Chapitre 3278: REFLECTIONS
"Well, this is pretty neat."
Neat. What a mom word. Charles almost cringed at the description of his teams workout area. A large room of weights, hockey pictures on the wall, matts on the floor, lots of mirrors, and - oh my god, what is that smell!
"Yea, it's cool."
OK, Charles, spare me the "I'm a High School Hockey Player" tone who's not interested in talking to his mom or bringing her out in public. There's nobody else here, sweetie. Just because your 18 doesn't mean you stop having a mom. You're not going to lose any street cred, if there was still such a thing.
But sweet Jesus, that smell. A strong, sweaty odor that no amount of cleaning would ever remove. The grimy, dirty smell of boys working out, lifting weights, shirts off, muscles bulging. God, it was a sour smell.
Charles is looking at you. Quit sniffing the air you hormonal freak. It's creeping him out.
"Who's is this...?"
Yea, who the hell owns this little dojo at the back of an auto supplies warehouse? I mean, what is the connection? It's certainly big and nice, with lots of pricey equipment, but there's no sign. No advertising.
"Sam's dad. It's his store..."
Ah. That explains that. Well, as long as it isn't some creepy dude letting High School boys come and work out. Probably jerking off in some room while he watches. Fucking men will jerk off to anything.
Charles, what are you doing? Ah turning on a set of speakers connected to a small iPod, that's what. And now, a familiar loud rap song playing, the music I have learned to hate. That's sweet, Charles. Thanks for turning it down before I yelled at you to do it.
"Alright, honey. I'll be back in an hour. I'm stopping by the Jewelers and the bank, and then I need to pick up dinner. So, maybe a little longer."
There is no way I'm cooking tonight. I should have Frank pick it up, then I could maybe stop and find a new dress or two. Or maybe some new workout clothes. Look at yourself Elizabeth, loosing some of that butt weight just might put you over the top. Your black hybrid yoga pants look pretty darn good on you, but with a little more tightness in that ass, I might just stop wearing underwear. Ha!
And wow, your boobs are practically climbing out of your cleavage. Nice job. Just as you planned for your little out and about shopping spree. Breast feeding is still your good friend. Even so, no form fitting shirt at the waist until you loose some of that belly. But the soft blue top, nice form, Elizabeth, nice full. Tight fit with lots of boob showing. Perfect.
"Can we have Chinese?"
Come on, Charles, can't you just be a little willing to let others get what they would like? Please, try to act like your age - which is 18, last time I checked. You are an adult. And after listening to you whine the whole way here about not being able to take the car, because I wanted to get out of the house too, I don't think so.
"I'll think about it. Isn't there anyone else stopping by?"
I have to say, the more I think about it, the less I like leaving my son in the back of some building. God, it's like I'm dropping him off to be raped. Ha. A teenage boy should be so lucky, as long as it was a girl. Maybe even a milf.
"Sam might, but he's still raking his yard."
Milf, now there's a fun word. I wonder if the team think's I'm a milf. Would they let me rape them? I bet some would. Shit, you might have a little bulk in that belly, and maybe your bottom has seen better days. But look at you Elizabeth, you 44 year old blonde mom. I bet some of the boys have you do some wild things in their jerk off sessions. You've certainly had them do some in yours.
Just stop, mind. Quit roaming, you hormonal basket case. Focus on the task at hand and get out of here.
"Alright, just be safe."
OK, Elizabeth, one last look at your hair in the mirror. Fix that before you walk through the little high end strip mall, trying to look good for the masses. You have your purse for a reason. Grab some lipstick, pout your lips, almost like your giving some teenage stud a blowjob.
Stop it.
Charles is simply sitting, on his phone, clearly waiting for me to leave. Well, who want's their mom watching them work out. Fuck, you need to use the bathroom so you might as well just primp in privacy. If this place has a bathroom. Christ, I wonder what it smells like.
"Honey, is there a bathroom I can use before I go?"
