She was sifting on the couch, wearing her robe, polishing her toenails. Timmy was on the floor, watching her. She placed her foot on the low glass-topped coffee table, tucking her robe between her thighs carefully, but still exposing her thigh. At first she didn't realize her son was watching her that closely. She didn't have to see him looking to feel his eyes on her thigh. She began trembling, afraid to look at him, afraid to see where he was looking.

Somehow, she managed to finish that foot, hiding her nervousness with an effort. But when she started on the other foot she was a little careless. Unknown to her, the robe did not quite conceal her crotch when she switched feet and her panties were exposed. Timmy's eyes had become hot as he stared at the panties. A few dark curls of hair curled teasingly from the tight crotch.

She caught the movement of Timmy's hand as he darted it into his lap. She couldn't see what he was doing because of the coffee table, but it was obvious. He was touching himself as he looked at her.

Donna started to adjust her robe.

"No, Mom," Timmy said, his voice hoarse.

Donna's breath caught in her throat, her hand an inch or so from her robe, unmoving, frozen, with her fingers pointing to her cunt, as if she was getting ready to rub it. She lifted her eyes and saw the gleam in Timmy's. A shudder rippled through her. It was the same gleam her husband used to get, only Timmy's eyes appeared much brighter, more demanding. His arm was moving, and she knew he was playing with his cock while he looked at her. A peek between her thighs told her what he was seeing. A blush crept over her face, and she felt shy, embarrassed. Somehow, though, she felt excitement, too. She had never really been excited when her husband had looked at her that way. He seldom had, anyway. His way was to just grab her and start fucking her, regardless of her feelings. He had never looked at Donna as if he really wanted her, but as a possession. He had looked at her as though she was just a hole for his pleasure.