She did not say anything to her son about what she had seen. She kept it to herself, with the image burning hotly in her brain, along with those words.

And she began to forget to wear a bra or panties. And she sometimes found her son peeking up her dress.

Karen knew, in the back of her mind, that she was sitting in such a way so he could peek up her dress but she was unable to stop herself from doing it. It was as if her subconscious mind was guiding her, forcing her to do such things, things she had never done in her entire life, things she considered shameful and degrading. Only the "bad" girls did such things, the girls who took money or other favors from men, girls who didn't care about their reputations or feel a bit of self-worth.

She surprised herself by trying to peek at her son when he had Sally with him, actually wanting to see his cock fucking the little girl again. She was tormented with the wild, burning desire to watch them fucking, and she fought against it, losing miserably.

She had not seen them fucking again, but she had seen them sitting together, kissing and hugging and fondling. Even that excited her, knowing where it would lead them very soon. But when they were overcome by the urge to fuck, they would leave the house and go someplace. Karen suspected they used the garage, the back seat of the car parked there, but she didn't have the nerve to look out there. She was afraid they would see her, and that would have embarrassed her terribly.

Somehow, Karen felt that Sally would simply giggle naughtily, unconcerned about being caught. Her son, maybe, would look a little shame-faced at first, but then he too would probably laugh it off. She sensed that that would be all they would feel, a momentary shyness. It would be her who blushed from head to toe.