Bobby paid no attention to his mother. He jerked his fist up and down his hard cock faster and faster, his tongue almost hanging out. Sharon tried once, a feeble try, to move her eyes from his cock. She was blushing furiously, her tits swollen and her cunt painfully tight, her clit pressing past the wet folds of her pussy and onto the nylon cloth of her panties.

Bobby snaked his free hand out to her, and Sharon couldn't stop him as he drew her skirt higher on her thigh. She allowed him to pull her skirt almost to her hip, and then stopped him. She placed her hand on top of his, holding him so he couldn't lift her skirt any higher. An inch more and her panties would be exposed.

She stared openly at her son's cock now, giving in to the overpowering excitement of seeing him jack off. Her cheeks were almost a bright pink, her embarrassment deep, but there was that overwhelming desire to watch him, to see his fist pumping, his thick cock so very hard. The heat between her thighs increased, and she admitted to herself she wanted to see her son come, to see that creamy juice squirt from his prick.

Bobby didn't pull his hand back, but left it there. Sharon felt his fingers rubbing at her thigh, on her naked skin. She shivered, but it certainly wasn't from being chilled. She breathed deeply, her tits lifting and falling before her son's eyes. She knew Bobby could see her interest, and allowing him keep her skirt there, very close to her panties, Sharon realized she was consenting to this – and Bobby knew it.

Bobby turned on the couch, lifting a foot to the cushions, the other still on the floor. Sharon stared directly at him, his cock sending tremors of desire through her. She wanted to uncross her legs, to fling them as wick as she could, and rip her panties away, and scream at her son to shove that beautiful, hard cock into her cunt, to fuck her senseless. She wanted to do that desperately, but she didn't.