Carol felt her son's hand touch her thigh.

She jerked, but remained sitting there, her head still turned away from him. She was blushing furiously, pressing her clasped hands into her lap. She couldn't tell her son to move his hand, couldn't tell him because her throat was dry and constricted and the words wouldn't come. She felt him move his hand from just above her knee up her thigh, to the hem of her hiked-up skirt. When she felt his fingers sliding beneath her skirt, she began to tremble visibly.

Roger pushed his hand underneath his mother's skirt, his cock still sticking out of his shorts. When he couldn't shove his hand any farther because of her hands pressing down, he pulled her hands apart. Carol didn't resist. She couldn't resist.

Again Roger pushed his hand under her skirt. When he shoved his fingers between her thighs, Carol finally made a sound. It was a soft, low whimper. Roger felt the heat of his mother's cunt burning through her panties, then the curls of hair, and paused.

He lifted his other hand, and Carol swallowed when she felt it on her tit. She closed her eyes, her head remaining turned away, pink with shame and expectant ecstasy. Roger squeezed his mother's tit and quickly darted the fingers of his other hand between her thighs. Carol felt his fingertip at her straining clitoris, and her legs, of their own volition, parted.

She listened to his heavy breathing, knowing she couldn't stop him.

It was a fantasy coming true and she didn't want to stop him.

She felt her son press a finger into her cunt, showing the crotch of her panties. This time she could not hold back the gasp. Roger released his mother's tit and pulled her hand to his lap. Carol sucked in a hot breath as Roger curled her fingers around his hard cock. His prick was so hard and hot in her fist, and her fingers seemed to squeeze his prick by themselves. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pretend this was only fantasy that it wasn't really happening.