"You wouldn't have to do anything to me, Marcy," Susan was saying. "I'd kiss you on your juicy cunt and use my own fingers to bring myself off. You could touch me if you wanted to; I wouldn't mind. I'd like for you to fingerfuck me while I sucked on your soft, wet cunt!"

Marcy couldn't understand any of this. Yet, there was a certain thrill to having her ex-husband's wife wanting to do this with her. It would serve the bastard right, she felt. But she knew she would never do what Susan asked. She had done enough with her son, and she was determined it would never happen again, with Susan or Jerry.

Yet, after listening to the wanton suggestions Susan kept making over the phone, her cunt was drenched by the time she hung up. She looked shyly at her son as if he could see through her dress and panties, see that her pussy was wet. She saw his cock bulging in his tight jeans, and with a flush, she hurried from the room to the laundry room. She sorted laundry and filled the machine, trying to think of anything but what Susan had said and how hard her son's cock was, what it had felt like fucking her only a few nights before. It was obvious Jerry wanted to fuck her again.

As she turned on the washing machine, she heard her son shuffling behind her. She became very still, still holding the dial on the machine, then she felt her body start to shake. She wanted to turn and look at her son, but she was afraid of what she would see. She had heard the soft snick of a zipper sliding, and just knew her son had his cock out of his pants.

Jerry had been watching his mother since he had caught his stepmother's hand under her dress, and when he fucked his mother, it was the best thing to happen to him. He knew his mother was embarrassed about it, and he didn't want her to feel that way.

Now, standing behind her, his cock out of his pants, his eyes gazing at the shape and swell of her rounded ass under her skirt, he could wait no longer.