M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

And her mother…

Charlene watched, disbelieving, through heavy-lidded eyes that seemed adverse to focusing, as her mother pumped and plunged three fingers in and out of her cunt with a speed and strength that approached the maniacal. How, she wondered, could her mother do that without hurting herself? But judging by the ecstatic look on her mother's slack-featured face, the sensation was anything but painful for her. Even as Charlene watched, her mother's legs began to buckle, her knees shook and her hips jerked as her mother experienced an orgasmic reflection of Charlene's own pleasures.

The young titian-haired beauty finally slumped fully forward, sprawled atop the spent young man with her head between her fucker's widespread ankles. She gasped for air even as she felt her pussy drool hot come juice. She was only vaguely aware, sometime later, of a door slamming off in the distance – even though the logical part of her mind that still functioned told her it was her mother leaving the bedroom and the slamming door was no more than ten feet from her.

Only later, after she'd risen and roused Tim, shuffling him out of the apartment, did Charlene realize the implications of the interplay between her mother and herself and the well-hung young neighbor.

The funny thing about it was that her mother didn't actually seem to be avoiding her. In fact, when Charlene thought about it carefully, she realized that during the course of the twenty-four hours since they'd shared Tim's cock events had simply conspired to keep mother and daughter from conference – or confrontation – on the matter.

And the more Charlene thought about it, the more she suspected that cooperation rather than confrontation would result from such a conference.

Still, the fact of the matter was that her mother and she still hadn't exchanged so much as a single word on the matter. Both her intuition and her mind told her that her mother was far from angry over the incident. Rather, Charlene got the distinct feeling that, like herself, her mother was relatively pleased over the way things had begun to turn out. Charlene was coming to realize that she had a streak of voyeurism within her – and that it was evidently inherited from her mother.

But there was a fly in the ointment. Her mother certainly could have stayed home after work that evening, affording the two of them an opportunity to sit and discuss the entire affair.

Instead, her mother had chosen to go out on a date. And Charlene had more than a suspicion that her escort was none other than Derek.

After that incident last week, too! she fumed.

It made no sense to her – unless her mother was really stuck on Derek. But then she should have been all the angrier. In which case she would have forgiven him only if she was really hung up on him.

Mom – in love again?

Derek was a terrific fuck – and Charlene would more than willingly attest to that fact – but for someone with whom to settle down in a long-term relationship?

"No way," she said out loud to the empty living room around her. Shaking her head, Charlene flipped on the remote-control of the big color TV console and peeled back the foil from her TV dinner and dug in.

Hours later, the sky outside her bedroom window was dark. Charlene stared out, wondering if a preliminary thunderclap had awakened her.

But then she heard a loud shriek – followed by raucous laughter.

They're back!

And they were making a hell of a din – loud enough to be audible throughout the apartment, through the closed door of her own bedroom and through her sleep.

They must be drunk, she told herself, turning over and seeking sleep again. But the noise from the lower level of the sprawling duplex apartment continued unabated.

After about a half-hour, Charlene decided to investigate. She slipped out of the bed and stood naked in the darkened bedroom, listening to the music from downstairs. Then she pulled on her lightweight dressing gown – the one that was nearly transparent -slipped her feet into her slippers and left the bedroom.

Her luscious, overdeveloped young tits bobbled firmly as she walked down the stairs. Every step closer to the source of the noise – it seemed to be coming from the living room – made the individual sounds more audible.

And those individual sounds inflamed her imagination.

"Go on, Liz – shake that thing!" Derek's voice called.

What the hell is going on?

Another few steps closer – and Charlene could hear her mother humming.

The evening's selection seemed to be The Stripper. It hadn't been chosen without reason, either.

Oh, for crying out loud!

"Whoooo -eee! Do it to it, Liz baby!" Derek whooped.

Charlene peered cautiously around the door jamb.

Liz was in the center of the living room floor, clad only in sheer hose, panties and bra. Various and sundry other items of her clothing were scattered around the living room, much of it on the floor at Derek's feet. He sat on the sofa. On the end table beside him were two old-fashioned glasses about half-full – or half-empty – with a dark, smoky liquid. Charlene remembered that both Derek and her mother favored Scotch.

"Da-da-dahhhh! Da-dadee-dahhh! Da-da-dahhh – da-da-da-da-aaa -"

Her mother was shimmying, shaking, bumping and grinding through an invisible circle in the center of the living room, delivering a little extra flip of the hips in Derek's direction at appropriate times within the dance.

Charlene watched her mother reaching her arms behind her back, stretching her fingers far up to reach the clasps of her bra strap.

"Yeah! Yeah! Take it off, baby!" Derek yipped. He took another long pull on one of the glasses.

Liz brought her arms back in front of her, the bra loosened but still holding to her breasts. Liz had given Charlene her creamy complexion. Her breasts, so large and full, so ripe and mature – yet still without a trace of a sag to them – were snowy hillocks within the black lace cups of the brassiere.

Now she was hunching her shoulders, causing her tits to press towards one another within the cups of her bra – and the bra itself was beginning to slide forward off her shoulders and down her arms. She put her hands on her own thighs, just above her knees, and bent towards Derek. She was bent almost halfway to the floor and then she began shaking her upper body rapidly, back and forth, from side to side.

Within her ever-loosening brassiere, her tits were bobbling and rippling. Her nipples were stiffly swollen with excitement – and, Charlene suspected, liquor – and stood out like scarlet spikes within the black lace of the bra cups. Bit by bit, the bra was sliding off her. The unhooked straps flapped loosely behind her, smacking against her ribs beneath her shoulders.

"Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaaahh! Da-da-dada -"

On the last, long Daaaaaaa!, Liz suddenly straightened, arms going wide. She shivered her shoulders, her tits bouncing with as much energy as any tassel twirler's – and then the bra cups had slid completely away from them, revealing her jugs in all of their quivering, shimmering glorious delight to Derek's smoldering eyes.

Her arms came down, her hands came together. The bra slid down her arms, riding on the shoulder strap. She raised it high over her head in one hand and swung it like some kind of sexy pennant.

"Da-da-da-da-dedede-da-da-da-daaaaa! Da-dadaaaah-de-"

She was bumping and grinding her mature hips with abandon, now, her furry pubic mound jutting forward beneath the tight panties on every downbeat, jerking it sharply towards Derek with such quick staccato strength that her tits went flopping wildly on her chest.

And as Charlene watched, she realized that her mother really wasn't half bad when it came to exotic dancing – not bad at all.