Miranda had said ‘finding some emotions’; Mark found heaps. Entwined in his young aunt’s arms and legs he kissed and sucked, tears of despair later replaced with tears of joy ran down this cheeks as first her kisses and then her pussy covered his mouth. They murmured their sweet nothings that perhaps changed into incomprehensible murmurs of love as the heated bursts of passion subsided. This steamy, prolonged session ended with them wet with sweat and cuntal juices as Miranda milked him between her tits and swallowed everything that made it to her wide open mouth.
“Go to sleep,” she whispered, pressed in behind him, arms around her fine young man.
Towards dawn – at least Mark thought it was about that time – Miranda was at him again, touching, squeezing, and kissing down his body softly. Sleepily he wondered if he could get hard just one more time. Her kisses on his sticky dick, for he’d not showered or washed, removed that problem as it stretched into its usual early morning erection.
They fucked, conventional Missionary. She came first and clamping around his dick incredibly tightly brought him to a shuddering climax, his balls bursting in strain and then his over-worked dick collapsed, totally deflated. Mark was still groggy as she kissed him, tonguing deeply and then told him to sleep. He felt so drained, worrying mildly if he’d be able to get it up to do justice to Jasmine that evening and next morning – her parents would be away until noon next day.
Mark heard the door close thinking it was only right that Miranda should not be found in his bed by his father bringing in the morning newspaper and to say good morning before he left for work.
A few seconds later Mark’s eyes flew open. The door – it had been the passage door and not the door to the en-suite and on to Miranda’s room that had closed.
His mind leaped into clinical assessment: The skin had been not so smooth–the tits had been bigger–the thighs heavier–the pussy easier to enter.
Mark’s mouth dropped open: he’d just fucked his mother.