Could you at least get your face out of that phone while you answer me?
"Yea, it's in the office to the left when you go out."
Screw it. Save the lessons on manners for another place, not the gym. Not where the essence of manhood will over power any motherly charm.
"Thanks. Have fun."
Alright, just leave him alone. Get on with your free time. Sarah's watching the kids at home. You could probably stretch your time away, but God, you should have nursed before you left and not raced out of the house. Your boob plan is backfiring on you. Not nursing for 8 hours - to grow them to maximum capacity for your time in public - might have been a mistake.
Your out of the dojo. Fresh air, thank the Lord. The smell was letting your mind run wild. Jesus, it was almost like an aphrodisiac. My brain is clearing, my hormones are calming. Of course, Charles turns the music up to a somewhat loud and obnoxious level. Well, at least you won't have to listen to it.
Here is the door to the left. Open it and...blackness. The light switch is probably right...here. Bingo, bright light everywhere from overhead. I'd say this is not really an office Charles, more like another room to workout. And what the hell is that!
Jesus, almost the entire left wall is a window to the dojo. The workout room. A giant, one way mirror. I mean, my God, I was just standing on the other side of it, looking at my own reflection. Now I'm staring at Charles, still on his phone, texting away. This is creepy on so many levels. But, christ, it's not like they don't know about it. Still...
Just go pee and get out of here. I suppose if it was my daughter's locker room I might have a reason to flip out. And maybe if the mirror was to this bathroom, which is surprisingly clean, I'd have a case. Just turn, roll your pants over your ass, pull down the thong wedged in your butt cheeks, and do NOT touch your bottom to the seat.
Oohhh... Did I need to pee. Look at Charles, sitting on the workout bench, just staring at himself in the mirror. Thank God he has my long blonde hair, my deep blue eyes. My pale skin and, I have to say, good looks. The height he got from his asshole dad, but at least that was all. He's so pretty to look at.
Where is the fucking toilet paper. Jesus, guys, not everyone drip dries. The walk of shame, pants at my knees, ready to chew out the kids for once again letting mom do the toilet roll replacement. Walking around with her bush out, scaring away the germs, bending over, ass completely on display.
Another friendly surprise. A nice, well organized under the sink area. Not too shabby, and soft, plush toilet paper. None of the rough paper that scratches my, well, woman parts. Just unroll a huge mass in your hand, stand, and press. Toss it in the toilet, repeat, and wipe your butt in the upright position.
Perhaps shutting the door was in order. Just be ready to run if anyone walks in. Hurry up with the ass wipe. It is a little weird with your son staring at himself in the mirror as you wipe. But it sure beats the first time you caught him masturbating to you in the shower. Ha, emphasis on the first.
Yea, that was interesting, wasn't it. Charles was supposed to be downstairs watching the kids, letting you clean up from the day. A movement in the bathroom mirror caught your eye, and there he was, in the darkness of your bedroom, watching. Playing with himself.
"Well, mom's still got it." Way to go, Elizabeth, that was your first and only thought, wasn't it. You were flattered and you know it. Do not even try to pretend otherwise. The soft, 43 year old woman was still boner material. If you could have, you would have run out of the shower and hugged him, thanking him for the emotional support.
Now that would have ended things in a pretty odd manner. So, you just did what any good mother would do and ignored it. Let him watch as you soaped your chest, cleaned your vagina, all behind the clear shower glass. And sure, maybe you spent a little long cleaning the poop out of your poop hole.
Memory lane is over, Elizabeth. Pull up your pants and get going. Your not at home, in your bathroom, leaving the door open on purpose for prying teenage eyes. You can do that later tonight if Frank is not around. Tuck that thong in your ass, stretch the pants back over your bottom, and flush.
Look at those long, ruby nails. Don't break them as you wash your hands. They've taken a long time to grow, so don't screw it up in some rush to get shopping. Calm down, look at your face. Just a little more blush, a few applications of eye liner, and one more painting of the lips. Brush your hair, get it full, and voila, you are ready to be lusted over.
