Unknown
Mom_s hot lips
CHAPTER ONE
Vera Hanson padded from the steamy bathroom after her shower and blotted silvery drops from her pert tits with a big green towel. She paused in front of the mirror over her dresser and tilted her head reflectively, letting her eyes roam up and down her taut-fleshed image.
She saw the well-formed boobs, the protruding nipples, the slimness of her supple waist. She ran her eyes over the flare of her hips and the saucy pout of her round, tight-skinned, dew-spangled ass. Not bad, she thought, smiling at her image. For thirty-eight and one kid, it's damn good, Vera.
She shook her head and brought fullness to her cropped blonde hair and saw another two years come off when she pulled her facial muscles just right and smoothed the hints of beginning wrinkles. It ran in the family. She could easily pass for her son's older sister, instead of Paul Hanson's young wife.
The thought made little shivers go through her body. She glanced down and watched her pussylips puff up and swell apart slightly and reveal the pink tissues beneath the dark-blonde fuzz.
Even her cunt was tight and young. It hadn't had much use during the past year. She sometimes felt as if she were a virgin again, a girl no older than her son, Roger.
Vera felt a sexual throb deep in her belly. She reached between her thighs and cupped the shower-damp moistness at her crotch. An illicit thrill swept through her when the tip of her finger rolled the sensitive ball of her clit and made it sprout with alarming suddenness.
She glanced into the mirror again and saw the tiny spike at the top of her gash peep out pinkly and beg for more. She saw the sheen of slippery juice that flooded to the front of her pussy and made her cuntlips become bloated and red.
She closed her eyes and moaned deeply. She didn't want to do this. She wanted Paul to come home and, do it to her-to fuck her until she screamed with bliss, the way he used to flick her before this past year had sapped something from him and left him remote.
She glanced at the clock and saw that it was eleven-thirty already. He should have been back from Loon Key for dinner.
Worry nagged at her. Then a muddle of resentment and anger. It was that damn motel. The new one he was building that had taken him from her like a tight-skirted tramp.
She would be glad when it was finished. There were ten others in the Hanson chain, from Palm Beach south along the Gold Coast to Miami. After he'd married her, she'd shared in the building of nine of them, helping him create the tiny little empire that was all theirs.
But this one on Loon Key was different. He'd excluded her from it. He was building it just as he'd built the first one-without her. And he'd excluded her from himself as well, making her nearly a widow. A frustrated one. This past year had been degrading When she should have been serene and satisfied at thirty-eight, she was having to finger-fuck herself like a girl younger than her son when the need became too great
The motel was nearly finished now. God, she'd be glad! There weren't going to be any more of them added to the chain, even if she had to strap him to the house, because she wouldn't go through another year like this one.
She glanced at her lush body-in the mirror again. She wondered if she was too much for him, if his age was really catching up with him. Paul was going to be fifty-eight this summer, after all. But he'd always been robust, his plunging prick amply satisfying to her. Until this past year.
He'd claimed it was the new motel, the worry over it. He denied there was another woman sapping him. Vera believed both statements. They'd made her resolve not to be tempted by other men. And there were plenty of offers. They thought she was fair game because of Paul's age and her deceptive youth.
But Vera didn't want just to be fucked. She wanted her husband back. She wanted to lie back on her bed and fling her knees wide and have him fuck her until she gurgled mindlessly. She wanted him to do to her what she'd been having to do to herself, as degraded and ashamed as that had made her feel the first few times.
She sighed and laid the towel across the foot of the bed. She looked at the bed and felt the hunger stir inside her cunt again. She wrapped her fingers around her pussy and squeezed tightly, not 'wanting to have to diddle herself again. She'd been finger-fucking too much. It was shameful that there wasn't even any shame in doing it any more.
The tingling wouldn't go away. She fought the old battle inside herself again. She felt her nipples grow taut and sprout stiffly. Her finger circled over her spiked cunt, and, she felt the sharp throb of need deep inside her youthful snatch.
She yanked her hand from her cunt with determination, her fingers sticky with pussy juice. Even as she did, she knew there was no chance he'd be up to fucking her tonight. Not after working this late. And she knew she'd twist and moan in bed beside him until she couldn't stand the agony any more. Then she'd sneak into the bathroom and sit on the stool and stretch her legs in front of her and diddle her twat. Maybe twice. It felt like a night for twice.
"Oh, God," she moaned, turning towards her drawer. She removed a pair of red panties and stepped into them, letting the elastic waist make a reassuring snap against her flat tummy.
But the jitteriness wouldn't go away. Neither would the nagging worry for her husband. Something was wrong, or he would have called. She could feel that something was wrong.
She wished Roger were home. More and more, she'd been seeking comfort and companionship from her son. But he was out celebrating being an adult again, getting drunk, surrounding himself with willing girls. He was eighteen last month. Florida said he was an adult. But, with Roger, the older he got, the more childish he acted.
Her closeness with Roger annoyed Paul, because the two of them just didn't get along. But what else was she to do? When her husband turned from her, where else was she to go?
Vera went through the big house in her red panties, moving slowly and thoughtfully towards the kitchen. She paused by the glass doors to the pool lanai and pushed a switch. The underwater lights came on and made the blue water look flat and invitingly shallow. Beyond the screening, she saw the running lights of the Thompsons' forty-five-foot Chris Craft coming into their dock next door. The wake made their own Matthews rock gently against its lines, little creaks of sound mingling with the rain clatter of palm fronds in the warm night
Where was Paul?
Vera hurried towards the kitchen. and poured herself a glass of cold milk and drank it slowly, standing in front of the window. There was no worry that anyone outside would be peeping in at her naked fits. The house was on an acre of ground, the whole yard surrounded by a high stucco wall and thick tropical foliage.
As she bent to put the glass in the dishwasher, she felt her tight, tipped boobs sway beneath her chest and tug gently at her skin. The tingling sensation rippled through her body again and made her suck in her breath. She cupped her tits and felt them explode with sensation.
She was going to have, to do something. It was getting terrible. But she didn't want to be unfaithful to Paul. Maybe she could adjust to masturbating, but not to that. Not after what he'd done for her when she'd needed him the most
A flash of memory blazed across her mind, and she recalled that ' night over eighteen years ago. Three of them had dragged her into a roam in the Hanson Motel and raped her again and again, until her mind spun and her constant wails of agony had brought Paul himself to investigate. He'd stopped the rape, but he hadn't been soon enough to stop the flood of sperm that had caused Roger. Maybe it was just as well. Maybe he wouldn't have married her four months later if she hadn't been pregnant.
Vera didn't like that thought. It had plagued her for eighteen years, and she didn't like it. Paul wasn't that way. He'd married her from love, not some odd sense of guilt. She had to believe that. They'd had too good a marriage for it to be based on guilt and pity.