Elliott had whacked off two loads while looking at the pictures of his mother he had on his computer. The panties he'd pilfered from her laundry hamper were soaked where he'd been sucking on them. He'd pumped a creamy mess into each cup of the bra that he'd stolen, the pearly fluid looking obscene as it sat in the big curved cup, the clumpy gobs of boy-juice slowly soaking into the fabric. His lube-coated hand had been busy, the second load coming surprisingly quickly after the first one as he brought up other pictures of her on his screen. These were ones he'd created himself, using the Photoshop program he'd...