Now, time to get...
There is something for the mom masturbation memory bank. Charles is lying back, pushing up a bar of weights, legs bent and open with his feet on the ground. His penis isn't hard, but it certainly isn't hidden. The soft fabric of his shorts pushes into it as he pushes up the weight again, flexing his muscles. His penis seems to jerk from the effort. Hello tingly feelings.
All of that blood, rushing through his body. Feeding his strength and muscles. The strong, long legs. The firm, sculpted arms. The thick, heavy chest. Remember the smell from the room. Inhale, watching the outline of his boyhood move from right to left.
Another press, another shift. I can't look away. It's so exciting, watching him when he doesn't know he's being watched. My mouth is dry. I'm alone. Nobody knows I'm here. My tongue is desperate for moisture, rolling into my lips. It have to, moving my hand onto my stomach, slipping low, pushing into my pants.
Oh, there it is... Holy christ, what a shutter. My clit, deep beneath my hair and folds of skin. God, it want's some loving. Just hold my palm still, rub my fingertip gently over the hard nub of flesh. Start gentle. Look at that boy's penis, imagining his shorts slipping down for your prying eyes. Close your eyes. Picture it.
The warm rubbings feel so needed inside of me. I could feel my scratch building up all day. The hormones. Open your eyes, look at Charles again, now sitting up, staring at his buff body in the mirror. Looking intently as the blood pulses through his body, admiring his physique.
What the hell are you doing, Elizabeth? You could get caught. Someone could just walk in and find you with your hands down your pants, staring at your son. Get a grip. Turn, move to the door, and fucking lock it.
Now your safe. Now you are secure. Just pretend you were in the bathroom if someone knocks. You didn't miss anything, hands still in your pants, as Charles is once again on his back. But holy shit, he seems much more erect.
Fuck, did teenage boys get hard from everything? From waking up? From going to school? From working out? From eating dinner? From watching mom in the shower?
You know they do, Elizabeth, which is why you dress the way you do. To turn on these boners, to feel alive and sexy, to be young and wanted. Because lord knows, you are not getting any younger. The grey hairs are becoming longer and harder to color. Your bush has even started to grey.
Who cares. Just enjoy the moment. Push low, feeling the wetness of your vagina. The lips starting to bloom, your own blood starting to rush through your body. This is your moment with yourself. Your turn to enjoy your son. Lord knows you've let him enjoy you plenty.
How many times have you sat in the living room while he watched television, getting comfortable and preparing to nurse. Lifting up up your shirt and exposing your engorged chest, ready for feeding. You don't look at Charles, but you feel his eyes stray from the tv.
Eyes that watch you unclasp the flap on your nursing bra. Expose your swollen and engorged breast. Gently express milk out of your puffy nipple. And as your milk begins to flow you lean forward. The latch on. At this moment your blue eyes lock on his. Letting him know it's ok to look. To watch. It's natural. It's part of life.
And so are the erections that come from it, the feelings. The need to leave the room when I'm done, go up to your bedroom, and masturbate. I know you do it. I can hear you, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Sometimes even standing just outside your door. You can't help it that mom's breasts excite you. Your a young, hormonal, teenage boy.
But I'm an older, hormonal, middle aged woman. And I have needs too. I have feelings I can't control. That I don't want to resists. That come from nursing. The come from muscles. From bulges. From young, teenage boys letting me feel like I'm young and hot again. Your door's keyhole only reveals so much, Charles. I'm going to enjoy you as you've enjoyed me.
Rub a little harder, Elizabeth. Dig out those feelings. Look at Charles, sitting up, now gently rubbing the hardness between his legs. He can't control it, squeezing it, pressing into his erection. He's looking at it, perhaps wondering what to do about it. There's nothing he can do but slip his hands in his shorts and rub it.
