Now she was alone and horny, so horny that she'd begun to drink to blur her lust, and fingerfuck six or more times every day. It wouldn't have been that bad if she were horny for no one in particular, Cynthia thought ruefully. She was still a first-class piece of ass at age thirty-nine; men still got huge hard-ons from just watching her walk down the street.

There were lots of males available to date and fuck her.

What bothered her was being so horny for her teenage son.

Deep down inside she'd always been sexually curious about her darling Randy, but the wanton craving to fuck him had only blossomed, when her husband and Felicia had moved out. It was the most shameful desire she'd ever felt, but Cynthia felt powerless to control it.

She fantasized about Randy constantly, imagining him climbing naked out of bed or out of the shower, with a huge, stiff, throbbing prick. Cynthia jacked off to thoughts of sucking and fucking his cock, gurgling as she smacked on the bloated prick shaft, or whimpering as its steely stiffness fucked deeply into her cunt.

Taking the highball along with her, Cynthia sat on the edge of the bed and started to rub her hairy pussy through her shorts. Her son's body was so lean and hard. The way he'd looked this morning on his way to school, with his muscles bulging through his t-shirt, and the outline of his cock visible through his pants. Oooh, God, Cynthia thought, rubbing her cunt faster. Ooohhh.

The doorbell rang, startling her from her horny reverie. Forgetting her provocative outfit, Cynthia walked down the hall and opened the front door.

Standing on the stoop was a tall slender teenager who looked remarkably like her son. He was dressed like Randy, too, in a denim jacket and a pair of faded jeans that clung to the bulge of his prick. In his hand he held a sample case of some kind, and Cynthia quickly guessed that he was selling as an after school job.