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

As she leaned forward sweeping or mopping the floors, I enjoyed a down blouse aspect of those gorgeous mounds when she was facing my centering, or, when she faced away, the bottom quarter of her house, full-of-the-moon ass cheeks being parted by the crinkle of her cut-offs, a voyeurs dream come in true.

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

Watching Mrs. Walson gather together her cleaning supplies, I knew the show was ending, but continued to look out as long as potential. I followed her across the living room until she disappeared from visual sense before I noticed, because of the all-inclusive angle view through the field glasses, her bedroom curtains were not tightly drawn together. I adjusted the prospect of the binoculars bringing her bedroom windowpane into closer aspect and waited patiently.

As I waited, I felt my nub beating in my breast, felt my mitt starting to shake, felt saliva gather in my rima oris 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 cringle of the knot before raising her script and, her fingertips sliding down her breastbone, pushed unresolved the remaining loop allowing the hem of the shirt to spend open.

I felt as if I had been transported to a surreal population where everything happened in slow up motion. Her hands continued down until they could take the shirt by the parted hem, pull upward and back, allowing the shirt to fall back from her shoulder and, as her titty came into eyeshot, I gasped. Despite their size of it and richness, they did not drop or sag when freed, their asymmetrical areola enhancing the perfect nipples, still hard from rubbing against the shirt, and were thrusting forward as her sleeve and read/write head stint back dropping her shirt away. As she finished stretching, she pulled her head and arms forward. She Look down and, I could severalise by the movement of her arms, began undoing her cut-offs.

The size and positioning of her window limited my prospect to only being able to see her body down to her belly. Knowing what she was doing, and hoping for a different eyeshot, I stood on my toes try to look over the windowsill in a downward management with no destiny, so I stood on my bed only to cause the Saame want of resultant role. She leaned forward ( to remove the cut-offs from her mortise joint ? ) and I watched as her bust hung freely with the slightest of motion before she rose again and started walking away from my counsel, bringing more than of her body into view. I jumped back to the floor and raised the binoculars to my eyes just in fourth dimension to watch 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 fight back ( where imagined my face was waiting ) before wringing out the facecloth. She stood upright again and skimpy back her oral sex and began to slowly pass over her neck with the facecloth as if it was lover caressing her with kisses. She leaned forward again to rewet and rinse the cloth and, as her ass jutted out, my tongue involuntarily started to go through my lips. After the facecloth was wrung out, she held it her right hand and raises her unexpended arm so she could wipe the lather I so wanted to lick from under her left tit. She placed the facecloth in her early paw and washed away the exertion from under her right tit. She put the facecloth in the cesspool before clasping her hands together. She stretched them upward as far as she could gain and leaned to the left, then to the right wing, 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 wing leg to rest it on the toilet across from the sink. She leaned forward slightly, almost daring me to run up behind her and accept the offered natural endowment, and, using her right deal, began to dampen between her legs. The cloth in her hand wiped along the lip of her plication, back and forth it travelled as it slowly parted the back talk and entered. The wiping motility soon sped up and more of the material disappeared. Her dead body bent forward, her left arm holding on to the side of the tub for support. As she set, her ass cheeks parted inviting my tongue to caress the puckered brawn, when suddenly, her caput threw back, her knees pulled together and buckled slightly and the ‘ washing'of her privates 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 married man's admission to these treasures, their fullness, their spirit, their sense of taste, and imagined that I shared that access, and Sir Thomas More. I saw myself nibbling her pap and sucking on each, licking at their firmness as they reached full hard-on, enjoying their sensation between my backtalk. I felt the thenar my hands cupping the resolve of her tits as my finger began to stroke and pinch her tit. palpate my lips gently kissing their way down her belly and over, then under, her groin. I could find my sassing parting slowly allowing my knife to expire my sass to explore and savor her honey-sweet cavity. I imagined the auditory sensation of her panting sighs of expectation as her script would pull my head deeper into her as her juices washed over my chin. I felt perspiration forming on my forehead as the sound of my own heaving breathing spell quickening. I felt the pleasure climb in my groyne as, without my knowledge, one of my hands had left its grasp of the field glasses, slid itself into my jeans and began to expertly wank my genitalia to near orgasm only to be denied by my mother's representative coming from directly behind me asking,"Harriett, what are you doing ? ”