Even though her son had apparently been racked with doubt and indecision after the act, he had not been eager to pull his prick out of her, not even after the second flood of orgasmic lava had gushed from his big cock. And a veritable flood it had been, she recalled. It had seemed that he was going to come forever, especially during the first climax, and she also remembered that his come had seemed to be of a different sort. Hank's spew had a thick, creamy consistency and a chalky, rank flavor, as she well knew from looking at her fingers and tasting them during her experiments after he had left her. Jack's come, in distinct contrast, was not nearly so thick and was virtually transparent. Furthermore it had had a young, fresh taste, almost sweet. And there had been nothing weak or halfhearted about the way it had shot from his cock! The explosion had taken her by complete surprise. It had seemed as though she had admitted a firehose into her cunt and turned it on full force.

By comparing Hank's climax with Jack's she had teased herself into another state of excitement. Perhaps it had been deliberate, she thought as her fingers caressed the wet, come-smeared slit more purposefully. But in any case it was real. She was horny again and there was nothing to do but to relieve her cunt of the excitement which her thoughts had engendered. She was used to masturbating; the death of Jack, Sr. had seen to that. Eileen was a passionate woman, thirty-seven and seemingly at the very peak of her sexual powers. She had an almost inexhaustible hunger for sexual pleasure and frankly doubted if any one man, even so compelling a lover as her late husband had been, would have been able to have satisfied all her sensual urges.

Eileen rolled over onto her belly, flattening her big, slightly drooping breasts against the quilt she used for a bedspread. Her right hand stayed between her thighs, cupping her pussy closely, and her left reached around to glide between her legs from the rear.