06-11-2019, 08:44 AM
Her knees were square to me now and her legs opened. Head still down, Mom’s arms raised and stretched out, closing onto the side of my thighs, hands folding around and pressing me forward, toward her, like last night. I gave way.
My thigh once again made contact with the inside of Mom’s and continued pressing until my leg was stopped by the juncture of hers.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Mom purred.
A warm, damp bristly mat impinged on the soft flesh just above my knee. She wasn’t wearing panties. She was completely naked under that robe.
I put my hands gently on the top of Mom’s head and stroked the hair down the sides of her face, pushing it back. Slowly, Mom’s face turned up toward me but stopped when she was looking directly ahead, at my pajama pyramid. Why hadn’t I worn my jockey shorts? If I had, I would surely now be poking outside my pajamas, ready to feel her hot breath, and maybe even her wet tongue. But I was stuck inside, making this ridiculous tent.
Mom’s head moved forward and I gathered her hair in my hands, holding it up behind her head as she leaned in. I wanted to pull my pajamas down but was afraid to take the initiative. Please poke out. Please. But I wasn’t long enough.
No matter. Mom’s head kept coming and her face bumped my rigid tent, adjusted, and then her mouth slipped over the head of my cock, pajamas and all.
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh,” I cried, not able to dampen my cry regardless of my father’s presence.
“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I cried as Mom’s mouth pressed further, enveloping more of me and my pajamas.
Her mouth closed, clamping my cock firmly in her mouth. She didn’t move for several very long seconds. Then, instead of pulling away, as I expected, she began milking my cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, the same way I had worked on her tits. Mom’s arms circled my hips, pulling me closer, her legs closing on mine, her wet pussy rubbing my lower thigh, faster now.
I began to push my pajama-covered cock into Mom’s mouth, trying to fuck it, but I had limited degrees of freedom. Nevertheless, I kept thrusting, she kept milking, I pushed and twisted my knee, and she kept squeezing and rubbing.
Suddenly, Mom’s hand slipped down my hips, dragging my pajamas with them just as her mouth yanked off my soaked tent. One brief moment of freedom and my pole was quickly captured again, only this time the captor was warmer, wetter, softer and more vigorous. Mom’s head moved up and down on my cock of its own accord but I helped it along anyway, my own hands pushing and lifting, pushing and lifting.
Ah, fuck. The feel of my cock sliding in and out of her tight mouth, amid all those slurpy sucking sounds. Suddenly, I convulsed, bending over, pulling her head to me, keeping my cock shoved in her mouth. My hips were jerking, my spasms unloading my white son’s cream in her throat.
My thigh once again made contact with the inside of Mom’s and continued pressing until my leg was stopped by the juncture of hers.
“Ohhhhhhh,” Mom purred.
A warm, damp bristly mat impinged on the soft flesh just above my knee. She wasn’t wearing panties. She was completely naked under that robe.
I put my hands gently on the top of Mom’s head and stroked the hair down the sides of her face, pushing it back. Slowly, Mom’s face turned up toward me but stopped when she was looking directly ahead, at my pajama pyramid. Why hadn’t I worn my jockey shorts? If I had, I would surely now be poking outside my pajamas, ready to feel her hot breath, and maybe even her wet tongue. But I was stuck inside, making this ridiculous tent.
Mom’s head moved forward and I gathered her hair in my hands, holding it up behind her head as she leaned in. I wanted to pull my pajamas down but was afraid to take the initiative. Please poke out. Please. But I wasn’t long enough.
No matter. Mom’s head kept coming and her face bumped my rigid tent, adjusted, and then her mouth slipped over the head of my cock, pajamas and all.
“Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh,” I cried, not able to dampen my cry regardless of my father’s presence.
“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I cried as Mom’s mouth pressed further, enveloping more of me and my pajamas.
Her mouth closed, clamping my cock firmly in her mouth. She didn’t move for several very long seconds. Then, instead of pulling away, as I expected, she began milking my cock, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, the same way I had worked on her tits. Mom’s arms circled my hips, pulling me closer, her legs closing on mine, her wet pussy rubbing my lower thigh, faster now.
I began to push my pajama-covered cock into Mom’s mouth, trying to fuck it, but I had limited degrees of freedom. Nevertheless, I kept thrusting, she kept milking, I pushed and twisted my knee, and she kept squeezing and rubbing.
Suddenly, Mom’s hand slipped down my hips, dragging my pajamas with them just as her mouth yanked off my soaked tent. One brief moment of freedom and my pole was quickly captured again, only this time the captor was warmer, wetter, softer and more vigorous. Mom’s head moved up and down on my cock of its own accord but I helped it along anyway, my own hands pushing and lifting, pushing and lifting.
Ah, fuck. The feel of my cock sliding in and out of her tight mouth, amid all those slurpy sucking sounds. Suddenly, I convulsed, bending over, pulling her head to me, keeping my cock shoved in her mouth. My hips were jerking, my spasms unloading my white son’s cream in her throat.
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