She thought she felt an inch of blood or so lurch its way into the cock. She gripped it.The soft underbelly rested on her palms. Her fingers encircled...the top of the staff. She moved her fingers like a musician over the living instrument.She could feel the slack black foreskin beginning to tighten. She continued palming and fingering the horsecock. Her next move was to stroke its length.She gushed with pleasure as it grew in her hand. She jerked the foreskin back and forth on the staff, feeling. After a few minutes, he texted me a photo of her alone, going down an escalator. "Keep up the surveillance," I texted back.The next photo came a few minutes later: my mom looking at dresses, a pretty saleswoman in a short skirt helping her sort through the walls of clothes. She was carrying a few more bags; it looked like she had bought a few things.Eventually, Jon sent me a photo from fairly up close of my mom in the beach shop, looking at red, orange, and blue bikinis: small strips of fabric. More

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