All the while my fingers were working on her clit.When I crawled down between her legs and lowered my face to her crotch she opened up to me like a fl...ower blooming. Her fragrance was strong but nice, her clit looked tiny, then I got my first taste of her. It was everything that I had imagined that it would be. There was the pungent taste of day old cum, a trace of urine, and a hint of sweat. She was all woman through and through. Once I had gotten over my initial yearning for her I settled in. "Rebels make good models – they have character. Now, you," she pointed at Martha, the oldest in the room. "Martha, what is the difference between painting and photography?" A painter should try not merely to create an accurate image of her subject but to demonstrate something of the subject’s character through her art or to reveal something that is not necessarily there but is suggested by the subject to the artist?" Martha always answered a question like that, with a sort of hesitant. I slowly started to run my hand up and down my engorged cock as I tried to imagine what my mother's nipples might look like under her bra. My mother meanwhile sat perfectly still on the couch with her arms crossed across her chest, perhaps trying to hide some of her body now that her blouse was gone. Her eyes where closed tight but I really didn't care. Slowly I stroked my mighty cock over and over again as my eyes feasted on her delicate face and her semi exposed breasts. Even though she. She wrapped her legs around my thighs, her arms around my neck and held me close as I pummeled her.She let go of my neck then pushed on my shoulders, urging me to lift off her. I lay between her legs and fucked her wildly, my groin slapping loudly against her. Sally looked into my eyes, “I like this Uncle Mike, I knew I would, cum for me.” I braced my feet and forced my erection as deep into her as it would go; she groaned “Uufff!” as my balls tore loose and poured all my anger, all my violence.