M. DeSantis - Her Foxy Mom

She crossed the room to the dresser and lifted the hairbrush in pussy-juiced fingers. The handle extended a good six inches from it and was a bit thicker than her index finger.

It was only a substitute, she knew, and a poor substitute at that.

But it was all she had.

As she baked at it, one hand slithered back down between her legs. Her fingers moved lightly over her labia, teasing the flesh and maintaining the terrible level of her as yet unsatisfied arousal.

Like someone in a dream, she walked to her bed. With each step, her pussy lips moved back and forth beneath her fingers. She sat on the edge of the bed and lay back, her long legs bent at the sedge of the mattress and her feet flat on the floor, her sleek thighs widespread. She let the tip of the brush handle trail over her breasts, around and around the snowy hillocks of firm flesh. The tip moved over her nipples. They were stiff, swollen with hot blood and even more sensitive than usual to tactile sensation. She bit her lower lip to stifle a sigh of pleasure as she pushed the end of the brush handle down onto her nipples, each in turn, indenting the turgid tit-tips.

Then she moved the brush handle down in the narrow valley of cleavage between her breasts, closing her eyes and telling herself that it was a man's cock, that he was letting her feel its hardness against her dermis before he thrust that rigidity into her twat.

Still lower, the end of the Lucite brush handle moved over her flushed body. It barely grazed the softened ridges of taut, lean muscle crisscrossing her stomach, only lightly trailed over the sensitive flesh of her flat abdomen.

The tip of the hairbrush handle was at the outermost tendrils of her fiery pubic thatch. Charlene's lower glory was as titian as her head's mane – but a shade or so lighter, with more of the coppery fire and less of the somber brown in its hue. She traced the perimeter of the soft, silken fur, legs parting with excitement and anticipation.

And in her mind, her lover was gripping his hard cock with one hand, guiding it ever closer to the softly haired slit of pink between her long, lissome legs. In her mind, that lover was Sal, her boyfriend, with his quick hands and cheerfully boyish smile and dark brown eyes.

But as the tip of the handle began probing at the wet region of her labia and the crease of her thighs, her imaginary lover began to change. His features became vague and indistinct in her mental view. His face become older, his smile less boyish and more confident, his hands less fluttering and more certain.

She flicked the end of the hairbrush up and down against her lower lip, biting it to stifle the groans of pleasure welling up in her throat. The cool lucite was quickly becoming slimed with her abundant pussy juices. The touch of it moving up and down between the tightly compressed edges of her cute little chub lips was sending new shivers of excitement through her.

In her mind's eyes, she was a voyeur watching herself and a man, a mature man, a dark-complected man with dark hair and a strong, slim, fit body and incredibly knowing hands. The man's face resolved itself, became distinct in her imagination.

Derek.

"Oooooo," she moaned, wedging the tip of the substitute cock between her labia. She swiveled it around and around a bit, trying to duplicate with the rounded Lucite end of the handle what she'd seen Derek doing to her mother with the swollen knob of his cock only moments before. She felt her cunt lips pulling and shifting, being drawn back and forth about the shaft of her protruding little clitoris. The sensations roiled more urgently inside her. Her hips tensed and rolled on the bed with the wash of pleasure through her lithe form. Her breasts, so large and full for an otherwise slender frame, jiggled and heaved with the increasing violence of her writhing.

She pressed the makeshift dildo into her cunt, both hands between her legs gripping the wiry bristles. As the slender shaft probed up into her, her mouth slowly opened wider and wider. Her head jerked from side to side on the bed, her hair whipping back and forth.

Deeper and deeper, she could feel the cock of her fantasy lover plumbing her innermost regions. She felt the touch of flesh against her pussy lips. It was her hands, but in her mind the touch was that of Derek's groin as the base of his cock sank into her quim grip. Her legs opened still more and she heaved her willowy hips forward to met his thrust.

She pulled the hairbrush lover back, shuddering as she felt her cunt walls clamping tightly together behind it. She loved his touch; he knew exactly how to move inside her, precisely how she wanted his rigid dick to probe up into her body. He was so good, just as she'd thought he would be, just as she'd hoped.

Back and forth, in and out, the handle of the hairbrush plunged between her tight labia. Her hips jerked upwards, arching and bumping. The bed shifted beneath her with the power of her heaves. She took one hand from the false cock she used and brought it up, to her rollicking tits. Charlene caught one nipple between her thumb and forefinger, tweaking it, squeezing it, rolling it, pretending that the touch was not of her own hand but of his hips, that he'd leaned his head down to suck her breasts as he fucked her slavering cunt.

The sound of the lucite dildo working within the grip of her hungry, wet cunt joined the little gasps and moans escaping her lips. Loud slurps and sucking noises grew both in volume and intensity as she whipped the hairbrush back and forth between her legs. With each instroke, the edge of her hand pressed against the lips of her cunt and her aching clitoris, adding those sensations to the feel of the slick, hard lucite handle within her vaginal walls.

Faster, harder, as if she intended to disembowel herself, she was working the handle of the hairbrush in and out of her twat with furious need.

In her mind, her lover was fucking his big hard prick into her cunt with the power of impending orgasm. She was eager to feel him coming inside her, desperate to feel his hot juices flooding inside her snatch, filling her pussy and womb to overflowing. She wanted his semen to drench her innards till it backed up and flooded out of her slot, staining the bed beneath her.

She felt the explosion growing closer within her. Her hips writhed sinuously, arching up to meet every thrust from her dream lover's cock. And then – She came. It was on her, all at once. The full rush of her coming slammed through her body, starting at the entrance of her cunt and spreading outward. She bridged upwards, her pelvis humping towards the ceiling. With abrupt strength, she crammed the last of the hairbrush handle into her twat and threw her head back. Her mouth lolled open. Her breasts rose, fell, rose – and stayed there, throbbing, thrust upwards. Her thighs shook, her calves knotted, her belly rippled, and most of all, her cunt contracted and fluttered over the length of the lucite rod shoved into her.

She fell back, panting. Charlene expelled the breath she'd been unconsciously holding. The coiled ball of tension between her hips unraveled, taking with it her carefully constructed fantasy.

But not her frustration.

For despite it all, she still wanted to feel a real cock in her slot, wanted to feel it throbbing and jerking and spasming, wanted most of all to feel it spitting and spurting hot, thick, heavy cream all over the blazing fires within her body.

She lay there, half on the edge of the bed gasping for breath. The hairbrush protruded from her cunt, the handle still tightly gripped by the strong little muscles at the entrance of her fiery young cunt. The coppery hair there was tangled and matted about the shaft of the handle. The lucite itself was slimed with pussy juice.

She reached down and gripped the end of the hairbrush. She started to pull it out, then hesitated. She twisted it and the handle moved with little friction of her vaginal hold, fanning still more the dying ember of her lust.