Speak to you about that thing tomorrow, ok?" The voice was richly female, humorous, confident; flat, local vowels but with an urban easiness. The floo...r was hard under my knees and toes. Oh, fuck, it's now! The door opened and the last barrier was gone. Instantly, I knew there were two of them. I really hoped it wasn’t the school leaver again. My buttocks tightened and I coloured in hot shame. Three seconds crawled into a corner in complete silence as they weighed me up; my fingers sought my. " My mother worked in the fashionindustry, about which she was somewhat cynical; the "rag trade" she calledit, but for her it paid well and was fun. So, every so often a pile of thetrade press would be dumped on the kitchen table, mainly to be convertedinto litter for our cats.I wasn't a normal browser of these papers, but for some reason one wasfolded at the page with the ad shown on the left. For some reason, thetext caught my eye. "......and boys aged 2-10" Mum, do boys wear dresses?" Not. He was barely finished cumming before he could hear his mother shut herself back into the bathroom, and his father coming into the house downstairs.By the time Marcie locked herself back in the bathroom her pussy was on fire and she was so wet she was in danger of dripping sex nectar down her upper thighs. She couldn’t believe she actually went through with it, flashing her naked body at her own son after teasing him all afternoon. She didn’t know how she managed to show a calm exterior, but. "Oh Robbie! you bastard! you utter bastard!" she mutteredI slowly but steadily began thrusting into her again and Mrs Jones made no attempt to stop me, and after a minute arched her back upwards and looked up into my face."Do me harder, i want your cum!" she moaned before kissing me.Then as she leant back onto the table i began thrusting harder and faster into that very wet pussy now, and my hot blonde neighbour begged me for more as i slammed into her from behind."Yes Robbie, fuck me! fuck.