' My, my, my son was growing up.He loved our sex, of course, after all, he's fifteen. The hand jobs and blow jobs, his hands all over my body, enjoyin... the intimacy we now had, his licking between my legs, his fingers exploring inside me, pleasuring me so.But he also loved our closeness, our cuddling, our soft caresses. He often just held me to himself, the warmth of our skin together bonding us. It was lovely.He was also much more open about how he loved me, often telling me, being more. She cried out and gripped the fabric so fiercely her knuckles went white. But since she didn't tell him to stop, he continued. With several more gentle thrusts, he was completely in her, his balls resting against the soft swollen lips and his wiry pubic hair brushing her firm ass cheeks.The pain was exquisite as he began to move, a deep searing burn centered around his invasion. However, it was mixed with sheer physical pleasure brought on by her mental pleasure in the illusion of vulnerability. More

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