Mom masturbating on the washing machine

Henry's imagination soared. His mom was now dressed like a sexpot and going about doing laundry as if nothing had changed. What more could the pencil do?

He grabbed another sheet of paper. Looking at the other drawing he had just made, he drew his mother once again in the black bra and G-string. This time, however, she was sitting atop the washing machine, her legs spread wide, her left hand down the front of her G-string, her hair wild, one tit free from the bra cup, its nipple hard and erect.

"Ooooooh!" came the sound of Penelope Hunter's voice from the laundry room. "Oooooh baaaaybeeeee!"

Henry was hard as a rock in an instant. He crept to the laundry room and peaked in. There was his mother, just as he drew her, rubbing herself off as the washing machine chugged along beneath her.

Henry had never felt more Freudian in his life. He wanted his mother right then and there. But as slutty as she was acting, would she really screw her own son? Henry wasn't sure and he certainly didn't want to risk interrupting her if she was just going to send him away.

He went back to his picture. On the floor in front of the washing machine, he drew a half empty bottle of vodka, made his mother's bright eyes unfocused and put a drunken flush across her face and chest.

"Oh fuck yesssh!" came Mrs. Hunter's slurred voice from the laundry room. "Thass wha Penny likeses. Thas wha Penny neees. Thas a good pussy-pussy!"

More confident in his chances, Henry strode into the laundry room to find his mother drunk of her ass and masturbating furiously atop the washing machine.

"Are you all right, Mom?" he asked.

"Henry?" Mrs. Hunter said, confused. "Oh Gawd Henry! I'm soooo fussing horny! Help mommy, Henry! Help Mommy get off!"