Mom dropped to her knees and stuck the cock against the glass just a little below her mouth. Again, I swore that she looked right at me as if she knew where I was sitting. I had my hand on my pants, over my rock-hard cock, and my solid bar of dick-steel wanted to tear through my jeans for a breath of fresh air. My left hand went straight to my belt, but I curled my fingers into a fist, holding myself still. Mom, though, was anything but still.

Her store-bought cock had realistic balls, and she cupped them the way she cupped mine, her fingers dancing over its sack...