Joan tried to avoid contact with her son. She found herself looking at him when he was occupied with something, remembering how his cock had felt, how he had fucked her. She wanted him to grab her and fuck her again, throw her to the floor and ram his cock up her cunt.

But she didn't make any move that would encourage him. She felt ashamed of her wanton behavior. But her shame failed to make her desire any less. There was a hunger between her legs, a hunger she couldn't deny. She wanted her son's cock up her cunt, wanted it with increasing desperation, yet she didn't know how to go about letting him know she wanted a repeat of what happened a few days ago. She couldn't bring herself to expose her body the way the girl did in the doctor's office, although she wanted to. That, she knew, would get her son's attention. And that, too, bothered her. Why wasn't Billy after her, try to feel her up?

What Joan didn't know was that her son wanted to do just that. He had sensed his mother's shame, and didn't want to embarrass her again. Therefore he kept his distance, but at night he would remember fucking her, playing with his cock, jacking off as he recalled the doctor sucking him, how it felt to have his cock inside his mother's cunt.

He was doing that now.

Sprawled on his bed, the sheets kicked to the foot, he lay on his back, jacking on his cock, eyes closed as he remembered the wet heat of his mother's cunt. His light was on, bathing his naked body softly.

Joan had bathed and prepared for bed, her cunt demanding more than her fingers. Her mind burned with the memory of her son's cock in her cunt, and her fingers were a poor substitute when Billy was right there in his own bed. She pulled her gown over her head, lifting a knee to the bed. She paused, feeling her cunt twitch. She rubbed her hand through the thick pussy hair and cupped her cunt. She rubbed at her cunt, moving her ass slowly.