Who is he thinking of? Which little teen girl in yoga pants with the thong sticking out at the top, bending over at her locker? Are the girls still running out at lunch to give blowjobs? Let you play with their tits in the back of a car? Is that what you masturbate to?
Or do you think of my tits. These, under the soft, cotton shirt I'm wearing. The soft blue shirt I'm now folding over the back of my head, showing you my large, engorged tits. There's not a girl in your school with nursing boobs, swollen like a balloon and ready to pop. Look at these tits.
You do look, don't you. Mommy is such a good mommy, wearing her towel so appropriately out of the shower. Hair wet and dripping as you bring in a crying bundle of joy. Patiently you hold stand, waiting as I sit and get comfortable. Opening my towel, exposing myself, sometimes top to bottom. Letting you know I'm ready.
Here they are, mom's tits, right under my nursing bra. But, oh, wait, Charles, I just opened the right one. My dark, heavy nipple is out. I'm so ready to nurse. Thank you honey, I've got it now. But you can stay. Watch me express my milk? Help with the latch on? Or, wait, maybe you would you like to nurse?
I know you would. So, here, let mom start her milk flow. Look at me, caressing my boob for you, rubbing it slowly as you rub your erection. My tongue is working overtime, licking my lips, getting my juices flowing. The milk is letting down. Oh, Charles. Watch.
It's like I'm ejaculating out of my breast, white fluid spraying out in front of me. God, it's such an orgasmic feeling when my milk lets down. I wonder who else masturbates while they nurse. Squeeze hard, Elizabeth, look at the milk spray against the one way mirror.
Only milfs can do this, Charles. Only milky milfs. Only your mom. Look at me, jerking my tit for you. So sad I'm out of sight and out of mind. You're probably imagining Tess bending over for you right now. Being the good, late night friend from grade school she is. Putting the computer up to her butt, like all the teenage cam girls do, bending over and spreading her ass.
Is that what you want? Some bunny time? I really don't give you any bunny time at all, do I? Oh, well let me turn around then and wiggle my ass. Shit, I can twerk. I can simulate getting fucked from behind. Unlike most of your little girls friends, I've actually been fucked in this position. I know what I'm doing.
Look at me bouncing my ass up and down for you, one tit free, dripping onto the floor. I can see you Charles, picking up the pace of your rubbings. Am I am moving like some white suburban mom pretending to be a dirty black dancer? Is this what it means to pop that ass?
I bet the teenage girls bend over like this, pausing, letting you focus on one spot. Maybe I should back up to the camera, as close as I can. Can you see alright, am I centered. Because I think I might pull down my pants so you can see everything. Let me reach behind and just roll these tight yoga pants over my soft, white ass.
How's my thong. Do you like it, light blue, just like a little girls? Does it show you enough of my ass, pants hanging mid thigh? Are my bunnies filling up your computer monitor so you can jerk off to them? Here, I'll rub my hands over them, softly playing with butt cheeks.
Look at Charles, lying back, playing with himself. His eyes are closed. His tongue is out. Thinking of Rebeca, in her bikini, bent over before him. Does she do this Charles, grab the center of her swimsuit and pull it to the side while your on the beach?
Here it is. What you want. My nudity. My ass, bent over for you, pussy wet and hanging low. Maybe a bit more hair than your are used to, but go ahead, look at me expose myself for you. Pushing my ass into the glass. Feeling the cool surface press into my vagina.
Oh, but wait. Let me get on my knees, butt facing you, a teenage girl too embarrassed to show her small, undeveloped chest. My nipples are just starting to grow. My boobs are not yet fully formed. But, I have an asshole. Let me bend over, onto my shoulders, and show you.
Fuck, look at it. I'm pulling my cheeks wide, moving my finger over my poop hole. Charles, is this what I hear you jerking off to at night, screen glowing under the door? Are you snap chatting with some little blonde girl, bent over before you while fingering her asshole.
