The moist, salacious lips gave me an indescribable emotion, and I feared that tangible evidence of its intensity would be only too manifest if this went on. I know I blushed and the widow tapped my cheeks, laid her own against them, and rubbed them softly in a most endearing way, calling her daughter's attention at the same time to my confusion. Then to my relief she pushed me into a chair and, with Ethel, busied herself setting out some refreshments. This done she asked me to excuse her while she changed her dress (for the hot night and the emotion of her adventure made her long to escape from her tightfitting garments), called Ethel to the door and exchanged a few words outside.

As I learned later what she said was: 'Ethel, my dear, we mustn't let him go. He is too young and good-looking to part with so easily. I don't think, from his blushes, he knows much about women, and we will give him a treat. But go modestly at first till we find whether he is of randy disposition or not, and if he is…' She licked her lips significantly, squeezed her daughter's motte, and disappeared.

Ethel came back and without ceremony seated herself on my knees and pressed her lips to mine. 'Mamma has thanked you, and I can't do better to show you I am grateful, too, than follow her example.' She sat right up to my prick, which had long been in a state of repressed exaltation, and I could feel her plump bottom deliberately pressing upon it. Miss Ethel, from her weight, was evidently a solid-framed girl, and bade fair ultimately to rival, if not exceed, her mother's voluptuous proportions.