I really didn't need a bra. Even at thirty seven my tits were still perky. The dress was short. It only came to the middle of my thighs. I slipped on ... pear of white panties. I took one last look in the mirror. I thought to myself. "For a mother of an eighteen year old son, I still looked good. I know my husband still likes what I look like. He tries to fuck me at least five times a week." I heard the car horn. I ran downstairs, closed and locked the front door and headed for the car. My son. ‘What do you mean reciprocate?’ ‘You want a fucking blow job don’t you?’ she sighed almost like she was forcing herself to be cross. ‘I thought I was trying to make your tummy ache go away.’ ‘Oh, that’s what you were doing,’ she said, her raised angry tone replacing the air of sarcasm to her voice, ‘and you always fucking grab a girls tits when you want to make her feel better do you?’ she snapped. ‘Oh,’ he sounded startled and a little hurt, ‘I’ll… err… I’ll fucking leave you to it then.’ She. More

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