I can do it to, touch my bunny hole. Press my long nail against it, slipping into my ass. It may be dark and dirty, stained from years of use, but it's still tight. I can feel my anal hairs dragging against my finger as I push, not the fully shaved girl you are probably used to. But I know you don't care. I know you like jerking off to me.
Just slip your dick in me. Right here, where my thumb is. Pulling open my lips. Moving my hips back and forth, pretending you're fucking me. My thumb is your teenage erection, firm, slipping in. Do it. I'm doing it. God, a thumb in my pussy and finger in my ass. Do you know what it means to six pack a girl? I need to do this more often. It feels so dirty. Are you behind me, Charles?
Fuck, there you are, pants at your ankles, exposed. Playing with yourself on the weight bench. I want to watch, to remember this, to relive it forever. Get off your knees and grab your phone, Elizabeth. Record that masturbating teenager before he blows his load all over himself.
Shit, where is...here it is. Got it. Charles has paused, resting, recovering. Lucky mom, it's like he's waiting for you. Turn on the phone, touch the screen, camera, video, round red button. On. There it is, the screen. Point it at him. Stand close to the mirror and record your son.
Charles is spreading his knees, looking at the long, white erection between his legs in the mirror. Proud of his manhood, his physique. Teens these days are so focussed on themselves, their looks, their millennial aura. Charles holds his aura in his hands, watching himself stroke it. You know his technique well, don't you Elizabeth.
Push your panties down. Get them out of the way and get back to work on your heavy bush. Feel the wet folds, moving your legs apart, letting your fingers penetrate them. The squishing noise echoes in the room despite the music. Your scent begins to mix in with the smell of sweat and boys.
Christ, and take your bra off. Your exposed tit is screaming to be released. Squeezing out of the open flap. Release the hounds, let them run free. Rub them, feel the firm lobules indicating your engorged state. The state you have been so desperately keeping since Amanda's been born.Reaching down, Charles grabs his own phone. Yea, open it up, look at your saved pictures and videos. I've seen that image library. I know what's on it, recognizing a few of your classmates. Even without their face in the picture. I've had coffee with their mom's. Find one you like. Jerk off to it.
God, better yet. Snap chat someone, start a video session, raise it to the mirror, let them see your nudity. Your muscles. Your workout session. How many teenage girls wouldn't love walking into the boys gym, watch them bench press while giving them a blow job. I know I did. Didn't I, Steve.
But I want you closer Charles. Look at mommy, nursing my breasts again. Can you sense them, even though you can't see them? Are you that attracted to them? You always seem to know when they are going to make an appearance. Always in the room when the bra opens. Maybe my milk will help you smell them.
Spray the mirror, Elizabeth. Coat it with your seed. Squirt again, close, pushing your nipple up to the glass. Try to hold the camera still on Charles as he rubs himself in one hand, phone in the other. Boys are a natural at this. Point your own phone down to your tit, film the ejaculation of your nipple, reminding yourself how close your naked body was to your son's.
Bend down, lick the milk that now coats the glass. Fuck, you've nursed yourself before. Do it again, pushing all of your large areola into your mouth, swallowing your mothers milk. Roll your nipple in your tongue. Squirt your breast. Push your lips and nipple to the mirror, opening your mouth, exposing the pool of milk behind your lips.
Elizabeth, look at Charles, standing, rubbing himself for his audience. Looking at the camera, making sure his pose is centered for the lucky girl on the other end. He's walking towards you, pointing his erection right at you. Push your body against the glass, beg him to cum on you.
"Cum on me Charles..."
Yea, don't say it, just mouth it. Again. And again. Don't let him know your here. Don't ruin the one, hidden chance you may have to be sprayed by teenage sperm. A go to fantasy, lying on the floor, letting the hockey team jerk off over you. Press your heavy bush into the glass, flatten it, and let the music hide any noise from your rubbings.
Charles is close. He's filming himself, pointing low at that beautiful white, long erection. His skin is so smooth. His stomach so flat. His head so purple. Move the bulging hair from your bush out of the way. Spread open your lips. Push your clit against the mirror.
