She cupped her breasts, which were now cradled by damp cotton in the form of her sweaty shirt."These are The Girls. That's what I call them." Oh." It ...as all he could say. She seemed to understand he was shocked."You don't have to call them that, of course. You can call them my breasts, or boobs, or even my tits. But please don't call them knockers or fun bags. I hate those terms."He swallowed. "Fun bags?" he said, his voice dry. "Surely you jest." I jest not, my king," she said. "Some guy. His magnificent erection stuck out through his fly and he was flailing it with his hand. It always gave her a thrill when she saw him ejaculate. It seemed to her like some kind of pornographic fountain. At the same time, she got exceedingly wet between her legs. It made her feel like a vile pervert to be watching her son like that. But when she heard him say “Charlotte, Charlotte” she was convinced her son was having inappropriate fantasies about his teacher. I hope he doesn’t do anything. More

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