You're not sure, but Mike is acting suspicious.

You pause, holding a dull knife while about to open an envelope.

"Mike?" You called out, but made no move to get up. "Are you okay in there?"

"Uh, y-yeah!" He says from the kitchen. "I, uh... I almost tripped over myself, is all."

"Oh... Well, try to be more careful, I guess." You shrug, slowly turning back to the items in your hands.

You pull out the electric bill, and there's no surprise as to how high it is. You liked to keep the house ice-cold at sixty-degrees, and the hard nipples on your small bare breasts could attest to that fact. Thankfully the laptop on your creamy naked thighs was keeping your lap warm, or else you would've put on a blanket quite some time ago. In fact, that wasn't a bad idea, but as you turned to grab the fuzzy maroon throw-blanket on the back of the couch, you spot your dopey son's head and bare shoulders sticking out from the kitchen's entryway while he leered at you with wide eyes and a slaw-jawed expression.

"What?" You ask, glancing down at your naked body a few brief times to see if there was anything wrong with it, but saw nothing unusual about it.

He blinked, then quickly pulled away and hid in the kitchen once again.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You ask with genuine worry, beginning to feel uncomfortable by Mike's strange behavior. Sure, he was an oddball that liked to stare at her from time to time, but the only time you've seen that look on his face when you caught him spying on your yoga sessions in the past.

Something didn't feel right, but you couldn't quite place what it was.

"Y-Yeah!" Mike called out, this time with a nervous (softly maniacal) laugh. "Don't worry about it!"

Alright, now you were certain that something was up. Maybe some kind of prank? You set everything down on the table, laptop included, then stood up and made your way on over towards the kitchen.

When you stepped inside, you were greeted by the sight of a wide-eyed Mike standing in the middle of the kitchen and holding that strange phone-like thing in his trembling hands. His skinny naked body was covered in goosebumps while his average-sized cock was hard as a rock and eagerly twitching in the cold air around them.

You placed your hands on your curvy hips and gave him a serious look that told him he was in trouble. However, he was too busy staring at your big fake tits to have the reaction you were expecting. Usually he froze up or and/or returned her expression with a hateful look, but Mike was instead smiling this time. You glanced down at your plastic pumpkin-sized tits for a long moment, wondering if there were a dried trail of a coffee drop that'd slipped from her earlier cup, but there was no sign of such any stain on her perfectly-round and very heavy breasts. You then glared at Mike, and he finally met your eyes, still grinning.

"You're acting strange, Mike." You say, not bothered in the least that you and your pervy son were standing mere feet away from each other without anything to cover your bodies. You were a family of nudists, after all. Why Mike was acting like he'd never seen you naked before was anyone's guess, but it was far from normal. "What's up with you?"

"N-Nothing!" He giggled with obviously false innocence, then cautiously took a step back as he looked away from your eyes and down to the device in his hands. His hands began to tap away at its small keyboard with speed and precision. "I was just, uh..."

"Just what?"

"Sorry, what?" Mike asked, closing the device and crossing his arms as he looked back up, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your breasts.

"... I, uh..." You said, suddenly at a loss for why you were standing around in the kitchen with your son. You had come in here to ask him something, right? "I don't remember."

"Oh, okay then."

"Sorry to bother you, honey."

You leave the kitchen and head back to the living room, your huge fake tits wobbling around on your slender torso as you struggled to remember why you'd left the couch in the first place.

Oh well, you thought to yourself with a carefree shrug.

After sitting back down on one end of the couch, you pick up the remote control on the table and switch on the television, your unopened letters and bills sitting on the table now a mere afterthought.

As you flipped through the television guide to see what all was playing on each channel, you instinctively lifted up one leg on the couch and spread your thighs wide, exposing your hairless pussy for anyone nearby to see. One hand was surfing channel pages as the other reached forward with and gently began running its fingers between the lips of your moistening pussy. You eventually settled on reruns of an old medial drama, a show that was as interesting as it was relaxing. Once you were able to put down the remote and use that hand to start messaging one of your firm tits, the other carefully slid its middle and index fingers deep into your glistening cunt.

It wasn't long before you stopped watching the low-volume television altogether, getting very into the feelings you were experiencing. It'd been so long since you actually masturbated to any capacity that you were more sensitive than expected, but you never stopped or slowed, and your soft shameless moans quickly began to increase in volume. The hand groping your breast eventually wandered down to assist the other at your pussy, toying with your erect clit while three fingers from the other hand had slipped inside and was actively rubbing away at your spongy G-spot.

Your thoughts drifted towards your younger years, back to your college days where men fawned over you left and right, before you ever met your husband. You remembered old lovers long forgotten, the ones full of passion and youthful energy that they were ready to take out on your indestructible young body. Especially Jerome, the college football team's quarterback. The young black stud who had a nine-inch cock and could fuck for hours on end. God, those were the fucking days, weren't they? Back before you had to be responsible, before you were a mother, before you grew old and insecure and **** for attention enough to blow Mike's college-fund on your 4000cc implants, the ones that you hadn't gone out and shown off at bars and clubs for horny idiots like you'd planned before getting them. After the fact, you quickly found out that you were content enough with teasing and torturing your coworkers and bosses at work by simply having them as you walked around the office in your professional grey pantsuit, unable to not have an erotic figure no matter what. You were sure that every male there wanted to fuck you, and every female either wanted to be you, hated you, or felt a mix of the both.

After several minutes, your moans had turned into squeaky screams as you thrust your chest out, the whole of your nervous system alive with pleasure that you hadn't felt in the last six-months. The orgasm that rocked through your pussy and up through your spine sent your mind spinning, unsure of how long it'd been since you came that hard, if ever.

Breathing heavily and trembling, you eventually opened your watery eyes and looked down, although most of your view was obscured by your gargantuan funbags. You slowly held up both of your hands, each of them absolutely drenched in your juices, and then began to mindlessly lick them clean as the glowing pleasure in the pit of your stomach was still subsiding, wondering why it'd been so long since you decided to take care of yourself.

You only sort-of snapped back to reality by Mike's grunting from afar. Turning towards the kitchen entryway, you see him leaning up against the door-frame and having an orgasm of his own as he beat-off to your lewd display. His dick only shot out a couple of thick globs of spunk onto the carpet in front of him, but his shaky knees and the lusty expression on his smiling face told you that his orgasm may have been as strong as you're own.

With your mind still a in haze, you rolled your eyes at him and resumed licking your hands clean.

You wished he wasn't such a pervert, but a part of you really didn't care.