She deliberately didn’t look at the thing on the table. Instead, she examined the floor, with its threadbare rug, the walls, which were adorned with...unabashed abstracts, the ceiling, with its artful cobweb that danced the length of the room. George thought about dust for a few seconds (she possessed a busy mind): its applications, its random formations, its texture. Then she directed her field of vision to the table, and to the thing that rested upon it. George liked to look at things from. The skirt was pulled higher than mid thigh and her legs were parted slightly in the nonchalance that only someone completely unaware of the impact they were having on an audience could have. "Errrk," the poor kid said again as his painfully hard cock throbbed again.Dick looked at his son in astonishment at the sound. He remembered that sound from his youth. He remembered that sound because it was the same one he had made around his blonde mother. Yes, his mother had turned him on, hard. His. More

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