People think that because I carry myself with dignity, I don't know what's going on. But I pay attention. When I'm at the canasta club, I can tell when Mr. X has started fucking Mrs. Y and is no longer spending any time with Mrs. Z. It's the little details, like how the fuck-partners try not to make eye contact with each other.
I noticed that my second boy, Junior, never had much luck with women. Junior is 30 now. I'm 50. At mass I used to pray that he'd find some sweet girl like Paula, who lived next door, but it never happened. It was one stupid slut after another. Mostly with red hair, like mine. Mostly tall, like me. But none of them smart, like me. Now I just pray he doesn't father some brat with one of his sluts and spend the next two decades paying child support he can't afford.
Last Sunday, I went over to Junior's place like I usually do. Being a widow, I have a lot of free time when I'm not at my job at the bank. The canasta keeps me busy two nights a week, but last month Mr. B retired from his job as a high school English teacher and he and his idiot wife, Charlene, moved to some dinky town in Nevada where the houses are cheap and the taxes are low. Without Mr. B's fat, Viagra enhanced rod to prod my cunt every few days, I was starting to feel pretty lonely. Besides, I had nothing to confess now when I went to give confession to Fr. Vincent. I felt bad, having no mortal sins to confess to him and so nothing to let him fantasize about when we yanked his meat. I felt I owed it to Fr. Vincent to offer some exploits of my struggles with the flesh so that he'd have something worth thinking about when he looked down on me and preached God's love and forgiveness. Christ knows, he'd been forgiving me for 10 years!
Anyway, I knew that Junior was feeling low. I thought I'd give him something to think about when it came to his relationships with women. I put on a skirt that fell midway between my ass and knees. Neat, not overtly sexy, but a lot of leg. And my blouse was just one size too small, so my breasts were nicely outlined by the fabric. I put on my reddest lipstick. It goes so nicely with my hair. I figured that once I went home to make dinner, Junior would have his cock out in a flash, jerking to the thought of his mother, just like he used to. That would cheer him up.
A few minutes after I had my first cup of coffee, I started to feel very relaxed. It was a feeling I remembered from the doping I got when I had my babies. Junior had put something in my coffee. It made me feel incredibly mellow and happy. My cares melted away. Everything was wonderful. I tried not to let on that I was aware of what was happening. I could not imagine what Junior was doing! But the drug, whatever it was, made it seem as if time was standing still. Suddenly, he spoke to me in a voice I'd never heard. It was a commanding voice. It was a MAN'S voice. He told me to spread my legs far apart. It took me some time to register. Why would he tell me that? He commanded me again, like I was a small, stupid child. I did what I was told. I hadn't felt this secure in years, not since my own daddy had used that very same voice to tell me what to do. I used to go home to daddy when I'd had a fight with Junior's father. Hearing Junior's firm male voice gave me a thrill.
He commanded me to close my eyes. Junior? Daddy? Who was commanding me? I didn't care. I closed my eyes. I think I fell asleep.
The next thing I remember was the delicious feel of daddy's mouth on my nipple. It had been years since daddy had done this for me. Then, like a hundred times before, he put his huge hard cock between my breasts and pushed them together with his hands. He thrust it between them in powerful thrusts that pushed me back on the chair. I loved the power that was concentrated in those few inches of man. Then he asked me about my panties. Why was daddy asking me about my panties? I looked at this face. Oh my blessed Jesus! It wasn't daddy, but Junior. I told cum smells good. Or at least that's what I tried to say to him. I don't know how it came out.
