“Ashley, what is about your son that you find attractive?”
A flush seemed to awash over the blonde’s face as she answered. “His looks. His character. His romantic and faithful way he was with his girlfriend. He bought her flowers and gifts. I LOVE that. I wished I was the recipient.”
“‘Was,’ ‘bought’—you’re speaking in past tense? He isn’t dating this girl anymore?”
The parent answered, “No.”
Holly looked at John. “How come you broke it off with your girlfriend?”
He was self-assured in his reply. “I want to be with Mom.”
Ashley looked touched. The psychologist was impressed, and saw such a parallel between John and her late son.
The mother cleared her throat, signaling her intent to continue. The therapist couldn’t help but notice a new facial expression on Ashley. She looked like she was about to say something naughty, and enjoy saying it.
“Also, I liked the way he made love to her.”
The last description caught both John and Holly by surprise. The therapist naturally asked, “You watched your son have sex with his girlfriend?”
The divorcee nodded, displaying a mischievous grin.
“You watched me and Daisy?” John asked. His timbre was slightly loud and a mixture of surprise and arousal. He continued the inquisition. “At the house? When?”
This is getting spicy zipped across the psychologist’s mind. She wanted to lick her lips in auditory anticipation but settled for uncrossing then crossing her legs to enable her supple thighs to rub against one another in a brief attempt to quell the brewing heat between them.
“Yes, it was at the house,” Ashley continued, “It was 4th of July weekend.”
“Sounds like an explosive moment,” Holly quipped at her.
The blonde picked up on the joke and returned with “There were more fireworks inside the house than outside on the street.” Both women chuckled at the double entendre.
“Explosive?” the redhead jokingly asked.
In synch with the running joke and the comfort of the psychologist, Ashley kept the naughty look and nodded with an “Ah uh.”
With aching nipples, Holly asked, “Did you see ‘it’?”
A dreamy look came over the divorcee. She shared it with her son, then with the clinician. “Oh yeahhhh,” she confidently and sexily responded.
“Describe your son’s penis, Ashley.” Holly’s need to know this was actually more personal than clinical.
“It’s a divorcee’s dream! It’s about seven inches—no more. It’s not too skinny and not too wide. It has good length and girth. The top of it reminded me of a plumb.”
John, meanwhile, was speechless, dumbfounded, and turned on. His gorgeous, horny, voyeuristic mother was describing his tool while he was screwing his girlfriend to another gorgeous MILF. Currently, that tool was having blood rushed to it faster than in a trauma center.
“But, Holly, it just wasn’t his prick.” (Holly? It surprised him and amused the doctor how the mother went from ‘Dr. Connor’ to ‘Holly’ while decadently recalling seeing her son banging his girl.) “It was his tongue.”
In a girlish tone, Holly inquired, “What do you mean?”
“I started spying on them when he was just finishing eating out Daisy. From the angle of where I was standing, his tongue was working overtime at licking her pussy. It was like he was enjoying an ice-cream cone. Forget ‘enjoying.’ He was OBSESSED with lapping at her and sticking it into her just like a dick. She screamed things like, ‘Oh yes, John! You eat my pussy so fucking good!’ Between her moans and the way she was writhing around, I figured my son to be an oral expert. I didn’t even get a chance to rub my cunt. Watching my son eat out his girlfriend gave me an orgasm—and I didn’t even touch myself!”