I'll take care of him, Mom."

"Thanks, babes. See you later."

"You bet."

Even as she hung up the phone and felt a little chill shoot through her at the idea of having Derek to herself for a full half-hour – And that's more than enough time! – she didn't even suspect how accurate her mother's last three words on the phone would prove.

Or how inadequate.

The doorbell chimed.

"Who is it?"

"Derek."

"Come in." To my parlor, said the spider to the big-dicked fly.

She opened the door, stepped to the side and waited for him to enter to the room. Closing the door, she leaned back against it and waited for his reaction.

She didn't have to wait very long.

"Hi, Charlene, is your – ulp!"

She let a seductive smile spread slowly over her face.

Derek couldn't believe what he was seeing. Charlene was semiwearing a mini-skirt she'd gotten when she was fourteen and a few inches shorter. Aside from reaching no farther than a third of the way down her lean thighs, the miniskirt hugged to her flesh as if it had started out intending to be a pair of hot-shorts and changed its mind halfway through. It was light beige, light cotton, and light transparent. The fact that she wore no panties beneath it was easily apparent; he could make out the silhouette of her delicious little cunt through the material.

Oh, that sweet little shit! Food! he thought, unconsciously licking his lips.

Charlene took a deep breath, causing him to move his eyes upwards and again examine the wonder of her covered – if not concealed – tits. She was wearing a tanktop. Like the miniskirt, it was originally fitted for a fourteen year-old Charlene.

But since then, she'd added three years of astonishing growth to her breasts. There was some of the creamy, silken tit-flesh curves that simply wouldn't be contained inside the top. So there was some overflow. And what didn't overflow wasn't exactly hidden, either. The tanktop was made of a very light, very flimsy cotton. Every marvelous nuance in the curves of her luscious tits was shown with perfect clarity through the material. From the dark spikes of her nipples to the sweet juncture of her breasts with rib cage, every detail was both revealed and hidden.

The sum effect was visible in Derek's eyes, in the hungry look on his face – and the long, stiff, throbbing bulge inside his trousers.

"My mother called," she said quietly, hands clasped behind her back – an attitude that made her tits thrust out towards him in brazen offering – "and she said she'd be a little late."

"Uh-huh." He seemed incapable of responding with anything more complicated.

Charlene let her smile widen slightly. She leaned forward till she was standing straight. Her legs were shoulder-width apart and she swung lightly forward and back. Just the merest quiver of a bobble was communicated to her breasts, making them shiver delightfully within the tight material of her tank top. Derek's eyes couldn't seem to decide whether to concentrate on the slow movements of her abundant young tits or the steady, sinuous rippling of her belly muscles beneath the tight tanktop, a rippling that made his mind picture her naked; flat on her back on her bed, legs widespread and shuddering, hips ratcheting up and down as a man – himself, of course – pumped in and out of her sweet, hot young pussy.

Cripes.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her long, titian hair cascaded down over her shoulder, curved outward to follow the thrust of her breast – accentuating their size and firmness.

"Huh?"

"You don't mind having me, uh, shall we say, 'entertain you'?" She straightened, brought her hands around to her sides and smiled at him like a little girl. "Just till my mother gets here I mean?"

"Uh, no, no, of course not."

"Good!" she said happily, clapping her hands sharply together. "Then first I should tell you to sit down."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure." He let himself sink into the comfortable love seat – and then immediately slithered forward to perch on the edge as she walked towards him. He was nervous. When was Liz, her mother, coming home? He couldn't afford to have Liz catch them in anything even remotely resembling a compromising position.

She stopped about a half-pace in front of him. The love seat was built low to the floor, and when he looked up he found himself with a perspective on her lovely breasts that made them seem even larger than before.

He was very nearly at crotch level on her. He had a sudden urge to reach out with both hands, slide them up her legs and grasp her hips, raising the miniskirt even higher – and then begin feasting on the succulent morsel of her tasty cunt.

His cock gave a little extra leap inside his pants at the thought.

A leap that Charlene saw – and appreciated.

"Can I get you anything – to quench your thirst?" The way she pitched her voice in the asking, she made it more than obvious that the thirst-quencher menu wasn't limited to bottled drinks.

"Uh, a Scotch. Ice." he croaked, throat suddenly dry. He had to talk to the nubile woman-child, make it clear to her that what had happened the other day could never be allowed to reach her mother.

His eyes fastened onto the sight of her tight young ass cheeks, twitching and swaying through the miniskirt, as she walked away from him towards the kitchen.

She felt his eyes on her. Her already slavering pussy throbbed all the more urgently, as if it could smell his nearby lusts rising.

She poured him a stiff one – To match his prick – popped a couple of ice cubes into the smoky liquid and then sashayed back into the living room.

Charlene purposely moved her hand so their fingers would touch when he accepted the drink. He snatched his hand back as if burned, nearly spilling the drink on himself in the process.

She couldn't understand why he was so nervous, but she was enjoying the feeling of power it gave her. Did he think she was going to tell her mother they'd fucked the week before?

Charlene could just imagine that scene:

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Charly. What's new?"

"Not much." Her mother takes out the latest issue of Advertising Age and begins paging through it.