The rest of the evening was normal: supper, watching Jeopardy together and him going to his room and his computer while I watched television, planned ...howings for tomorrow and relaxed. At bedtime, I tossed and turned, as the image of my son masturbating, and thinking about me doing it, refused to leave my mind. My vagina was tingling and although I tried to deny the temptation to pleasure myself, I eventually gave in. Closing my eyes, I fantasized, like I always did, of my late husband, the. Fuck, this was a setup. Oh, wicked, wicked women. Wait. Mother and daughter? I think some of the gears stripped on that. Well, my, my, Bob. Karma’s come full circle, hasn’t it? I almost laughed. Lifting up, disengaging from his cock with a slurping sound, she said, “Move over, sweetie. Make room. This bed’s big enough for two couples.” Well, alrighty, then. Marsha and I stripped down and climbed in beside them. Mrs. D had reconnected with Bob and was bouncing on him while he stared. More

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