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“I still can't believe any of this is actually happening,” she sighed, slowly shaking her head, but with a small, guilty little smile on her lips as she did. “But... I'm glad it is.”“Me too, Mom!” I sighed with relief, hugging her tighter. “Me, too!”

Though even if it was a stupid realisation to have after what she was doing, the sight of his thick and mostly flaccid penis pointing right at her face wiped away all her previous thoughts and desires. It was only a few inches away from her face and it was beginning to grow. She knew she shouldn’t stare and that she should run back to her bed, but she was mesmerised. With only her hand rubbing the hair above and her slow and hot breath blowing on it, it steadily stretched forward and up right towards her face.

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.