"I… I don't know, Harry," she stammered. "I really don't I have to talk to him about his schoolwork. Maybe I was…"

"You mean you think about Kenny's schoolwork when you're having an orgasm?"

"Harry, don't look at me like that!" Diane said defensively. "It was just a slip of the tongue! Slips of the tongue don't mean anything! Now let me alone! God, what a mind you have!"

Harry studied her face a moment longer, then lowered his head and kissed her deep, milk-white cleavage in apology. "Okay. Sorry, honey."

"I hope so! Now if you'll just move over, Mr. Suspicious, I'm going to go to the bathroom and clean up. You really shot off that time, Harry."

Harry chuckled and made room for his wife as she crawled out of bed. He was tired after such a good fuck, too tired to notice the significance of her closing the bathroom door, which she almost never did after they fucked.

Inside the typically suburban bathroom, Diane was quivering as she looked at her voluptuous body in the full-length mirror. Kenny. She'd said it, her son's name. She had to watch herself, Diane told herself, absolutely had to! She could never slip up like that again.

Her crimson silver-dollar-sized nipples were stiff and crinkled from her husband's sucking. Diane put her hand between her legs and felt the hot cum bubbling in her red, ravaged pussy. How much she wished it was her son's jism, her sweet youngest boy's huge prick that had invaded her wet, horny cunt.

Diane did want to fuck him. It was a desire that she'd told herself she could never confess to her husband, and certainly one that she could never bring to life. Some fantasies just weren't meant to come true.

Kenny was her middle child, a tall, slender, shy youth with a boyish face and longish, sandy-blonde hair. Diane had wanted to fuck him ever since she'd seen the lump of his cock growing in his pants.