William Taylor - Wild hot mother

"This apartment's much too large now that my husband's gone," Martha Blumfeldt told the young widow. "I suppose that's why you sold your house?"

Ann nodded. "Yes. I tried to keep it up but every year it got a little harder. And with everything so expensive now"

"I know," the old woman agreed. "I need the extra money the rent will bring in just to live as comfortably as I did a few years ago."

Bob, Ann's young son, felt himself grow horny as he looked from his mother to Mrs. Blumfeldt, then back to his mother again. Both women had incredibly huge tits, and he felt his face grow hot as he gazed at their tits. Jeez, what a tit-lover's dream this apartment was going to be!

In the three years since his father's death, Bob Foster had grown two inches and had discovered what a lot of fun rubbing his prick was. He rubbed it a lot, and most of the time his adolescent mind would go wild imagining his mother naked in the shower, her enormous, jiggling tits dripping sudsy water and that's where his imagination ended. He'd never seen a cunt, not really. A couple of times some friends would sneak a page torn from some dirty magazine into school, and pass it around, but none of the pictures had shown a pussy close up. All Bob had ever seen was a bit of fuzz which was supposed to be pubic hair. What was under that hair remained a mystery.

"I think we're going to like it here," he heard his mother say, and he knew he had found a new home.

It was no wonder the boy dreamed about his mom while jerking off. Ann Foster was, without a doubt, a stunning woman. Her face was framed by a mass of long, chestnut-brown hair. Her eyes were very large and widely set, and nearly as dark as her hair, giving her a wide-eyed, surprised look of innocence that contrasted sharply with her extremely voluptuous body. Not many boys were lucky enough to have a mother who not only looked like a sex Goddess, but was also built like one.

Ann was five feet, four inches tall and weighed just a fraction over one hundred and five pounds. The way those pounds were distributed would have turned Dolly Parton green with envy, as her husband used to say before they went to bed. His insurance had left Ann comfortable, if not wealthy, and even provided for Bob's future. But life still seemed, except for her son, almost purposeless. Ann knew she was lonely, but she didn't know exactly what to do about it. And that was when her drinking began to increase.

She also began confiding in Martha more and more as the months passed. Living with another woman in such a large place had, surprisingly, presented no problems at all. There were two bathrooms, and more than, enough closets, and enough rooms for privacy. The kitchen was the only room the two women shred, and they often alternated the daily cooking and shopping. There were even neighborhood children for Bob to play with.

Martha Blumfeldt was forty-one, a widow for the past six years. There hadn't been one night in all those years that she hadn't missed the passionate nights she had once enjoyed. And now, knowing that Ann was sleep and not far away, made every night more of a torment. She had told herself not to fantasize about the voluptuous young widow, but she couldn't help herself. Did Ann play with her big tits and pussy, or did she control her lust? The older woman's mind was filled with thoughts of introducing Ann to the joys of lesbian sex, of sixty-nining and titty-sucking while rubbing cunts.

One night Martha heard Ann shut the bathroom door, and the thought of seeing the young widow naked made the older woman's erect nipples stretch out and scratch hotly against her big bra. She quietly stole to the door through the darkened hallway and bent her face to the keyhole.

Instead of seeing Ann stripping to take a bath or shower, she saw her friend sitting on the toilet, her legs spread wide. Her dress was pulled up past her plump white thighs, exposing an unusually plump and quite hairy cuntal mound.

Martha was entranced by Ann's large lipped, glistening pink pussy. The young widow's eyes were closed and her hands were massaging the soft flesh of her lower belly, her fingertips just touching the hair. The movement of her hands made her pouting pussylips open and close slightly. From time to time her clit popped into view. Martha's breath caught in her throat at first sight of it. Ann's clit was oversized, about as big as an unshelled peanut, and Ann caught it between her thumb and first two fingers and began stroking it as though it were a tiny cock.

"Ahhhhh-h-h-h-h," Ann groaned, spreading her shapely legs even wider. The lush, flattened cheeks of her ass pooched out under her cunthole. The watching older woman saw Ann's belly and thighs trembling with the pleasure coursing through her body.

Martha's cunt was burning furiously as she watched the young mother play with her pussy. Ann's other hand was slowly running two finger into her open, dripping pussy as her fat, loose pussylips hung and shook around them. Then Ann shoved the fingers deep inside, wiggling them. Her eyes squinted and her hips parted slackly as her face contorted with ecstasy.

"Agh! Ahhh-h-h-h! Ahhh-h-h-h!" Ann gasped, her hips and ass lifting and dropping on the toilet seat as she jerked her cunt up at her fingers. Finally, her fingers slipped free and she slumped, whimpering out her final bit of solitary pleasure. Her swollen pussylips were a bright, dark red, and her clit hung out as if begging for more stimulation. Martha was dying to suck Ann's clit and give it a good tongue-whipping.

The older woman returned to her room ten minutes later and finger-fucked herself until, exhausted, she fell into a very deep sleep.

The next few days were difficult for Martha, she knew what a lovely, suckable pussy Ann had. She found herself remembering her bisexual college days to the near exclusion of thoughts of her late husband's fucking.

Until, one day, her eyes wandered to a photograph of Bob and she realized Bob's slender body resembled her husband's in his youth.

Meanwhile, Ann was also experiencing the pangs of conscience that many lonely women felt guilt about masturbating and guilt over the unmotherly thoughts she experienced from time to time when she noticed her young son's body. More than once her cheeks had burned when she was wondering if he knew what his cock was for yet, and whether he had a lot of hair around the base of his cock. Once, she caught herself imagining him standing naked before her, an enormous hard-on in his fist.

And then one morning she woke up earlier than usual. She was about to fall asleep again when she heard a faint, but somehow familiar sound which aroused her curiosity. Slipping into her robe, she poked her head out the doorway and listened. There it was again! It was almost like a fucking sound. And it was coming from her bathroom, not Martha's.

Ann slipped down the hall and saw a light shining through the keyhole. The sounds were louder now. The young widow bent to look, knowing in advance what it was she would see.

Even with prior knowledge, she gasped. Bob was sitting on the toilet, and he had both fists wrapped around what had to be an eight-inch cock!

Ann went into shock as she watched her son use two hands to pump the cum from his balls.

Ohmigod! she thought, looking at the husky girth of his cockshaft. What a pussy-splitter! And the head of his cock flared out like a mushroom, an extremely fat mushroom! It was dusky with trapped blood, almost purplish in color, and it was dripping a thin stream of pre-cum.

Ann felt her cunt begin to drip as she watched her young son playing with his oversized prick. Her large nipples grew long and hot and hard. And very itchy. Before she realized it, she was plucking at them through her gown.