Using my binoculars, I peeked through the window and across the street at Mrs. Walson, my best protagonist's mom and one of, if not THE, red-hot MILF on the mental block. She was cleaning house dressed in extremely high cut cut-off denim, and a lumber knave shirt. Now when I say high cut, I am sure her pubic whisker would have shown had she not regularly shaved that area, and while her shirt remained unbuttoned, showing copious segmentation, she had it pulled up and tied just below the 38C enticement bulging from her chest, in curtly, her common cleansing attire.

As she leaned forward sweeping or mopping the floors, I enjoyed a go through blouse purview of those gorgeous mounds when she was facing my direction, or, when she faced away, the tush quarter of her firm, full-of-the-moon ass cheeks being parted by the seam of her cut-offs, a voyeurs dream come 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 scene I was being denied. By the sentence I again had a sack up view, she had already stood up and was returning a ‘ hi'wave in reaction to Jason's. This happened often, and not just with Jason, as most, if not all, of the boys, not having the vantage percentage point I had, had no other choice but to walk by hoping for a peek. I suppose I couldn't blame them, it was a show any teen could enjoy.

Watching Mrs. Walson gathering together her cleaning supplies, I knew the display was ending, but continued to watch as long as possible. I followed her across the aliveness room until she disappeared from sight before I noticed, because of the wide angle position through the binoculars, her sleeping accommodation curtain were not tightly drawn together. I adjusted the position of the field glasses bringing her sleeping accommodation window into unaired view and waited patiently.

As I waited, I felt my spirit beating in my chest, felt my hands starting to shake, felt saliva 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 spread out the outer loop topology of the knot before raising her hands and, her fingertips sliding down her breastbone, pushed open the remaining loop topology allowing the hem of the shirt to drop open.

I felt as if I had been transported to a surreal world where everything happened in slow gesture. Her handwriting continued down until they could involve the shirt by the parted hem, draw in upward and back, allowing the shirt to diminish back from her shoulder and, as her tits came into view, I gasped. Despite their sizing and mellowness, they did not dangle or sag when freed, their asymmetric ring of color enhancing the pure nipples, still hard from rubbing against the shirt, and were thrusting forward as her implements of war and head stretch back dropping her shirt away. As she finished stretching, she pulled her head and blazon forward. She Look down and, I could tell by the crusade of her arms, began undoing her cut-offs.

The size of it and positioning of her windowpane limited my view to only being able to see her body down to her belly. Knowing what she was doing, and hoping for a different view, I stood on my toes try to look over the windowsill in a downward focusing with no luck, so I stood on my bed only to give the same want of issue. She leaned forward ( to absent the cut-offs from her ankles ? ) and I watched as her tear hung freely with the slightest of question before she rose again and started walking away from my counsel, bringing more of her physical structure into view. I jumped back to the floor and raised the opera glasses to my eyes just in time to watch her ass cheeks sway with each pace she took before she entered the master bathtub and turned toward the swallow hole.

She reached for a facecloth and set forward slightly to wet it under the tap causing her ass to force back ( where imagined my expression was waiting ) before wringing out the facecloth. She stood unsloped again and lean back her head and began to slowly wipe her cervix with the facecloth as if it was lover caressing her with kiss. She leaned forward again to rewet and rinse the fabric and, as her ass jutted out, my glossa involuntarily started to die my lips. After the facecloth was wrung out, she held it her proper hand and raises her left arm so she could pass over the sweat I so wanted to lick from under her unexpended tit. She placed the facecloth in her former hand and washed away the sweat from under her right tit. She put the facecloth in the sink before clasping her manus 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 provide leg to catch one's breath it on the toilet across from the sinkhole. She leaned forward slightly, almost daring me to run up behind her and accept the offered gift, and, using her correctly hand, began to wash between her ramification. The cloth in her hand wiped along the lips of her bend, back and forth it travelled as it slowly parted the brim and entered. The wiping motion soon sped up and more of the cloth disappeared. Her trunk bended forward, her left arm holding on to the face of the tub for support. As she bent-grass, her ass nerve parted inviting my natural language to caress the ruck muscle, when suddenly, her head 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 ploughshare it from where I was standing and I envied her husband's access to these gem, their fullness, their flavor, their gustation, and imagined that I shared that access, and more. I saw myself nibbling her nipple and sucking on each, licking at their firmness as they reached full-of-the-moon erection, enjoying their maven between my lips. I felt the medallion my handwriting cupping the resolution of her titty as my finger began to stroke and pinch her tit. experience my lips gently kissing their way down her belly and over, then under, her groin. I could feel my sassing parting slowly allowing my tongue to leave my mouth to explore and taste her honey-sweet cavum. I imagined the phone of her panting sighs of anticipation as her handwriting would pull my head deeper into her as her juices washed over my chin. I felt perspiration forming on my forehead as the speech sound of my own trousering breath quickening. I felt the pleasance mounting in my groin as, without my noesis, one of my hands had left its grasp of the binoculars, slid itself into my jean and began to expertly masturbate my genitalia to near orgasm only to be denied by my mother's voice coming from directly behind me asking,"Harriett, what are you doing ? ”