His Mom

His mother walked in, a large empty laundry basket under one of her arms.

John ceased stroking his massive cock, attempting to hide the tent his covers created by bending his knee.

"You are still up, sleepy head? Are you going to sleep the weekend away?", his mother chided.

His mind glazed over with lust, he suddenly saw his mother in a new context. Her short raven black hair was messy, but in a sexy 'rolled out of bed' kinda way. She was a very young mother, her face wore her age well. She wore a long white tee shirt and nothing else, her toned thighs visible when she walked. Her tits were large, round, and luscious. His friends always came over to his house to get a peek at his mother, and he never understood why.... until this morning.

His cock pulsed as he eyeballed his mother. She walked around the room stooping to pick up his dirty clothes, throwing them in the hamper she toted around.

His hand slowly resumed stroking, as he attempted to peek up her shirt to get a glimpse of her panties.

"REALLY NOW!", she said in disgust. She held up a pair of his dirty underwear that were moments before hanging on the lampshade of his bedside lamp. "John, we really need to talk about cleaning you room, I mean..."

She stared at him, cocking her head quizically. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, confused.