It was late evening, and Ann was in bed. She had been going over and over what happened with her daughter that day. She tried to feel guilty, or at least ashamed. Yet, she could only feel an excitement – a vague feeling of impending adventure.

She was not at all sleepy, and the things going through her mind were making her hot, her cunt wet and quivering. It seemed she could still feel her daughter's small, hot hand pressing upon her pussy. And, although her eyes were open, she could see her daughter sitting on the bed, her legs spread wide, her sweet little cunt exposed, so pink and wet with her finger moving in and out. Her pussy lips had clung to her finger so beautifully.

Ann's ass writhed against the bed, and her hands moved up to hold the round firmness of her tits. Her nipples burned into her palm, searing her as she gently squeezed her tits. A soft mewl of pleasure came from her.

The quiet sound of her bedroom door opening made her jerk her hands any from her tits. She turned her head in the direction of the door and saw the shadow of her daughter entering. No one – neither Eric nor Marty nor Misty – had ever entered her bedroom without first knocking. But Misty was coming into the room now without rapping first.

"Mom?" Misty whispered. "Mom, are you still awake?"

"Yes," Ann replied, in the same low whisper.

Misty moved toward her mother's bed. For a very brief moment, she stood at the edge, then without another word, climbed in beside her mother. Ann trembled as her daughter lay beside her, feeling a tingle of anticipation.

Misty lay there on her back, not speaking, and Ann was too nervous to say anything.