violism

Despite her protests, she was much more amenable this time. A bit of hesitancy at first, but once she got used to the difference in taste she dove right back in to eating me again. I could have easily just let myself float on the enjoyment of what she was doing to me, but I made a special effort to be vocal for her, to moan and gasp, making sure she knew she was doing a good job. I knew how much Daddy liked that sort of thing when he was fucking me, and I figured it was probably even more important for Mom. I got there quicker this time, I think because it just felt so naughty to be feeding Mommy Brucie's cum instead of Daddy's. I totally rubbed my pussy all over her face when I came, too—not because I was trying to this time, just because it felt so good I couldn't stop myself from bucking my hips! Daddy gave me one last kiss on my lips, then got out of my way so I could slide myself down and lay on top of her.

The house was nicely, if modestly furnished. Everything was clean and uncluttered, which fit with Ms. B’s personality. She gave me a tour of the house, including all of the bedrooms. In the master bath, she grabbed a towel from a linen closet and tossed it at me.

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.