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.