The Oopsi-versary

Kendra stands in front of the mirror, turning slowly in a red lace bra that barely holds her tits. Her tiny matching thong rides high on her hips. She's changed three times already when the front door slams. "Baby, get in here," she calls, walking toward the bedroom door with her ass cheeks jiggling. The second her stepson walks in she freezes, arms flying up to cover her chest. Too late. He's already rock hard, cock pushing against his jeans like it's trying to break free. She tells him to stop. Then she watches him throb. The words die in her throat. She drops her arms. "If you're gonna jerk that thing in front of me," she says, voice low, "you're gonna do it my way. Stroke it slow. Right hand only. Squeeze the head every three pumps. Eyes on me. Don't come until I say." Her finger traces the edge of her thong. "And if you make a mess on my floor, you'll lick it up."