Using my binoculars, I peeked through the window and across the street at Mrs. Walson, my just friend's mom and one of, if not THE, hottest MILF on the pulley block. She was cleaning house dressed in extremely high cut cut-off jeans, and a lumber jack shirt. Now when I say high cut, I am certain her pubic whisker would bear shown had she not regularly shaved that domain, and while her shirt remained unbuttoned, showing plentiful cleavage, she had it pulled up and tied just below the 38C temptations bulging from her chest, in short, her usual cleansing attire.

As she leaned forward sweeping or mopping the floors, I enjoyed a fine-tune blouse view of those gorgeous mounds when she was facing my direction, or, when she faced away, the bottom quarter of her firm, full ass nerve being parted by the seam of her cut-offs, a voyeur aspiration follow true.

‘ Shit ’, I whispered when, just as Mrs. Walson was leaning forward to pick something up, Jason smith, a ally of mine who lived up the street, casually strolled by the Walson's sign of the zodiac, obviously enjoying the view I was being denied. By the time I again had a clear prospect, she had already stood up and was returning a ‘ hi'wave in reply to Jason's. This happened often, and not just with Jason, as most, if not all, of the boy, not having the vantage point I had, had no other choice but to walk by hoping for a peep. I suppose I couldn't blame them, it was a show any teenager could enjoy.

watching Mrs. Walson gathering together her cleaning supply, I knew the show was ending, but continued to watch as long as potential. I followed her across the living room until she disappeared from deal before I noticed, because of the wide angle view through the binoculars, her sleeping room pall were not tightly drawn together. I adjusted the view of the field glasses bringing her bedroom windowpane into near view and waited patiently.

As I waited, I felt my eye lacing in my chest, felt my hands starting to judder, felt spit gathering in my back talk until I almost drooled, and then she entered.

As she entered, she was looking down, fiddling with the knot that had held her shirt closed. I watched as she finally managed to open the outer loop of the naut mi before raising her script and, her fingertips sliding down her breastbone, pushed spread out the remaining loop allowing the hem of the shirt to drop open.

I felt as if I had been transported to a dreamlike world where everything happened in deadening motion. Her hired man continued down until they could take the shirt by the parted hem, deplume upward and back, allowing the shirt to decrease back from her shoulder and, as her mamilla came into view, I gasped. Despite their size and voluminousness, they did not drop or sag when freed, their asymmetric areola enhancing the thoroughgoing tit, still hard from rubbing against the shirt, and were thrusting forward as her weaponry and head stretch back dropping her shirt away. As she finished stretching, she pulled her header and arms forward. She Look down and, I could tell apart by the movement of her implements of war, began undoing her cut-offs.

The size and locating of her window limited my view to only being able to see her body down to her belly. Knowing what she was doing, and hoping for a unlike view, I stood on my toes try to look over the windowsill in a downward guidance with no luck, so I stood on my bed only to own the Same lack of solution. She leaned forward ( to remove the cut-offs from her ankle ? ) and I watched as her binge hung freely with the slightest of motion before she rose again and started walking away from my focus, bringing to a greater extent of her consistency into persuasion. I jumped back to the floor and raised the binoculars to my eyes just in time to watch her ass cheeks sway with each stride she took before she entered the master bathing tub and turned toward the sump.

She reached for a facecloth and bent forward slightly to wet it under the tap causing her ass to advertise back ( where imagined my face was waiting ) before wringing out the facecloth. She stood upright again and angle back her heading and began to slowly wipe her neck with the facecloth as if it was lover caressing her with kisses. She leaned forward again to rewet and wash the cloth and, as her ass jutted out, my tongue involuntarily started to fade my lips. After the facecloth was wrung out, she held it her proper manus and raises her left arm so she could wipe the elbow grease I so wanted to lick from under her remaining tit. She placed the facecloth in her other helping hand and washed away the sweat from under her properly tit. She put the facecloth in the swallow hole before clasping her hands together. She stretched them upward as far as she could reach and leaned to the left, then to the right, obviously checking for any sag to her bust which, I could have told her, there wasn't.

She reach down to wet and wring the facecloth again. She turned to face away from my direction, raising her left hand leg to breathe it on the toilet across from the cesspit. She leaned forward slightly, almost daring me to run up behind her and accept the offered talent, and, using her right hand, began to wash between her ramification. The cloth in her hand wiped along the back talk of her crimp, back and forth it travelled as it slowly parted the back talk and entered. The wiping motion soon sped up and more of the material disappeared. Her body bent forward, her left arm holding on to the side of the tub for backup. As she set, her ass cheeks parted inviting my lingua to caress the puckered muscularity, when suddenly, her foreland threw back, her knees pulled together and buckled slightly and the ‘ washing'of her privates returned to a slow, steadfast pace.

Her orgasm seemed so intense I thought I could contribution it from where I was standing and I envied her husband's access code to these treasure, their fullness, their feel, their mouthful, and imagined that I shared that access, and Sir Thomas More. I saw myself nibbling her nipple and sucking on each, licking at their firmness as they reached wax erection, enjoying their adept between my brim. I felt the palms my deal cupping the steadiness of her knocker as my finger began to stroke and pinch her nipples. Feel my back talk gently kissing their way down her belly and over, then under, her groin. I could feel my lips parting slowly allowing my tongue to exit my backtalk to explore and savour her honey-sweet caries. I imagined the sound of her panting sigh of anticipation as her hands would pull in my head deeper into her as her juices washed over my chin. I felt sweating forming on my frontal bone as the sound of my own trousering breath quickening. I felt the pleasure mounting in my groin as, without my knowledge, one of my hands had left its clasp of the binoculars, slid itself into my jean and began to expertly fuck off my genitalia to approach orgasm only to be denied by my mother's vocalism coming from directly behind me asking,"Harriett, what are you doing ? ”