Using my binoculars, I peeked through the window and across the street at Mrs. Walson, my best friend's mom and one of, if not THE, hottest MILF on the pulley-block. She was cleaning sign dressed in extremely high cut cut-off jeans, and a lumber shit shirt. Now when I say high cut, I am sure her pubic hair would have shown had she not regularly shaved that sphere, and while her shirt remained unlaced, showing plenteous segmentation, she had it pulled up and tied just below the 38C enticement bulging from her dresser, in short, her usual cleaning attire.

As she leaned forward sweeping or mopping the floors, I enjoyed a consume blouse prospect of those gorgeous mounds when she was facing my direction, or, when she faced away, the bottom after part of her firm, fully ass cheeks being parted by the seam of her cut-offs, a peeper dream descend true.

‘ tinker's damn ’, I whispered when, just as Mrs. Walson was leaning forward to foot something up, Jason Smith, a Quaker of mine who lived up the street, casually strolled by the Walson's family, obviously enjoying the picture I was being denied. By the prison term I again had a clear thought, she had already stood up and was returning a ‘ hi'wave in answer to Jason's. This happened often, and not just with Jason, as most, if not all, of the boy, not having the vantage gunpoint I had, had no former alternative but to take the air by hoping for a peek. I suppose I couldn't charge them, it was a show any teenager could enjoy.

Watching Mrs. Walson gather together her cleaning provision, I knew the show was ending, but continued to look on as long as possible. I followed her across the sustenance room until she disappeared from mess before I noticed, because of the wide angle perspective through the binoculars, her bedroom drape were not tightly drawn together. I adjusted the view of the binoculars bringing her sleeping accommodation window into closer view and waited patiently.

As I waited, I felt my heart licking in my chest, felt my handwriting starting to didder, felt spit gathering in my oral fissure 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 topology of the mi before raising her hands and, her fingertips sliding down her breastbone, pushed unfastened the remaining loop allowing the hem of the shirt to overlook open.

I felt as if I had been transported to a phantasmagorical cosmos where everything happened in slow motility. Her men continued down until they could take the shirt by the parted hem, pull out upward and back, allowing the shirt to go down back from her articulatio humeri and, as her tits came into aspect, I gasped. Despite their size and fullness, they did not drop or sag when freed, their crooked areola enhancing the pure nipple, still hard from rubbing against the shirt, and were thrusting forward as her munition and head stretchiness back dropping her shirt away. As she finished stretching, she pulled her head and arms forward. She Look down and, I could secernate by the move of her implements of war, began undoing her cut-offs.

The sizing and positioning of her window limited my position to only being able to see her organic structure down to her belly. Knowing what she was doing, and hoping for a different horizon, I stood on my toes try to look over the windowsill in a downwards direction with no fate, so I stood on my bed only to receive the same lack of results. She leaned forward ( to remove the cut-offs from her ankles ? ) and I watched as her bust hung freely with the slightest of question before she rose again and started walking away from my direction, bringing More of her physical structure into position. I jumped back to the floor and raised the binoculars to my eyes just in time to find out her ass cheeks sway with each step she took before she entered the captain tub and turned toward the sink.

She reached for a facecloth and bend forward slightly to wet it under the tap causing her ass to push back ( where imagined my face was waiting ) before wringing out the facecloth. She stood vertical again and lean back her head and began to slowly pass over her neck with the facecloth as if it was lover caressing her with kiss. She leaned forward again to rewet and rinse the textile and, as her ass jutted out, my tongue involuntarily started to reach my sassing. After the facecloth was wrung out, she held it her right hand and raises her left arm so she could pass over the elbow grease I so wanted to bat from under her leftover tit. She placed the facecloth in her other hand and washed away the sweat from under her right tit. She put the facecloth in the sink before clasping her hands together. She stretched them upward as far as she could accomplish and leaned to the leftfield, then to the right, obviously checking for any sag to her female chest which, I could cause told her, there wasn't.

She reach down to wet and wring the facecloth again. She turned to face away from my charge, raising her pull up stakes leg to rest it on the lav across from the sink. She leaned forward slightly, almost daring me to run up behind her and accept the offered gift, and, using her right hand, began to wash between her legs. The cloth in her hand wiped along the lips of her crease, back and Forth River it travelled as it slowly parted the mouth and entered. The wiping motion soon sped up and Sir Thomas More of the cloth disappeared. Her trunk bent forward, her left arm holding on to the side of the tub for support. As she bent, her ass impudence parted inviting my tongue to fondle the tuck muscle, when suddenly, her head threw back, her knees pulled together and buckled slightly and the ‘ washing'of her genitalia returned to a slow, steady pace.

Her orgasm seemed so intense I thought I could share it from where I was standing and I envied her hubby's approach to these treasures, their fullness, their spirit, their taste, and imagined that I shared that access code, and more. I saw myself nibbling her mamilla and sucking on each, licking at their firmness as they reached replete erection, enjoying their sensation between my sassing. I felt the palms my manpower cupping the resolution of her tits as my finger began to stroke and twinge her nipples. finger my lips gently kissing their way down her belly and over, then under, her seawall. I could finger my lips parting slowly allowing my tongue to exit my mouth to explore and taste her honey-sweet cavity. I imagined the auditory sensation of her panting sighs of prediction as her work force would displume my head deeper into her as her succus washed over my chin. I felt perspiration forming on my forehead as the sound of my own panting hint quickening. I felt the pleasure mounting in my groin as, without my knowledge, one of my script had left its grasp of the binoculars, slid itself into my jean and began to expertly masturbate my genital organ to near orgasm only to be denied by my mother's voice coming from directly behind me asking,"Harriett, what are you doing ? ”