M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

Without warning, Derek unleashed a savage flurry of rapid-fire hip jabs. His prick pistoned in and out of her mother's hungry gash. The slurp-slurp of his fleshy prong working within her mother's sloppy, wet twat was clearly audible.

He stopped and again let his hips circle above her in the air. Charlene watched as her mother reacted like a woman flayed alive. Her hips shuddered, her mouth opened and soundless wails of anguish caught in her throat, her breasts heaved.

And then Derek let her have it.

He crashed down upon her with sudden force, slamming the full length of his hard, thick cock into her, smashing her back down onto the bed with stunning force.

But not so stunning that Charlene's mother couldn't appreciate the sensations. Her cunt had been contracting under the teasing glansfucking he'd been giving her – and as she received his abrupt attack, her pussy walls were thrust brutally apart. She could feel every detail of the penetration. Her legs came up high, ankles crossing over the small of his back. She was as wide open to his prick as she could get – he wasted no time at all in taking advantage of it.

Derek raised his upper body on his arms. Kneeling between her spread, shapely thighs, feeling the grip of her legs on him, he battered at her pussy and pubis with his achingly hard dick. The hard, bony ring at the base of his prick smacked up against her swollen, sensitive pussy lips and the protruding bud of her clitoral stem. His dong was reaching and detonating all of the readied, explosive charges of pleasure deep inside her.

Charlene saw her mother whipping her head from side to side on the bed. Her movements told Charlene that they were into the short strokes, the frantic jabs, the urgent thrusts that precede coming. She could just picture her mother's cunt gripping and climbing the fleshy pole of Derek's hard cock, covering and uncovering just the bottom inch or two as she strained for her orgasm.

Suddenly, her mother arched her hips up at her lover. Still keeping her leg grip on him, she curved her back up and jammed her spread loins eagerly towards him.

"Oh shit-yes-yes – YESSSSSsssss!" she screamed, the orgasmic cry trailing off into a wail of intense pleasure, finally becoming a long, gasping hiss of ecstasy as she made the peak she'd craved so hungrily.

But then Derek's loins were bashing hers – and Charlene heard him grant with strain and pleasure. Again and again he heaved against Charlene's mother's pussy, jolting her curvaceous form beneath him.

He's coming inside her! Charlene realized with sudden excitement. What, she wondered, did it feel like to have a man empty his balls of their load of hot, thick, creamy sperm inside her cunt?

"Oh, yes, I can feel you coming – yes, yes, yes," her mother was blathering. Charlene managed to wedge another finger into her tight, unfucked cunt and rubbed the two of them rapidly back and forth – and then froze. Their movements on the waterbed had stopped. They lay limply together. At any moment, they might notice the open door and catch her peeping on them.

With a silent moan of frustration, Charlene pulled the two fingers from her pussy. She held them beneath her nose, sniffing; she loved the aroma of sex, even her own.

Tentatively, she licked her index finger. She'd never done that before.

So that's what it tastes like! Ummmm, not bad – not bad at all.

Then she crept hurriedly back up the stairs to her room, her cunt aching with need, her body crying out for the one thing for which it seemed built – and the one thing she had never had: A good fucking.

She closed the door to her room behind her – and then stood, motionless.

What could she do?

Her body was burning with the need to come and her mind still reeled with what she'd seen and heard in her mother's room.

Why not me?

Every fiber of her body, every nerve, seemed preternaturally sensitive. She was aware of the terry cloth robe against her nipples and breasts, caressing them with each breath. She could feel the material on her ass cheeks, pressing against the smooth, firm-molded mounds of flesh. She felt it against her thighs, her hips; her flat abdomen – and she could feel the coolness of the air in her room slipping between the folds of the robe to rub and taunt her overheated pussy.

Why does Sal always stop?

She and Sal had been going together for almost four months. He'd kissed her deeply, slipped his hands inside her blouses and sweaters and tasted her breasts. He'd insinuated his fingers beneath her slacks and skirts and dresses to rub her sweet little chub of a cunt. Once he'd even opened her blouse and sucked her tits.

But he always stopped.

Like tonight.

She remembered the feel of his hands on her, remembered the way his fingers had found her nipples inside her top that night. He'd know how to tweak them just so, sending shivers of mingled pleasure and pain through her.

She slid her own hands between the folds of the robe. The sash, already loosened, fell open. Charlene cupped her own breasts, tenderly squeezed them. Her knees became weak and her cunt felt as if it would burst into flame at any moment.

She lifted her tits, testing their firm, seventeen-year-old thrust, their well-developed fullness, the creamy texture of the flesh. She revolved them slightly, feeling all the muscles and ligaments gently pulling. She closed her eyes, imagining that it was Sal doing it to her, that he was standing behind her and his hands were on her tits.

Her hands slipped down from her breasts to press against her rib cage, then moved lower. Her fingers glided over her trim waist, the gentle flare of her slim hips, then dropped to the sleek, smooth, taut flesh of her thighs.

Charlene shrugged her shoulders. The robe fell free from her and came to rest on the floor. She stood naked in the center of her room, the only light from the little bedside lamp. She faced the full-length mirror again and she looked at herself with appreciative eyes. She watched her own hands move over the tops of her thighs. She shifted, legs parting more. Now her hands moved up over the soft, extrasensitive inner flesh at the tops of her thighs.

Her vision telescoped in on her fingers. They moved and meandered about the juncture of her lissome legs.

She shuddered as her fingertips grazed the outermost edges of her pussy lips. That felt so good!

She imagined that it was Sal touching her pussy, toying with her labia, that his fingers were fondling and squeezing the soft petals.

She shoved one hand between her thighs, cupping her cunt in her palm. She pressed against her quim, rubbing it slowly in little ellipsoid circles that both massaged her cunt lips and drew them back and forth over her warming clitoral nubbin's tip. Her legs were getting weak, rubbery and her knees began to buckle.

She pulled her hand from between her legs, looking down at it. She could see the bright dew of her pussy on the flesh. The inner walls of her unfucked cunt screamed for something long and thick and hard to be crammed between them – something long and hard and thick and hot, filled with hot blood and ready to fire hot semen.

A cock.

But the only cock in the house was attached to her mother's lover.

She had a quick mental image of herself walking, naked, into her mother's bedroom at that moment.

She visualized Derek and her mother going at it again and in her mind she saw herself walking to the edge of the bed, tapping Derek on the shoulder. In that fantasy they stopped their fucking and looked up at her, smiling patiently.

"Mind if I borrow him for a little while, Mom? Just for a half hour or so?"

"Oh, sure, honey, go right ahead. I'll do my nails while I'm waiting."

Her eyes flickered over the room – and came to rest on her hairbrush. It was an ultra-modern design, sent to her by her father for a birthday present a few months before. The hairbrush was part of a matched set of utensils that included a comb and a teasing brush. They were made of Lucite acrylic, smoky pink.