She had been foolish, and lost track of time. She hadn’t noticed the voices fade into the wind, until there was nothing left but the dancing ice and...snow that twirled around the logs, signalling danger, danger, danger.Her cheeks burned.‘Come here, Jean.’Sometimes, the voice was tipsy. Swollen with fermented pride and pissed away frustrations. She was lucky then. Mead dulled the mind, and slowed one’s reflexes, making it easy to escape.She continued to scratch the wood, more intensely now. She. Something wicked and hot was beginning to mount within her, something she knew she wouldn't be able to control. Maybe it had something to do with the boy's balls slapping against her pussy.Maybe it was the unusual friction of his cock that excited her. Or perhaps it was simply that the very sexy young man fucking her shitter was her own son. Whatever was creating the wonderful feelings, Cathy wanted more, and judging by the way Bobby had performed so far, she was sure that her virile young son. More

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