Then she had walked past him to the dining room and out into the kitchen. When she returned with a glass of iced tea, her son was on his back, waiting for her.

That was when she saw his cock straining inside his jeans.

With her eyes riveted there, she sat on the couch and sipped at her tea. Richard, looking dumbfounded, couldn't take his eyes from his mother. She allowed her knees to part just a little, almost afraid to open them. She could feel her cunt pulsing hotly, and she finally pulled her eyes from his hard-on. She looked into her son's eyes for what seemed hours, licking the rim of her tea glass.

Something had passed between them then.

They never had a talk about it, each seemingly shy, but not exactly embarrassed. Sandy realized what she was doing could lead them into other things. She felt mixed emotions about it. On one hand, she wanted to pull her son between her thighs and feel his young cock probe deep into her cunt. But, on the other hand, she was a little frightened of fucking him.

After so many years of dormant passion, she was afraid she would go wild, would become insatiable for Richard's cock.

But she knew, too, that her son loved seeing her about the house in bra and panties, and she was acutely aware of her own pleasure. If that were as far as they went, it would be okay. She could allow her son the delights of looking at her, probably jacking off during the night, and she could enjoy her own wild fantasies.

And Sandy's fantasies were getting wilder and wilder. She fantasized about things that could not possibly happen, always concerning her son, but lately other people were intruding upon her fantasies.

So absorbed was she in thought, it was some time before she noticed her son was squirming against the carpet. Through lowered lashes, she watched him. She saw her son turn and glance at her, then dart his eyes back to the television. A slow heat came over her face when she realized she had opened her legs quite wide.