She could feel her own moistly throbbing cuntal slit palpitating excitedly against the tips of her fingers, and she worked them harder, learning new methods of bringing her own personal pleasure with each flick. She could feel the wetness trickle warmly down the insides of her thighs, flowing freely from her inflamed pussy, and she moved her forefinger below the silky nightgown, then lifted up the hem of the material in her hands and held it clasped against the hallway wall as she touched her now nakedly exposed cunt directly with her middle finger.

The moaning from within the living room was almost incoherent now as her handsome young son and his wife thrashed hotly together on the couch in wild throes of pleasure. Fucking. That was what they were doing. The salacious thought rippled through her head, and as they did it, she finger-fucked herself. She rubbed her hand against the thinly hair-lined lips of her openly exposed cunt, knowing that it was wrong, almost beyond being wrong, but patently evil in her own world of moderate values. Yet she moved her feet farther apart on the floor and pressed her fingers harder, her middle finger pressing teasingly into the moist open slit, and she could feel her cuntal hole expanding. Her finger was a miniature bloated hard cock, she thought, not Tom's now. No, not Tom's, but Kevin's, and she was doing what they had talked about this evening. The obscene thought struck her that perhaps they knew what she was up to, and she experienced the dreadful urge to run into the living room and throw herself onto the embraced bodies a few yards beyond her and fuck along with them, but she didn't!

Demanding more to feed its lewd hunger, the fire burned more intensely, traveling over and seeming to consume more of her lush body. She inserted another finger up inside her hungering cunt and began squirming her asscheeks back and forth down over them as though they were the wild fuckings of her son's warmly throbbing prick.