She'd torture him a while longer, tease him with her fiery ways, then she'd forgive him. As soon as her pride was appeased she'd open up to him again....he smile faded as he remembered the way her face had looked as she told him how she'd gotten that scar. The anguish, the tormented pain, and the sudden pallor of her face had been no act. She'd truly suffered for his absence, had known real hardship, and he knew she blamed him for it.It wasn't all his fault, though. He'd had no choice, had been. It didn't explain why she was so wet at this very moment that she wondered if her juices were going to saturate her panties and run down her leg for everyone to view. The question she was afraid to ask herself was what was she going to do about her eighteen-year-old son dry fucking her every morning at breakfast. She knew what she would like to do, but mothers didn't do that with their sons. All day she was in a confused state, making errors she would never have made. Every time she sat down in. More

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