The Hots For Mom by Paul Gable
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“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Byron said a little disappointedly.

“I come in on little cat feet like the fog,” Julie giggled nervously as she walked into the hallway and toward the living room. Her knees nearly buckled under her as her legs quivered with lust. Rivulets of hot pussy-juice trickled through her thickly matted cunt hairs End slipped past the elastic leg-bands of her panties, Oozing down her well-tapered legs towards her ankles.

Jesus! Oh fucking Jesus! Julie groaned to herself as she reached the kitchen doorway. The marriage to Jim Hoover had been a mistake from the beginning. She wanted to give her son a father. And Jim seemed nice enough. He was kind, thoughtful, polite and gentle-far too gentle for her. Jim’s idea of fucking was the old missionary position about once a week. Julie didn’t consider herself a nympho, but she needed a hot prick stuffed up her pussy at least once a day. Her first husband Chuck loved to plow her twat apart with his thickly veined ten-inch rod every night. Jim barely started tickling her rising clit with his dong, then wound up blowing his load before she could feel the first ripple of pre-orgasmic contractions rip through her pussy.

Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.

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