Peggy gazed at the bushy hair of her mother’s cunt. Joan wore nylons, with a garter belt, and high-heeled shoes.“I don’t understand this,” Peg...y said, her voice very low.“You don’t have to, cunt,” Tommy said. “You just have to do what you’re told, that’s all. But mother can tell you about it, if she wants to.”“Mother?” Peggy asked, lifting her eyes from her mother’s cunt to her face.Joan was blushing just as Peggy was, but there was a sparkle in her dark eyes, a smoldering sort of sparkle.. But Carol Jackson was the kind that ‘scrubbed up well’, and she could still turn a head or two, attract the odd building site wolf whistle. Not bad for 40. She looked great when she dressed smartly for her office job, either a nice fitting grey pin-stripe trouser suit or navy blue skirt type suit; that’s if she wanted to impress the boss with her legs.Since her husband, Cliff had taken off with some floozy two years previous and never came back, she’d had a succession of men at work wanting to. More

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