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Maybe she couldn’t watch ... but wanted to listen.I did feel pretty bad. It was a rotten way to treat a fragile teenage girl who was still in the initial stages of exploration into the mysteries of sex.“You need to get hard again,” said my fragile daughter. “I want some more of that.” She frowned. “Except not quite so hard.”Turns out Riley likes to be dominated ... a little bit.Like mother ... like daughter.Riley did not get her wish. Not that night. She did want “some more of that” but I couldn’t go there again. Not that night. Instead, I tried to make up for my bad behavior. My initial goal was to produce, in my tender, vulnerable, fragile little girl, three distinct orgasms, by whatever means.I started by going down on her, which she let me do and enjoyed - for one orgasm. Then she pulled my hair and said that she wanted something long and hard inside her.I complied, and went to work on her using all the tricks and techniques I’d learned since my own sexual awakening. Primary. She had it all planned out and that is why she stopped Scotty from wanting to guide himself into her as she lowered her body to him. He needed to learn not to be so eager about sex. Amelia wanted her son to appreciate the act between a woman and a man. Right now, she was showing him just that while enjoying all the feelings that came back to her. She would know when the time was right to rock back on him and slowly glide his hardness into her. Scotty was thoroughly in heaven as his mother’s pussy slid over his hard appendage. He felt his mother press her hot wet line of desire over him delicately, then the slick slide of it as she moved her body down. He felt the heat of her hot opening on his balls as she rocked further back than she had been, a product of her wetness coating not only her private spot, but his as well. The slickness that erupted from her sensual split caused her to slide easier over him. As she moved forward again, Scotty watched the plumpness of his mother’s.
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My emotions and hormones were in a battle from hell, and pouring out of me like the goddamn Niagara Falls. I needed to masturbate, and scream, and cry, and run in circles at the same time. My adrenaline was rushing, and I was so wet it was dripping down my leg. My body was screaming at me to turn around and go back in there and get fucked. Hard. I just need to talk to him, is what I told myself. I need to get dressed, and rationally talk to him, and we can laugh about it. I get up and hastily pull on my white t-shirt without a bra, because at this point I don't really care if he sees my nipples, and my pair of jean shorts I had worn over. "You can do this. You're just going to walk out there, and put this awkward situation behind you." I say to myself. And with that pep talk in mind, I walk out the door and check the living room and kitchen, but he isn't in either. He must be in his room. It's been about ten-fifteen minutes since our little "experience". I see the light on in his.

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