White semen erupts from his penis, spraying all over the glass, just on the other side of your clit. Push your vagina to the sperm, dragging your lips over the glass leaving a slimy, snail like trail. Flatten your vaginal folds into the hard surface, catching all of the teenage angst Charles is spraying for the camera.
Look at the creamy white mess he is making. Drag your body down, tits sliding against the glass. Open your mouth, roll out your tongue, and lick up the fluid. Look up at the camera, at the wild eyes, watching himself erupt. Filming his release. Girls do want to see the sperm.
It's as though he's looking at you. Watching his mom show her son that she likes to swallow sperm. To taste it. To smell it. Lean back, Elizabeth. Get back to focussing the phone, holding it close and capturing the white drips just 2 inches away.
That's it. It's over. What a fucking teenage jerk off session. But you aren't done, are you. You need to fucking get this orgasm out of you. Put your phone down and start to rub like you've never rubbed before. A middle age, menopausal masturbation session. It could take a while.
Charles looks spent, sitting down in front of the mirror. His eyes are focussed on his screen, waiting for his partner in crime to finish. Thank you for spreading your legs sweetie, letting Tess or Rachel or, shit, maybe even your sister Sarah enjoy their final moments. God, don't even think about the videos your daughter has made.
Just prop your legs against the base of the mirror, spread your knees and...oh fuck. Rub right there In the thick, heavy bush. Don't even start slow. Just move that palm hard and deep. Fuck, and kick off these God damn pants. How is a girl to spread her legs wide with yoga pants holding her back.
Yea, now that's the feeling. Open legs, warm pussy, hard hand. Up and down, thinking of the penis before you. Peek at it, still on display, unaware of the prying eyes. The eye's of a mom, outside of your room, on her knees, looking into the key hole.
Now close, remember the vision, and think of it entering your mouth. Tasting the sperm. Feeling the warm textured juices spray against the back of your mouth. You gave such good head as a teenager. Especially when having to let your sister watch through a cracked door. The bribes you made to sneak in the boys. Elizabeth, you were a horny teen. Aren't they all.
Touch yourself, bring out the physical feelings while your mind processes more naughty images. Listening to your parents on Sunday mornings, sitting outside of their room, playing with yourself. But, you've used that image way too many times before. The mental picture of your dad's penis sliding between your mom's legs is tattered. Something better. Dirtier.
What about the party. Yea, the party. With the Josh. Oh my god, I haven't thought about that one for a while. Sitting in the living room, the rest of the couples laughing outside. Kids in the basement. Bundle in your arms. Opening your shirt. Asking if he minds. He didn't. You released them both, one for his viewing pleasure. It only took two minutes for him to ejaculated onto his table.
Yea, Elizabeth, you like letting people watch. And watching. But Josh was too quick. What about college? Shit. Don't go there. Don't think about the ex-husband whom you met at school. Your fuck sessions during the day, letting the eyes in the neighboring building watch you pull your ankles back.
It was such a turn on, always so proud of the "little show" you gave. Some times, the college boys even played with themselves while you watched. Think of them. Watching you watch them. That was always a good orgasm builder.
Forget the ex. Pull your legs back. It shouldn't be this hard to cum. Rub your clit, move a finger into your pussy. Maybe think of your daughter. When you came home to her and a college friend, in the basement. Fucking, Sarah on her hands and knees. You might have confronted them if it was a guy. But watching the tits swinging back and forth while the girl made a fist, using her thumb as a fake penis, now that was a shocker. Forget that.
No, wait, imagine you are the one fucking her. Ooh, yea. I'd like that. It's my thumb. Maybe even slipping into her ass while you reach down and grab Sarah's tits. Those pale, perk tits with large, pink areolas.
