Peggy sat up, glanced at her son's wetly glistening cock and, cupping a hand between her thighs, entered the adjoining bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror above the sink accused her reflections.

How could you? How could you fuck your own son? Are you that hot for cock? Then she answered herself. You're Goddamn right I am!

She used a damp cloth between her thighs, tossing it into the clothing hamper. Again she looked at her reflection, somehow thinking she would see a monster, a sex-crazed woman without guilt or shame.

She saw none of that.

She saw a face that was still beautiful, with honey-colored flesh and green eyes, eyes that now sparkled with the satisfaction she had not felt in two long years. She saw a woman with rich auburn hair that had coppery highlights, a woman with a face that could grace any magazine cover.

She saw a woman who still had the same figure as when she was cheerleading in high school. She saw a woman with firm tits, high and spongy on her chest, with nipples that still jutted.

Peggy's waist was still very narrow, with a flat stomach that had just the hint of roundness to it. Her hips were rounded and flowed gracefully to enticingly long, creamy smooth, thighs and curvy legs. Her ass swelled and arched in a teasing manner, the cheeks as firm as any teenage girl's ass, writhing when she walked, tantalizing any who watched.

Peggy was a woman with an erotic mind, and a body to match.

CHAPTER TWO

Two years before, Peggy's husband had been killed in an industrial accident.

They had been married for nineteen years. It had been a very good nineteen years, years filled with love and sexual satisfaction that delighted them both. Neither had a hang-up with sex.

She had met her husband while still in high school, and there was an immediate attraction between them. On their first date, they wound up in the back seat of his car, discovering the heat of uncontrolled passion.