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Even after I forgave her, she needed to be punished, so I didn't stop fucking her. Although, I was still her mom, so I did slow down a tad.After another minute, I noticed that he needed to check out my bosoms yet again. They weren't shaking as much as before, but his mouth was still wide open. I could only guess that some of the incest sexiness he found on Britney rubbed off onto me, and he noticed."Oh, I love those titties, Joan. I almost want to get you pregnant again to make them get bigger." That's not gonna happen, but you can dream, horndog," I added, before leaning to him again.We kissed yet again, but then she rose with us. "So, it's safe to say you two are good again?" Yes, babe," he answered as we both pushed our bodies onto her. "We're good now, but she's right; it was wrong to have sex behind her back." I'm sorry again, Mom," she apologized, glancing at me."It's alright," I let her know, feeling her melons. "These are more than enough to make me forgive you. If you want. "Then she sat back in her seat, folded her arms, stared straight ahead and muttered, "I hate you, Donald Whitfield. You're destroying me!" And I love you, too, Marion Whitfield. Have I told you how much I love you lately?" No!" she exclaimed, hitting him on the arm again."And what was that punch for?" he asked mildly."That was for not being a gentleman, Donald Whitfield. You didn't even wish me a good morning!" But darling, you were cuming for almost thirty minutes this morning. What was that?" That was your cock, Donald. Your cock was saying good morning to his beloved — if somewhat battered — sheath who adores him. Your cock is a gentleman, Donald. What's wrong with the rest of you?" I adore you, Marion Whitfield." A few minutes passed in silence and he said, "A penny for your thoughts?" I was just thinking how incredibly lucky I am," she said. As she replied, she moved as far toward him as the seat allowed. "Darling, I'm going to say something that may sound strange. I am really.
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And of course each time they did, my wandering mind wondered whether they would. Was I wondering or hoping? Surely the spa in the five star hotel didn’t offer more than the massage, even here in Egypt! The towels were replaced on my legs. The ones on my chest were rolled down. My shoulders, neck, head and upper chest were oiled and treated. I relaxed a little. No obvious advance had been made, nothing overtly suggestive had taken place, no request or invitation for anything other than the aromatic massage promised in the hotel brochure had been extended. I softened, a little. A warm towel was laid across my upper chest, it felt nice. The one across my lower chest and waist was removed. ‘Oh fuck’ I thought I’m going to have my waist and stomach massaged.’ I was absolutely correct. I didn’t know how far the towel lying across my upper legs and stomach reached, I didn’t know what was covered and, more importantly, what was not. The hands were on my waist, near my navel. They were.

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