Fuck, that is starting to bring out the sensations. Your thumb in, yea, her ass. Rub your own finger towards your asshole, touch it gently. Nobody is putting a penis there, but a finger every now and then is starting to be a nice trigger. A woman needs new weapons as she gets older.
It's starting. Your orgasm. Time to bring out the big gun. The go to mental imagery. Because it is right there before you. Your son. And you're careful not to waste it. So use it now. Rub hard, almost... Your clit is surging. Just about...
Now! Put your finger up your ass! Think of Charles! Open your eye's! Tell him!
"I want to fuck you Charles!"
Thank God for the loud music. Push into your ass hard, dig out that orgasm! Move the wedding ring against your asshole, tickle the nerves. Oh, shit. My hand is like a blur, probably moving so fast my bush is going to catch on fire. A God damn burning bush.
"Oh my god...fuck me...honey..."
Another outburst. Try to keep them down, woman. You almost spasmed through the mirror as you fingered your ass and pussy, pushing into both holes with force. Even your milk is starting to bubble slightly from the internal pressure.
H O L Y S H I T.
Wow. Just, wow.
Now that was a good one. The best one, since, well, maybe since in the bathroom at yoga class. I don't know where that one came from, but pregnant at 8 months creates odd moments. Just lay back, close your eyes, and let the warm feelings flow through your body.
Look at that cute little butt of Charles walking away. His little girl friend must be done. Shit, I know I am. I hope he cleans up his mess before anyone else shows up.
Fuck, I better clean myself up. And quickly. Forget about shopping. I'll just go to Kroger and fit right in. Roll over Elizabeth, stand up, and find that thong. There it is. Pull it up and grab your bra.
Lean forward, tuck in your tits, and lean back. Snap. Done. Ha, but your nursing flap is open with the engorged tit swinging free. Just put it back in and, snap, in place.
Get that ball of black fabric, stretch in one foot, then the other. Wow, that orgasm is still swimming in me, almost tipping me over. Slow it down girl, pull up your pants, but don't pass out doing so. You wouldn't want Charles to find you like this.
Squeeze the fabric over the butt. Not very graceful, but done. Look over your shoulder, and yep, just a hint of light blue thong behind the black. Pull it up a little more, and...perfect. Just enough white bottom is showing through the fabric to make it worth looking at.
Shirt on, slip on the sandals, and done. It never happened. Just breathe, and relax. Nobody knows nothing, so just enjoy the final moments of an incredible orgasm.
Grab your phone, your purse, open the door, and give Charles one last look. He's all dressed himself, back on the bench. Still recording himself. These millennials sure are all about themselves. Lights turned off, it was time to leave.
Out the door, into the entrance room, and finally - fresh air. Breathe it in. No more smell of sweaty teen. Let the drug slowly purge from your system. Now, get in the Audi and get out of here. But fuck, where's the key? It's not... Damn. Charles drove.
Back inside, pausing, composing myself. I wouldn't want to walk in on a second act. So, just knock, wait a moment, then open.
"Hey...uh...honey...I need the key..."
Hello blue eyes, looking at me, somewhat stunned. My little Charles with a towel, walking away from the mirror, cleaning up his mess all on his own. What a big boy.
Sure, say nothing and just walk over to your little gym bag. Get the key while I just look at the dark mirror with the sexy mom, smiling at what she just did on the other side. Completely out of sight. What a naughty, naughty mom.
Enough of that, Charles is holding out the key.
"Here you go...Oh, Sam's here..."
Sam? When the hell did Sam come in? The music wasn't that loud.
Oh, there's Sam, standing on the other side of the mirror. Smiling at us. Giving us a friendly wave. He's stopped, now focussed on the odd white liquid dripping down the glass. Touching it, now looking at my milk on his finger.
The lights in the room had been turned back on. The mirror was not a mirror. Our reflections disappeared when the room was lit. It was simply a security window. A window. To look through. Which could only mean...
"Oh My God. OH MY GOD!"
Elizabeth, you idiot! You fucking IDIOT!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone