It had been two days since the towel incident. Carol relived it over and over in her mind, and just the night before she had lain in her bed and fantasized about Roger and Ginger. The fantasy was her best yet, and she had tried to imagine her son's cock, throbbingly hard, inside her cunt, fucking her as she twisted and moaned and whimpered in delight, her hands feeling the sweet body of her niece, kissing that pretty little girl, licking at the wet, sugary cunt.

She imagined taking her son's cock into her mouth, feeling the searing head crowding her tongue, the smooth prickhead probing the back of her throat.

Carol had come so many times during the late evening, she had been unable to keep track of the wild delicious convulsions.

She sat on the couch, her feet propped up on the low coffee table. It was not yet noon and she had nothing to do. Roger was in his room, finally getting it cleaned up.

Carol leaned back, letting her mind go through her fantasy of the night before again. She closed her eyes to savor it, to see her mental pictures in full clarity. Her dress was slightly above her knees, and her cunt was beginning to pulsate in that ever-so-delicious way. She felt her clit swell and throb, and then the tip, that sensitive tip, was pressing against the tight crotch of her nylon panties. She twisted her ass slightly on the cushions, making a soft whimper as her cunt burned wetly, her tits becoming tight and full.