M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

What she wanted now was to have her face fucked and fucked well.

Charlene tightened her already pursed lips still further and began varying her movement. She bounced her head rapidly back and forth -and then abruptly slowed, twisting part way around his cock, drawing back till just the very tip half of his glans was still trapped in her oral inferno, sucking on it till her cheeks concaved and she could feel the blood boiling inside it.

Suddenly, Derek groaned again. His fingers pressed the sides of her head, holding her mouth in place while his hips surged upwards, driving his cock into her mouth. She felt his prick swell and jerk in her mouth.

And then, suddenly, his cock exploded. Great gushing bursts of semen blew out of the tip of his prick and into her mouth. Stunned by the force and quantity of his first eruption, Charlene jerked her head back from his cock and took most of the second load in her face. But then she opened her lips wide and rapidly dipped her head forward, covering the tip of his dick with the cowl of her mouth.

Again and again he fired into her mouth – and Charlene sucked and swallowed as fast as she could. She drank him just as she'd wished to, taking all of his creamy load deep into her throat. She barely had time to taste it.

His spasms slowed, then stopped – but not Charlene. Her lips were still fastened tightly about his shrinking cock. She continued to suck it, coaxing one last, wrenching spasm of juice from Derek's balls before relinquishing the shriveling dong.

Charlene's eyes were half-closed, heavy-lidded. Watching his face, watching his expression in response to what she did, she gripped the limp member with one fist and began carefully licking the spermy residue from his glans and the shaft, working at cleaning it the way a thirsty kitten cleans her milk bowl. Semen was dripping heavily down her face, off her chin and onto her tanktop, staining it with abundant evidence of her cock-sucking expertise. Her lips were bright with it, and when she'd finally cleaned his cock thoroughly, Charlene began a slow and sensuous tracing of the tip of her tongue over her lushly pouting lips.

Derek's reaction almost broke her up: he merely stared, as if watching her grow another head.

But there was another reaction as well – especially when she slowly sucked the head of his limpened member back into her mouth. That reaction was a slight pulse of blood through his prick.

Suddenly, Charlene felt challenged – challenged to suck him back up to full erection immediately and coax yet another explosion of juice from his drained balls.

And just then, she heard a key in the doorlock.

This time, it was Charlene whose eyes widened. As she heard the tumblers clicking in the second of the door's three locks, she literally spit his prick tip out of her mouth and took her fist off it.

As the third lock was opened, Charlene started to stand, even as Derek struggled to get his pants and briefs back into place. Unfortunately for Charlene – and Derek, for that matter – she had been kneeling with her calves beneath the low-slung teak coffee table and standing abruptly caused it topple over with a loud crash. All of the items on top of it – magazines, two ashtrays, an ornate cigarette lighter, Derek's drink – went scattering noisily across the floor.

And Derek's feverish struggling to get his pants up caused his knees to come together, tripping her. Charlene staggered as she turned, then leapt nimbly to avoid tripping on the up-ended coffee table, finally twisted to miss landing on an ashtray.

She came to rest about four feet from her mother.

Her openmouthed, staring mother. Her mother whose color had drained to roughly the shade of chalk – and whose color was rapidly returning, roughly the shade of sunset thunderclouds.

Ominous and red.

Her mother's eyes flickered from Derek – rapidly stuffing limp, saliva-and-sperm-coated cock back into pants and zipping said pants up and Charlene, standing before her with flushed face, glistening lips, sperm-drenched cheeks and chin, sperm-stained tanktop and stiffly erected nipples. Not to mention Charlene's mini-microskirt which had gotten tangled with itself somehow on one side of her nubile hips, holding it high above and exposing her naked, pantyless slit.

Ooops.

What could she say?

Charlene knew there wasn't much she could say, certainly nothing that could conceal what had happened and certainly nothing that could make it any less of a shock to her mother than it already was.

So since there was only one thing Charlene could say, she took a deep breath, put a great big bright smile on her lovely, lusting face -or as near a thing to a smile as she could manage – and said, quite calmly:

"Hi, Mom."

In retrospect, Charlene couldn't even be amused at Derek's genuinely funny reaction to the situation. It was like something out of an X-rated cartoon: hopping on one foot, trying simultaneously to pull on his pants and leave the premises, once losing his balance and falling till he reached out to grab Charlene herself in order to steady himself – and succeeding only in gripping the thrusting firmness of her left tit. His hand came off the swelling breast as if it were on fire.

What she remembered instead was the succession of expressions playing across her mother's face – first shock, then rage, and finally sheer, seething, smoldering rage. The worst kind of rage.

Quiet.

Charlene knew her mother, knew her well indeed. She'd seen her mother in such rages before. She knew it was a matter of time until the rage was expressed. When her mother was simply pissed off at her or rebuking her for some error of commission or omission, the matter was immediately discussed and the punishment fit the crime, so to speak.

But in rages like this…

For one thing, Charlene was aware that her mother figured Charlene knew what she'd done was wrong. Perhaps not from a moral standpoint, not in the conventional sense. Her mother probably wouldn't have been too upset had she learned Charlene was fucking and sucking someone. She likely would have been pissed off at Charlene doing it at home. She definitely would have been angry at Charlene doing it at home and being so indiscreet with her timing.

But to be sucking a man off in her own home with lousy timing -and a man her mother considered her own, to boot…

I'm going to catch it this time. But how?

She tried to force her mind away from worrying. The longer it took her mother to actually getting around to it, the worse the retribution would be. And the fact that her mother had, since, spoken not a single word about the matter – and otherwise acted as if absolutely nothing of the sort had ever happened – bothered Charlene even more, filled her with foreboding.

It's going to be a humdinger of a get-even, whatever it is.

The phone rang. She leapt for it, hoping it would be – It was.

"Hiya, Charlene," said the cool, deep male voice of her new neighbor in the building. His name was Tim, and his voice fit his looks: tall, strongly built, sandy-blond hair and rugged features. He was three years older than she was, but they'd gotten along well from the start.

"Hello, Tim," she answered, keeping her voice calm. She'd run into him in the elevator the day after the incident with Derek, returning his smile with her own. He'd explained he was new in the neighborhood. His family had moved – company orders for his father – and he was looking forward to starting as a junior at City College in the fall.

But in the meantime, he had time to kill and didn't know his way around the city – they were from someplace dreary on the West Coast -and would she help him out in getting his bearings…

She'd been waiting for his call.